lawly

by footfungus

lawly

34. Chapter 34

The Iori Family's history was deeply intertwined with the noble heritage of the Gojo Clan, and their ancestral connection to the emperor. Originally the Ioris were esteemed retainers of the illustrious Gojo Clan, holding a position of honor and responsibility within the clan's hierarchy. Due to the Ioris' war efforts, their unwavering loyalty and dedication to the Gojos and the throne earned them the emperor's favor.

In a significant turn of events orchestrated by the Emperor, the Iori Family was assigned a new purpose far away from the capital and relocated to the serene countryside. The seaside was a stark contrast to their former life in the capital's bustling atmosphere where court affairs and intrigue ran rampant. Entrusted with a sacred duty, they became the guardians and stewards of the revered Kano Tenman-gu Shrine nestled in the heart of Miura by the bay.

The shrine held paramount importance to both the Emperor and the Gojo Clan, serving as a sanctuary devoted to Tenjin, the deified manifestation of Sugawara no Michizane. By serving as the keepers of the shrine, they were not only fulfilling their duty to the emperor but also the Gojo Clan. After all, the Gojo Clan possessed a direct ancestral lineage to Sugawara no Michizane, cementing their claim to a divine heritage.

The momentous transition marked a transformation in the Iori Family's identity and purpose. Once distinguished samurai within the ranks of the Gojo Clan's retainers, the Iori Family now took on the role of spiritual caretakers, closely associated with the realm of priesthood. Their lives were now intricately entwined with the rituals, traditions, and spiritual practices upheld by the shrine. The serene surroundings and spiritual aura of the countryside influenced their way of life, replacing the intensity of their former samurai duties with the tranquil duties of shrine upkeep and the guidance of visitors seeking solace and blessings.

Former General Iori Haruto's life was a tapestry woven with valor and tranquility, colored by his remarkable achievements in the recent war. With distinction and bravery, he earned himself a place in the annals of history, his name whispered with reverence among both comrades and peers. Now, in the era of peace, his life found new rhythms alongside his wife, Urara, a woman of exceptional lineage who once held the esteemed title of Saio at the Ise Grand Shrine. The union of Haruto and Urara was a promise of legacy and recognition – a gift bestowed to him by the great emperor.

Through the consecrated bond of marriage, Haruto found himself the steward of an ancestral tradition. This sacred commitment rendered unto his female descendants a legacy bearing the title Hime within their names. The name-title encapsulated a lineage intertwined with regal heritage, bestowing upon each female bearer a whispered connection to the great Ise Grand Shrine and a resolute link to the future of the imperial family.

As the flames of twilight painted their peaceful existence, the Iori household emanated an air of gentle authority and quiet nobility. Haruto's war-worn hands now engaged in tending to the land and household while Urara's regal presence continued to infuse their home with a spiritual aura. Their shared wisdom and experience eventually blossomed into love beyond mutual respect.

Concern flowed through Haruto's heart, directing itself at a singular source of both pride and trepidation: his daughter. Utahime was full of intellectual brilliance and unyielding strength, her spirit outshining her very existence. Haruto couldn't help but harbor a mixture of admiration and unease for his daughter's exceptional qualities.

As her father, he recognized the fine line between curiosity and heedlessness, yet he couldn't suppress a sense of pride as he watched his daughter grow and grow, encouraging her to reach beyond what a woman should and could do. He actively stoked the fires of Utahime's pursuits. He became her confidant, her mentor, and her partner in uncovering the world. Each question she posed was met with encouragement, and every discovery she made was celebrated with a warmth that resonated at the very core of their relationship.

In tandem with Haruto's nurturing, Urara played an equally pivotal role in shaping their daughter's destiny. Urara's tutelage was steeped in tradition and spirituality, her teachings encompassing the sacred duties of a shrine maiden. Her lessons extended to the realm of dance, song, prayer, and the art of writing. Under her watchful eye, Utahime learned the intricacies of the rituals binding her to her lineage and the sacredness of her familial heritage.

The prospect of Utahime potentially becoming the next Saio at the revered Ise Grand Shrine held an undeniable weight. The preparation for such a role was intensive, demanding an intimate understanding of ancient customs and the spiritual essence that permeated every aspect of the shrine. Urara, drawing from her own experiences, gently guided Utahime through this journey, instilling within her the grace and devotion required of a sacred attendant.

Utahime's education was a symphony of disciplines, each note carefully composed by Urara's meticulous hand. With an air of quiet authority, Urara undertook the sacred duty of nurturing her daughter's innate talents, leaving no stone unturned in her quest to prepare Utahime for a future that held both the sacred and the courtly in equal measure.

Under Urara's personal tutelage, Utahime's every movement became a dance of both precision and elegance. The rhythms of ancient tradition flowed through her veins as she learned the intricate art of kagura and dance. Each step was a prayer, each gesture a testament to the profound connection between the earthly and the divine. As Urara watched her daughter's graceful form, she saw the echo of generations past, a lineage carried forth with every graceful sway.

The lessons of song were equally sacred in their nature. Utahime's voice became an instrument of devotion as she learned to sing hymns resonating with the essence of the shrine. Steered by her mother's patient hand, her voice soared with sacred reverence. The melodies mastered held within them the weight of history, carried forth through generations to touch the heavens. Writing became a canvas upon which Utahime's thoughts and dreams unfurled like delicate petals as Urara's teachings imbued her penmanship with a sense of beauty and reverence. Poetry and music, the koto and the shamisen, taught with patience and care.

Urara nurtured her daughter to become the highest flower on the branch, unattainable by those unworthy. With a sense of purpose as unswerving as her devotion, Urara embarked on educating Utahime in the intricacies of court life, molding her into someone who understood the world beyond the courtyard. The nuances of etiquette, the art of conversation, and the expectation of literacy were all woven into Utahime's education. Under her watchful eye, Urara's efforts didn't merely culminate in a well-rounded education; they blossomed into an opulent list of excellence comparable to the teachings bestowed upon imperial princesses in the royal capital.

On the other hand, Haruto held a deep desire to witness the joyous occasion of his beloved daughter, Utahime, entering matrimony. To him, this moment was not just a mere event; it symbolized the transition of Utahime from his care to a new chapter of her life. Urara stood in stark contrast to his wishes.

She held an unwavering belief Utahime's destiny was intertwined with a greater purpose. A purpose she believed could only be realized if their daughter remained unwed, centered around the selection for the coveted role of the new Saio.

The tension between Haruto and his wife created an intense atmosphere of conflict within their household. Conversations laced with both unspoken yearning and firm determination. Haruto grappled with conflicting emotions, torn between his love for Utahime and his respect for his wife's beliefs – wrestling with the balance between fatherly pride and acknowledging the weight of tradition.

As the time of selection for the next Saio approached, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, casting a veil of both hope and apprehension over the household. The family's aspirations and tensions converged on this pivotal moment where destiny would unveil its chosen path.

Utahime's heart beat with trepidation and yearning. Raised in the shadow of her mother's unwavering belief, the weight of tradition loomed heavily upon the young girl. The prospect of becoming the Saio was not merely a ceremonial honor; it reflected her family's honor, a testament to her worthiness and the culmination of years of preparation. As the day of the announcement dawned, the family gathered in the imperial palace, their emotions a tumultuous blend of excitement and anxiety.

The name of the chosen Saio resonated through the room, its weight echoing like a drumbeat in the hearts of those present.

It wasn't Utahime. Her name was not called to lift the mantle her mother left behind.

The moment hung suspended in time, a fragile pause in which emotions collided and settled like dust in the sunlight. The twelve-year-old girl's face flickered from surprise to disappointment to reserved dignity as she controlled her emotions well in court.

Haruto's heart ached for his daughter. He witnessed the crestfallen expression that briefly overtook her features and felt a pang of empathy deep within himself. Across the room, Urara maintained her stoic composure, her belief in her daughter's destiny seemingly untouched by the outcome. Her gaze held a purposeful glint as if this was but a pause in a longer journey, a mere twist in life's path.

The young girl would never step foot back in the capital.

Now at the age of twenty-two as an old spinster, Utahime stood at a crossroads where the passages of time and circumstance led her to a place quite different from what had been anticipated. Her life, once filled with the promise of grand destinies and prestigious roles, took a turn diverging from the traditional path her family had envisioned for her.

Untouched by the bonds of matrimony, Utahime bore the weight of societal expectations and norms that deemed her situation unusual. She was too old to be married to nobility, her status too high for ordinary families.

In the eyes of her father, Utahime's continued unmarried status was a fact he bore with practicality and unwavering devotion. At the core of his being, he believed a father's responsibility extended beyond societal norms, his love for his daughter was not conditional. Haruto found solace he could provide for Utahime even when he was at Death's door. He would ensure Utahime's brother would not abandon her after he died.

"Sei," Urara said to her childhood handmaiden with all the elegance of befitting that of an imperial princess. Dressed in a simpler kimono, the former Saio could only raise a delicately arched brow. "Where is that lazy girl? She is late."

"My lady," the kneeling woman beside her reservedly kept her head down as she replied. "The miss is with the young master in the courtyard."

"Again? We need to separate those two soon hmm."

"Sister, look," the clamoring of shuffling, light feet came to a stop. His wide eyes staring up at the giant maple tree in the courtyard. Hoshi's adoration for his older sister was obvious as a ten-year-old boy. "Spring has come! The birds are singing."

Utahime smiled widely, taking in her brother's enjoyment. "The birds are indeed singing."

"Father taught me some bujutsu today," he said shyly. Every lesson, whether in the art of swordsmanship, the tactics of combat, or the realms of classical literature, was an adventure he embarked upon with his sister in his heart. The moment the lesson concluded; he was propelled by an irresistible urgency – a yearning to share the newly acquired wisdom with Utahime.

"Oh?" Her grin became even wider as she sat on a wooden bench beneath the giant maple. Her little brother taking a stance in front of her, readying himself to show off his new skills in training. "What is that you learned?"

Hoshi began his proud display of blocking techniques as Utahime indulgently ooh'd and aww'd, clapping her hands together lightly. His voice recounted the nuances of the day's lessons, the intricate techniques he had practiced, and the profound insights he had gained from the texts he had devoured. The words flowing from his lips were not mere recitations; they were offerings, tokens of his devotion and the deep desire to bridge the gap between their worlds.

"That's incredible," she said, listening with rapt attention and grace. Her eyes, warm orbs of understanding, locked onto Hoshi's as he shared his discoveries. In her gaze, he found affirmation – a recognition his strength was acknowledged and cherished.

"Sister, you must do it! Like this!"

Hoshi pulled his arm back, muscles tensing as he prepared for the impending motion. Then, like an arrow released from a taut bowstring, he thrust his arm forward, showcasing a blocking technique.

"Okay, you have to show me again so I can do it correctly," she said good naturedly. After watching her brother's eager display, Utahime simply nodded and got up. Taking a too familiar stance, she met Hoshi's efforts with an equal measure of determination, her movements precise yet gentle, like the flow of a river that had carved its course over the ages.

"Hoshi, as the lords of this land, what is our duty?" Utahime asked, going through the practiced motion of the kata with him. Utahime's guidance was not merely about imparting practical skills but molding the character and mindset of the future lord – the steward of the shrine and the land that cradled it. As the heir apparent, Hoshi's training extended beyond the physical realm; it encompassed the nuances of leadership, the intricacies of decision-making, and the unwavering commitment to the spiritual and communal wellbeing of their domain.

"We must devote ourselves to the people and the emperor!" he shouted with each movement made. "To protect the land, uphold justice, and bring honor!"

Finishing the kata, Utahime then asked, "And how do we accomplish those goals?"

"By being sound of mind and body," he answered easily.

Agreeing with his answer, Utahime ruffled her brother's head, letting him know he did well.

"Utahime," an eloquent, authoritative voice broke the peace that settled.

In unison, their movements ceased, and both Hoshi and Utahime turned their gaze in the direction of the voice. Their heads swiveled like a pair of compass needles drawn by an invisible magnet. Their mother, an embodiment of elegance and regality, stood before them. Her form was swathed in a kimono that bore the hallmarks of both simplicity and grandeur. The deep brown fabric flowed like liquid silk, its folds dancing with the breeze that quieted in reverence to her presence. Her hands, delicate and folded, rested in front of her legs.

"Why are you not washed and dressed? The matchmaker will be here soon."

"Yes, mother," nodded Utahime, flushing a bit. Turning her eyes back to Hoshi who pouted at his mother, Utahime clasped a gentle hand on his small shoulders and whispered, "We can continue with practice after."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Utahime's attire was a masterpiece woven. The red kimono draped across her form like a canvas of opulence, every fold and seam a testament to the artistry that birthed it. The passionate and fiery red hue of the fabric was masterfully dyed, showcasing the kimono was no ordinary garment. Designed with meticulous attention to detail, it bore geometric patterns shimmering with the radiance of gold and white. These patterns intersected and wove a tapestry of intricate lines and angles. It wasn't just the geometric patterns adorning the kimono. Among them, delicate designs of bellflowers were carefully integrated like whispered secrets shared only with those who gazed upon the masterpiece. These obedient, graceful, and pure bellflowers added an air of ethereal elegance to the ensemble. As she moved, the kimono came alive – a symphony of color and patterns dancing with the grace of her every step.

The transformation of Utahime from a cute and pretty girl to a beauty worth fighting for was akin to the unfolding of a flower's petals under the gentle caress of the morning sun. Her visage, already graced with youth and charm, underwent a metamorphosis elevating her to a level of allure leaving observers breathless.

"Miss," the female servants gasped. "You are truly so beautiful!"

"Thank you," she replied shyly, lowering her eyes to the ground.

Utahime's makeup, a deft artistry highlighting her features without overpowering her natural radiance, was the catalyst for this enchanting transformation. The canvas of her skin became a playground for colors accentuating her eyes, cheeks, and lips. Her eyes, like pools of liquid amber, were accentuated with subtle shades that deepened their mystique, drawing attention to their expressive depths as they were darkly lined with precision and kohl.

A delicate touch of color graced her cheeks, lending a hint of gentle warmth to her pale complexion – a blush mimicking the rosy hues of dawn. Her lips, painted with a shade that harmonized with her attire, held a promise of unspoken secrets, inviting gazes to linger upon their captivating curve.

As Utahime moved, her very presence commanded attention. The sunlight caught the glimmers in her eyes. Her smile radiated like a beacon, drawing others into its orbit. Her makeup, rather than overpowering her essence, served as a harmonious companion. Her long and thick dark hair was half-pulled up with hairpins made of gold, silver, and jade while ribbons were looped and interlaced with the tiny braids.

The resonant symphony of boisterous footsteps reverberated through the hallway, each thump a note in a lively composition carrying a sense of urgency and familiarity. The once serene passageway was now animated with the energy of a young spirit in motion. The calls of "young master" formed a chorus echoing after the footsteps like a refrain that marked the rhythm of his approach.

"Sister," Hoshi called out excitedly.

As the anticipation built with each approaching step, a curtain of suspense descended upon the hallway. It was as if the air itself held its breath, waiting for the imminent moment when the curtain would be pulled aside, and the scene beyond would be revealed.

The crescendo of sound reached its zenith as the young master's momentum culminated. With a swift motion, the screen door to where his sister was made up was pulled aside. The abrupt silence that followed was like the hush that precedes a storm as the calls of his title abruptly ceased in deference to the unspoken moment of entry.

"Why do you have stuff on your face?" he asked, raising a brow. He looked so much like father.

Utahime giggled upon hearing her brother's question and rose from the floor as she followed her brother out into the corridor. She answered, "It's for my matchmaking."

"What is matchmaking?" he asked, leading her by the hand through the corridors.

Unsure of how to answer her brother's question, Utahime thought about it for a minute before struggling to formulate an answer. "It is when an expert…pairs two… individuals together for the sake of an alliance or union."

"Sounds boring," commented Hoshi, letting go of his sister's hand now that she was following him.

Her nose crinkled, laughing lightly as she agreed. "It is pretty boring."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Sister, I must show you the pond! There are tiny koi now!"

Utahime's steps, once synchronized with her brother's, came to a gentle halt. Her pause in stride was a moment of reflection. The decision to halt was a manifestation of her understanding – the understanding their mother's wishes and expectations were not to be taken lightly. Her very intuition acted as a guiding force, steering her away from a path that might lead to discord and disappointment. She recognized following him now would lead to consequences affecting not only herself, but also him.

Their mother would not be happy with them at all.

"Sister?" the little boy called out, looking over his shoulder, wondering why his sister stopped following him. He reached out a hand and said, "Please?"

Utahime sighed, knowing she lost the battle. Everyone indulged him too much. Taking his hand in hers, she then said, "Let's go quickly before mother notices! I must go soon!"

He smiled brightly, nodding conspiratorially.

The siblings embarked on a leisurely stroll through the sprawling expanse of the backyard, a sanctuary of tranquility stretched out endlessly before them. The earth beneath their feet was soft, a canvas of vibrant green embracing their steps with a gentle hold. The air, kissed by the sun's warmth, carried with it the scent of blooming flowers.

Each step echoed and followed with the hushed symphony of nature – the rustle of leaves, the distant song of a bird, and the whisper of a breeze telling tales of distant places. The expansive canvas of the backyard unfurled before them, an invitation to lose themselves in the serenity of the moment.

As they ambled along, their mother's presence remained elusive like a gentle sigh brushing against their awareness. The absence of her watchful gaze created an atmosphere of liberation – an unspoken permission for exploring and indulging in the wonders surrounding them.

The koi pond beckoned like a hidden treasure waiting to be discovered. Utahime's anticipation grew as they approached the pond, her heart dancing with the possibility of what they might find. And there, as the water's surface shimmered in the sunlight, lay a scene igniting a spark of delight within her.

"See?" Hoshi whispered excitedly, not wanting to draw his mother's ire if she was close by. "I told you!"

Upon closer inspection, Utahime's lips curved upwards at the confirmation of tiny koi fishes swimming in the pond. The koi, like vibrant strokes of paint upon a canvas, moved with grace. Utahime's gaze filled with wonder and contentment as she observed the koi's delicate dance in the water. The pond was now adorned with life blooming and thriving in the interval of her last visit with spring's arrival.

"Did you bring food?" Utahime asked, leaning against the blue rails that enclosed the pond.

"No," he replied guiltily. His head snapped up, declaring quickly, "I'll go get the food right now! Wait for me, sister!"

But before Utahime could utter a single word, her brother scrambled away towards the kitchen.

Like a spirited breeze, his movements were swift and animated. A whirl of motion, scrambling away with a buoyant urgency, leaving a sense of mischief in his wake. The spark of spontaneity and the thrill of youth radiated from his very being, creating a ripple in the air echoing with laughter and the vibrant energy of a moment seized.

Gazing after his sudden departure, the young woman could only gently shake of her head. A gesture that held within it a blend of exasperation and affection. Her smile danced upon her lips like sunlight dappling through leaves.

As her brother's figure receded into the distance, Utahime's amber eyes returned to the koi pond before her. The water's surface shimmered like a mirror to the world around it, reflecting the vibrant hues of the surrounding flora and the boundless expanse of the sky. And above all, the Sakura tree stood as a sentinel of time.

The Sakura tree's branches extended gracefully over the pond, their shadows creating patches of shade dancing upon the water's surface. The tree's presence provided shelter where the koi could bask in the dappled sunlight, and the siblings could find a moment of respite.

Utahime's amber eyes held a touch of contemplation as they gazed upon the mesmerizing dance of the swimming koi. In that moment, the world around her blurred, and her eyes narrowed onto the delicate creatures moving with grace beneath the water's surface.

Their bodies adorned with vivid colors that mirrored the palette of a painter's imagination swam in patterns that spoke of freedom and life's uncharted currents. Their every movement was a celebration of existence – a reminder that even in the confines of a man-made pond living creatures such as them could survive as long as they were dependent on their owners.

A thought then appeared at the forefront of her mind. Wasn't it kind of sad? The koi would never know or be aware of a free-flowing river's currents. This pond in her home's backyard was the only world they would ever know. A touch of empathy filtered over her face.

"You will never know the world beyond this pond," she whispered to the koi beneath.

A gentle breeze rustled through the garden; its caress soft against Utahime's figure as she succumbed to a yawn that emerged from the depths of her being. The yawn, a delicate exhale of exhaustion, carried with it the whispers of a day well spent and the promise of restful slumber ahead. A tender detail unfolded as tiny droplets of water gathered at the corners of her eyes, collecting at her tear lines. The droplets shimmered like crystalline gems.

With a graceful gesture that was practiced, Utahime's hand ascended to cover her mouth. The gesture was an embodiment of propriety – a measure taken to maintain the facade of elegance and decorum that was expected of her station. As her fingers delicately concealed her mouth, the droplets of water sparkled like tiny crystals that danced upon her skin.

Hearing rustling behind her, she turned and said, "You're back?"

Blinking rapidly at the unknown stranger with the shocking head full of white hair and the most piercing pair of eyes she had ever seen, the tears gathered at the corner of her eyes rolled down slowly.

The stranger's blue eyes took her in, raking over her flesh, lingering on the tears that fell. He then grinned ear to ear, raising a brow at the beautiful girl's appearance.

"Are you crying for me?"

Notes:

Hello,

As always, thank you for reading. I would like to know your thoughts if you have any. :)

Chapter 2: I Will Make Men Out of You Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

2

I Will Make Men Out of You

There was a long tachi encased in its red scabbard as the blue hilt was tied with various gold tassels, and the blade hung at his side along with a wakizashi that was the inverse of the tachi's coloring. Her amber eyes flickered over his entire form, taking in his clothing.

Utahime's intuition, as keen as it was, pieced together the puzzle that stood before her. She held an inkling of his station. Though there were no obvious clan emblems to offer direct insight, his presence exuded a silent aura of purpose – one that bore the weight of responsibility and legacy.

She doubted he was a wandering ronin. The very idea seemed to be an unlikely scenario, given the complex web of guard stations securing the shrine grounds. His passage through such layers of protection would have been an extraordinary feat – one that defied both logic and expectation.

As her amber eyes traversed his form, Utahime's sharpened gaze assessed the white-haired warrior. Covering the lower half of her face with her kimono sleeve, she began slowly changing her stance, slightly parting her legs in preparation for an attack. Her scrutiny was neither invasive nor indifferent; rather, it was a tribute to the silent language that tradition and his attire spoke, a language that conveyed messages more profound than words. Her eyes never left him as she edged away from the pond with slow deliberate steps as if she was facing a tiger.

His own piercing blues never left her, following her every step. His amusement was apparent as he raised a brow at her cockily. The arrogance dripping from his face irked Utahime, but she prioritized careful safety. Her thoughts pivoted towards all the onna-mushas of the past before her – if they could be brave so could she.

Utahime was the daughter of the great Iori Haruto, the man who slewed over a hundred men, saving the emperor's son. Utahime was the daughter of Urara – her blood noble, strong and regal – a connection to the Gods themselves.

"Who are you?" Utahime croaked, her voice coming off weaker than she would have liked it.

He merely cocked his head at her question. The man's attire was a white and silver kimono paired with a black hakama, interwoven with hints of deep purple sheens. The colors, reminiscent of the night's embrace, enveloped him like a cloak of secrets.

Utahime's amber eyes were vigilant, tracing the man's movements. An undercurrent of alarm threaded through her thoughts as wariness belied her otherwise composed exterior. His proximity, closer than she would like, stirred a flutter of apprehension within her. He was perhaps ten paces away from reaching her if he rushed forward. The once tranquil garden had become the stage for a fight as she thought about using her silk cloak to suffocate the man if he caught her.

"Are you not going to answer me, ronin?" Utahime taunted, hoping a reaction would be provoked from him. If he was off-balanced, Utahime could gain a slight advantage – perhaps she could even wrestle the wakizashi from him and slit his throat if she was lucky.

He laughed joyfully, sending shivers down her back, "Ronin?"

The threads of familiarity were absent as Utahime scanned her memories, attempting to find a connection to this white-haired stranger. Her mind raced to remember her father's acquaintances, yet his face remained an enigma.

Unrecognized, unrecorded in the annals of visits from known friends and faces – Utahime frowned. The lack of recognition fueled the flames of her uncertainty, adding to the tension that wove its way into the pit of her stomach.

Ripples of fear flooded Utahime as the samurai's tiger-like perceptive eyes locked onto her tense shoulders and her gait. The unspoken currents of tension and unease, like subtle waves beneath the surface, did not go unnoticed by his observant eyes.

With a measured step forward, the samurai's movement was deliberate – a gesture communicating his intention to bridge the gap between them. When he moved, Utahime shifted toward the manor, getting one step closer to the corridors. As he approached, his form was a blend of strength and poise – each step powerful and controlled.

Utahime's amber eyes flickered uneasily as they tracked his movement.

"State your business, nameless."

"Nameless? Ronin?" laughed the man, lifting a hand as his finger wiped something away from the corner of his eye.

"Gojo," a gruff voice spoke from behind them. General Yaga was staring down at the young samurai in black. Next to the General was her father.

Utahime's attention shifted from the enigmatic samurai to the shaded corridor of the estate. Her turn was an elegant rotation of her form mirroring the fluidity of a dancer's pirouette while keeping her face shielded from curious eyes. The corridor was bathed in dappled sunlight and shadow, offering her sanctuary from the open expanse of the garden.

With a conscious effort, Utahime's steps carried a veneer of grace as she moved toward her father and General Yaga across the grass and gravel along the stone pathway. Her posture, a delicate dance between regality and restraint, channeled the essence of her upbringing and teachings.

"What are you doing?" General Yaga said, scrutinizing the white-haired samurai.

However, despite Utahime's best efforts to maintain an air of poise, a nervous twitch betrayed the emotions simmering just beneath the surface. The twitch, like an unbidden quiver of a string instrument, showed off how vulnerable her, otherwise composed, posture was. The manifestation of the tension rung within her – a tension born from the presence of the inscrutable samurai that lingered in the courtyard.

A boisterous and slightly manic laugh erupted from behind her. "You have a lovely home, Lord Iori. I noticed the pond and couldn't help but want to see it closer. I didn't realize another person was here when I approached the pond. I apologize for my rudeness, sir. You have lovely fishes – I must thank the young lady for allowing me room to see them."

Her back was turned to the white tiger behind her as she wove her way toward her father and General Yaga, bowing before excusing herself. She could feel his sharp eyes claw onto her retreating back. Her elegant dance-like steps were boughed down with the weight of the unspoken encounter that unfolded moments before. The memory of the samurai's presence lingered, a shadow casting its influence upon her every movement.

"Sister," Hoshi ran up to her with a bag of feed in his hands. "Where are you going?"

Giving him a light path on the shoulder, she replied gently, "I must go to mother now. Father is in the courtyard with guests. You should go find him and listen – you may learn something."

As she moved from her brother, a swift gesture unfolded almost as if she was dancing with the delicate sweep of her kimono sleeve that obscured half of her face fluttered in the wind along with the ribbons in her hair. Utahime was blissfully unaware she still possessed the beast's careful attention despite the growing distance between her and the tiger. The fabric was now her protective veil, guarding her from the outside world.

Her quick and purposeful steps made a beeline, cutting through the estate's corridors with a sense of determination. The match-making room awaited her arrival.

The matchmaker's entrance was a harbinger of possibilities, her presence carrying with it the weight of tradition and the artistry of her craft. She was dressed in a simple but elegant kimono with her hair pinned up by wooden and silver hairpins. The matchmaker's steps were deliberate and measured, echoing the careful consideration that went into her role. As she approached Utahime with her assessing eyes, her form embodied the wisdom of ages and the aura of someone who had witnessed the ebb and flow of countless destinies.

Utahime cast her eyes downward, knowing an obedient wife was a wanted wife. Her posture, a study in grace and restraint, was delicate like the bellflowers on her kimono. Utahime would embody the fragileness of flowers to please her mother, making her chest swell with pride. As the matchmaker's gaze swept over Utahime, her assessment encompassed more than just physical appearances. Her discerning eyes, honed by years of experience, delved into the depths of Utahime's essence. The assessment, though unspoken, spoke of a silent conversation.

"Utahime-san," the matchmaker ordered. "Pour the tea."

The young woman nodded and with every ounce of elegance and grace, she swept the side of her long sleeve to lay on her lap as the inner side of her pretty wrist was showed off coyly and beautifully. Gripping the handle of the warm teapot, her other hand held a white cloth to the teapot's top.

Utahime poured the tea with an elegance mirroring the most noble of women's poise. Her posture was regal and self-possessed, bearing testament to her mother's careful upbringing, and the expectations she had been raised with.

As the matchmaker continued her assessment, a subtle tension threaded its way through the air. Her mother was growing impatient. The room was submerged with the weight of tradition and the unspoken hope for harmonious unions, held its breath as the matchmaker's expression shifted.

Utahime, despite embodying all the desirable attributes society deemed needed in a noble's wife, couldn't escape the matchmaker's apprehension. The doubt that lingered in the matchmaker's gaze echoed the unspoken challenges of finding not just a match, but a truly compatible union.

"I will see who I can introduce as a potential partner for the beautiful and well-aged Utahime," the matchmaker said to her mother before leaving. Utahime didn't see the woman off as maids escorted the woman out with her mother.

Switching out from the heavy clothing and accessories, Utahime opted for her usual hakama and kosode as she walked about, wanting to stretch her legs from kneeling so long. Her pink top combined with the purple bottoms was freeing as she laced a simple red ribbon through her hair, tying a bow at the back.

In the hushed atmosphere of the estate, Utahime's steps were careful and measured. With a knowing familiarity, she navigated the estate, taking in the sight and scent of her home. Closing her eyes, she committed the sounds of the bamboo forest to heart. Now that she had met the matchmaker, it was only time until she left her childhood home forever.

Her amber eyes flickered with an unspoken understanding of what a woman's destiny was as she could not live with her family for the rest of her life despite what she may have wanted. She knew every room, the patterns of light filtering through the windows, the intricate designs adorning the walls, and even the nuances of the wooden floor beneath her feet.

The wooden panels were worn smoothly by the passage of time and countless footsteps. She knew them – their creaks, their secrets, and the symphony of sounds they would produce under her weight. Her knowledge was like a silent dance, a choreography that ensured her steps would be soundless as she moved through the estate.

Utahime's steps carried her like a shadow. Unintentionally, she found herself at the threshold of an occupied room. The room housed her father, General Yaga, and the samurai known as Gojo. There was an overwhelming sense of authority and experience lingering in the air.

Light and silent as if carried by the whispers of the wind itself bore witness to her ability to navigate the creaking space with a familiarity that was second nature. The floors yielded not even the faintest hint of protest as she moved. Her movement a dance woven seamlessly as she stepped and turned over the pressure points of noise.

Amber eyes were drawn to the room's window. A crack in the window beckoned her curiosity. With a delicate deftness, she slinked beneath it, observing the conversation inside. The voices of her father, General Yaga, and Gojo were hushed and serious.

"War is coming," General Yaga said, taking a sip of tea. His sharp gaze peered at the retired general. "The imperial household has requested your presence at the frontlines."

"Yaga," the old shrine keeper began, sighing. "I was forced to retire when I became steward of Kano and married Urara…how can an old shrine keeper like me be helpful? I've been out of practice."

The samurai known as Gojo merely laughed as his blue eyes took in the retired warrior. Amused, his eyes flickered outside to the window.

"Disrespectful brat!" General Yaga yelled, apologizing to his old friend.

And as Utahime listened, she became a silent witness to the interplay of personalities, the weight of decisions, and the complexities of alliances forged in the crucible of dialogue.

Gojo, keeping his eyes outside at the window, then flippantly commented, "You are still our retainers, are you not? Answer the call of duty, Lord Iori. If you do not answer the call of the Gojo clan, and you do not answer the call of the imperial household, what was the point of marrying an imperial princess? Peace cannot be maintained without sacrifices. It is best you remember that if you wish for your wife, daughter, and son to live in peace."

Haruto remained silent, looking down at his conscription orders reviewing them.

General Yaga then said, "Fushiguro Toji has taken all of Kyushu within the last two months. Soon he will be at the capital's doorsteps within the coming year and a half."

Haruto closed his eyes, and then bowed, "It is my honor to accept this order on behalf of the Iori clan."

Utahime's emotions swirled like a tempest, a storm of worry and anger threatening to consume the delicate balance she usually held. Turmoil and frustration raged within her as she heard her father accept the notice.

The news her father was being conscripted into the army struck her with a heavy blow.

Hadn't her father already sacrificed enough? The very idea that her father was not honorable enough, not strong enough – to demand him to sacrifice once more, transcending the line of duty and venture into the realm of death.

How could they suggest her father march to his death?

Her worry tugged at her every thought. The future, once seemingly stable, was now cast into uncertainty. Her mind raced with questions, doubts, and a profound sense of injustice. That injustice darkened the very air she breathed.

Utahime decided to leave, to retreat from the scene before the men could notice her. With each step she took away from the window, her presence faded into the background. Her silent footsteps were erratic and faint like the rhythm of her conflicted heart. Her decision to leave was not an act of submission and acceptance of her father's fate, but rather a strategic withdrawal – an acknowledgment she needed space to process, to reflect, and to harness the energy of her emotions into a force that could be directed toward meaningful change.

She just needed to think and figure out a solution.

Amidst the intensity of the conversation that filled the room, out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of motion caught his attention – a fleeting glimpse of color standing out as someone passed by the room silently and quickly.

His hunter's gaze shifted, capturing the fleeing profile that had caught his attention. In that fleeting moment, he glimpsed the light hues of a pink kimono's sleeve. The tail ends of her loose hair were like tendrils of silk dancing in the wind. It offered a passing trace of her form. Her movement was full of urgency and poise.

Utahime was glad to hear that General Yaga and Gojo would not stay the night. She didn't know how she would fare if the men who ordered her father about stayed under their roof. The urgency of their departure, a call to return to their respective roles was a reminder of the governing their lives - the constraints demanded their presence on the battlefield amid strategy and action.

Soon that would be her father as well. Melancholy filled her heart as a touch of solemnity with the realization that their time together was fleeting.

As the discussions finished, General Yaga and Gojo prepared to depart back on their horses. They made their way to the exit and continued their journey to Kanagawa.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Her mother's eyes were reddening and puffy while Hoshi was blissfully unaware. Urara couldn't even look at her husband, recoiling at his touch. Hoshi was sent to bed straight after dinner, the servants clearing the dishes away and taking the boy to his room.

The weight of Utahime's emotions grew to where they could no longer remain confined within the walls of her heart. The clash of duty and personal conviction, the tug of war between tradition and the unfairness of circumstance, demanded cathartic release. And so, with a determination that matched the fire in her spirit, she sought out her father.

He was in the armory room where their ancestors' swords and his sword, and their armor and his armor were stored. When she was still in the womb, her father had ordered a katana to be made for her. It was a smaller blade for a growing boy, but she would never wield it as it was her father's sword. Hoshi had his own sword amongst the hung collection.

"Father," Utahime began worriedly. "You cannot be serious about going."

The once silent room now bore witness to Utahime's outburst. Her father turned to her, stoney faced, tired of his wife acting hysterically and now he had to deal with his daughter.

"What did you hear exactly, daughter?" questioned Haruto, peering down at his rambunctious daughter. He crossed his arms defensively, placing his notice down next to the collection of swords and the armory.

Her eyes held within them the complexities of her emotions, meeting her father's with a mixture of intensity and vulnerability. The words that she had carried within her, words that had been both a burden and a source of strength, were now ready to be spoken—a declaration of her truth, her fears, and her hopes. "You cannot go, father. If you go, you can die. Please do not go."

"I don't know what you heard, but you do not decide what I can and cannot do, Utahime."

With a voice that trembled only slightly, a voice that held within it the echoes of her convictions, Utahime began to speak. "Father, you have done more than enough for this nation – let other people carry on the role. You have honored your comrades and this country more than enough. You have spilled enough blood as it is. Please reconsider."

Her words were a flurry of emotions – a storm that wove together frustration, anger, and a yearning for understanding. "I am worried, please. Do not go."

"I must go," Haruto declared, staring hard at his daughter. "Nothing you say will change that."

His eyes, once focused on the weight of the decisions he had been tasked with, now met his daughter's gaze with a blend of acknowledgment and empathy. "There are many more men out there dying and sacrificing. Why should I be an exception? I need to be amongst the people and carry out my duty."

"Please," Utahime pleaded, dropping onto her knees. Tears flowed out of the corner of her eyes, down the apples of her cheek. She wasn't getting through to her father. Didn't he understand that he wasn't the same soldier he was twenty-five years ago? "Father, please. It's not the same as it was before. You are old now."

Hearing his daughter say that Haruto broke out in anger as if his age made him less of a man, less of a warrior. "Impudent girl! How dare you speak to your father like that? I see where I went wrong now. I didn't teach you well. I have failed your mother. I was too lenient on you."

"It's true!" cried Utahime, grabbing onto the sleeve of his kimono. It was a habit she used to do when she was a young girl. "If you ride to the frontlines, you will die father!"

"Selfish girl!" he roared back, grabbing his sleeve out of her hand. "How could you curse me like this? You are so selfish. I have failed you as your father. I taught you wrong. You need to learn your place in this world, girl. We will speak no more of this. You disappoint me."

"No, father," she cried, bringing a hand up to wipe her tears away. How could her father say such things to her? How could he say she was cursing him? How could he say she disappointed him? "Please don't go."

The air trembled with the weight of the confrontation that unfolded within the room. Utahime's words, laden with the intensity of her emotions, hung in the air like echoes of a song. But as her father turned away, she knew there was nothing she could do to change his mind.

Her knees continued meeting the floor as her sobs echoed a melody of heartache and frustration resonating with the very walls surrounding her. Her anguished and defeated posture held within it the weight of a reality that had come crashing down – a reality where the gap between her desires and her father's duty had proven too vast to bridge.

Her gaze, blurred by tears, fixated on her father's retreating back. The painful sight held within it a touch of longing – a longing for a connection severed, a longing for a reality where her father offered the solace she so desperately needed.

Utahime's sobs were an unfiltered release – an expression of her heart's sorrow, her frustration, and her acceptance of a truth she hoped to change. Despite her sorrows and her tears, Utahime's spirit remained unbroken. Her father's departure and words could not extinguish the fire burning within her.

Getting up from the floor, Utahime retreated to her room. Her steps heavy with the weight of her sorrow carried her to seek solace in the embrace of her own space. The corridor she traversed stretched on forever. As she reached her room, the room's atmosphere was a gentle cocoon of familiarity, embracing her as she entered – a haven that understood the depths of her pain and the complexities of her heart.

The walls absorbed the echoes of her cries, offering a space where her emotions could find release. Outside her room, her father stood – a figure caught between the pull of his duty and the tug of his daughter's distress. The knowledge that she was crying within, the echoes of her quiet sorrow reached his ears, lingered in the air.

His presence carried a touch of conflict. The instinct to comfort, to offer relief in the face of her tears, warred with the constraints of circumstance. And so, he stood outside her room, a silent sentinel, his presence a reminder of both the love that had always been there and the choices that had led them to this moment. The door remained closed as he walked away from his daughter.

Haruto couldn't continue failing his daughter.

If he wasn't strong, then his family wouldn't be strong either.

The night unfolded like a canvas painted in shades of indigo, the moon's glow casting a silvery aura upon the world. The stillness of the hour was interrupted only by the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of a night creature. It was during this time, amidst the embrace of darkness, that Utahime's determination took form. The moonlight pierced through the window caressed her form as she stood before the mirror, her reflection a canvas upon which her identity was being reshaped. She wore the clothing of a page boy and began binding her breasts.

The white gauze became a tool to change the fate of her father. As her fingers deftly moved, the gauze became a binder, pressing against her chest with a determination that mirrored her spirit.

Utahime's gaze was resolute as she covered herself once again. Seeing that her modest chest appeared mostly flat, she began fixing her hair. The dagger in her hand would soon lop off her hair. As the blade touched her hair, the sound of each cut resonated in the room. Her hair, strands of ebony that had framed her face, now fell around her shoulders messily. She then tied her hair up high with a white ribbon.

She gathered her saved allowance from the years, tucking it onto her person, and grabbed her packed bag filled with changes of clothing, female necessities, and her Iori clan symbol that would prove her identity as someone from the Iori clan.

As the household slumbered, the guard shift transition acted as a veil of distraction, allowing Utahime to weave her intentions into reality. The night breeze guided her steps as she embarked on her clandestine mission.

With a grace copying the stealth of the night itself, Utahime moved through the corridors. Her form was but a shadow, a figure navigating the familiar paths with an intimate knowledge that came from years of traversing them. The weight of the notice rested in her hands as she placed it carefully into her pack.

Her sword, a creation of her father's hands, held within it the echoes of his dreams – the dreams he once woven for her when he believed her to be a boy. The armor, a testament to their lineage and the history they carried, awaited her touch.

Utahime's fingers traced the contours of the sword, her touch a fusion of reverence and determination. The blade was now a reflection of her own convictions. The armor, though heavy with its legacy, seemed to weigh lighter than she expected against her shoulders as she prepared to embrace her destiny.

Clad in the armor, her form seemed to merge with the aura of strength and history that surrounded her. The sword was now a part of her being – an extension of the heart that had always yearned for recognition and agency.

As she stood before the mirror, her own reflection shimmered with the echoes of generations past, bearing the weight of her father's legacy and the determination of her own path. The night, like a conspirator, held her secrets close as she prepared to step beyond the confines of the estate.

A warrior in her own right, a warrior who had chosen to defy the law for love.

She went to the family shrine and offered food, sake, and incense in exchange for their blessings and guidance. Utahime hoped her ancestors and the Gods would look after her as she departed on her horse to the training camp in Kanagawa.

Utahime chose the safest and most traveled route to the training camp even though it took her two days to complete the exhausting journey.

The training camp's entrance stood before Utahime like a portal to another world. The journey bringing her to this point was a testament to her resolve, yet as she stood on the cusp of the unknown, doubt began clawing at the edges of her steadfastness. The sun's glow was too hot for her uncertainty as she felt a spotlight cast shadows upon the doubts taking root within her heart. The path she had chosen, the path that had led her to this point, seemed to stretch out before her like an uncharted expanse full of apprehension.

Her feet were heavy with hesitation and that indecision mirrored the doubts that now danced within her mind. The realization she needed to become someone other than herself, that she needed to shed the skin of her identity and step into the shoes of a persona yet unformed, was daunting. The weight of her decision, the weight of her aspirations, settled upon her shoulders like the armor she wore.

The doubt began creeping like tendrils of mist seeping through the gaps in her conviction. The journey to become her father's son was impossible. She didn't know how to be a man. Or how men thought and talked like.

The atmosphere at the training camp's rollcall was charged with a blend of anticipation and tension. The soldiers-to-be stood in a line. Utahime, amidst the sea of aspiring warriors, awaited her turn with nerves filling her body.

The sounds of hushed conversations, the shuffle of feet, and the underlying murmur of excitement made her even more nervous as the line seemed to get longer and longer. As she stood amidst the throng, her posture was one of readiness, to declare her presence as her father's son, and to embrace the training that awaited her.

And then a jarring collision disrupted the rhythm and peace of the line. The impact, harsh and unexpected, knocked into Utahime with a force rippling through her small form. The collision was followed by a voice that was sharp, cutting through the stillness like a blade.

"Watch where you're going!"

The words were laced with irritation, a rough command that was one of impatience and hostility.

Her amber eyes reflected a mixture of surprise and indignation, turning toward the source of the disturbance. Before her stood a relatively short older man with a muscular build. His posture exuded a sense of aggression. His dark hair with wide eyebrows, short sideburns, and a thick mustache didn't paint him as a kindly man as he wore a headband across his forehead.

He began walking away when Utahime thought to herself, what would her father's son do? What would the oldest son of the Iori clan do in this situation?

The moment hung suspended in time; the air heavy with the weight of the encounter. Utahime's emotions were now tinged with a dash of frustration. The collision disrupted her mental balance. Utahime's fingers tightened around the strap of her weapon. She needed to remember that she had to navigate this world as a warrior rather than as a daughter.

The son of Iori Haruto wouldn't stand for slander.

Deepening her voice as much as possible, she quietly said, "Walk away, you classless oaf."

Haba stopped in his tracks and lunged for Utahime who quickly sidestepped the attack.

His punch connected with the back of a man of average height with lightly tanned skin and a slender build. Higuruma had short and well-kept hair, styled to flow toward the back of his head while possessing a large nose and brown eyes with small pupils.

Higuruma slowly turned his head around and swung an open palm against Haba who landed on Amai, a young man with long light-colored hair and thin, dark eyebrows. Amai kicked Haba onto the ground while a muscular man with spikey hair grabbed Amai from behind and slammed him on the ground.

Utahime quickly removed herself from the all-out brawl that broke out in line as an optimistic young man called Yu Haibara, at the front of the rollcall center, tried calming down the situation, only to get hit from a stray kick.

Hearing the commotion outside, three officers came out in stride and looked at their new recruits. Captain Gojo, the white-haired samurai who sported a pair of black bifocals on the bridge of his nose, clapped his hands and commanded attention.

"Alright, stop it," he said easily as the men began breaking apart. "Why are you all fighting? If you guys want to fight so much, do it against Fushiguro's men."

"Worthless magots," spat out Captain Naoya Zenin, crossing his arms as his snake-like eyes roamed over the chaos. There were split lips, bloodied noses, and sprained wrists and ankles all around.

Captain Suguru Geto then asked, picking up Haibara from the ground. "Alright. Who started it?"

Almost everyone pointed at Haba who then pointed at Utahime. She then guiltily pointed at Haba on the ground like a deer caught in a trap.

It was that awful white-haired samurai, Utahime couldn't help but think as she gulped. He came closer to her, and she tried her best to not cower under his tiger-like stare. His eyes were hidden behind his spectacles, but Utahime could feel the chill radiating from him as he looked down on her.

"Did your father send me a daughter?" he said, cocking his head at her. "When he should have sent a son?"

She swallowed thickly, her hands trembling as she held out her Iori clan symbol and the conscription notice. Gojo took them and ran his eyes over them and then said surprisingly, "General Iori sent a son?"

Utahime nodded her head, sweating profusely, not trusting her voice to speak.

"I didn't know he had an older son," Gojo scrutinized her intensely. "I was only aware that he had a daughter and a younger son."

Speaking lowly, and in what she hoped was a deep voice, Utahime said, "I am his oldest. He doesn't talk about me much…"

"Do you have a name?"

"Yes, I have a name."

God, she forgot to think about a name!

"What is it?" questioned Gojo, not believing the boy in front of him at all.

"It's Iori," Utahime racked her brain. She wanted to throttle herself. "Iori… Iori Hiko."

"You're rather small, Iori Hiko," said Gojo.

She swallowed thickly once more, and explained, "I'm told I take after my mother."

Utahime could feel the weight of his gaze upon her. It was an intensity that penetrated beyond the surface. Utahime could tell he was seeking to uncover the truth that lay hidden beneath the armor and the facade she tried to wear. In that moment, Utahime's heart beat a little faster, her breath caught between the anticipation of discovery and the anxiety of exposure.

As Gojo's scrutiny deepened, Utahime's self-assured demeanor wavered ever so slightly. The armor that had shielded her identity, the determination that had fueled her transformation, now seemed to hang in a delicate balance. The intricacies of her appearance, the small details that spoke of her femininity, seemed to be under the spotlight and it threatened to expose her concealed truth.

Did he realize she was a woman, and not the man she pretended to be? It was as if his gaze possessed an uncanny ability to pierce through the layers she had carefully woven – a gaze that stripped away all her façade, leaving her naked under his intense stare.

She knew it was all over. That the carefully constructed illusion was crumbling beneath the weight of his perception. Utahime didn't even last a day – in fact, she got to the entrance and now she brought dishonor upon her house.

Utahime bit her cheek, and then thickly asked, "Is something the matter with my papers?"

Captain Gojo almost snorted as he gave her back her papers and her identification symbol.

"Welcome to training," he announced to everyone. "I will make men out of you."

Notes:

Hello,

As always, thank you for reading. I would like to know your thoughts if you have any. :)

Chapter 3: Naming Swords Chapter Text

3

Naming Swords

As the child of the retired war hero General Iori, Hiko's presence within the training camp held a unique position due to his station as his child, causing a disturbance amongst the officers. The officers and even General Yaga and General Gakuganji never heard the retired warrior speak about his oldest son.

"Yaga-sensei," Gojo said, sinking his chin into his palm. Flipping through old literature about the art of war, the white-haired samurai leaned back into his chair. Gojo was discussing tactics and training guides with Geto and Yaga-sensei inside the war room. Then a thought popped into his mind. A sly grin making its way up his lips. "I thought Old Iori only had two children. The woman and the young boy we met back at the estate. Who names their kid, Young Man?"

Iori Hiko prompted many to wonder why the old general hid his eldest child away – was Hiko an illegitimate child? Or was Hiko a disappointment as to why he was never spoken of? Having illegitimate children wasn't something to be ashamed of considering the Kamos and Zenins had an endless list of extended relatives and families.

"Hmm," his teacher paused, looking up from the map. He placed markers over some strategic points on the map before rearranging them. "I'm not sure really. There are countless reasons why you don't talk about your family. Let us not dwell on the boy – he is here, serving his duty in place of his father. That is all that matters."

Geto then looked over at his best friend when Gojo continued the conversation regarding the Iori family. The young samurai stated facetiously, not caring about what came out of his mouth. "Can't deny that the boy looks like more like his wife than Old Iori…maybe a different father?"

Yaga threw Gojo a warning look, eyeing his student with displeasure at the insinuation. "You should be more respectful. The boy is older than you, and you're speaking about his mother who is still the oldest sister of the current emperor."

"Really?" Gojo replied, playing with a chess piece nonchalantly. "He looks younger than me. Interesting. Older than the unmarried, old maid?"

"You're being rude, Satoru," Geto chuckled, polishing his armor's shoulder pads. "What did the poor woman do to deserve that sort of talk?"

Gojo merely shrugged and tossed the wooden piece up in the air before catching it. "Who knows?"

Gojo saw the way the unmarried Iori woman looked at him as if she was looking at a wild animal. Normally his face was enough to have women and men drop their guard around him so he could exploit them mercilessly; however, the Iori woman hid her face, staring at him with apprehension with those big, round eyes. Though he couldn't get a good look at her face – Gojo saw all he needed to see – she would not have hesitated to kill him if he approached any closer.

She had good instincts, Gojo would admit. It was good not to trust him for he was more beast than man – after all, wasn't that why they praised him on and outside of the battlefield for being the White Yaksha of the West?

A talent once in a generation, unmatched by any other.

He couldn't help but wonder if Hiko had the same instincts as his sister? Upon meeting the other man, Hiko was timid and scared, and nervous. If anything, the woman should have been born the son, and Hiko should have been the daughter. Their attitudes were too different to succeed in their roles.

General Iori sent his weakling of a son to die on the battlefield.

Iori Utahime, or rather Iori Hiko, was not going to be a part of the regular foot soldiers of the Ashigaru, or infantryman, but rather as someone who carried the legacy of a retired General, Hiko had other training to fulfill. She was a samurai by birth right meaning Hiko was taught to wield a sword and learned martial arts and strategy from childhood.

Not only would she train alongside the infantrymen, but the officers would also test her potential as a leader, a strategist, and a soldier.

The tests ahead were not just physical challenges but also trials of her character, her fortitude, and her ability to make critical decisions under pressure. Well, she wasn't going to complain about the expectations when it allowed her access to little comforts she had mentally prepared herself to not receive.

Utahime thought she would have had to sleep in the barrack halls with the other soldiers. Utahime was utterly grateful that her identity secured her privacy. Her station offered her certain privileges, and one of those privileges was the solitude of her own private quarters in a different wing of the army barracks along with the other descendants. The samurai scions were separated from the infantry in different, private quarters. The officers were in a different section of the barracks.

Utahime had a feeling it was so the samurai could watch one and another if they were acting suspicious.

But less eyes on her meant she was able to move more comfortably.

Perhaps this was going to be easier than she thought. Her quarters were on the first floor, and its layout was small with a built-in wooden desk in the corner along with built-in shelves. Taking her shoes off at the front of the quarters, Utahime shut the door behind her. She placed her pack and sword on the shelves. Her sock clad feet shuffled across the wooden floor, noticing that every third step there was a slight creak. That was good to know in case someone decided to sneak up or attack her.

There was a low table in the center with some cushions on the wooden floors. Plain sliding doors separated the living room and the bedroom. Behind the sliding doors, underneath a window with wooden bars was a raised platform covered in tatami for futon placement.

Adjacent to the bedroom were another pair of sliding doors. As she entered, her gaze was met with an unexpected sight – an old wooden suefuro bathtub that fell into a state of disrepair. The initial impression was one of neglect, the visual evidence of the tub's abandonment marred by the presence of weeds, hay, and straw dumped in it. The tub's weathered appearance was interesting to say the very least.

A high and small window situated above the tub provided ventilation as it filtered in dim light. The back outlet of the bathtub was still functional in releasing water as she tested the switch and lid, sliding it in and out of place. Utahime's nose scrunched in distaste, acknowledging that the tub's current state was hard to ignore as the smell was foul.

Despite the current, unsettling state of the bathtub, there were elements within the space that were still functional. Next to the underground clay fireplace, which was responsible for heating the water within the bathtub, sat a stack of chopped firewood. The squat toilet was surprisingly clean.

Practical and resourceful, Utahime surveyed her surroundings with a meticulous eye. As her gaze swept across the small space, her attention was drawn to a small yet promising detail – an unassuming bucket positioned next to a waterspout positioned at her knee level. She hoped it was connected to the river, or the well water, like her home or the bath houses.

Approaching the waterspout with a sense of cautious optimism, Utahime's fingers brushed against the wooden top of the spout. Utahime checked ensuring the spout was still connected to the waterpipes, hoping the passage of time hadn't rendered it unusable. Her fingers deftly worked, unscrewing the top of the spout as she prepared to test its functionality. She held her breath with anticipation and uncertainty – a moment where the outcome could either provide a source of relief or reaffirm the challenges that lie ahead.

And then Utahime waited. The passage of time seemed to stretch, each second laden with the weight of possibility. Her gaze remained fixed on the spout; her senses attuned to the subtle changes that might signal the arrival of water. In response to her hopes, a trickle of water emerged from the spout. It was a sight holding a touch of magic. Utahime's delight couldn't be contained, reflected in the curve of her lips and the spark in her amber eyes.

"Gods, thank you," muttered Utahime, covering her forehead with her hand. She then looked at the disgusting state of the bathroom and shuttered. Her hands never cleaned toilets or bathtubs before, but she supposed there was a start to anything and everything. Now she understood why there were cloth, soap, cleaning supplies and brushes, a broom, and a pan in the closet. "Help me."

Taking her armor off and placing it together with her sword, Utahime went to work. She hiked up her hakama to her knees and tied the sleeves up her arms, crisscrossing the ties below her breasts. After cleaning the bathroom for what seemed like hours, her back and hips were sore from bending over while her hands were slightly red from scrubbing the tub, floor, and the toilet. She wiped the beads of sweat away from her forehead with the back of her hand as she stood up and surveyed her work.

Utahime promised herself that if she made it back home, she would thank the servants more profusely for all the comfort they provided to her. Rinsing the bathroom down once more with the water from the spout, Utahime thought she did a pretty good job for her first-time cleaning.

The knock at the door echoed through the quiet confines of Utahime's quarters, interrupting the focused solitude that enveloped her. The sound was polite and gentle. She wondered who it could be as she placed the water bucket down. As she exited the bathroom, she untied her sleeves and unrolled her pants. Utahime's steps carried her swiftly to the door, sliding the peep hole open. It was the boy who got the stray kick to the stomach earlier this morning, and another blonde boy. As her fingers curled around the handle, she cracked the door open just the tiniest bit.

"Can I help you?" she asked in her deepened voice as she looked up at the tall boy.

"Do you need help?" Yu Haibara asked. "I'm in the quarters right next to you and I heard lots of banging, some falling, and some yelps and grunts. It then became silent. Are you okay?"

Utahime froze momentarily. It was nice to know the walls were thin.

"Ah," nodded Utahime sheepishly. "I apologize…I was cleaning the bathroom."

"Oh, why?" Haibara asked confused. "Isn't using the common bath better since it's always ready and hot?"

Utahime could only bite her tongue and smile, changing the subject. "I am sorry for disturbing you. May I know which samurai I am speaking to? I apologize for not introducing myself yet. I am from the Iori Clan. My name is Iori Ut-achoo!"

She almost exposed herself. The tall, blonde one next to the brown-haired boy stared at her like she was strange while the one she spoke to didn't notice at all. She then quietly murmured, "Iori Hiko."

"Oh, bless you," said Haibara, still smiling. "Haibara Yu! I hope to be of service to Lord Gojo and Getou! This is-" He thrusted his thumb at the blonde. "My childhood friend, Nanami Kento."

She didn't recognize the two's family names. She knew the Gakuganjis, Getous, Gojos, Kamos, Yagas, and Zenins. Opening the door slightly more ajar, Utahime then said politely, "Thank you. I'm from the countryside so I am uncultured. I do not recognize your clan names. I apologize. May I get to know you?"

The two boys didn't seem like bad people. They were friendly. Haibara had the disposition of a puppy while Nanami was like the temple's cat.

"Of course!" Haibara replied excitedly. "I know about your clan! Your father is a legend!"

Utahime's lips began trembling the slightest upon hearing about her father. She nodded kindly and winced. "Thank you. You two are part of samurai families as well?"

Nanami nodded, adjusting his sword at his side. "The Nanamis are new retainers to the Gojos."

Haibara excitedly pointed his thumb to himself and said, "My family has served the Getos for the last fifteen years."

Utahime thought about the information seriously. This could be potentially terrible since they probably reported everything back to the two lordlings. "You two grew up with the captains?"

"Yes," offered Haibara. "We trained and learned alongside them as lads. Don't worry, the young masters are fair and wonderful people."

There was then an awkward pause as silence overcame them. Utahime was looking down at her feet. Nanami was looking up at the rafters. Haibara was just oblivious to everything.

"Does your katana have a name?" Haibara asked – his eyes wide and optimistic. He was always high energy. "I'm still trying to think of a name for mine."

Was she supposed to name her sword too? Utahime panicked – her eyes widening with slightly open lips – as bewilderment crept up inside her despite her best to control her emotions. She thought swords were only named when the samurai became famous.

"Kento named his."

The blonde looked flustered when his friend announced what was supposed to be a secret.

"That's amazing," Utahime said, trying to deflect the conversation away from her nameless sword. Or that she lacked many things in general. She now needed to come up with a name for her sword. What was next? Utahime wondered in amazement. Would she have to come up with some martial arts move and name it as well? "What did you name your sword?"

"Tookaku Juhō," Nanami replied deadpanned with a light dusting of redness on his face. He looked so stern that Utahime forgot for a second that he was a young man – probably her age or a little bit younger. He looked positively embarrassed. "Please don't bring it up in conversation with other people."

Utahime nodded, understanding he was embarrassed. She wouldn't continue the conversation as she followed them to dinner. Utahime's gratitude, reflected in the depths of her amber eyes, held a touch of warmth as she looked at her two neighbors – they were nice. Nanami and Haibara could be good allies while she was here.

As the evening sun began its descent, the atmosphere shifted to a new phase of the day – dinner time. The mess hall took on a new energy as warriors and trainees alike convened for sustenance and camaraderie.

The dinner hours were from six to eight sharp, forming a window of time when the camp's inhabitants came together – a temporary pause in their rigorous routines. As the clock struck the appointed hour, the mess hall became a hub of activity – a symphony of conversations, clinking utensils, and the underlying hum of connection.

As she navigated the mess hall's pathways with her newfound allies, the scent of food wafted through the air. Everyone ate the same food, even the officers and generals. Her meal was one piece of fish in a bowl of rice, and an assortment of pickled vegetables along with a cup of soup.

Amidst the ebb and flow of conversation, the clatter of utensils, and the camaraderie that filled the air, dinner unfolded without a hitch. There was also an absence of incidents or disruptions during dinnertime as if they knew that if an incident had occurred during mealtimes, no one was eating.

Utahime's expectations, though tinged with a hint of wariness, were met with a sense of relief. The potential for confrontation or disruption she might have anticipated was replaced with a harmony that was unexpectedly soothing. As she enjoyed her meal and observed the interactions around her, a sense of gratitude washed over her – a gratitude for the smoothness of her first day, for the bonds that were forming, and for the ability to partake in this communal experience. Although the incident in the morning could have been handled better, Utahime scolded herself. She needed to be in better control of herself.

The woman ate very little in comparison to her dinner maters, finishing the vegetables and the soup with some rice. Before she ate, Utahime used another pair of chopsticks to divide her fish into fourths and placed it aside on a different plate. She then used the dividing chopsticks to lift one piece onto her bowl before she began picking at it.

Haibara couldn't help but notice the elegance in which Utahime used her utensils and ate. Mid-bite, he stopped and watched the small man before him, wondering why the Iori boy was so particular. Blinking, Haibara said, "Iori-san, the way you eat is so elegant and beautiful."

Nanami now paid more attention to the two beside him, taking in the smaller man as well. The blonde agreed easily. "Indeed, there is beauty in your movements. It must translate to your martial arts as well."

Haibara nodded enthusiastically.

Utahime choked on her singular grain of rice. The sensation of choking, the constriction of her airway, ignited a reflexive response – her hand thumped against her chest to dislodge the obstruction. The smile that followed her struggle was a reaction bridging the moment between vulnerability and awkward recovery. Utahime swallowed some water with great difficulty as relief flooded her system from finally vanquishing the grain of rice. Her awkward smile then turned nervous Haibara and Nanami stared at her.

"Are you alright?" Nanami asked, placing his chopsticks down. The young man stared at her with those unblinking eyes where his hair fell just over his eye and fell to his sharp jaw.

The boy in front of her was risky, Utahime surmised. Of course, a retainer of the Gojo clan had to be dangerous to protect their lord. Taking a deep breath, with the lowest and deepest voice she could conjure, Utahime then said, "Yes. I just get lost in my thoughts."

Nanami nodded, agreeing as he went back to his food. "I do too."

"Say Iori-san," Haibara began. "Are you finished?"

He pointed at her untouched fish that was delicately divided, looking at it with covetous eyes that reminded her of Hoshi. A smile graced the curves of her lips as she nodded and pushed the plate closer to the young man seated next to her.

The fish was a bribe, she reminded herself. And maybe her heart was a little soft when Haibara's round eyes looked at it as if it was too delicious to pass up. Getting up to put away her dishes, Utahime was vigilant to avoid any of the people who were near her in the morning.

She didn't want to get caught alone.

Haba, the middle-aged man, sought to assert his dominance in a subtle manner. His hand was wrapped in bandages from the morning brawl he helped incite. Following Utahime to where the dishes were, he waited by the entrance, looking for his opportunity to humiliate her like he had been this morning.

Positioning his foot near the entrance, Haba's actions were shrouded in an aura of presumed superiority. His attempt to humiliate Utahime, however, was not as discreet as he might have thought. His motivations, though hidden behind a veneer of casualness, bore so much malice.

Utahime, attuned to the dynamics around her, sensed his approach even before her eyes met his actions. Her intuition guided her response. She nimbly evaded him easily and quickly, using others as a shield weaving in and out of the crowd.

However, as fate would have it, another unwitting individual became entangled in his schemes. Haba's misguided attempt to humiliate Utahime backfired as his foot found an unintended target. The mess hall's previously bustling energy seemed to pause, if only for a fraction of a second, as the unintended victim stumbled and fell.

Amidst the chaos, Utahime's instincts and swift reflexes took center stage. As the unintended victim teetered on the edge of falling, her quick thinking and agile movements propelled her into action. With a fluid grace and innate coordination, Utahime closed the distance between herself and the faltering girl in an instant. Her footsteps were measured and urgent, crossing between people like skipping beats.

As the falling girl's balance wavered, Utahime pivoted on her own feet, her movements seamless and precise, and extended herself. Her hands stretched with an air of assurance, reaching out to offer support. The subtle arc her hands traced in the air seemed almost choreographed – a dance of rescue unfolding in the span of heartbeats.

With a touch that was both firm and gentle, Utahime's hands found purchase on the back of the girl's blue coat. The fabric bore the weight of the moment as the blue coat became a lifeline, in which Utahime grasped with practiced precision, her touch purposefully avoiding any contact with the girl's body.

She didn't want the girl to be ridiculed by rumors that she had been touched by a strange man. A woman couldn't risk having their reputation tarnished. And additionally, Utahime didn't want strange rumors to surround Iori Hiko as well.

The motion that followed was one of orchestrated control as Utahime's movement utilized the girl's momentum to her advantage. With calculated finesse, Utahime pulled the girl closer by the coat as she used her feet to straighten the girl's lower body, utilizing her own strength and balance to guide the girl's recovery.

And as the girl's feet found their footing once more, Utahime let out a happy sigh, letting go of the girl's coat now that the would-be-victim was stable on her own two feet. Holding out a clean handkerchief onto her palm, covering it completely, she offered her hand to the girl if she needed additional stabilization. Utahime then asked the girl – who was taller than her by an inch or two – if she was alright.

"Thank you," the girl with the mole underneath her eye said, taking Utahime's covered hand as she righted herself. She then looked at Haba who guiltily ran away from the scene before removing her hand from Utahime's palm. "It would have been quite embarrassing I imagine if I fell. May I ask for the name of my savior?"

Just as she was about to answer, Haibara rushed over, looking at the girl in the blue coat and black kimono worriedly. Nanami went to apprehend the fleeing Haba.

"Lady Shoko," Haibara said worriedly. He looked between the small man and the girl and sighed. "Thank goodness Iori-san was there to help you. We need to protect the future lady of the Gojo clan more vigilantly. I will make sure to always escort you!"

Intrigued by the information Haibara freely offered, Utahime noted in her memory that the girl beside her was engaged to the white-haired samurai, committing her face to memory.

Lady Shoko turned to Utahime and gave her a small smile. "Thank you, Haibara. If possible, can I hear the name of the person who saved me from their own mouth?"

"Iori Hiko," replied Utahime, keeping her head down. "My lady."

As Utahime's actions and response unfolded, the eyes of Lady Shoko followed the sequence of events with a measured intensity, holding the weight of observation and evaluation. Her interest, evident in the curve of her lips and the spark in her eyes, suggested a depth of understanding that transcended the surface and delved into the layers beneath.

Her cold eyes held an air of curiosity, as if Lady Shoko were privy to insights that others might have overlooked. The look she directed at Utahime carried an undertone of recognition. Utahime couldn't help but squirm underneath the recognition hinting at a shared understanding, or perhaps an awareness of the unique qualities that set Utahime apart.

Lady Shoko then said, "Thank you, valiant knight. I shall return the favor tomorrow."

As Haibara escorted her to wherever he needed to take her, Utahime couldn't help but be puzzled by the girl's words as she went back to her quarters. Rinsing off and cleaning herself before she settled down for the evening, Utahime began rearranging things such as moving her items to her bedroom. Her armor and sword were within easy reach of the futon platform in case of a sudden attack. She also hid her money in the cleaning closet underneath the piles of cleaning supplies where she hid other necessities.

She was thankful that the officer recruits were required to clean after themselves – Utahime didn't need people to snoop through her things.

As the night settled in, casting a gentle, dusky glow across the room, Utahime prepared to surrender herself to the realm of dreams. With a sense of tranquility, she slowly lifted the covers of the flat futon.

Utahime's fingers tightened their grip around a cherished possession – a painted portrait that captured a fragment of time frozen in hues and strokes. In the painting, Utahime's parents held a toddler Hoshi while she sat next to them. Her gaze lifted, tracing the contours of the wooden ceiling above. A sense of nostalgia tinged the air, as if the very essence of those bygone days lingered, whispering tales of laughter and joy.

Utahime's own reflection stared back at her from the portrait. A bittersweet melancholy washed over her as she contemplated the image. The girl in the painting wore a smile radiating from the depths of her heart. Her eyes sparkled with the unburdened wonder of youth, an innocence unmarred by the truths yet unknown.

The young Utahime's head was tilted, drawing her closer to her father in a gesture that spoke of trust and affection. A gentle smile tugged at her father's lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine mirth. The façade of sternness was but a playful charade, a thin veil over the love and pride that filled his heart. Enveloped in his embrace, a young Hoshi exuded an aura of innocence, a beacon of promise for the future.

Utahime's mother completed the scene, her presence a source of quiet strength and unwavering support. Positioned on the other side of her father, her smile exuded a graceful elegance mirroring the love she held for her family.

As Utahime lay there, gazing at the portrait encapsulating her past, she couldn't help but feel a profound disconnect between the girl she used to be and the woman she had become. The innocence of the past seemed like a distant echo, a reminder of the fleeting nature of time.

A surge of emotion tightened Utahime's throat, her inner turmoil manifesting as a sudden constriction threatening to spill over in the form of tears. The weight of her decision pressed down upon her, and in that moment, she felt an acute sense of isolation. The room around her seemed to close in, amplifying her solitude until it became almost tangible.

Every fiber of her being understood the necessity of her actions, the intricate web of lies she had woven to shield her father from harm. Yet, the burden of this ruse bore down on her heart, a heavy ache whispering of the eventual failures and faults she would eventually make. The internal battle between duty and desire raged within her, as she longed for a reality where this burden need not exist.

In the recesses of her mind, Utahime conjured a vivid image of a different scene – a tranquil moment spent with her mother. The aroma of tea lingered in the air, mingling with the sound of shared laughter dancing like music. The ordinary, mundane conversations they might have indulged in – perhaps a light-hearted jest about Utahime's marriage prospects – felt like lost treasures in the wake of the present predicament.

The stark contrast between that imagined moment of familial warmth and the cold reality of her current situation weighed heavily on her spirit. The dissonance between what was and what had become underscored the depth of her loss, the profound transformation she had undergone to stand in her father's stead.

Disguised as the son her father never had, Utahime felt like a stranger in her own skin. The very idea of assuming a false identity, obscuring her true self, chafed against her instincts. The nightscape outside the window mirrored the uncertainty that gnawed at her heart, the unknown path she had embarked upon stretching out like an uncharted wilderness.

Her thoughts flickered to the immediate challenge at hand – the ordeal of surviving this first night in the barracks in her new guise. It was a trial she recognized as the crucible that would determine the course of her endeavor. She clung to the hope that subsequent nights might ease the sharp edges of her discomfort, that familiarity would eventually replace the alien sensations currently gripping her.

Utahime's body curled into a protective ball, her arms enfolding her knees. With her face hidden against her legs, she sought solace in the conviction that her actions were justified and intelligent. This internal dialogue, this battle against doubt, had become her constant companion.

And as the weight of the world pressed down, she whispered to herself, a mantra that was both affirmation and plea, "This is the right thing to do."

With every ounce of determination, she resolved to prove the righteousness of her decision to herself. Under the embrace of the futon and the company of the painted memories, Utahime surrendered herself to the embrace of slumber, her thoughts drifting between the realm of dreams and the fragments of the past that continued to whisper in the corners of her mind.

Before the first light of dawn had even begun to creep across the horizon, Utahime's form stirred within the room. With a careful yet practiced touch, she tended to the binds concealing her identity, cinching them as tight as she could bear. The slight discomfort of the constriction was a constant reminder of the role she had taken upon herself, and who she really was beneath the armor and the clothing.

She wouldn't make the mistake of forgetting who she was.

Utahime began a series of stretches, laying on the floor and splitting her legs across the wooden floor. With her arms, she reached toward her front leg first before bending backwards for the one behind her. She moved through the motions fluidly.

During her regimen, Utahime detected the gradual loosening of her bindings due to her movements. This minor inconvenience prompted her to pause momentarily. She adjusted the bindings with a skilled touch, making certain they were secure once more.

Having perfected the binding, she proceeded dressing in her training attire. The standard-issue garments, woven from sturdy hemp, served as a functional uniform. The wide-legged pants and robe-like top were a little long as she had to roll up the leg pants, tightening it around her ankles. She allowed the top to stay loose – it would give the illusion she had more meat than she really did.

Utahime's hand reached for the lock on her door. With practiced ease, she slid the lock aside, the mechanism offering only the faintest resistance before yielding to her touch. The door creaked open, revealing the still sleeping world. The corridor outside lay shrouded in a serene stillness, untouched by the bustling energies daylight would inevitably bring. Closing the door behind her, she placed her key into the hole and turned it, locking her quarters from snooping individuals.

The dim illumination filtering through the pre-dawn gloom revealed she was the only one stirring at this hour. The silence was palpable, broken only by the singing of crickets as she traversed the corridor.

Utahime's attire was a stark departure from the ensemble she arrived in. Gone were the trappings of armor and sword. Instead, she chose to step out into the early light clad in the simplicity that was required of them. The anticipation of training loomed ahead, and the training grounds would already be set with the requisite weapons and armor, awaiting the clash and cadence of warriors-to-be honing their skills.

Energized by the knowledge sleep was no longer attainable, Utahime found herself drawn towards a particular destination. A river bend, where water met land, offered an ideal retreat for contemplation. The combination of serene lake waters and the rustling embrace of the shoreline presented a harmonious backdrop for her thoughts to flow freely.

As she approached the waterside, the shifting light of dawn painted the scene with ethereal hues. The reflections of the sky mingled with the ripples on the surface of the water as she observed from the forest clearing up on the hill. Here Utahime found a moment of solace. The quiet lapping of the water against the shore echoed the cadence of her own heart, a reminder of the rhythm guiding her steps.

Utahime's gaze shifted from the shimmering water to the shoreline where a scene of an unexpected, clandestine moment captured her attention. Two figures stood there; their backs turned to her, unaware of her presence.

In the soft light of dawn, the figures appeared as silhouettes, their forms etched in gentle shadows against the canvas of the shoreline. The dark-haired woman with her hair pinned at her nape, and the tall man with the long dark hair stood apart, a measure of space between them, yet their posture conveyed a sense of connection transcending the physical distance.

The woman, her silhouette graceful and elegant, emanated an aura of quiet and cold strength. Her stance suggested a sense of poise and determination as she stood by the dark-haired man watching the sun rise in the distance. There was a vulnerability to her posture, a hint of the burdens she might carry.

Beside her, the man's silhouette exuded a sense of grounded solidity. His posture conveyed a quiet reassurance, a steadfastness weathering the uncertainties of the world. The subtle angles of his stance hinted at a sense of contemplation, as if he, too, grappled with the complexities of his existence. Even from a distance, Utahime could feel the intimacy between the two.

The space between the figures held a delicate tension, an energy that spoke of unspoken conversations and shared histories. Their distance seemed deliberate as if they were aware they could get caught and needed a viable excuse as to why they were there together. There was an undeniable closeness that lingered in the air between the two.

Utahime found herself blushing at the implications of the situation down at the shoreline, feeling like a peeping tom as this was a scene she should have not witnessed. As Utahime turned to leave the two figures alone, dawn broke and the woman's profile was visible as the woman turned to face the tall man with the long hair.

Cold, amused eyes with a beauty mark below her eye with the slightest of a smile on her lips. The look on her face was surprisingly tender as she gazed at the man beside her.

Utahime's eyes widened, upon discovering who the woman was.

It was Lady Shoko, and she was meeting with a man who was not her fiancé before daylight even broke! Utahime silently retreated from the hill and went back to the barracks through the forest.

And as the first light of day embraced the scene, Utahime found herself enveloped in a moment of quiet contemplation. The figures behind her remained oblivious to her presence and her observations.

Utahime saw nothing, knew nothing – nothing happened.

As she rushed out of the forest path, there was the white-haired Samurai again.

Captain Satoru Gojo.

Her amber eyes met his dark bifocals. Why did he wear his bifocals even in the dark?

Then she remembered that his fiancée – his lady to be – was just beyond the clearing with another man.

Like a wounded animal, Utahime couldn't compose herself in time as the captain came closer and said almost dangerously, "What are you doing? If you're planning on poisoning the entire barracks, you should have been quicker."

"Captain Gojo, my deepest apologies," Utahime murmured, her voice shaking in his presence. She replied honestly. "I couldn't sleep and thought I would start early."

"An early start?" he laughed, walking past her. "You're going to wish you stayed in bed and got rest, Iori."

A surge of panic coursed through Utahime as she realized the gravity of the situation unfolding before her eyes. Her heart pounded with a mixture of fear and urgency. Captain Gojo was someone she couldn't allow to witness the intimate scene playing out below. The connection between Lady Shoko and the unknown man on the shoreline held implications that were dangerous and fraught with potential consequences.

What if they happened to just meet by coincidence? What if there wasn't a hidden romance like Utahime imagined? She bit her lip, hating herself for allowing emotions to rule over her logic.

Utahime's instincts took over, driving her to act in a desperate attempt to divert disaster. She couldn't fathom what the man's reaction might be upon discovering the truth – his fiancée's betrayal and hidden secrets.

With a surge of determination, Utahime lunged forward, her hand grasping the man's sleeve in an act of both desperation and urgency. The touch was an unexpected intrusion, a physical tether that momentarily arrested his motion. As he turned his piercing blue eyes towards her, she found herself locked in a gaze that held a challenge and an implicit threat.

The tension in the air was palpable as his gaze bore into her, demanding an explanation for her audacious act. Her heart raced as she felt the weight of the decision she had made, the potential consequences looming large. Her words trembled on the edge of her lips, her voice tinged with anxiety and resolve.

Why was she so stupid? Why couldn't she hold herself to logic? Why would Utahime throw away her hard work for some girl who possessed the same face her mother had when she looked at her father?

"I will give you five seconds to explain why you grabbed my sleeve and stopped me, or else you will be losing your hand today," his voice was low, edged with a dangerous promise sending shivers down her spine. The ultimatum was clear, and the threat was imminent.

Utahime's breath caught in her throat, the weight of her actions pressing upon her. The seconds ticked by in a tense silence, the world around them momentarily suspended. Summoning her courage, Utahime offered an immediate apology, bowing slightly in deference to the man's authority. Her voice, though shaky, carried the semblance of sincerity, a delicate balance of contrition and humility. "I apologize for offending your person with my touch," her words were measured, chosen carefully to navigate the thin line between respect and assertiveness. "I don't know what overcame me."

"Three."

As desperation seized her, Utahime's mind raced for a way to divert his attention, anything that could save her skin. The urgency of the situation compelled her to grasp at straws, to seize upon the first thought that presented itself. With a surge of adrenaline, she found her voice, her words breaking through the charged air in a desperate outcry.

"Haibara told me it was fashionable to name your swords!" her voice rang out, a crescendo of sound that defied the gravity of the moment. The words tumbled from her lips in a rush, her high-pitched tone was full urgency and embarrassment. "Sir, Captain Gojo, did you name your sword?!"

Utahime's gaze remained fixed on the ground before her, as if the very earth held the answer to her dilemma. The tension in the air was suffocating, her heart racing as she braced herself for whatever response might come. The seconds that followed felt like an eternity, the weight of the impending revelation heavy upon her.

And then, something unexpected happened. A sound broke through the oppressive silence like a sudden burst of sunlight through storm clouds. Laughter – the kind that was unburdened by the weight of responsibility – echoed through the air. It was a sound that was not at all what Utahime had anticipated yet it cut through the tension like a knife.

His laughter was like a balm to her frayed nerves, a respite from the intense pressure that had threatened to overwhelm her. It was laughter that transcended his position of authority, revealing a side of him that was surprisingly boyish and carefree.

Utahime's heart, which had been a relentless drumbeat of trepidation just moments before, now seemed to beat in erratic rhythm. The shift from tension to surprise had left her in a state of incredulity, her mind struggling to process the unexpected turn of events. Her initial fear had evolved into a muddled blend of emotions – relief, curiosity, and a lingering sense of vulnerability.

However, the relief that briefly lifted the weight of her predicament was now tempered by caution. She dared not look up, her gaze remaining steadfastly fixed on the ground beneath her feet. Her own audacious words hung in the air, echoing like a delicate melody, and she feared that meeting his gaze might shatter the fragile equilibrium they had stumbled upon.

The soft sound of footsteps was her only cue that Captain Gojo had begun to move. She sensed him walking in circles around her, an almost calculated approach that was filled with an air of assessment. Her imagination painted vivid pictures of his every movement – each step, each turn – and she could almost feel his presence as if he were a magnetic force, drawing her awareness without her permission.

As he moved, Utahime could sense the weight of his gaze, an almost tangible sensation that made her skin prickle with heightened awareness. She could almost envision his dazzling blue eyes raking over her form from head to toe. The scrutiny was invasive as the sensation raised goosebumps on her skin and sent a shiver down her spine.

The moments stretched on, each one laden with tension that hung in the air like a storm cloud. Utahime's heart raced anew as she contemplated what he might be thinking, what conclusions he might draw from her audacious question.

Amidst this silence, her thoughts churned with a tumultuous mixture of fear and anticipation. The balance she had managed to strike earlier seemed to teeter on a precipice, threatening to tip over into a new realm of uncertainty. With every passing second, she could feel the weight of his gaze like a spotlight.

"Captain?" she squeaked, peeking up.

In an abrupt and unexpected movement, Captain Gojo's hands closed around Utahime's shoulders, a firm yet not unkind grip that sent a shock of electricity through her. The touch was both startling and grounding, a sudden physical connection that broke through the tension-laden air like a burst of fresh air. Her breath caught in her throat as his touch anchored her, holding her in a space that felt both too intimate and charged.

With a decisive movement, he directed her towards the direction of the barracks, his grip on her shoulders acting as a subtle guide. The physical contact served as a silent directive, a clear signal that he expected her compliance without needing to voice it. Her steps fell in line with his guidance as she marched forward with his arm slung around her.

As they began to move, a chuckle – the kind that carried a carefree, jolly energy – escaped Captain Gojo's lips. The contrast between his laughter and the tension that had permeated the earlier exchange was stark and almost disorienting. It was the boyish laugh again that resonated with charm, dispelling the gravity of the moment, and ushering in a sense of camaraderie.

He smirked, looking down at her and said, "I can show you my sword."

Utahime found herself once again confronted with the complexity of her emotions. The man who gripped her shoulders with authority was now guiding her with a hint of playfulness in his demeanor even though moments earlier he was threatened to cut off her hand. She was downright scared of the man hovering over her.

And as they moved, Utahime couldn't help but feel an odd sort of relief mingled with a lingering unease since she wasn't losing her hand today.

Maybe.

It was better to ask.

Utahime then asked, mustering her manliness voice, keeping her eyes in front. "Do I get to keep my hand?"

Captain Gojo hummed, "For now."

Chapter 4: A Fox, A Snake, and A Tiger Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

4

A Fox, A Snake, and A Tiger

As the spring morning sun painted the world in hues of gold, the White Yaksha of the West found himself immersed in a ritual, completing every step with reverence and purpose. Secluded within the confines of his private training quarters of the barracks, Gojo was hidden in a sanctuary of focused solitude. Sitting on the veranda, an ethereal radiance filtered through the verdant canopy above, bestowing a divine aura upon him as if the heavens themselves chose to bless him.

His entire figure was bathed in the dazzling halo of morning light. His signature shock of white hair shined like a blaze of otherworldly moonlight while he adjusted the ties of his tan, martial arts, coat-like top slightly to the right. His blue eyes were particularly mesmerizing that morning, mirroring the heavens above, and they were framed by lashes as light as a summer day's cotton white cloud. Despite the breeze shifting the leaves and branches of the bamboo trees away, a delicate crown of golden light still enveloped him from above, allowing the edge of his beauty to soften to those who were aware and unaware of the danger that lied with him.

Seated with quiet authority, his legs crossed gracefully upon the polished wooden floor, he resembled a sovereign amidst his realm – a realm that consisted of swords, history, and the echo of battles long fought. The light tan of his top contrasted with the deep blue of his hakama pants.

In his hands, he held the embodiment of his legacy, past, present, and future. The swords were an extension of his very soul. Each blade glinted with a brilliance appearing to absorb the morning sun's embrace, its curved steel a panorama that held the imprints of countless trials and triumphs. As his hands moved with an innate strength born of practice and blood, he tended to his swords with meticulous care.

The act of polishing and sharpening was more than a routine maintenance task; it was a sacred communion between Gojo, and the weapons were an intrinsic part of his identity. The rhythmic sound of metal meeting metal was like a hymn resonating through the air, a melody of craftsmanship and pure devotion. The scent of sharpened steel and the faint whisper of a blade slicing through the air created a multisensory experience that was sacred in nature.

Before Gojo lay a set of three swords and a tanto dagger, each one a testament to his lineage, his battles, and his victories. Each sword was a bit longer than the other. The tachi was the longest while the wakizashi was the shortest in length. The long katana was only about a five-centimeter difference in length with the tachi. The polished steel gleamed in the sunlight, its surface shimmering as if it held within it the memories of countless clashes and souls slain. He sheathed each one into their respective scabbards.

The first of his swords, Mukagen, lay as a tribute to his lineage – the family sword passed down through the Gojo family for generations. The tachi bore a lineage that reached back to the hands of the legendary swordsmith Masamune himself. Its blade, a manifestation of both artistry and heritage, glistened with the rarest quality, a reflection of the deep reverence with which it had been cared for.

Beside Mukagen rested Rikugan, a long katana encased in a purple sheath that was a creation specifically tailored to the White Yaksha's formidable abilities. Its name resonated with the essence of his prowess, carrying a weight of meaning that hinted at the power contained within its blade. Fashioned from a tachi that Masamune had crafted, Rikugan was transformed into a blade that slew over countless men. The sword had taken so many lives, Gojo lost count.

The wakizashi known as Mugen completed the trio, its presence offering a subtle counterbalance to the imposing forms of the other swords. While Mukagen and Rikugan carried with them histories steeped in tradition and legend, Mugen's origins were intertwined with an act of battle – Mugen was a spoil of war.

It was a story woven with the threads of his first battle, a clash that marked the coming of age for the young warrior at the tender age of fourteen. A moment of decisive action led him to claim victory over an enemy commander, both his life and his sword. The Muramasa tachi that had once belonged to the fallen enemy was reformed and shaped through the hands of a master swordsmith, transforming it into a wakizashi and tanto pair Gojo proudly carried.

Nestled amongst the distinguished company of Mukagen and Rikugan, the wakizashi known as Mugen stood as an unassuming yet pivotal presence within the trio of swords. Its dimensions were modest in comparison, and yet its significance was no less profound as a blade made from a Muramasa tachi. Mugen was the result of his resourcefulness, his cunning, and his capacity to innovate even in the heat of combat.

As the White Yaksha polished each blade with deliberate care, with every pass of the cloth, the swords seemed to awaken, resonating with the echoes of battles fought and battles yet to come. The story of each blade, each swing, and each victory was etched into their steel, creating a symphony of power and heritage that was uniquely his own.

The upcoming campaign was going to be his fourth in five years.

Amidst the tranquil backdrop of the private training grounds, a tall and dark figure approached with an air of familiarity that was unmistakable. Geto Suguru, the White Yaksha's childhood friend and best companion, traversed the grassy expanse in a manner with ease and comfort. The breeze greeted him like an old friend, playing with the tendrils of his long, dark hair that were secured in his signature bun. His attire, monk-like in its simplicity without the ceremonial vestment, lent a sense of composure to his presence.

The two were brothers on and off the battlefield, and they shared many similarities such as being the sole heirs to their clans, growing up with one another as well as going to battle together.

Dressed in wide pants and adorned with a monk's coat, Suguru's appearance exuded an aura of quiet confidence. The earthy tones of his attire blended seamlessly with the natural surroundings, an embodiment of harmony between man and nature. As he drew closer to his friend, his steps were unhurried with a sense of inner calm.

A smile danced across Suguru's lips, a foxlike grin that held a charm all its own, a quality endearing him to many and made him a figure of intrigue. His approach, guided by a familiarity woven into the very fabric of their connection, carried with it an unspoken understanding.

Finally looking up from his swords, the White Yaksha's gaze met the approach of his childhood friend. His eyes met Geto's with a calm gaze with an inkling of curiosity – it was all-knowing.

"Yo," Suguru said. He was used to the sagacious gaze, not thinking much of it. After all, Gojo didn't care about much beyond his swords, the battlefield and bloodshed, and interesting tidbits here and there. Not that his best friend was a psychopath, but Gojo was a little unhinged at times. Then again that was what made them a great duo – Suguru was capable of being a little crazy too. Though Suguru would argue his interests extended beyond the art of the blade.

"I'm here."

Gojo gave an understanding grin that showed off his sharp canine teeth then went back to inspecting his swords. "Yeah? You missed morning practice."

Suguru looked at his best friend and with a straight smile, he answered without missing a beat, "I wanted to see the sunrise."

An amused laugh escaped the lips of Gojo. The laughter, while a response to his friend's presence, held a cadence that was almost discordant – a melody of delight that bordered on the edge of viciousness.

Amidst this laughter, the White Yaksha's hands moved with deftness and precision, continuing the task that held his focus from the beginning – the sharpening of his swords. His actions were automatic as they were second nature to him. The rhythm of blades being honed served as a backdrop to the exchange, almost like an undertone that underscored the conversation.

Just as Suguru's intent to speak began to take shape, a trio of distinctive sounds – the muffled shuffle of feet – echoed in the yard. Like a whispered promise, the rhythmic rustle of steps reached his ears, coaxing him to divert his attention. He pivoted with a fluidity revealing both his acute awareness and his readiness to engage with whatever – or whomever – approached.

With a motion that was as instinctive as it was measured, Suguru's dark and sharp eyes shifted from its original point of focus, his attention drawn to the source of the shuffling noises. His stance, while seemingly unaffected, conveyed a readiness – an alertness that spoke of a warrior attuned to even the faintest changes in his surroundings.

"Expecting guests, Satoru?"

"I don't think so." His blue eyes never lifted from the sword, checking the weight in his gloved hands to see if it felt off balance.

Positioning himself steadily a bit behind Gojo, Suguru's cunning fox eyes pinpointed the girl with the beauty mark beneath her eye dressed in a blushing pink kimono. She was behind Lord Ieiri – her uncle – and behind her was her maid, Sakiko. And as those three pairs of feet shuffled closer, the world around Suguru shifted, forming a knot of anticipation. It was a moment suspended in time – a moment of transition, of shifting dynamics.

He couldn't allow himself to feel.

In this suspended moment, Suguru stood as the harbinger of both stillness and motion. His form, wrapped in the folds of his attire, was a study in controlled restraint. His stance tried to embody the very essence of readiness, his poised demeanor a reflection of the complex equilibrium that defined his character.

Suguru's dark eyes scanned and pivoted at anyone, anything but Shoko. He finally landed on the red silk flower pinned in her dark brown hair. She taught him that the flower was called Camellia.

"To what pleasure do I owe this visit, Lord Ieiri, Lady Shoko?" Gojo remarked easily, placing his swords away. He tossed him his signature smile that was friendly enough to digest – his eyes lazily focused on the man approaching steadily with his niece behind him.

Lord Ieiri – a physician and the commanding officer over the medical brigade that would be accompanying them for the campaign – embodied a demeanor that resonated with respect and reliability. His countenance, fair and composed, reflected the virtues that underscored his character. Marked by features possessing a sense of balance and thoughtfulness, he conveyed an air of authority that was softened by an innate kindness.

A thread of genuine care ran through Lord Ieiri's interactions, and it especially shone when it came to Shoko. The affection he held for his niece was boundless, allowing her to learn medicine under his guidance, taking her in as if she was his daughter.

"Greetings, Young Master Gojo," Lord Ieiri bowed deeply, showing his reverence to the young lord. "Young Master Geto."

Shoko mimicked her uncle – though her bow was not as low or deep.

"That's enough," Gojo waved his hand easily. "We are all friends here, are we not? Speak freely, Lord Ieiri."

"This is bold and presumptuous of me," Lord Ieiri began.

"If you know it is bold and presumptuous, then why say it at all?" questioned Gojo, smirking into the palm of his hand. "Like I said, speak freely and I'll be the judge of whether or not what you say is inappropriate."

In the presence of the White Yaksha's playful demeanor, both Geto and Shoko shared a knowing glance – a silent exchange that spoke volumes of their familiarity with his teasing inclinations.

As they stood within the sphere of Gojo's teasing, their responses were measured and composed. There was a shared understanding between them, a mutual recognition that his actions and words were part of the fabric of their connection. Having grown up alongside Gojo, their immunity from his teasing had become a badge of honor – a testament to their resilience and the unbreakable threads of friendship that bound them. They navigated his antics with a practiced ease, their responses bearing the weight of familiarity, of a shared history that spanned years.

"Thank you, Young Master Gojo," Lord Ieiri said. "Perhaps it is best to set a date for the wedding before we move out on the campaign."

In the wake of her uncle's unexpected words, Shoko's reaction was unmistakable – a ripple of shock coursed through her demeanor like an electric current. Her features, typically a portrait of icy beauty, now wore an expression of genuine surprise. The suddenness of his statement caught her off guard, leaving her momentarily speechless and her gaze fixed on him as if searching for some hidden meaning behind his words.

She quickly schooled her features. Shoko knew Gojo wouldn't agree with her uncle.

"Hmm," Gojo said, grinning from ear to ear. His sharp teeth showed, glinting underneath the sun's rays. His blue eyes were unblinking. "Sure."

Her normally placid eyes reflected a spectrum of emotions churning within her as she stared at her childhood friend. The shock she felt was intense, manifesting in the slight parting of her lips, the subtle widening of her eyes, and the fleeting rise and fall of her chest as her breath caught in her throat. It was as if time itself had momentarily slowed, allowing her to fully absorb the weight of the unexpected development. Her upset was evident in the way her brows furrowed slightly, in the way her gaze held an intensity that suggested a flurry of thoughts and questions were vying for her attention.

The silence that followed stretched, allowing her to process the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. Gojo's simple affirmation lingered in the air like a sickening plague of illness.

"O-oh, thank you!" Lord Ieiri exclaimed, not expecting the young lord to comply considering there were so many delays and unexpected accidents that had happened over the course of their engagement. "A wedding within seven months' time! Surely, we can make it happen."

Gojo smiled, picking up his tanto dagger and looked at his reflection with it. There was a hint of heartlessness in it, but it was masked well as laziness. He glibly remarked, "Can't keep Shoko waiting forever, right, Suguru?"

Suguru hid his balled fists behind his back as his fox grin became larger and wider at the news. Dark eyes finally looked at Shoko who couldn't help but stare at him with glassy eyes.

"Congratulations."

In the opulent chambers of the imperial palace, a scene unfolded bearing the weight of both familial bonds and the burdens of responsibility. Urara, her stance one of supplication, knelt before her brother with an air of desperation filling the very air between them. Her prostrating posture conveyed a sense of helplessness – a stark contrast to her usually dignified presence.

Before her stood the emperor first, her brother second.

As Urara knelt, her voice carried the weight of a mother's plea, using her position as sister to the emperor to her advantage. She had never asked for anything before this. This was the one time she needed to be selfish. Her words, soft yet infused with a fervent plea, echoed within the chamber – each syllable a plea, each sentence a testament to the depth of her concern.

"Please, Gen, you must save her! She is your niece! She doesn't know any better!"

Her voice held a note of urgency, a plea echoing a mother's anguish and a sibling's desperation.

Gen bore a weariness that echoed the weight of his responsibilities. His gaze, once fixed upon matters of state, now turned towards his sister with a mixture of understanding and exasperation. A sigh escaped his lips, his hand reaching up to rub his eyes. He was exhausted from shouldering the burdens of leadership.

He tried his best to be a good emperor for all his subjects.

As his sister prostrated herself before him, Gen's expression held a blend of compassion and resignation. The lines etched into his features spoke of years of experience, of the countless decisions he made for the betterment of his realm. In this moment, his sister's plea tugged at his heartstrings.

His response, when it finally came, was measured – a reflection of the intricacies that defined his role.

"I can't take her out of training," he admitted, his voice carrying a tone of reason that was inextricable from the weight of his position. His words were a testament to the nuanced balance he had to maintain – the careful dance between familial concern and strategic decision-making. He explained his stance, his words carrying the wisdom that came from experience, from years of navigating the currents of power and politics. "When training is over, I will order her to be stationed within the Imperial City. After a month of serving as an imperial guard, she can be honorably discharged and sent back to you, sister."

"Thank you."

As Urara's sobs quietly broke through the chamber, a poignant moment of release and gratitude, the emperor's gaze softened. The tendrils of compassion weaved through his resolve, his understanding of his sister's emotions a bridge that connected their disparate roles.

"You really should have taught your daughter better," he stated, the words a blend of admonishment and rueful understanding.

In the quiet corridors of the barracks, a sense of anticipation hung in the air like a veil of uncertainty. Utahime's cautious footsteps carried with them an undertone of unease as nervous turmoil churned within her. The summons to the medical wing ignited a spark of anxiety within her, the unknown nature of the summons serving as fertile ground for her imagination to conjure a myriad of possibilities.

As she walked, her posture betrayed her unease. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, her steps measured yet slightly hurried. The furtive glances she cast around her as if expecting the walls to whisper her secrets. Her brow was furrowed in a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, her thoughts a whirlwind of speculation that refused to subside.

Utahime's thoughts were dominated by a single, looming concern: the possibility of a physical examination. The mere idea of it sent ripples of anxiety through her. After all, she was a woman – not a man.

She sighed.

If it was a physical check, she would just pretend to have a stomachache.

As she approached the threshold of the medical wing, Utahime's emotions were in a state of conflict. A part of her yearned to know the purpose of her summons, to alleviate the growing pressure of uncertainty. Another part of her, however, harbored a nagging fear of what revelations awaited her within those walls.

She went to the front of the clinic, and stated her name, "Iori Hiko for Physician Ieiri reporting in."

The man nodded and escorted her to a small room with two chairs before closing it behind him.

She didn't have to wait long as Gojo's fiancée, dressed in a plain blue-black kimono, came in and sat down before her. Lady Shoko gave her a small smile and locked the door behind her.

"Hello," Shoko said, sitting on the chair opposite of Utahime.

Utahime nodded, confused. "Hello."

In Shoko's hands was a medical paper with shorthand writing and descriptions along with the proper characters. Shoko then said simply, "I'm standing in for my uncle today. Do you have warts on your genitals?"

"No?"

"Do you have a hard time breathing?"

"No."

"Do you have a skin disease that is contagious?"

"What, no!"

"Great," smiled Shoko, writing things down in kanji and hiragana. She then held up the paper, pointing at the simple font, and asked the following question, "Please read this."

Confused and unsure of what the female physician wanted from her, Utahime complied. "Iori Hiko is able to fulfill his conscription duty as confirmed by Physician Ieiri."

Amid their conversation, a moment of incredulity etched itself onto Shoko's features – a portrait of amazement that captured the essence of surprise.

Utahime's words struck a chord within Shoko. As the echo of Utahime's statement lingered in the air, a spark of amusement danced across Shoko's expression – a light, musical laughter that bubbled forth like a spring of pure joy. In that instant, as her laughter filled the space between them, Shoko's demeanor transformed. The lines of responsibility seemed to momentarily fade, replaced by the exuberance of a lighter, more carefree self. The gentle laughter held a youthful quality that belied her years. Her brief laughter carried with it a sense of camaraderie – a shared understanding that transcended the spoken word. It was a connection forged through the recognition of mutual vulnerability, the kind of connection that could be found in the spaces between words and beneath the surface of outward appearances.

"That was your first mistake," Shoko confirmed. "Lady Iori."

Utahime sighed then looked at Shoko, and stammered, "H-how did you know? What gave it away? Are you going to turn me in? Report me?"

"That is your second mistake. You confirmed it because you got flustered," Shoko smiled. "I won't turn you in. I'm sure you have your own burdens and reasons for doing this."

Utahime didn't know why, but she knew she could trust the woman in front of her. And so, she asked seriously, "What was the first mistake? I need to know so I won't make them again."

"When you helped me yesterday, I had a feeling, but I couldn't confirm it until you read the hiragana. That script is only taught to daughters with monks as an exception. Regular men wouldn't be able to read it, and noble sons are not taught it usually. In the future, you should be mindful of that, Lady Iori, if you wish to see this through. I wish I could get you medically discharged, but that would require a second opinion, and I doubt you want to be subjected to my uncle," Shoko said easily, pressing the red seal of approval on the medical file. "I'll be coming along as an attending physician with my uncle so if you need products, feel free to drop by."

"You won't report it to the captain?"

"Suguru?"

"I meant Captain Gojo," Utahime clarified. "I imagine you might have some sort of allegiance to him considering your current status as his bride-to-be."

"Ah," Shoko said flatly. "No. He doesn't need to know everything. All of them do not need to know about this."

"Thank you," Utahime said gratefully, letting out a huge sigh of relief.

Perhaps Utahime should have been more wary, less trusting, but a sense of relief washed over her like a gentle tide soothing the ragged edges of her apprehension. The weight of secrecy, of bearing a disguise that concealed her true identity, had been momentarily lifted in the presence of someone who saw beyond the façade. It was as if a burden had been set down, and the air around her held a newfound lightness that carried with it a quiet reassurance.

Utahime's gaze, once clouded with uncertainty, now held a spark of clarity that came from being seen and understood. As she looked at the female physician, an admiration took root. A genuine appreciation for the woman who had extended a hand of understanding and empathy. Her expression, once guarded, was now softened, a reflection of the comfort she felt in the knowledge that someone else knew the truth that lay beneath her role.

The female physician, who had unknowingly become a confidante, held a presence that resonated with Utahime. Her own vulnerability had been met with kindness. Utahime bowed deeply then offered, "If you ever find you need someone to listen, and maybe talk, I am more than happy to fulfill that role."

Shoko took out her tobacco pipe and smiled at the other woman before nodding. "Sure, maybe I will take you up on that offer."

Stretching out like an endless sky of possibility, the barracks' training grounds unfurled across the landscape as a sprawling expanse that embraced the very essence of discipline and growth. The sheer vastness of the training grounds was a sight to behold. From its origins at the forest's edge, where towering trees met the majesty of the mountains, to the conclusion at the banks of the river and lake. The mountains, their peaks crowned with snow and their forms imposing against the sky, stood as silent witnesses to the toil and determination that echoed across the grounds.

Nestled within this expansive realm was a large, rectangular field within the barracks. The field was flat dirt that had been meticulously cleared of stones and weeds by the recruits' hands and efforts. Now that they readied the field for use, the class of one thousand soldiers-to-be stood ready at attention as Captain Naoya rode his horse, looking through the lines of undisciplined whelps, trying to find fault so he could deal out punishments. Out of the one thousand recruits, there were fifty from samurai families. The fifty from the samurai families were separated from the regular foot soldiers who were learning basic training from drill sergeants.

Utahime stood in the middle of the fifty officer recruits, hoping to blend in seamlessly with them as to not draw attention to herself.

Captain Zenin was supremacy itself. The soldiers stood before him, their expressions a mixture of nerves and calmness. There was tension in their posture – a readiness that spoke of their keenness for his commands. Yet, beneath the anticipation, there lingered an undercurrent of apprehension, a recognition that his words held the power to shape their fate.

"Listen here, dogs," Captain Naoya Zenin's words dripped with venom – a verbal onslaught that cut through the air like a blade, leaving a trail of unease in its wake. The very cadence of his speech was charged with a potency that commanded attention, demanding that all present bend to the force of his presence. "I don't care what you have learned or been taught. You're going to do things my way and like it. If one of you is weak then all of you are weak."

As he spoke, his lips curled into a smile that bore the mark of a sneer – a sinister expression that hinted at the pleasure he derived from wielding his authority like a weapon. Mounted atop his horse, he exuded an air of dominance that was underscored by the rhythmic trot of his steed –each beat of the horse's hooves punctuating the potency of his verbal assault. His gaze swept over the assembled soldiers, each pair of eyes that met his own carrying a weight of anticipation and unease.

Captain Naoya Zenin leaned forward in his saddle, his gaze piercing through the ranks of soldiers before him. "You're here to be molded into something greater," he declared, his voice carrying a note of intensity that held their attention. "Weakness will be eradicated, and only strength will remain."

His words, laced with a toxic verbiage, conveyed a message of control – a declaration that his way was the only way. The poison in his words was a testament to the depth of his conviction, a conviction that allowed him to wield his authority with the precision of a weapon. Each syllable stung, a reminder that his power was not to be questioned or defied.

A soldier dared to meet his gaze, and Captain Zenin's eyes bore into the young recruit's with an intensity that sent a shiver down their spine. "You think this is about camaraderie and friendship?" he scoffed, his tone cutting like a blade. "You're mistaken. This is about survival, and survival requires discipline and obedience."

"Most of you will die in the upcoming battle."

He shifted slightly in his saddle, his body language exuding an aura of dominance. "I've seen too many fall by the wayside because they couldn't keep up," he continued, his voice cold and unwavering. "Those who can't match the standards I set will be left behind. There's no room for weakness here. You will become tools, or else, be disposed of."

Captain Zenin's words hung in the air, a heavy silence settling over the training grounds. The soldiers absorbed his words, the weight of his expectations sinking in. He held their fate in his hands, a fact that was both intimidating and sobering.

"You're here to prove yourselves," he concluded, his tone firm and resolute. "To prove that you're worthy of wearing this uniform and bearing the honor that comes with it. Those who succeed will be forged into warriors. Those who don't... well, they'll find themselves discarded and forgotten."

With a final, commanding look, Captain Zenin straightened in his saddle. "You will run from here to the end of the river where it meets our boundaries and come back, and you will do it over and over until I say stop."

Utahime couldn't help but grimace. This was a test of endurance.

"Go," he said curtly, the single word carrying the weight of his authority. The war drums banged. As the soldiers began to disperse, the impact of his words continued to linger – a reminder that in his presence, weakness was not an option, and only the strong would survive under his command. His declaration echoed with an air of finality, a proclamation that resonated with the certainty of his convictions. The soldiers, the very recipients of his venomous speech, were enveloped in an atmosphere that was charged with a mixture of fear, submission, and a reluctant acknowledgment of the power he held over their destiny.

In the realm of appearances, his features bore the duality of beauty and ruggedness. The very essence of his presence was woven with threads of allure and mystique, leaving those who encountered him captivated by the enigmatic aura he exuded despite his obvious fault.

His personality.

As Utahime's feet pounded against the dirt, her breath came in ragged gasps. The rhythmic sound of her own footsteps echoed in her ears, a constant reminder of the relentless pace that she pushed herself to maintain. Her muscles burned with exertion, each step a reminder of the distance she was covering.

The training ground stretched out before her, a landscape of dirt, grass, river, and forest, and determination that extended endlessly. The soldiers around her ran with a sense of unity, a shared purpose that bound them together in this grueling endeavor. As she ran alongside them, Utahime couldn't help but feel the weight of her heavy body.

Utahime's breath hitched in her chest as she pushed herself to keep pace, her determination a fierce flame that burned within her. Yet, even as her determination blazed, she couldn't escape the harsh reality that her body was tiring – each step a reminder that her physical limits were being tested. The strain she felt was evident, a physical echo of the challenges she faced.

Amidst the exertion, Utahime's thoughts turned to Captain Zenin. The name alone carried a weight of resentment – an emblem of her frustration and distaste. Her feelings towards him were complex, a mixture of resentment for the intensity of his training methods and an underlying understanding of the necessity for such rigor. She was torn between her aversion to his methods and the recognition that they were shaping her into a stronger version of herself.

In this moment of physical exertion, amidst the rhythmic pounding of her heart and the rapid breaths that filled her lungs, Utahime's emotions were a tempest. Her body pushed against its limits, her mind wrestled with its emotions, and the landscape of the training ground stretched before her.

Utahime couldn't find why so many admired him especially those of the feminine sex – were they all blind? Then again, all the female servants here were blind as they fawned over the all the captains and the recruits, they found handsome. Utahime figured there wasn't a lot to expect from the group of men gathered here.

All the men here were severely lacking.

Utahime couldn't help but sigh. What if her future husband turned out to be terrible like these men? Well, Nanami and Haibara were nice enough, but there had to be something wrong with them too.

Captain Zenin was reminiscent of a snake's allure. The lines of his countenance held a symmetry that could be considered spectacular, each feature delicately balanced. His eyes gleamed with a thrilling intensity that held the power to both entrance and unnerve.

Yet, there was that harsh and ruthless personality of his. His mouth was terribly awful, his actions even worst as he was a manic who enjoyed inflicting pain on others. Utahime found Captain Zenin ugly as that ugliness stemmed from the shadows within his character, the facets that cast doubt upon his intentions. He was very much a snake, captivating and dangerous, an embodiment of allure and poison intertwined. And Utahime did not play with dangerous animals.

Utahime's pace gradually eased, her footsteps shifted from a hurried rhythm to a more measured stride – a conscious effort to regain control over her breath and her body. The exertion of the run still coursed through her, a reminder of the physical demands she pushed herself to meet. Her breathing, once labored, began to find a steadier cadence.

With the gradual slowing of her steps, Utahime couldn't help but be acutely aware of her surroundings. The training ground stretched out before her, a canvas of dirt and effort that echoed with the struggles of those who shared in this grueling endeavor. Her eyes flickered to the men around her, some of whom were stumbling and falling to their knees.

It was in this moment of shared fatigue Captain Zenin's presence crept up behind them like a terrible, looming shadow. His sneer, like a shard of ice, cut through the air – an expression that conveyed both disdain and disappointment. The mere sight of his expression carried a weight of judgment, a reminder that weakness was not tolerated in his domain.

His horse's hooves carried him closer to the fallen soldiers, the rhythmic trot a mirror to the drumbeat of tension that pulsed in the air. As he berated the men, his words were like venom – each syllable carrying a sting that seemed to pierce through any semblance of pride. The soldiers who faltered were met with a verbal onslaught, a reminder that in Captain Zenin's eyes, there was no room for inadequacy.

"Get out! Weaklings!"

His words were a declaration, a proclamation that held the power to shatter any illusions of accomplishment. The harshness of his judgment reflected his uncompromising standards – a belief that only those who could withstand the physical trials were worthy of his respect.

The sound of his voice echoed in the stillness that followed, a reminder of the contrast between their efforts and his expectations. The fallen soldiers, faces etched with exhaustion and frustration, absorbed his words.

Captain Zenin's horse continued to trot; his presence lingered like a wraith. The training ground had become a stage for the display of his authority.

The hours stretched on as the soldiers continued to run. Time blurred, the passage of minutes and moments fading into a continuous stream of exertion.

One by one, more fell and the booming voice of Captain Zenin's screeches echoed behind Utahime who was lightly jogging now as she didn't want his eyes on her despite her exhaustion.

Utahime was someone who did everything one hundred and twenty percent! Even if she took longer, even if wasn't the strongest or fastest, she wasn't going to give up! Her parents didn't raise a quitter!

The training ground now bore the traces of their efforts. Footprints marked the path they had taken, the distance covered, and the endurance displayed. The rhythm of their breaths merged with the rhythm of their steps, creating a cadence that carried them forward that was both grueling and relentless.

The sun arched across the sky, its warm rays casting shifting patterns of light and shadow, the soldiers pressed on. The initial determination that had propelled them now melded with a growing sense of fatigue – a fatigue that gnawed at their muscles and settled into their bones. Yet, they continued to run, driven by meeting Captain Zenin's exacting standards.

During the grueling run, Haibara's stamina wavered, his breath coming in ragged bursts as the physical exertion took its toll on his body. The relentless rhythm of his steps seemed to match the drumbeat of his heart, each thud a reminder of the distance still to be covered. His muscles burned with exertion, and his mind teetered on the edge of surrender.

Amid this struggle, a small hand reached out, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist. The touch was unexpected, a lifeline offered amidst the intensity of their efforts. As he turned his gaze, he found himself met by Hiko. Hiko's stature was deceptive, his size belying the strength and energy that emanated from him.

Hiko's grip was both firm and reassuring, a silent invitation to follow his lead. Hiko began to guide Haibara, their movements synchronized as they navigated the path before them. Haibara felt reenergized as he followed Hiko's lead.

Nanami's position as one of the few at the forefront of the group seemed fitting, his prowess as a soldier evident in his stride. The image of him leading the way was proof of his status as a role model soldier – a figure to emulate in the pursuit of strength and endurance.

"C'mon, we only have a bit more to go."

Hiko's words was rallying cry amidst the exhaustion for Haibara, holding a promise that the end was in sight. The mere thought of reaching their destination, of knowing that their efforts were nearing completion, spurred Haibara to summon the last of his reserves. With determination etched into his features, he fell into step beside Hiko.

Haibara's body protested with each movement, yet his determination remained unyielding. The touch of Hiko's hand on his wrist, the encouraging words, and the shared effort were all sources of motivation.

Lunchtime arrived as a distant milestone. The soldiers ran on, their thoughts perhaps drifting towards the sustenance that awaited them – a respite from the unrelenting exertion that defined their morning. The anticipation of a meal, a moment of rest, was a beacon of motivation.

When the moment finally arrived, Captain Zenin begrudgingly signaled their release, the soldiers slowed to a halt. The weight of exhaustion settled over them, their chests rising and falling with each heavy breath. As they dispersed, the soldiers exchanged glances. The lunch hour beckoned, a promise of nourishment and a moment to recharge their bodies.

The moment of stillness seemed almost surreal, a stark contrast to the rhythmic movement that had consumed her for what felt like an eternity.

Utahime's gaze fixed on her destination – the nearest well. Her strides were purposeful, each step carrying a sense of urgency as she made her way towards the source of water.

The well was a simple structure, its stone and wood construction a testament to its practicality. As Utahime reached it, she wasted no time in reaching for the bucket and lowering it into the depths below. The creak of the pulley echoed in the air as anticipation filled her bones.

Withdrawing the bucket, she poured some water over her hands before pouring the water onto her cupped hand as she brought it to her lips. The cool liquid cascaded down her throat, a soothing balm that eased the dryness that had settled there.

Utahime's eyes closed briefly as she savored the drink, her senses attuned to the simple pleasure of quenching her thirst. Her breathing steadied, and the flush of exertion that had colored her cheeks began to recede. With a steadier stride, she moved away from the well, her body feeling lighter, her mind clearer.

The woman felt the presence of a shadow cast its presence beside her. Instinctively, she turned her gaze to the side, her eyes meeting a figure whose appearance seemed almost serendipitous. Captain Geto walked beside her and said, "Iori, was it?"

Utahime couldn't help but find his presence alarming. His eyes were too much like a fox's cunning as she couldn't determine what his intentions were. His smiling lips were the same – they were polite, but it was only a mask for the sake of politeness. The girl then nodded, weary of him.

"You're the son of General Iori. I'm not surprised you did well enough," Captain Geto remarked with his pleasant voice. "But then again, you're not too impressive either! It can't be helped when you're just not built for battle."

A flare of indignation flared up within her – was he trying to compliment her, or demean her? Utahime bit her cheek and smiled dumbly as if she didn't understand him.

As he stood beside her, the contrast between their statures was striking. His height gave him an aura of authority, a presence that was both commanding and inviting. In contrast, Utahime's tiny form displayed a visible exhaustion.

"How can I be of service, Captain Geto?" Utahime asked measuredly, wanting to be away from the fox as soon as possible.

Captain Geto smiled down at her and said, "Shoko told me you helped her yesterday. If you didn't help her, she would have fallen. I am here to say, thank you."

It didn't feel like he was thanking her, but Utahime nodded regardless. "It was the right thing to do."

As Captain Geto's gaze met hers, his foxlike eyes seemed to convey a silent message – an acknowledgement of her efforts and an encouragement to press forward. He clapped her shoulder with more strength than she would have liked and pushed her toward the direction of lunch. Utahime looked over her shoulder and peered at Captain Geto's back.

His back seemed very familiar.

The build, the length, even the hair. His hair was up, but if it was down, it would be long… The woman didn't know why she was fixated on his hair and his back.

The lunch break offered a welcome interlude in the day's activities. Utahime's steps carried her towards the mess hall, a place where the aroma of food mingled with the chatter of comrades. Yet, as she approached the entrance, a desire for solitude tugged at her.

Utahime's gaze shifted to her lunch. In her hands, she held a meat bun, one egg, and two tangerines. Beside her lunch, a bamboo water jug waited, its contents promising to quench her thirst and rejuvenate her.

With her provisions in hand, Utahime decided to seek solace outside the confines of the mess hall. The training grounds had been a landscape of endurance, but now she craved a different backdrop – a view that overlooked the tranquil expanse of the lake and river.

She made her way outside, the atmosphere shifted, replacing the lively hum of the mess hall with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of water. The hill offered a sense of elevation, a perch from which she could survey the landscape that stretched out before her. The lake and river, framed by the rolling hills, mountains, and the sweep of the sky, held a serene beauty that contrasted with the rigorous training she had undergone.

Utahime settled onto the ground, her lunch spread before her on a clean handkerchief. The grass beneath her offered a soft cushion. With the lake and river in her line of sight, she began to eat slowly as she split the large meat bun in half and began picking at the white, fluffy bread.

The moments of solitude were a welcome respite – a chance to gather her thoughts and find solace in the stillness. As she savored each bite and took sips from the bamboo water jug, a sense of contentment settled over her.

Amber eyes traced the contours of the landscape, her thoughts wandering as she allowed herself to be lost in the beauty of the scene. The lake and river, the hills, mountains, and the sky all began blending. Her eyes then curiously swept over the shoreline once more and she groaned out loud to herself.

It was Lady Shoko and the man again except this time she recognized the clothing, and the back along with the hair in the bun. Removing her eyes away from them, she turned her back to the view of the shoreline and the lake.

She felt a familiar conflict within her – an internal struggle between curiosity and the desire to respect the privacy of others. Whatever Lady Shoko and Captain Geto had between them was a private moment charged with an undercurrent of sentiments that she could only glimpse from a distance. This time, however, she made a conscious choice not to retreat from the area as she could not be seen from where her vantage point was.

Utahime wouldn't observe their stolen moments.

Her sigh was a mixture of resignation and understanding, a gesture that acknowledged the complexity of the situation. Her eyes closed, shielding her from the world. She shifted her posture, her cheek finding the comforting support of her palm while her elbow rested on her crossed legs.

The location they had chosen for their meeting perplexed her. It was a public place, exposed to the curious gazes of those who might chance upon them. The choice seemed counterintuitive, raising questions about their intentions and motivations. Were they inviting discovery? Did they seek the thrill of the risk, or was there something else at play?

Utahime's brow furrowed slightly as she wrestled with these thoughts. As she pondered the why and the how of their choice, she couldn't help but shake her head in confusion.

Her thoughts turned inward, her mind trying to unravel the puzzle before her. The complexity of human interactions and motivations eluded easy understanding, leaving her to grapple with her own perceptions and assumptions. The scene she observed was a microcosm of a larger truth – the intricacies of human emotions and connections were often layered and multifaceted, defying simple explanations.

The woman gave a large sigh again. What did the teachings say again?

And as she sought to make sense of it all, her own feelings of bemusement and intrigue mingled with a sense of empathy – an acknowledgment that the choices people made, even if confounding, were often driven by the complexities of the heart.

Why was Lady Shoko so unfortunate in her fate with men, and why did she have bad taste too?

Utahime then muttered to herself, feeling the wind against her closed eyes, brushing her cheeks lightly in a gentle caress, "Engaged to a tiger, but she wants the fox… I don't understand."

"What is this about a tiger and a fox?"

It was a voice that bore traces of danger, a hint of unpredictability that lingered like a shadow beneath its pleasant tones. In the way the words were spoken, there was an interplay of mockery and amusement.

Utahime's eyes snapped open as she was startled alive – she dropped her guard for one second, and she didn't even hear anyone approach! Trying her best to calm her beating heart, Utahime shifted her body, readying herself for a fight.

The woman's attention was drawn upward. Her gaze lifted, capturing the sight of the figure who had spoken. The person stood above her, a posture carried a sense of authority and playfulness simultaneously.

Captain Gojo.

She couldn't control the scowl on her face as she looked up into his face as she sighed, relaxing just a bit.

"Why the long face? Are you that happy to see me?" teased Captain Gojo, lowering his black bifocals just the tiniest bit so his sparkling blue eyes could be seen.

In that moment, she felt a shiver trace down her spine as she met his gaze. The voice, the tone. The slight edge of danger held a magnetic pull, a hint that there was always more beneath the surface, and that rattled as much as it irked Utahime. Her senses were heightened, attuned to the nuances of every word, every inflection.

Captain Zenin was quick to anger and easy to navigate against.

Captain Getou was shrewd and cunning, but he didn't hurt or kill indiscriminately.

The man in front of her was danger wrapped in the formidable flesh of radiant beauty.

Notes:

Like always, thank you for reading.

I would like to know your thoughts if you have any. :)

Chapter 5: Mandarins Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

5

Mandarins

Utahime's response – or lack thereof – spoke volumes in its silence. Her lips remained sealed, a refusal to offer a verbal reaction to Captain Gojo's questions. The absence of words did not diminish the impact of her reaction. In fact, her silence carried a weight of its own.

Her gaze held steady on Captain Gojo, her mouth formed a subtle expression – a line that ran straight across, marked by a slight curve at the corners that tugged downward. It was a nuanced expression, one teetering on the edge between neutrality and a not-quite-frown. The lines of her mouth emulated the emotions swirling within her – a mixture of resignation, contemplation, and perhaps even a touch of annoyance.

In the curve of her lips, there was a sense of restraint, holding back her immediate response, choosing instead to process her thoughts before allowing them to manifest in words. The trivial downturn at the corners hinted at a slight dissatisfaction with the person before her, but it was so nuanced that no one would really notice.

Except Captain Gojo did, and his grin grew even more.

Amber eyes framed by black eyelashes remained fixed on Captain Gojo, observing him for any sign of immediate danger. Her eyes traced the lines of his form, taking in the details defining him – the shock of white hair that defied convention, the sharp features that held an aura of elegance and power.

As her gaze lingered, in her mind's eye, Utahime imagined the weight of the world on its knees before the great Captain Gojo. She envisioned the world bending to his will as he arrogantly went about his business.

What was it like to be the Gojo Satoru? To have the world in the palm of his hand.

"Well?"

Captain Gojo's voice cut through the air, a prompt that held an expectation for an answer he projected onto the person whose gaze was locked with his. His words were a challenge, a call for response from the individual found under his scrutiny.

Utahime blinked. A momentary pause before she allowed her shoulders to drop slightly, hinting at a readiness to engage, yet a wariness held her back. She was treading carefully in the presence of a commanding figure. Her gaze, once fixated on Captain Gojo, momentarily broke away, her eyes darting downward in deference.

"Please repeat the question," she replied with a measured tone. Her words were chosen with care, carrying a hint of formality, a hint of the discipline ingrained within her. It was a voice that carried a balance between confidence and caution, a voice that navigated the space between maintaining her own identity and acknowledging the hierarchy at play. "Sir."

The faintest trace of a strangled ending accompanied her address. It was as if her words were threaded with the awareness of the consequences that could come from not adhering to the expected protocols – a reminder that her words were a careful choice rather than a casual response.

"Are you," he repeated slowly. "Happy to see me?"

Captain Gojo's smirk held a playful edge. His enjoyment was evident in the twinkle of his eyes, in the curve of his lips. The little narrowing of the amber eyes pleased him – after all, he preferred a fight when it came to crushing people.

Utahime's internal conflict was obvious as there was an internal struggle between pride and the need to navigate the situation with finesse. Her throat gulped, swallowing her pride as her gaze shifted downward once more, allowing her internal restraint to win. Her response, when it came, was concise as the words held compliance and resignation, "Yes, sir."

The shift in her tone was subtle yet significant as it was an acknowledgment of his expectations, a recognition of his authority. Her words held the deference that was required.

But it was his subsequent command that drew her focus even more acutely. His words were accompanied by a growing intensity in his blue eyes.

"Yes, sir, what?" he urged, his eyes increasingly darker. "Look at me."

The woman followed his command, meeting his eyes with a little bit more fire than she had wanted to.

"Yes, sir, I am happy to see you."

Captain Gojo grinned, ruffling the top of her head roughly, messing her neatly made hair up. The ribbon holding her hair up was now skewed to the side.

And then came his voice, a voice that held the sweetness of honey – a voice that contrasted with his earlier intensity. The words he spoke dripped with a certain irony, a bit of affection, and a spoonful of provocation. "Now, that's a good boy."

He let go of her hair, walking past her to look at the view behind her.

Her cheeks burned with indignation as her nails dug into her palms, shaking with humiliation. If she pushed him off the hill, he wouldn't die and he wouldn't be severely hurt, but it was tempting to use some sort of violence on the man behind her. Utahime bit her lip, attempting to calm herself.

She already knew he was a bad person when he approached her that day at the pond like some uncivilized cretin.

His blue eyes fleetingly flickered downward, capturing the details of the shoreline below. It was a subtle movement, one that could have easily gone unnoticed by an untrained observer. A vicious smile emerged, its edges curling upwards in a display of satisfaction and perhaps even a touch of mischief. The width of the smile seemed to mirror the depths of his thoughts as he turned away from the view.

Gojo's gaze, having momentarily traced the shoreline, returned to the present moment. His eyes settled upon the man who sat with his back to him. Didn't he know better than to turn his back on a demon such as himself?

The corners of his lips curled upward even higher.

He sat down gingerly next to her, facing the forest, not speaking.

Utahime's intuition sensed the undercurrent of his curiosity, but no danger. Letting go of the anger that temporarily overcame her, she huffed out a heavy breath and continued eating. She was going to save the boiled egg for a later time as she wasn't too hungry, and her half-eaten meat bun lost its appeal.

This was a peace offering.

This was a bribe.

She repeatedly thought those words over and over as her nimble fingers peeled off the coarse orange layers of skin on one of the mandarins.

This was a bribe.

This was a peace offering.

Her fingers picked off the white fuzz on the delicate flesh of the mandarin, and without looking at Captain Gojo, she offered the clean, round ball of fruit to him. She didn't dare look at the man beside her.

She would lose one mandarin, but in return, hopefully, Utahime would gain much more from pandering and offering something to the oh so honorable one next to her.

Seconds ticked by as her palm held up the gift in the palm of her hand, and just as she was about to retract her hand, the fruit was gone. Utahime couldn't help but smile a little to herself.

After all, how did one tame an animal? By giving it food of course!

In this moment of shared peace, the unspoken exchange between them held a weight that transcended words. Utahime could sense the currents of thought that flowed beneath the surface, the thoughts that remained unspoken yet ever-present. She quickly began working on her own mandarin.

In the moments of silence that followed, Utahime found a certain solace in Captain Gojo's presence. He was pleasant company when he didn't speak or look at her.

"You," Gojo began, looking at the small mandarin in his hand. The fruit seemed almost puzzling to him. "Why are you always in my spot?"

She spoke too soon.

Utahime's fingers stilled in their task, her fingers pausing on picking away the white fuzz on the mandarin. Her eyes finally turned to the young man beside her. Her confusion was unmistakable, etched across her features as she met his gaze. She offered a genuine reply, "I don't understand what you are saying, Captain Gojo."

He then lazily smiled, looking up at the wide expanse of sky above him.

"This. Right here. Is my spot."

This boy was so immature! And it was only her second time here! She wasn't always here like some, some devotee!

Utahime's exasperation was plain, bubbling just beneath the surface as she navigated the absurdity of the situation. She felt an almost irrepressible urge to clench her hands indignantly. Anything to let out a physical outlet for the frustration that threatened to spill over. But her self-control prevailed, and her hands remained still, cradling the mandarin in her palm – an innocent bystander in the theater of their interaction.

Her incredulous feelings were reflected in her wide eyes. Her gaze was fixed on the figure beside her – a figure who, in his own unique way, seemed to embody a playful and juvenile disposition.

Utahime's perception of Captain Gojo's behavior was clear – his words and actions unveiled a side of him that was less serious, less restrained, and almost childlike in its approach. She found herself torn between diversion and frustration, caught in the whirlwind of his unexpected demeanor.

"I apologize," she replied seriously. She would never come to this spot anymore! "I will keep this in mind for future notice."

As Utahime continued to observe the smiling boy beside her – a boy whose smile danced on the edge between mischief, danger, and innocence – she felt a certain irony in the situation. Here they were, warriors in a world of battles and complexities, yet the interaction they were engaged in was more akin to almost teasing.

With her mandarin now skillfully prepared and ready to be enjoyed, Utahime's attention shifted back to the figure beside her – Captain Gojo, who exuded an air of expectancy.

The fact that Captain Gojo appeared to be waiting for her, his demeanor one of patient anticipation, piqued her interest even further. The question hung in the air, unvoiced yet present: Why was he waiting for her? What was the underlying motive behind this unexpected moment of pause? Did he think she poisoned him like he accused her early in the morning? Was he stupid? She literally peeled the offered fruit in front of him.

The idea that he might not like mandarins, which briefly flitted through her thoughts, was a plausible consideration.

"Do you not like mandarins?" she asked, raising a brow.

Captain Gojo's blue eyes shifted in her direction – an almost imperceptible movement that carried with it the weight of observation. His gaze settled on her face. The intensity of his stare was such that it could easily make her cheeks flush with a warm hue of embarrassment – a reaction that might have been expected in the face of such scrutiny from someone as strikingly (and begrudgingly) beautiful as he was.

"I have manners," he said nonchalantly.

So, he was waiting for her. How odd, Utahime couldn't help but feel perplexed by the development of his character.

However, her cool reaction was tempered by her awareness of the complicated nature of his character – the layers that existed beyond his exterior appearance. This awareness served as a barrier to the blush that might have otherwise crept onto her cheeks.

"Thank you?" she replied before gruffly adding. "Let's eat."

She split her mandarin into separate pieces.

Even as she felt the intensity of his gaze, Utahime remained rooted in her knowledge – a knowledge that rendered her immune to the allure that his appearance might hold for others. Her gaze met his without faltering, her expression a mix of curiosity and self-assuredness with a sense of awareness. For Utahime, the intensity of Captain Gojo's gaze did not elicit a blush, but rather a sense of unease – a sense of being under scrutiny, of being on guard.

Utahime's thoughts drifted to Lady Shoko. She pitied the woman. She would have to be with the immature man for a lifetime. Utahime could imagine how tiring it would be already!

With a simple and graceful motion, Utahime lifted a piece of the small orange fruit from her palm and brought it to her lips. The mandarin, plump and vibrant in its color, held the promise of a sensory journey.

As she bit into the fruit, the thin skin yielded to the pressure, releasing a burst of flavor dancing across her taste buds. The initial sensation was one of tanginess, a zesty note that tickled the senses and awakened her palate. The citrusy essence of the mandarin enveloped her tongue in a delicate embrace, painting her mouth with a symphony of vibrant and refreshing notes. The sweetness that followed was like a gentle wave that washed over her taste buds, filling her mouth with a delightful contrast to the initial tanginess.

"Ugh," Captain Gojo, whose reaction to the mandarin was less than favorable. His voice carried a note of discontent, an almost playful complaint that broke the silence of the moment, chewing with his mouth closed. "Sour."

His scrunched expression revealed his distaste – a frown tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked at the fruit in his palm with disgust.

"Would you like to trade?" offered Utahime, gathering the pieces in her hands. "This one is sweet."

Captain Gojo's skeptical gaze lingered on Utahime; his eyes fixed upon her as if she were a puzzle that eluded his understanding. The intensity of his stare held a certain bewilderment, an almost doubtful quality that he couldn't quite fathom her willingness to trade sweetness for sourness. His gaze dissected her, as if seeking to uncover the underlying motivations and thought processes that led to her choice. The fact that anyone would willingly embrace something sour baffled him.

Why would anyone exchange sweetness for sourness?

She patiently waited for his answer, looking up at him.

Hiko had the same doe eyes as his sister.

Captain Gojo nodded, exchanging his two sour halves for all the pieces of sweetness she offered him in the palms of her hands.

Utahime didn't mind sour things as she ate a piece. It was always refreshing.

"Sweet…" The immature boy next to her uttered.

The comment brightened her face as she ate the mandarin in silence, staring at the seemingly endless woods before her.

Life at the training camp settled into a rhythm flowing like the steady current of a river that dictated the ebb and flow of each day, bringing a sense of structure and routine to the passing weeks. The passage of time was marked by a series of activities, each one seamlessly transitioning into the next, creating a sense of order within the confines of the camp's routines.

As the sun began its ascent each morning, the camp would awaken to the call of a new day. The first order of business was breakfast. The clatter of utensils and the hum of conversations formed a backdrop to the start of the day.

With the meal concluded, the camp would erupt into motion that took the form of morning runs. The pounding of feet against the ground echoed with determination, a collective effort to push the boundaries of endurance and resilience. Utahime no longer hated running as much as her endurance and speed did raise!

Lunchtime brought a moment of respite albeit without the usual trip to the hill that overlooked the shoreline ever since Captain Gojo asked her why she was always there. Instead, she had a new spot!

In the afternoon, katas conducted by Captain Zenin took center stage. The precise movements were executed with strictness and intent. The sound of bodies moving in synchronization, the swish of weapons through the air.

As the day waned and the sun began its descent, dinner beckoned. She didn't eat very much again; instead, she shared the braised pieces of soy sauce chicken with Nanami and Haibara. The woman got up to put away her dishes when Nanami asked the following.

"Iori-san, are you going to wash up with us today?"

Never in her life. Never.

She smiled icily as she replied, "Ah, no. I am uncomfortable with other people."

It was out of character for Nanami to ask after her. Haibara was understandable, but Nanami was as reserved as possible. A by-the-books man.

"Why?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Captain was looking for you."

She wondered, trying to think back on the previous days, if she did anything to offend any of the three. "Which one?"

"Captain Gojo."

Gods, not that one. She blanched, unable to control her facial features. "Ah, the next time I see him-" Never, never, never! "I will ask him what he requires of me."

Nanami nodded before going back to the chicken that was once Utahime's.

Utahime's days, after Nanami's comment, at the training camp unfolded with a deliberate avoidance of Captain Gojo, a strategy that allowed her to maintain a sense of distance from the inscrutable figure who openly carried an air of danger. In her efforts to steer clear of his presence, she succeeded in not crossing paths with him – a feat that she regarded as a small victory in the complex landscape of their interactions.

However, today's training session was marked by an unexpected shift that was evident in the atmosphere hanging over the courtyard like a heavy cloud. As the samurai gathered in the open expanse, the courtyard took on a different energy, one charged with a sense of anticipation and apprehension.

The presence of all three captains in one place was an uncommon occurrence, a convergence of the authority figures sent ripples of unease through the participants. Captain Gojo's rare and unexpected appearance added an element of unease – the most telling twist that hinted at a change in the usual routine. Utahime's initial reaction was tinged with a sinking feeling that the training for the day might hold a challenge beyond the ordinary.

The sight of Captain Gojo's presence, alongside Captain Zenin and Captain Geto, seemed to reinforce the gravity of the situation. Utahime's apprehension deepened, as nervousness and curiosity took root within her. She found herself acutely aware of the weight of the moment, of the unspoken expectations that permeated the air.

As the samurai stood in the courtyard, the collective tension was intense. The anticipation was like a current, threading through the participants and drawing them into a collective sense of anticipation. Utahime, too, was caught in the grip of this anticipation, her heart pounding in her chest as she awaited the announcement that would unveil the nature of the day's ordeal and labor.

"They all look so nervous," laughed the White Yaksha in his training uniform. "Don't you think so too, Suguru?"

Captain Geto nodded in agreement before quipping, "Indeed, they are nervous, but that is okay. That is why they are here to be trained. It can't be helped that they are terribly green in the face of the unknown."

Captain Zenin was quiet, too quiet, as he simmered before the samurai with his hands crossed.

The courtyard seemed to hold its collective breath as Captain Geto stepped forward. His presence commanded attention, his demeanor a blend of quiet authority and a certain charm that carried its own magnetic pull. With a motion that was both graceful and commanding, Captain Geto clapped his hands – a sound that cut through the silence like a signal, drawing the focus of all those gathered. The resonance of the clap lingered in the air, an echo that carried with it the weight of his authority.

"Today we will be introducing a game," His voice, though soft-spoken, carried a quality that commanded attention and respect. The sound of his words filled the space, a steady cadence holding an air of assuredness and gravitas. "The game itself is not too serious."

Excuse her foul language, but that was the biggest piece of bull Utahime had ever heard.

"There are currently forty-eight of you – two of you were met with accidents – and there are three captains. This means there will be three teams of sixteen individuals," As his words reached the ears of those gathered, they carried with them a sense of purpose. The quiet charm that marked his demeanor was complemented by the firmness of his tone. "And this is a team game."

The announcement of the game's details rippled through the gathered participants, and the courtyard became a hub of whispered conversations and exchanged glances. The air was charged with a sense of anticipation, as Captain Geto's words unveiled the parameters of the challenge that awaited them.

The setting for the game was to be the forest. Utahime could almost imagine the dense canopy overhead, the interplay of shadows and dappled sunlight creating an ever-changing landscape.

Three distinct camps were to be marked with flags of different colors—blue, black, and yellow. The visual distinction was clear with each color representing a separate team. The mere mention of the flags conjured images of vibrant colors fluttering in the wind against the backdrop of the forest's verdant hues.

The game's objective was clear: capture the opposing team's flag and successfully bring it back to the barracks. The notion of retrieving a flag carried a sense of urgency and purpose as it was a mission that demanded strategic planning and cooperation. The allure of capturing a flag and the prospect of earning thirty points per successful capture ignited a competitive spark within the participants.

Once the flag was successfully captured and deposited back at the barracks, the team whose flag was captured would be essentially kicked out from the field.

Yet, Captain Geto's explanation added a twist to the game's dynamics. The accumulation of points from capturing flags wasn't the sole path to victory. Utahime's attention was captured by the mention of the colored markers – small tokens each participant would carry, and worth two points. Once the token was taken, the participant would have to retreat to the sidelines, unable to help their team anymore. The notion of markers introduced an element of subterfuge and strategy, prompting participants to consider not only offensive tactics but also ways to safeguard their markers and prevent them from falling into the hands of their adversaries.

Captain Geto's announcement carried the weight of authority as he began to outline the rules of the game.

The rules were designed to ensure both engagement and safety. Utahime listened intently, her focus sharpened by the knowledge that the parameters of the game would shape the experiences and interactions that would unfold in the forest. There were only two rules.

The first rule was straightforward and held a certain gravity – no fatal blows or attacks.

The second was prohibition against poisoning.

Yet, amid these restrictions, Captain Geto's words offered a sense of freedom. "Anything else you can think of is fair game if you do not kill or poison each other. Remember to use your resources, whatever that may be. The game will start in forty-eight hours so with your downtime, you can do whatever it is that you want."

The open-ended nature of this statement sparked a sense of possibility that participants were invited to employ creativity, strategy, and innovation in their approach to the game.

Captain Geto's words continued to weave a tapestry of intricacies and details, shaping the framework within which the game would unfold. The notion of order and strategy seemed to take center stage, as he proceeded to explain the method by which the teams would select their members.

The announcement that the order of team selection had been determined the previous day added a layer of intrigue. The sense of anticipation that had already been established seemed to intensify as the samurai imagined the sequence of events that would dictate the composition of the teams.

The term "snake draft" was a certain ebb and flow, a pattern that established a back-and-forth rhythm. The metaphor of a snake seemed apt – an image of movement and strategy, of seizing opportunities and adapting to changing circumstances.

The order of team selection was revealed, and the names of the captains corresponded to the sequence. Captain Gojo's team would be picking first, followed by Captain Zenin's team, and then Captain Geto's team with his pick. The cycle would then continue as Geto's team picked again, with Zenin's team picking and Gojo's team concluding the round with his pick before repeating it over.

The picking order reflected careful planning, offering a blend of advantage and challenge to each team. Captain Gojo's team had the initial opportunity to shape their roster while Captain Geto's team enjoyed the advantage of back-to-back selections – an advantageous position that could work with tactical prowess.

The realization that Captain Zenin's team had the least favorable picking placement accentuated the calculated nature of the arrangement. Utahime could almost sense the pressure that might arise from this placement as tensions reflected the competitive spirit amongst the captains. The dynamics of team selection were a microcosm of the larger game where strategy, timing, and choice would intertwine to shape the outcomes.

Now that the instructions were concluded, Captain Gojo stepped forward and smiled brightly at the soldiers before him. He then said, "Great! Now with formalities over, let's start. Team Gojo will be left, Team Zenin middle, and Team Geto right."

Gojo pinpointed his priority pick right away. "Nanami."

The rigid young man nodded, bowing in respect as he stood where he was directed to stand.

Captain Zenin sneered before announcing quickly, "Kashimo."

The man with the disheveled twin buns walked over without saying much.

Utahime paid close attention to the draft as it was a keyway of telling how the captains currently viewed the recruits and what they prioritized. Captain Geto would be the most interesting as he was ending the first round and starting the second-round draft right away. Would he pick Haibara or someone else?

Captain Geto then said, "Higuruma."

Utahime was almost surprised by his first pick, but the stoic man was a good pick. In fact, the crème of the crop was already mostly picked. Now who would Captain Geto pick next?

Captain Geto then said, "Higuruma, you must pick your teammate now. Oh, don't give me that look. It's not every day you get to choose your ally."

Higuruma's gaze swept across the assembled samurai, a contemplative look in his eyes as he made his decision. The moment seemed to hang in the air, as if the weight of his choice was emblematic of the strategies and alliances that were forming. With a decisive tone, he called out "Kusakabe."

Kashimo's immediate response added a swift rhythm to the proceedings, the name "Itadori Choso" resonating in the air. The choice hinted at a strategic decision, a calculated move that seemed to reflect both skill and potential.

Nanami's choice was marked by its clarity and certainty. The selection of "Haibara" was expected, a choice guided by an understanding of strengths and compatibility. Haibara's subsequent choice of "Ino" carried its own resonance as Team Gojo was looking to be comprised of full of friendship.

Utahime couldn't help but observe the various patterns emerging as choices were made. Some samurai seemed to prioritize bonds and personalities while others leaned towards strength and skill. The spectrum of motivations seemed to be on display, a reflection of the diverse perspectives that shaped each selection.

And then it was Choso's turn. Her curiosity piqued as he voiced his choice of "Ishigori."

To be honest, Captain Zenin's team was looking rather strong now with three heavy hitters on one team.

The process of team selection unfolded like a carefully choreographed dance, each choice and response adding to the rhythm of the moment.

Kusakabe's voice rang out, selecting "Mahito" with a decisiveness that hinted at his confidence.

Mahito's subsequent selection of "Amai" added a layer of intrigue, hinting at the dynamics and strategies that were at play. Each choice seemed to carry a certain weight, a consideration of skills, compatibility, and alliances that would be vital in the forthcoming game.

The cycle continued, with each name punctuating the air like a beat in a symphony of selection. Ishigori's choice of "Zenin Nobuaki."

Ino's selection of "Ichiji" added another layer to the unfolding narrative, setting the stage for the interplay of personalities and skills. Ichiji then went on to choose Daido.

The choices continued to cascade; each name called adding another layer to the tapestry of teams that were forming. Nobuaki's selection of his cousin "Zenin Renta" carried a certain familial connection.

Amai's discontent was unmistakable as he voiced his choice of "Takaba." The tone seemed to echo a desire for stronger options. Takaba's subsequent choice of "Miyo" carried its own resonance.

Renta's deliberate consideration in choosing "Hazenoki" was a moment of contemplation. Daido's selection of "Hari" seemed to complete a puzzle piece, bringing another participant into the fold.

The final choices seemed to mark a transition, as the remaining participants hailed from smaller, lesser-known clans. The names that followed echoed in the air, a reminder of the diversity and breadth of backgrounds that had converged in the courtyard.

Then, amidst the names and choices, a single name was called— "Iori Hiko." Utahime's heart skipped a beat as her own name was spoken, and she felt a mix of nerves and excitement.

With a deep, respectful bow, Utahime took her place beside Team Zenin.

Utahime wasn't going to lie… Her team, while strong in the physical sense, had incredible egos amongst them. Kashimo, Choso, Ishigori, and Zenin Nobuaki were all prideful men – while different – and in many ways were too similar. They just wanted to fight, and while that was great, that wasn't the point of the game.

Utahime didn't want to lose – she always played to win, and she had less than forty-eight hours to prepare.

No poisons, no killing, but everything else was free game. She thought long and hard as she stood in line for lunch. Her mind raced with possibilities and plans, every moment of the upcoming game analyzed and dissected in her thoughts.

Perhaps because they didn't really notice or care about her as she ate next to them, but Nanami and Haibara were discussing options of how to prepare for the game. Their words drifted to her ears, snippets of their discussions unveiling glimpses of their intended tactics. She listened intently; her curiosity piqued by the details that were being shared. Then came the revelation that caught her attention. Her ears perked up at the mention, her surprise and intrigue mingling. The realization was a game-changer, a strategy that could shift the balance of power.

Was that even allowed? It shouldn't be allowed!

Utahime almost wanted to strangle the two beside her as she heard bits of their preparation plan. Well, she supposed that was fair game. The plan was certainly a bold move, one that showcased their resourcefulness and their understanding of the game's rules. The fact that it didn't involve killing or poisoning aligned with the spirit of the competition, and she couldn't deny the strategic brilliance of their approach.

The men left as she continued eating slowly, pretending to pay them no mind.

Utahime's steps carried a sense of purpose as she approached Zenin Renta, her mind fixed on her goal. Among the formidable figures that made up her team, he appeared to be the most approachable, a potential bridge that could lead her to the commanding presence of Captain Zenin. Her heart pounded with a mixture of determination and anticipation as she considered the conversation that lay ahead.

As she neared Renta, she couldn't help but notice the subtle differences that set him apart from his cousins. There was a quality to his demeanor that seemed more open, less guarded, making her choice to approach him feel even more strategic. She was seeking not only an introduction but also a potential ally within the web of personalities that composed her team.

With a steadying breath, Utahime drew herself up, her posture reflecting her intent. She approached Renta with a blend of politeness and confidence, her words poised on the tip of her tongue. The anticipation of their impending conversation buzzed in the air, a sense of purpose hanging between them.

"Excuse me," she began, her voice carrying a tone of respect. "I hope I'm not intruding, but I was hoping to speak with Captain Zenin about a matter related to our upcoming game strategy. I thought it might be helpful to have an introduction."

Her words were carefully chosen, designed to convey her intention while also acknowledging Renta's presence on the team.

Renta turned his attention to Utahime, his expression thoughtful as he considered her words. His gaze held a certain curiosity, as if he was intrigued by the proposition she had just presented. He seemed to assess her for a moment, as if gauging her sincerity and intent.

"Ah, you're Iori, right?" Renta replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Utahime nodded, returning his smile with a polite one of her own. "Yes, that's correct. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Zenin-san."

Renta's smile widened, and he nodded in acknowledgement. "Please, just call me Renta. We're on the same team after all."

"Thank you, Renta-san," Utahime replied, appreciating his approachability. "I wanted to discuss our game strategy with Captain Zenin, considering his experience and leadership. I believe a coordinated approach could greatly benefit our team."

Renta's brows furrowed slightly as he seemed to consider her words. "Captain Zenin is quite focused on our training and preparations, especially for the upcoming game. But if you have insights or suggestions, I'm sure he would be open to hearing them."

Utahime nodded, her determination evident. "I understand the importance of training, but I believe a well-thought-out strategy could give us an edge in the game."

Renta's gaze held hers for a moment longer, as if assessing her resolve. "I appreciate your enthusiasm. Let me speak to Captain Zenin and see if he's available for a discussion. I'll do my best to arrange a meeting."

Utahime's heart leaped at his response, gratitude warming her expression. "Thank you."

While Utahime waited for the Zenin boy to come back to her regarding the matter with Captain Zenin, the woman decided to pay Lady Shoko a visit. The more she knew about the two other captains, the more insight she had and the easier it would be to make critical decisions. Lady Shoko, as the childhood friend of Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo, meant she knew them well enough, and she was also engaged to Captain Gojo. Surely there was some sort of information to be gleaned from the woman if they talked.

Heading over to the medical ward, she happened to cross paths with Lady Shoko and asked for a "checkup."

Lady Shoko nodded, "Sure, follow me."

The two were inside the private check-up room with the door locked behind them. Lady Shoko's willingness to accommodate her request hinted at a genuine concern for her well-being. Utahime appreciated the understanding, which made it easier for her to move on to the real reason behind her visit.

Lady Shoko then asked, "What's wrong?"

"I was wondering if you could medically excuse me for a few days during my periods," Utahime began shyly, choosing a feminine topic as the ice breaker for more information prying.

Lady Shoko nodded, and said, "Yes, no problem. I can always tell Suguru that I need an extra pair of hands for help around here, and I can request you personally since you did help me already."

"Great, thank you," breathed out Utahime. She then waited a heartbeat or two before starting, "Say, Lady Shoko, are you alright?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Utahime began. "You seem rather down. I'm sorry if I'm presumptuous in my brief observations but there is a cloud hanging over you so to speak."

Lady Shoko smiled, and then paused before looking over at the woman in a disguise briefly. They both had secrets – and since Shoko already knew hers, she supposed the other woman wouldn't go around spilling any secrets that were discussed in the medical room. She smiled then in jest said, "Well, I would share if I knew your name, Lady Iori."

Utahime blinked, trying to rationalize why the woman before her would want her name. "If I give you my name, does that mean we are friends?"

"Oh? I thought we were already friends."

Utahime smiled, and then said, "My name is Iori Utahime."

It felt liberating to say her name, to say who Utahime truly was.

"You have a beautiful name, Lady Utahime," Shoko smiled a bit. "Thank you for trusting me with your secrets."

"Thank you for keeping them," replied Utahime before she added, "I was serious when I said I would listen if you needed someone to listen."

Shoko didn't know why but the words made a singular tear fall from the corner of her eye as if those were the words she had been longing to hear. Her lower lip trembled briefly before Shoko took in a sharp breath and said, "Have you ever been in love, Lady Utahime?"

Utahime replied honestly, "No."

Shoko chuckled. "Love is a cancerous tumor that spreads, bringing you a little closer to death the more you fall."

"It sounds painful."

Lady Shoko snorted before saying, "I'm not in love with my fiancé. In fact, I'm in love with someone who I shouldn't be in love with. Satoru and I have been engaged for over six years, and at first, I did like him a little bit when we first got engaged. Then I realized what true love is – it's someone waiting for you with an umbrella when it rains, it's someone who tries their best to make you laugh even though they have a strange sense of humor, it's someone who steals your tobacco. It's someone who watches the sunrise and sunset with you."

Those details were rather specific, and it seemed as though from her description of Captain Geto, he was an emotional man despite his facades. Utahime noted that down as she nodded her head in understanding even if she didn't understand. She could at least sympathize and empathize. Utahime then asked, "You have had a long engagement, Lady Shoko. Are you unable to break it off to pursue the one you're – what it sounds like – mutually in love with?"

She shook her head, and another tear escaped from her eye, as she said, "I can't. We are to be married in seven months since my parents' deaths took six years of mourning. I am a terrible daughter. I was happy to observe the first three years of my father's passing, delaying the marriage. Then my mother passed, and I was happy, even grateful, once more to observe the mourning period. It gave me time I never thought I could have."

Utahime embraced the other girl, choosing to forget about her task she set for herself.

Lady Shoko was pitiful indeed.

The early morning meeting in Captain Zenin's private quarters marked a turning point for Utahime. As she entered the room, she was met with a surprising level of agreement and support from the members of Captain Zenin's team who gathered there. Utahime couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and determination.

Captain Zenin's rivalry with the other two captains seemed to fuel his enthusiasm for the game, and his team members, including Kashimo and Ishigori, were equally excited about the upcoming event. Utahime's detailed information about Team Gojo's plans served as a catalyst, sparking even more motivation within Zenin's team. Team Geto was full of discord as Mahito and Higuruma clashed.

The air was thick with anticipation and the knowledge that all the preparations were finally coming together. The meeting marked the culmination of Utahime's efforts to gather information, form alliances, and devise a winning strategy. Each piece of information she had collected, each connection she had established, was now contributing to a greater whole.

The sense of purpose and determination that had guided Utahime through her preparations became even more pronounced as she contemplated the approaching day of the game. The competitive spirit that had driven her throughout her life burned brighter than ever before. With her team and strategy in place, she was ready to give her all and play to win. Tomorrow's event promised to be a culmination of strategy, strength, and skill, and Utahime was determined to emerge victorious.

Knowledge was power, and intelligence could turn the tides of war.

Utahime's chosen lunchtime spot was now beneath the grand canopy of an ancient wisteria tree by the river. The sprawling branches offered her a refuge from prying eyes, a place where she could gather her thoughts in solitude. With a graceful climb, she ascended the tree, feeling the rough texture of the bark against her palms as she settled onto a sturdy lower branch.

There was a timeless quality about the wisteria tree, its branches reaching out like the arms of an old friend. The lush green leaves formed a natural screen, veiling her from the outside world. She placed her handkerchief on the branch beside her, creating a makeshift surface for the mandarins she was about to peel.

As she worked on peeling one of the mandarins, the motions were familiar and almost meditative. The scent of citrus mingled with the earthy fragrance of the tree, creating a calming ambiance. The river flowed nearby, its gentle murmur providing a soothing backdrop to her thoughts.

Utahime's fingers deftly peeled away the orange skin, revealing the juicy segments underneath. Each peel was like a small act of unveiling, much like the layers of secrecy she had been peeling away in her interactions with the captains and her fellow samurai.

Seated amid the branches of the wisteria tree, Utahime found a moment of respite from the intensity of the training camp. The quietude of the environment allowed her to reflect on her plans, her alliances, and the upcoming game. The tranquility of her lunchtime hideaway was abruptly shattered by a voice that seemed to materialize out of thin air.

"So, this is where you are."

Startled, Utahime's grip faltered, and her partially peeled mandarin slipped from her hand, falling towards the ground. But before it could meet the earth, an agile figure appeared, catching the fruit with an easy grace.

Captain Gojo's unexpected presence beneath the wisteria tree elicited a mixture of emotions within her. Surprise, annoyance, and a touch of resignation wrestled for dominance as she looked down at him from her perch. His presence was an unwelcome intrusion into her solitary moment, and she wasn't sure how to react.

Utahime's brows knitted into a scowl as she regarded him. She had chosen this spot for its privacy, away from prying eyes and curious gazes. Was he here to tell her that this was also his spot? Well, she refused to believe him! Over the past weeks, she had rarely glimpsed him anywhere nearby.

"Captain Gojo," she greeted wearily, looking down at him.

"Hiko," he said. "You stopped showing up at my spot."

She was confused. Didn't he virtually warn her off the last time she was on the hill?

Captain Gojo then said in a pouty voice, "I've been waiting for you every day since then. You're so cruel, going off without letting me know."

"I'm…sorry?"

Utahime's confusion deepened as Captain Gojo's response veered unexpectedly from what she had anticipated. His pouty voice and the accusation that he had been waiting for her left her momentarily taken aback. It was a stark contrast to the warning he had given her last time she had been on the hill, practically chasing her away.

She blinked, searching his face for any hint of jest or mischief, but his expression seemed genuinely put out. A small furrow formed between her brows as she tried to make sense of his words. This interaction felt like a strange puzzle she was trying to piece together.

His change in demeanor left her grappling for an appropriate response.

"I… didn't know you were waiting for me," she admitted, her tone still tinted with skepticism. It was hard to believe that someone who had shown such disinterest in her presence suddenly wanted her company.

She hesitated, then added, "I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression. I didn't think you'd want me around."

Her voice carried a hint of uncertainty, a vulnerability she rarely showed. This sudden shift left her feeling slightly off balance.

"It's fine," he said resolutely. "Make room."

He tossed the fruit up at her which she easily caught.

Utahime watched in surprise and curiosity as Captain Gojo made his way up the ancient wisteria tree. It was not a small feat given his tall stature, but he seemed to navigate the branches with an ease that suggested familiarity with climbing trees. She found herself instinctively making room for him on the sturdy branch, shifting her position to accommodate his arrival.

As he settled beside her, she noticed how his presence filled the space around them. He was an imposing figure, his physicality even more pronounced up close. Her eyes were drawn to the mandarin he had thrown up to her earlier, now resting in her hand.

Utahime's curiosity got the better of her.

"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice cautious yet genuinely inquisitive. She couldn't shake off a feeling – but she wasn't sure what that feeling was. She didn't have a name for it. "Do you need me to do something?"

He didn't say anything but motioned for her to continue peeling. That irked her, but Utahime focused on the task of peeling the mandarin, her nimble fingers deftly removing the skin to reveal the juicy segments within. She handed the peeled segments to Captain Gojo, a small gesture that felt oddly intimate in the quiet serenity of the moment. She then started peeling her own mandarin, the rhythmic motions of her hands providing a sense of familiarity amidst the unease she felt from his scrutinizing gaze.

As she worked, she couldn't shake the feeling that his eyes were on her, studying her every move. It was as though he was trying to decipher something about her, something that she wasn't even fully aware of herself. The silence between them was both comforting and unsettling, the river's gentle murmur serving as a backdrop to their quiet interaction.

He was waiting for her to finish peeling again.

Utahime's fingers moved with practiced precision, skillfully peeling away the mandarin's skin in thin, neat strips. The aroma of the citrus fruit filled the air as the fragrant oils were released with each delicate motion of her hands. She was aware of Captain Gojo's presence beside her, his piercing blue eyes still fixed on her, observing her every action.

As she peeled the last piece of skin away from the mandarin, she felt great relief.

"Let's eat," said Captain Gojo.

Utahime watched as Captain Gojo effortlessly broke his mandarin in half, a small smile playing on his lips. His casual yet expressive mannerisms never ceased to intrigue her. Following his lead, she carefully separated her mandarin into quarters, the bright citrus scent mingling with the fresh outdoor air. Utahime didn't say anything.

"Sweet," moaned the young man beside her. His reaction was almost comically exaggerated, his eyes closing as he let out a soft, satisfied whimper. Utahime had to stifle a chuckle, finding his reaction to a simple piece of fruit unexpectedly amusing. As she brought a segment to her lips, she couldn't help but glance at Captain Gojo out of the corner of her eye.

She plopped the segment in her mouth, allowing the juice to burst over her tongue. The sweetness exploded, a burst of flavor that was both refreshing and indulgent. The juice trickled down her fingers, and she quickly licked it away before it could drip onto her lap.

It was indeed sweet.

Too sweet.

She wished it was sour instead.

Notes:

Thanks for reading like always.

I would like to know your thoughts if you have any. :)

Chapter 6: Capture the Flag Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

6

Capture the Flag

General Gakuganji and General Yaga, deeply engrossed in their game of Shogi, waited for the reports from their captains regarding the results of the Capture the Flag groupings. The captains entered the room and stood before them, knowing the generals' expectations for their teams' performances. Without lifting their heads from the Shogi board, the generals listened attentively to the captains' reports.

General Yaga then posed a question, "Are you satisfied with your teams?"

Suguru was the first to speak, addressing the Generals, "My team is assembled and ready. While the choices weren't exactly as I envisioned, I believe we have a strong group that can work together effectively."

Satoru responded confidently, "I have full faith that my team will emerge victorious regardless of how they were selected."

Naoya's voice carried a tone of disdain as he spoke, his frustration evident in his words. "In all honesty, my team consists of only three individuals worth noting. The rest, I have zero confidence in their capabilities."

His words hung in the air, full of disappointment and cynicism evident in his assessment of his team's strengths. The generals listened attentively, acknowledging Naoya's frank assessment of his recruits. General Gakuganji's brow furrowed slightly, and he shifted his gaze from the Shogi board to Naoya, his expression was curious. General Yaga, on the other hand, maintained his steady focus on the Shogi pieces before him, his expression unreadable as he processed Naoya's admission.

Naoya's candidness about his team's shortcomings was a stark contrast to the confident declarations made by the other captains.

Gakuganji turned to the three young captains, his gaze sharp despite his focus on the game. "Present your sealed lists of names for the game. We will review them for preparation purposes."

The captains handed over their sealed lists, containing the names of their recruits for the Capture the Flag game. The young men were dismissed before the generals began reviewing the names and took note of the extra provisions requested by the recruits. General Yaga's tone carried a hint of exasperation as he reviewed Suguru's content, "Suguru's team requested nothing…"

Gakuganji followed up, noticing another extreme, "Naoya's team is overly prepared."

Then came the consideration of Gojo's team. Yaga's gruff demeanor spoke of his reservations, "And then there is Satoru's team. Should we grant approval for their request?"

Gakuganji weighed the options carefully before rendering his decision, "Their request falls within reasonable boundaries, and we shouldn't penalize them for adhering to the rules."

Yaga nodded, his stance softening in agreement. "Very well. Let it be settled then. We shall proceed with the arrangements as discussed."

With their judgments made, the generals returned their attention to their ongoing Shogi match, acknowledging the captains' diligence in forming their teams and ensuring that the preparations for the upcoming game were progressing as planned.

Utahime's frustration simmered beneath the surface as she kneeled before Captain Zenin's shoji door, her polite demeanor masking her annoyance. She knocked on the wood inlay beside the door, the sound of her knuckles against the frame echoing in the silence. Patiently, she waited for acknowledgment, her posture composed despite the tension she felt.

Minutes passed, stretching into an awkward silence broken only by the sound of her own breath and the rustling of leaves outside. The absence of a response began to grate on her patience, and her frustration deepened. She knocked again, this time with a touch more force, as if to emphasize her presence and her determination not to be ignored.

Finally, the sound of footsteps within reached her ears, accompanied by a certain brusqueness. The shoji door slid open, revealing Captain Naoya Zenin on the other side. His stance exuded irritation, his expression cold and unwelcoming. Utahime's gaze met his, her frustration mingling with a hint of apprehension as she took in his demeanor.

"What is it?" his voice came out with a sharp edge, each word laced with the same coldness that colored his expression. It was a tone that immediately made Utahime extra vigilant even when she was already on guard.

"Captain Zenin," she began carefully, keeping her eyes down as she swallowed her pride. "I don't understand the logic of the arrangement."

"You're here to complain?" he said, leaning against the doorframe of his private office. His speech began to get rougher, reverting to a country Kansai accent. He rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. "What s'it ya simpleton don'cha undastand?"

She was here to complain, but there was no way Utahime would ever admit that. She wasn't stupid. Instead Utahime's voice was measured as she responded, still maintaining a respectful tone despite the underlying frustration. "No, Captain. I'm here seeking clarification, not to complain. I'm sure there's a reasoning behind your decision, and I'd like to understand it better."

Captain Zenin's eyes narrowed slightly; his gaze fixed on her as if assessing whether her words held any ulterior motives. His posture remained casual, full of nonchalance and defiance emanating from him. He then repeated once more, "What part s'it ya don't understand?"

"Why is Zenin Nobuaki leading the charge?" spat out Utahime, keeping her head on wooden floor of the veranda she kneeled on. "I don't think he is…fit for the job."

He then sly retorted, "So first ya come here questionin' me, then ya insult and mouth off a member of the Zenin Clan. Ya don't know your place, hmm? Ya think ya can question me and my decisions because ya provided some little pieces of information anyone could've gotten? Ya thinks that makes ya better than a Zenin, puppy?"

"No," gritted out Utahime. Utahime's frustration burned brighter, fueled by Captain Zenin's condescending tone and his assumption that her intentions were arrogant or disrespectful. Her fists clenched briefly at her sides as she fought to maintain her composure. Despite the storm brewing within her, her voice remained steady as she spoke, her words measured but laced with an underlying assertiveness.

"I apologize if my questions came across as disrespectful, Captain," she replied, her tone cool and controlled. "I assure you; I hold no illusions about my position. My intention was merely to seek clarity on the rationale behind the team arrangements. I understand that you, as the captain, have the authority to make such decisions, and I respect that."

Captain Zenin's eyes bore into her, as if searching for any hint of insincerity in her words. He seemed to take a moment to assess her response before he continued, his voice still tinged with skepticism. "Ya best remember respect is somethin' ya gotta earn. I ain't got no respect for a runt like ya. I ain't got no time to be splain' my rationale especially to someone like ya."

To be frank, Naoya didn't have any reason for placing Nobuaki as team leader other than to make it more difficult for his team. He wanted to see them struggle and lose with an oaf in charge, but he wasn't about to tell that to the whelp kneeling before him.

Captain Naoya Zenin then said without an accent, "Now kindly fuck off."

He slammed the shoji door shut.

Utahime's frustration and irritation bubbled within her as Captain Zenin's words hit her like a slap across the face. No one in her life had ever spoken to her like that before. The absolute bastard. The implications of his response infuriated her, his disdain for her position clear in his words. When the shoji door was slammed shut in her face, anger and helplessness washed over her.

There was nothing she could do.

Slowly, she rose from her kneeling position on the veranda, her fingers gripping the edges of her hakama tightly. Her knuckles turned white as her frustration intensified, but she knew better than to escalate the situation. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down, reminding herself of the larger goal – the upcoming Capture the Flag game.

Resigned to the fact that her conversation with Captain Zenin had been unproductive, Utahime turned on her heel and made her way down the hallway. Her footsteps echoed softly against the wooden floor; her thoughts consumed by the task at hand. She needed to focus on the strategies and preparations for the game, putting aside the frustration that still lingered from her encounter with Captain Zenin.

As she walked, her mind churned with possibilities, assessing every aspect of the upcoming game. She knew that the competition would be fierce, and every decision made by the captains and their teams would play a crucial role in determining the outcome. Despite the challenges she faced, Utahime was determined to give her all, she simply didn't want to lose.

On the anticipated day of the Capture the Flag game, the air was thick with tension and excitement as recruits and captains alike gathered in the designated area. General Yaga and General Gakuganji, the high-ranking officials responsible for overseeing the proceedings, were present to ensure that the game unfolded according to the established rules and regulations. Their presence cast an air of solemnity over the event, underscoring the significance of the challenge ahead.

As the recruits assembled, Gakuganji's authoritative voice resonated through the area, cutting through the buzz of anticipation. His words were succinct and, to the point, a reflection of his no-nonsense attitude.

"We don't have much to say except don't kill each other," he declared, his tone carrying a stern warning. The weight of his gaze settled on Gojo, whose carefree demeanor seemed at odds with the gravity of the situation. It was a pointed reminder that even during competition, there were boundaries that must not be crossed.

Following Gakuganji's statement, General Yaga stepped forward to provide additional instructions. His demeanor exuded a sense of authority earned through years of experience. He addressed the gathered recruits with a measured tone that commanded attention.

"You all know where your camps are," he began, his words clear and concise. "Proceed to your designated camps, and when we receive word from the overseeing sergeants that everyone is in place, we will ring the gong to signal the start of the game."

General Yaga proceeded to mention that the teams were not bound to remain within the forest, hinting at the flexibility and creativity that could be employed to achieve their objectives. The recruits understood the forest provided both cover and obstacles, and their strategy would play a crucial role in determining their success. The game's dynamics were poised to shift and evolve as the teams navigated the changing terrain and their opponents' strategies.

"The game ends in two hours, or when a team captures all the enemy flags and returns it to General Yaga and I," said the older man, sipping on his green tea as he sat down on the makeshift area that was converted to a platform. "Remember, there will be eyes watching."

As the recruits dispersed to their respective camps, an intense tension and energy filled the air. The stage was set for a fierce competition, with the generals' watchful eyes ensuring that the game proceeded fairly and without compromise. The captains watched as the recruits split into three different directions. Naoya's team went east into the forest, Suguru's team went north, and Satoru's team went west.

As the recruits settled into their respective camps, Satoru's distinctive figure caught Suguru's attention. He watched with a mixture of amusement and disbelief as Satoru began to walk towards where his team was stationed. Suguru's confusion was evident in his furrowed brow as he turned to his friend.

"Where are you going, Satoru?" he inquired, his tone laced with bewilderment at Satoru's seemingly unorthodox actions.

Satoru met Suguru's gaze with a mischievous, boyish grin, his demeanor radiating an air of nonchalance. He responded with an almost carefree tone, "My team requested my help for this, so I answered the call. I'm part of their resources." The casual way in which he spoke contrasted with the significance of his participation, leaving Suguru momentarily taken aback.

Suguru's wide-eyed disbelief was met with Satoru's defensive response.

"Hey, don't give me that look," he retorted, his tone light but with a hint of defensiveness. "It wasn't my idea. Haibara came up with it."

The revelation that Haibara, Suguru's retainer, had suggested his participation added an extra layer of complexity to the situation.

Naoya Zenin snorted in response and directed his attention away from the interaction between the two other captains. He had his own plans for how to spend his time while the game unfolded such as take out his frustrations on the infantrymen by aiding them in their training.

Suguru's contemplative expression turned to the two Generals, who were engaged in a Shogi match nearby. He voiced his concern, questioning the legitimacy of having a captain participate in the game.

"Should having a captain participate be allowed?" he queried, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"It's not against the rules," General Yaga responded matter-of-factly, his tone indicating that he saw no issue with Satoru's involvement. Suguru's frustration only deepened as the answer left no room for his objections.

As Satoru continued to assert his confidence with an almost snooty tone, whistling into the forest, Suguru's thoughts churned with a growing realization. No wonder Satoru had been so self-assured. Naoya must have known about Satoru's participation as evidenced by his lack of surprise. The pieces were falling into place, and Suguru's team was facing a significant disadvantage. The brewing frustration within Suguru threatened to erupt, his internal conflict warring with his desire to maintain a composed demeanor.

Suguru's determination to address his team's situation head-on propelled him forward, but his movement was abruptly halted by the resonating voice of General Gakuganji. The imposing voice of the general intercepted Suguru's path, causing him to stop in his tracks. The exchange between them held a tense undercurrent, the weight of General Gakuganji's words seeming to question Suguru's intentions.

"Where are you going?" General Gakuganji's query was punctuated by a sense of authority that seemed to cut through the air. "Your team requested nothing; therefore, nothing shall be given."

Suguru's reaction to the general's words was plain. He clenched his teeth; he struggled to contain his internal frustration. His team requested nothing, leaving him seemingly without a direct role in the unfolding game, was a point of contention that only fueled Suguru's growing irritation.

As if defying the mounting frustration within him, Suguru's resolve remained unbroken. He gave General Gakuganji a measured, almost defiant glance before he abruptly turned away. The footsteps that carried him away from the battlefield seemed heavier, as if each step was laden with the weight of his unspoken frustrations.

Suguru's destination became clear as he navigated the barracks with a sense of purpose. His steps led him towards the medical wing, a location that promised a reprieve from the mounting tensions of the game. He sought solace in the medical wing's quiet confines, anticipating that the presence of one person and the calm atmosphere might help alleviate the frustration that had taken hold of him.

As he entered the medical wing, the contrast between the bustling preparations for the game and the tranquility of the healing space was immediately apparent. The hushed whispers and soothing presence of the medical staff created a sanctuary of sorts, a place where Suguru could momentarily escape the pressures that weighed heavily on him.

Within these familiar surroundings, Suguru could let his frustration simmer down. The clashing emotions that threatened to consume him began to ebb, replaced by a sense of relative calm. For the moment, he allowed himself to let go of the mounting tension, finding a temporary refuge from the storm that was the Capture the Flag game.

Suguru, with a heavy sigh and a sense of impending doom, couldn't help but acknowledge to himself that his team was likely in for a crushing defeat. Suguru felt a surge of emotions that verged on the edge of wanting to scream and curse, all while maintaining the veneer of calm composure.

"Suguru?" A soft voice spoke as a door opened.

Amidst the Eastern Camp's gathering, sixteen samurais stood, forming a motley crew brought together by the order of Captain Zenin. Utahime stood silently, watching, and waiting. As her gaze swept over her fellow comrades, her attention settled on one individual in particular: Nobuaki Zenin. The man chosen to lead them, with his nonchalant demeanor, held a position of authority that they were all expected to follow.

She couldn't help but narrow her eyes in concealed dislike.

Nobuaki's towering figure loomed, his brutish appearance exuding an aura of disinterest that belied the significance of the task at hand. The recruits were presented with an array of equipment and tools, each item carefully selected to aid them in their quest to capture the enemy's flag. The bamboo swords, decoy flags, and other assorted items lay before them like a display of potential strategies waiting to be implemented.

Among the items were a collection of bird whistles, bells, and rope, each serving a unique purpose in the upcoming game. The black pepper powder balls, a seemingly innocuous addition, hinted at the potential for creating distractions or thwarting enemy advances alongside the slingshot toys amongst them. The maps, meticulously crafted, offered a wealth of information that could potentially tip the balance in their favor. Pitfalls, traps, and the enemy camp's location were all laid bare, waiting to be exploited.

The recruits were all equipped with three tokens while the real token bore the Zenin clan tag, signifying their camp's allegiance. Among these tokens, two were counterfeit without the emblem.

As Nobuaki addressed the group, his words carried an air of nonchalance that contrasted with the gravity of the situation. His lack of a concrete plan left the recruits to navigate the challenge with a level of autonomy that was both liberating and daunting. His directive was simple: "Just win, okay?"

It was a sentiment that encapsulated the essence of their objective, yet the complexity of the game and the strategies required to secure victory were anything but straightforward.

Utahime's thoughts churned as she absorbed the weight of their situation. The lack of a clear plan from their leader left her with a mixture of determination and uncertainty. While her father's training prepared her for various scenarios, the unpredictable nature of the game and the diverse range of talents within her team made for a challenging landscape.

Despite the hurdles ahead, there was no room for hesitation. Utahime's resolve strengthened as she gazed at the array of tools and resources before her. She carried a light knapsack on her back as she knew there were an array of items she wanted to carry. She knew that her success hinged on her ability to adapt, strategize, and collaborate effectively with her team. With her mind set on victory, she steeled herself for the impending battle, ready to face the challenges head-on and prove her mettle on the field of Capture the Flag.

Utahime's gaze wandered upward, drawn by the intricate web of foliage that formed the dense canopy above. The forest's towering trees interlocked their branches in a natural mosaic, creating a labyrinth of greenery that obscured the sky. Having ventured into this forest on a few occasions, she couldn't help but be captivated by the sheer density of the canopy, a vibrant tapestry woven by nature itself.

As she stared upward, a thought occurred to her – a curious notion that tugged at the edges of her mind. The idea of traversing the forest's heights by walking from branch to branch beckoned to her imagination. Would it be possible? Were the upper reaches of the trees interconnected enough to allow for such a journey?

Utahime's mind played with the concept, envisioning herself scaling the trees' trunks and ascending to the uppermost branches. With each step, she'd carefully navigate the network of limbs and twigs, relying on her agility and balance to make her way through the canopy. The prospect of moving through the forest's upper layers held a sense of adventure and excitement – a daring feat that seemed almost fantastical in nature.

However, practical considerations tempered her imaginative musings. The forest's dense growth and the intricate tangle of branches presented challenges that couldn't be ignored. Were the branches strong enough to bear her weight? Could she maintain her balance amidst the swaying boughs and shifting canopy?

With a final glance at the canopy above, Utahime's mind shifted from the realm of possibilities to the realm of action. The forest awaited her, and the game was about to begin. Her gaze loosened from the canopy above to her teammates as they stood gathered within the Eastern Camp. Her agile frame and nimble nature certainly lent themselves to scaling the trees and navigating the treetop maze, but she chose to hold back for now, curious to observe the initial strategies of her team. A sense of anticipation hung in the air, each recruit silently contemplating the challenges that lay ahead.

As her fellow samurai selected their equipment, Utahime's discerning eyes took in the assortment of items laid out before them. The bamboo swords glinted in the dappled. She dismissed the idea of wielding one – her plan hinged on a different approach altogether. She grabbed all the items except for the bamboo sword. She grabbed all of fifty of the black pepper balls and two slingshot toys, putting it in her knapsack along with the rope, bells, and map.

Among the array of tools were fifteen decoy flags, each an imitation of the true prize. She also grabbed a flag. Utahime's attention then changed to the one who held the real flag, Zenin Renta. His grip on the emblem-clad flag marked him as the keeper. She mentally noted his position within the group. The plan forming in her mind required careful coordination, and knowing the whereabouts of the true flagbearer was crucial.

As the moments passed, they stood in readiness, awaiting the signal to begin. The gong's sound would mark the commencement of their endeavor, setting the wheels of the game in motion. Utahime's heart beat a little faster, a mix of excitement and determination coursing through her veins. She felt the weight of the challenge ahead, but also the potential for triumph.

In the distance, the ancient forest seemed to hold its breath, a silent witness to the unfolding strategy, camaraderie, and rivalry among the recruits. Utahime's thoughts focused on her plan, the unexplored heights of the canopy, and the exhilarating pursuit of victory that awaited her and her fellow samurai.

As the minutes ticked away, the anticipation in the air grew palpable, and Utahime found herself channeling her restless energy into testing one of her chosen tools. Her fingers deftly worked the slingshot, pulling back the leather sling with practiced precision. With her eyes fixed on a nearby wild apple, she released the sling, sending a pebble hurtling towards the fruit. A satisfying impact echoed through the air as the pebble struck the apple with accuracy, causing it to plummet from its perch about seven feet above the ground.

Taking in the result of her shot, Utahime allowed a hint of satisfaction to touch her lips. The slingshot seemed to be a viable option for her chosen approach, its range and accuracy aligning well with her plan to navigate the treetops. Eager to test the limits of the tool, she swiftly retrieved another pebble, her focus unwavering.

This time, she selected a more distant target – a tree trunk situated around fifteen to twenty feet away from her position. With the slingshot held steady in her grip, she gauged the angle and distance before releasing the pebble. The satisfying sound of impact resonated through the forest once again as the pebble struck the tree's bark with precision.

The prospect of utilizing the slingshot in the game had her intrigued. Yet, she was not one to rest on her laurels. Pushing herself further, she set her sights on a more challenging feat. Determinedly, Utahime adjusted her aim for a tree that stood at a considerable distance around forty feet away. The pebble whizzed through the air, not striking the tree at her intended spot as it fell flat towards the end. A small smile graced her features as she retrieved the pebble, acknowledging the tool's limitations and range.

Utahime's calculated testing revealed the slingshot's maximum effective range to be somewhere between twenty-eight to thirty-one feet. While it might not be a weapon of immense power, its accuracy and versatility made it an asset for her strategy. As the anticipation continued to build and the gong's ring drew closer, Utahime's mind was sharp, her tools chosen, and her determination unwavering.

The reverberating sound of the gong marked the beginning of the game, and Utahime's senses snapped to attention as she observed the actions of her teammates. As anticipated, the more combat-oriented members of the team, driven by their eagerness to secure victory, or rather just skirmish and fight, immediately sprang into action. She watched as they charged forward with their bamboo swords and maps in hand, their footsteps fading into the distance as they set off to engage in encounters.

While some part of her wished to be more directly involved in the immediate action, Utahime knew it was best for herself to take on a more supportive role. From her vantage point amidst the dense foliage of the treetops, she could maintain a steady gaze on Zenin Renta, the holder of the real flag. Her fingers idly traced the contours of the slingshot's leather sling as she mentally calculated the potential trajectories and angles she could utilize to provide support. Addressing Renta with a clear, focused voice, she communicated her intention to contribute to the team's efforts.

"Renta-san," she began, her words carried by a determined undertone. "I will follow you and keep watch from the treetops. If I spot any movements, I'll signal you with bird calls – once for Captain Geto's camp, twice for Captain Gojo's camp. If you hear three bird calls, it means we should retreat and run."

Utahime's strategy was centered around gathering intelligence and providing Renta with timely information. She understood that her contributions might not be immediately apparent on the battlefield, but she remained resolute in her determination to fulfill her role to the best of her abilities.

Utahime and Renta continued to move cautiously along the boundary of their camp, their footsteps light and deliberate to avoid drawing attention. It was evident that Renta had a strategy in mind, and Utahime respected his decision to keep the real flag on the move. This approach would make it harder for their opponents to predict their location, increasing their chances of protecting the flag.

Once they reached the forest's edge, Utahime made her preparations. She removed her shoes and socks, leaving them in her knapsack on her back to maintain stealth and agility as she climbed the ancient tree. Her bare feet and hands moved deftly over the rough bark and sturdy branches. The familiar sensation of the tree's texture beneath her fingertips and the whispering of leaves overhead brought her a sense of calm and focus. She wasn't afraid; Utahime climbed bigger trees back home.

As she settled into her chosen perch amidst the rustling leaves and dappled sunlight, she listened intently to the subtle symphony of nature – the distant calls of birds, the soft sighing of the wind, and the rustling of leaves. These sounds would serve as her allies, providing early warnings of approaching danger or opportunities to signal Renta with bird calls. She wasn't too far up – perhaps fifteen to twenty feet above ground.

Utahime's senses were attuned to every detail of her surroundings, her eyes scanning the forest floor below, and her ears finely tuned to the slightest disruptions in the natural rhythm. With unwavering focus and a sense of purpose, she awaited the unfolding events, prepared to play her vital role in securing their team's victory.

Kashimo, accompanied by Choso and Ishigori, approached Gojo's camp with bold determination. They advanced swiftly, their movements marked by confidence and audacity. The trio paid little heed to subtlety, and their laughter echoed through the forest like raucous barks. As Kashimo charged forward, he suddenly felt the ground beneath him tremble and shift. It was a trap, a pitfall concealed expertly beneath the forest floor. With lightning-fast reflexes, he managed to evade the gaping hole that threatened to swallow him whole. His quick reaction saved him from an embarrassing and potentially risky fall.

Though momentarily annoyed by the trap, Kashimo didn't let it deter him. Instead, he pressed onward, his determination unwavering. Choso and Ishigori followed closely behind, their laughter undiminished by the near miss.

"You see that!" Ishigori's laughter rang through the forest as he taunted Kashimo for his near miss with the pitfall trap. His amusement was evident in his boisterous howl, a stark contrast to the seriousness that now marked Choso's expression. "Kashimo flinched so hard!"

Choso, unfazed by the banter and the close call, wore a confident smirk. His eyes gleamed with determination as he contemplated their upcoming encounter with Captain Gojo's camp. He didn't shy away from the prospect of competition; instead, he embraced it eagerly. His words carried a weight of ambition as he declared, "One less competitor to fight against Captain Gojo. I want to go first."

Choso's words had hardly left his lips when an unexpected and devious trap snared him. With a swift and unexpected movement, he found himself strung up by one ankle, suspended from a tree. As he dangled helplessly, his intense and angry gaze locked onto Ishigori and Kashimo. But his teammates, far from offering assistance, erupted into raucous laughter. Their unrestrained mirth filled the forest as they pointed fingers at their trapped comrade, seemingly reveling in his misfortune. Choso's stern glare conveyed a mixture of irritation and frustration as he confronted the merciless jests of his comrades, caught between the desire to break free and his own mounting embarrassment.

"Well, well," Mahito's sly and charming voice echoed through the forest, the atmosphere took on an unsettling tension. "Look what we have here? A strung up Choso ripe for the picking!"

The team's playful banter quickly dissolved into action as Ishigori, his demeanor shifting from laughter to combat readiness, lunged in the direction of Mahito's voice. His bamboo sword clashed sharply with Mahito's, a clash of wills and blades amidst the dense forest. Ishigori's confrontation with Mahito was full of aggression and cunning within the confines of the dense forest. The ambient sounds of rustling leaves and distant bird calls were drowned out by the clashing of bamboo swords and the occasional crack of branches underfoot.

Mahito, the sly and enigmatic opponent, moved with a fluidity that bordered on unnatural. His movements were deceptive, almost serpentine, as he countered Ishigori's attacks effortlessly. Each time Ishigori swung his bamboo sword, Mahito swayed out of its path with uncanny grace, his form blurring as he sidestepped and parried with almost preternatural speed.

Ishigori, on the other hand, was all raw power and determination. His strikes were fierce and unrelenting, fueled by a desire to best his opponent. His movements were less graceful than Mahito's, but they were backed by brute force and unwavering resolve. The bamboo swords clashed with resounding force, sending vibrations up their arms with each impact.

Their skirmish was a clash of styles and philosophies. Ishigori relied on sheer strength and aggression, seeking to overpower Mahito through sheer force of will. Mahito, in contrast, was the embodiment of agility and misdirection, using finesse and evasiveness to outmaneuver his opponent.

As the battle wore on, it became clear that Mahito was toying with Ishigori, dancing on the edge of danger but never crossing it. His sly smiles only fueled Ishigori's anger, making him more reckless with each passing moment.

Meanwhile, Choso, still helplessly suspended from the tree, attempted to free himself. His arms strained as they reached desperately for the knot binding him, but his body's lack of flexibility hindered his progress.

Desperate for assistance, he called out to Kashimo, who was momentarily unoccupied. "Kashimo, give me a hand here," he said.

Kashimo began to move towards Choso, ready to lend a hand. However, his intentions were abruptly disrupted when Higuruma and Kusabe rushed at him, brandishing their bamboo swords. Kashimo sprang into action, evading their attacks with agile acrobatics. The clang of bamboo swords filled the air as he jumped away from their strikes, narrowly avoiding a dangerous blow from Higuruma. Higuruma immediately shifted himself as he swung upwards, nearly catching Kashimo.

Meanwhile, Haibara seized the opportunity to stealthily approach Choso's suspended form. Swiftly, he swiped a token that fell from Choso's pocket. With a mischievous and teasing smile, Haibara expressed his gratitude with a cheeky, "Thank you for your hard work!"

Choso protested, "Hey!"

Haibara stuck out his tongue at Choso and made his way back as quietly and stealthily as possible. However, as Haibara inspected the token he had acquired more closely, he realized it was a fake – it lacked the Zenin emblem that should have been there. The revelation left him feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Amidst the chaos, a sword whizzed through the air, narrowly missing Haibara. He spun around, a gulp of fear escaping him, only to find Choso, freed from his predicament, bearing down on him with a menacing and determined expression. The situation escalated into a perilous showdown, the forest echoing with the clashing of bamboo swords and the palpable tension of the game.

Choso said dangerously, "Where do you think you're going?"

Choso and Haibara stood on the forest floor, their eyes locked in an intense gaze as they read each other's bodies for their readiness for combat. The forest around them held its breath, the rustling leaves and distant bird calls fading into the background as the two samurai prepared to clash. Choso's fingers tightened around the thin branch he picked up, his grip firm and confident. He had the air of a seasoned warrior, a man who faced countless opponents and honed his skills to a razor's edge. His stance exuded power and control, and his eyes bore the determination of someone who would stop at nothing to achieve victory.

On the other side, Haibara's expression shifted from its earlier playfulness to one of stern resolve. He may have been aware of the difference in experience between him and Choso, but he had never been one to shy away from a challenge. His bamboo sword was held with both hands, its wooden hilt a natural extension of his body. His muscles coiled, ready to unleash his own brand of skill and tenacity.

The silence between them was broken only by the gentle whisper of the wind through the trees. Each samurai waited for the other to make the first move, their anticipation building with each passing moment.

The tension in the air was thick, and finally, it was Choso who broke the silence. With a low, rumbling voice, he said, "You've got guts, Haibara, I'll give you that. But that won't be enough to beat me."

Haibara's response was a tight-lipped smile, his eyes never leaving Choso's. "I've heard you're quite the formidable opponent, Itadori. Let's see if your reputation holds up."

With that, Choso lunged forward, his branch whistling through the air as he aimed a swift strike at Haibara's head. Haibara, quick on his feet, sidestepped the attack, his bamboo sword moving in an arc to deflect Choso's branch. The impact sent vibrations through Haibara's arms, but he held his ground.

Choso didn't relent; he pressed his assault, his movements fluid and precise. It was clear that he mastered the art of combat over the years, and each strike he delivered was calculated to test Haibara's skill and resolve. Haibara, however, matched him move for move, his bamboo sword a blur as he blocked and countered with lightning speed. The clash between them continued, the forest echoing with the sound of their wooden weapons meeting in a symphony of strikes and parries.

The longer the battle waged on, the more apparent it became that Choso held a clear advantage. His strikes were precise and powerful, and he anticipated Haibara's every move, reading the younger man. Haibara, on the other hand, was starting to show signs of fatigue. Beads of sweat streamed down his forehead, and his breaths came in shorter, shallower gasps.

Choso saw the signs of Haibara's weakening resolve, and a predatory grin crept across his face. He increased the tempo of his attacks, pushing Haibara back step by step. Haibara's bamboo sword felt heavier in his grip, and he struggled to keep up with Choso's relentless assault.

As Choso's branch came down in a swift overhead strike, Haibara barely managed to block it in the nick of time. The force of the blow sent a shockwave through his arms, and he winced in pain. He knew he couldn't keep this up much longer.

Choso pressed forward, his advantage undeniable. With a quick feint, he disarmed Haibara, sending his bamboo sword flying through the air and landing several feet away. Haibara stood defenseless, beads of sweat and dirt streaking his face. The samurai with the black war paint drawn across his face widened his grin as he raised his branch for a finishing blow, but before he could strike, a loud, echoing bird call pierced the air, freezing both combatants in their tracks.

Three sharp, distinct calls signaled the need to retreat.

Notes:

Thanks for reading like always, and I would like to know your thoughts if you have any.

Chapter 7: Annoying - Suspicious Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

7

Annoying - Suspicious

Haibara's eyes widened, and he seized the opportunity, diving for his fallen bamboo sword. With a swift motion, he retrieved it just as Choso's branch slammed into the ground where he had been standing moments earlier.

Utahime, perched in the treetops above, made the birdcalls, signaling their team's retreat. It was a lifeline for Haibara, a chance to escape an almost certain defeat. Choso cursed under his breath, realizing that victory had been snatched away from him at the last moment.

Haibara, still panting heavily, retreated quickly, leaving Choso seething with frustration. The battle ended in a stalemate, but it was clear that Choso came dangerously close to claiming victory.

Captain Gojo's entrance into the clearing had an electrifying effect on the battlefield. His confidence and charisma radiated like an aura around him. As he emerged from the forest shadows, his signature circular bifocals perched on his nose, the blue flag of his team proudly tied around his arm, a grin stretched from ear to ear. His demeanor was that of someone who knew they were about to turn the tide of battle in their favor. Captain Gojo's footsteps, as he confidently strode into the clearing, echoed like a war drum, drawing everyone's attention. His stark white hair framed his striking face, and his eyes, hidden behind the round, tinted bifocals, held a glint of mischief and determination. The blue flag wrapped around his arm billowed gently in the breeze, the symbol of his team's infallible dominance.

As he surveyed the chaotic battlefield, his grin only seemed to widen, and his self-assured demeanor added to the anticipation in the air. The competing samurai teams reacted to his appearance like a shifting tide.

Naoya's team, despite expecting it, still couldn't help but be taken aback. The realization hit the samurai like a tidal wave. They now understood exactly why Iori called for a retreat when they'd spotted Captain Gojo sauntering into the clearing. They recognized facing Captain Gojo was an opportunity to prove their mettle. Some exchanged quick glances of determination, eager to face this challenge head-on. Others, however, wore expressions of apprehension, knowing that Captain Gojo's involvement meant they were in for an uphill battle.

On the other side of the battlefield, Suguru's team wore expressions that ranged from annoyance to frustration. They clearly hadn't anticipated Captain Gojo's involvement, and his sudden appearance was akin to a massive headache. The ongoing skirmishes halted abruptly as the samurai on both sides turned their attention to the charismatic captain who couldn't conceal his excitement. Their annoyance was plain to see. Their brows furrowed deeply, and they exchanged frustrated whispers. It was as if Captain Gojo's appearance disrupted their carefully laid plans.

In that moment, the clearing transformed into a tense arena. The samurai from all teams stood taller, their bodies tensed, eyes locked onto Captain Gojo. It was as if they were wild animals, suddenly aware of a dominant, apex predator in their midst. The samurai braced themselves for the clash that was sure to come, their senses heightened, and their determination steeled. The samurai present held its breath.

Despite Captain Gojo's seemingly solo entrance, the samurai couldn't shake the feeling that there might be more to this situation than met the eye. A sense of wariness hung in the air like a shroud of uncertainty that draped over the battlefield. As they stared at the captain, an internal alarm rang within the minds of the competing samurai. They recalled the primary objective of the game: to capture the enemy flags and obtain their tokens. With the blue flag prominently displayed on Captain Gojo's arm, it became glaringly apparent that the team's most valuable possession was right before their eyes, tantalizingly within reach. The focus of each samurai was now solely fixed on the blue flag tied.

The atmosphere in the clearing grew even tenser, like a bowstring pulled to its limit, ready to snap.

Mahito made the first move, darting from Ishigoro straight to Captain Gojo. His sword swinging wide. Mahito's attack was nothing short of a lightning bolt, showcasing his speed and precision. The bamboo sword he wielded sliced through the air with a razor-like swiftness, his body coiled like a spring ready to strike. It was a move that showcased both his confidence and his ruthless determination, an unwavering belief in his ability to take down even the most formidable opponents.

Yet, Captain Gojo stood there with an almost amused expression, his confidence unshaken. He made no attempt to dodge, parry, or counter Mahito's assault. His stance remained relaxed, almost casual, a stark contrast to the charging enemy.

Nanami emerged from the shadows like a silent sentinel, his movements a perfect blend of precision and control as he intercepted Mahito's swing. His bamboo sword clashed with Mahito's, creating a symphony of clashing wood and fierce determination. Nanami swung back hard, forcing Mahito to divert his attention and defenses, effectively thwarting his attack on Captain Gojo. Mahito backed up, blocking Nanami's calm and precise slashes.

Nanami's bamboo sword struck with precision and finesse, its wooden blade catching the thin string that held Mahito's token. The string snapped under the force of Nanami's attack, a swift and unexpected maneuver that left Mahito momentarily stunned.

The token, once securely fastened to Mahito's person, now dangled precariously from the broken string that flew high in the sky. It swayed gently in the air, almost as if taunting Mahito with the imminent loss of his precious prize. Nanami, with his usual calm and calculated demeanor, pulled his sword back. His eyes remained locked on Mahito, a silent challenge in his gaze, as if daring him to make a move as the token came back down to the earth, landing silently on the grass between the two samurai.

Captain Gojo's smile widened as he surveyed the unfolding spectacle. His bifocals glinted in the dappled sunlight as if he reveled in the chaos, enjoying every moment of the confrontation. Then, in a show of both confidence and sportsmanship, Captain Gojo addressed the watching crowd with a tone of indulgence.

"Let me teach you all a little bit about fighting," he declared, his voice carrying effortlessly through the clearing. "I'll even give you a handicap. I will only use one arm to fight."

Utahime, perched high in the ancient tree's canopy, watched as the feathered messengers scattered in all directions in the distance, their alarmed cries echoing through the forest. From her vantage point, Utahime had an unobstructed view of the forest floor below, and her senses were now on high alert. Her ears strained to catch any sounds, her eyes scanned for movement among the trees, and her skin prickled with anticipation.

She was above Camp Geto, and if she descended, the flag was easily retrievable.

Renta sent her on a mission to retrieve Camp Geto's by herself as he stayed near the forest's edge. As Utahime stealthily moved through the dense forest's foliage and shadows, the realization about the Zenin cousins and their approach to teamwork nagged at her thoughts. The thick foliage enveloped her in shade, and the faint rustling of leaves seemed to echo her contemplative mood.

It had become increasingly evident that the Zenin cousins, perhaps even including Captain Zenin, preferred to delegate tasks rather than actively engage in the physical aspects of the mission. While this might have been a strategic decision, it also raised questions about their willingness to share the hardships and responsibilities with their fellow samurai.

The forest's ambiance, with its subdued colors and muffled sounds, mirrored her thoughts. Utahime continued her mission with cautiousness. Utahime's senses were acutely tuned to any disturbances in the forest's natural rhythm. The whispering leaves, the babbling brook, and the occasional scurrying of small animals were all part of the intricate tapestry of sounds that enveloped her. Any deviation from this symphony could be a sign of an approaching threat or an opportunity to gather crucial information about the enemy's movements.

The forest itself came alive with the energy of the game. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, creating shifting patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor. The scent of moss, earth, and the faint fragrance of wildflowers filled the air, masking any human presence with the forest's own fragrance.

Utahime remained still as a shadow, her body perfectly concealed amidst the leaves and branches. Her heartbeat steadily in her chest as she waited, knowing that the key to success in this game was not only to capture the enemy's flag, but also to outwit and outmaneuver her opponents. The forest was her ally, and she would use it to her advantage. Every rustle of leaves, every distant footfall, and every bird's cry could be a clue to the unfolding drama of the game.

Amidst the forest's hushed symphony, Utahime's keen eyes spotted her target – Ichiji, a man of distinct features and an aura of indifference hanging about him like a shroud. His slim figure moved benignly, a stark contrast to the chaotic atmosphere of the Capture the Flag game. With his mid-length black hair and those characteristic clear bifocals, he appeared almost scholarly, like a lone academic during an unpredictable experiment.

Utahime watched from her concealed vantage point as Ichiji approached the flag's location. His sunken cheeks and the perpetual air of boredom that clung to him gave the impression of a man who had seen it all and was now enduring the mundane with resignation. As he neared the flag's presumed location, his every movement exuded caution.

The quiet rustling of leaves and the soft murmur of the forest's secrets served as the backdrop to this tense moment. Utahime observed, her eyes locked on Ichiji's every subtle gesture, as he methodically searched the ground for traps and pitfalls, staying true to his meticulous nature, and his focus on the task at hand was unwavering.

With utmost care, she plotted her next move, a silent shadow among the trees. She waited to see if anyone else would come as the man undid a trap meticulously. Utahime's nimble fingers gripped the slingshot she secured earlier. Her heart pounded with both anticipation and caution as she plotted her approach to the flag. The dense canopy overhead cast fleeting patterns of sunlight and shadow on the forest floor, adding to the suspense of the moment.

Ichiji continued his thorough search for other traps, and his concentration unbreakable. However, Utahime was not one to underestimate her own skills. She knew she had to seize the opportunity presented.

With deliberate precision, Utahime pulled a pebble from her pocket and fitted it snugly into the sling. She drew back the leather pouch, her fingers taut and steady. The forest held its breath as she aimed for a cluster of leaves near Ichiji, choosing to create a distraction that would divert his attention just long enough.

Releasing the pebble, it shot forward like a dart, piercing the air with a soft hiss. It struck the leaves she aimed for, producing a rustling sound that echoed through the forest. The leaves rustled, and a soft thud followed as it tumbled to the ground.

Ichiji halted, his head snapping towards the source of the noise, his clear bifocals glinting in the spotted sunlight. Utahime's heart raced as she watched his reaction with bated breath. This was her moment – the crucial window of distraction she needed to approach the flag undetected. She quickly descended the tree – her noise sounding almost like the scattering of a small woodland creature.

As Ichiji cautiously advanced towards the source of the sound, Utahime moved with silent grace. Her bare feet made no sound as she glided through the underbrush, avoiding twigs and leaves that might give her away. She kept herself low to the ground, using the terrain to her advantage.

Closer and closer she crept, the flag now within her reach. Her eyes darted between Ichiji's figure and her objective. She could almost feel her heartbeat echoing in the stillness of the forest.

Utahime's fingers brushed against the fabric of the flag, and she carefully detached it from its location. She held her breath, praying that the slight rustle of the cloth didn't reach Ichiji's ears. Ichiji continued his cautious approach, his attention fully consumed by the distraction. Utahime succeeded in diverting him long enough for her to secure the flag. Now, all that remained was the token that fell from his pocket onto the ground nearby him.

Utahime was greedy, eyeing the token like a hungry hawk.

With the flag concealed on her person, Utahime prepared for the next phase of her mission. She couldn't afford to be complacent, not with the prize within her grasp and Ichiji still a potential threat. Utahime's keen eyes stayed locked on Ichiji, who was now crouching down to examine the source of the noise. She had the flag tucked into her knapsack, and her focus shifted to the fallen token. As Ichiji scrutinized the area, Utahime observed his movements, looking for an opening. She noticed a momentary lapse in his attention, a subtle relaxation in his posture.

It was her chance.

Silently, Utahime devised a quick plan. She would create a diversion to draw Ichiji's attention even further away from the flag's location. She picked up a small stone and, with a swift flick of her wrist, sent it sailing through the dense underbrush. The stone struck a nearby tree with a sharp thud, creating a distracting noise.

Ichiji's head snapped in the direction of the sound, his focus momentarily shifted. It was all the opportunity Utahime needed. With swift and stealthy movements, she retrieved the token from the floor. The token was secured, and Ichiji remained oblivious.

Utahime retreated several steps, ensuring she remained hidden and silent behind the thick foliage. Her heart continued its rapid rhythm, but the hardest part was over. Now she had to make her way back to her own camp without detection.

Ichiji, seemingly satisfied that the noise had been nothing more than the wind, straightened up. Utahime watched him for a moment longer to ensure he wouldn't suddenly turn back, and then, with utmost care, she began her retreat. She moved slowly and deliberately, placing each footstep with precision to avoid snapping twigs or rustling leaves. Every rustle of the wind and chirping bird conspired against her, but she pressed on.

Minutes felt like hours as she navigated the forest, her senses heightened to the slightest disturbance. Finally, the familiar boundary of her camp came into view, and she allowed herself a small sigh of relief.

The stillness of the forest set Utahime on edge. She returned to her camp with the token and flag, successfully completing her mission, but something didn't feel right. The absence of noise, the eerie calm, was unsettling. Utahime expected the forest to be filled with the sounds of battle, the shouts and clashing of bamboo swords, the rustling of leaves as participants moved through the dense underbrush.

But instead, there was silence, a silence that pressed in on her.

She crouched low, her senses on high alert. Her eyes scanned the camp, searching for any sign of movement or disturbance. The other members of her team were nowhere to be seen. She went back to the clearing, and it was empty. Utahime couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease.

Where had her teammates gone? Why was it so quiet? Had something happened in her absence?

With a sinking feeling, Utahime realized she needed to investigate further. She couldn't let her guard down now. As she ventured deeper into the camp, her every step was measured, her senses finely tuned for any hint of danger.

The forest enveloped Utahime in a hushed stillness, an eerie calm that held its collective breath. It was as if the very trees were aware of the tension that hung in the air, and Utahime couldn't shake the feeling that she was stepping into uncharted territory. Each step she took among the ancient trees was measured, cautious, and filled with a growing sense of unease.

The towering trees provided a temporary refuge, their branches offering her an elevated vantage point that she hoped would ease her troubled mind. Her movements through the forest canopy were a ballet of precision and grace, each branch supporting her weight as she scaled higher into the treetops. Her heart pounded in her chest as she ventured even further aloft, her body hidden amidst the dense foliage.

From this vantage point, she spotted the trio of figures below, distinct in their postures and silhouettes. Captain Gojo, Haibara, and Nanami stood together, engaged in a conversation.

Utahime remained perfectly still, her body pressed against the thick branches as if she were one with the forest itself. The foliage acted as her cloak, masking her presence, and her honed senses kept her acutely aware of her surroundings. She strained to listen; her ears tuned to catch the faintest whispers carried on the breeze.

"They were prepared," Nanami's voice reached her ears first, his words carrying on the wind like a faint echo. He held in his hands one of the fabricated decoy flags, his stern gaze fixed upon the fake tokens. His observation was meticulous, a testament to his unwavering dedication to the mission.

"We have seven tokens from Captain Geto's team," Haibara's voice followed, a tone of concern tainting his words. "And we have nine tokens from Captain Zenin's team. We are down ten men, and currently, the Zenin and Geto flags are missing."

Utahime's heart quickened. This was crucial information, and the stakes were high. She strained her senses further, intent on capturing every word, every nuance of their discussion. Suddenly, Captain Gojo's presence surged, his piercing blue eyes casting an upward glance that sent a shiver down Utahime's spine. Panic gripped her for a fleeting moment.

Had he somehow detected her presence?

It seemed impossible given her meticulous concealment. She buried herself deeper into the leaves and shadows, hoping against hope that she remained hidden.

Gojo's gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer on the canopy above, a disconcerting uncertainty lingering in the air. Utahime's heart raced as she watched him refocus his attention on the subordinates reporting to him, her thoughts racing to decipher the implications of what she had just overheard.

As Utahime hunkered down in her covert vantage point, the forest's solemn embrace muffled the voices of the three figures below. She strained her ears, catching only fragments of their conversation like scattered puzzle pieces she struggled to assemble into a coherent picture.

"…split…stayed grouped. Check the edges…" Captain Gojo's commanding voice pierced the stillness, his words laden with strategic intent. The urgency in his tone hinted at the gravity of the situation, emphasizing the need for caution and vigilance.

Utahime's view through the gaps in the foliage allowed her a fleeting glimpse of Captain Gojo. He had their team's flag secured to his forearm, a detail that hadn't escaped her watchful eyes. The fabric of the flag, once taut, now hung loosely, a hint that had her teetering on the edge of frustration and resignation.

Her determination to retrieve the blue flag from Gojo had waned, replaced by a growing sense of pragmatism. She weighed the risks against the potential rewards. It wasn't just the flag she had in her hands at stake; it was the idea of winning with what she had versus complete dominance as the blue flag enticed her greatly.

Camp Gojo held neither Team Geto's flag nor Team Zenin's. The precariousness of their situation, where each flag represented a lifeline, weighed heavily on her mind. Utahime's internal debate raged on, her gaze flickering between the trio below. The forest continued to hold its breath, as if awaiting the outcome of her decision with bated anticipation. Her heart pounded in her chest as she remained hidden among the leaves.

Utahime's resolve solidified as she decided to abandon the pursuit of Captain Gojo's flag. She shifted gracefully, rising from her prone position on the sturdy branch. With fluid grace, she navigated the intricate web of branches and leaves, moving silently and effortlessly as though she were a part of the forest itself.

Her footsteps on the treetops were as soft as the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze, her movements guided by an instinct honed through years of training at her father's hand and playing tricks. She moved with fluidity, her presence barely noticeable, even to the keenest of observers. As she continued her careful progress through the treetops, Utahime's sharp eyes didn't miss a beat. She spotted more members of Team Gojo down on the forest floor, their figures moving with purpose amidst the underbrush.

Utahime paused for a moment, a pensive expression on her face as she considered her options. Her thoughts raced, and a question surfaced in her mind: would it be wiser to make her way toward the clearing if Team Gojo was scattered all over the eastern side of the forest? The clearing, she reasoned, might provide her with a better vantage point to gather information and assess the overall situation.

With her decision made, Utahime resumed her journey through the treetops, moving with quiet determination. The forest, with its towering sentinels and stippled sunlight, concealed her movements like a shroud, and she remained vigilant, ready to adapt.

Utahime's nimble ascent through the treetops had brought a sheen of perspiration to her forehead. The tension in the forest and the physical exertion of her movements combined to create a fine layer of sweat that clung to her skin. Pausing for a brief respite, she allowed herself a moment to catch her breath.

Her keen senses remained on high alert even in this momentary pause, and as she looked down from her elevated position, her eyes widened. A shock of unmistakable white hair came into her peripheral vision, a sight that sent a jolt of surprise and adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Her heart leaped in her chest for she hadn't expected Captain Gojo to venture back into this part of the forest. The forest had been vast, and she had assumed that he would remain focused on the task at hand, leaving her to her own devices. But now, he was here, a mere stone's throw away from her concealed position.

Utahime's mind raced as she weighed her options. She knew that Captain Gojo was a formidable adversary, and the element of surprise was no longer on her side. Her concealment amidst the treetops was a stalemate, and she found herself facing a critical decision: to confront him, evade him, or observe him from the shadows.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her breaths shallow and quick, as she grappled with the consequences of her next move.

Captain Gojo's demeanor underwent a noticeable shift as he closed in on his discovery. His eyes sparkled with an infectious enthusiasm, and a mischievous smile danced upon his lips. In that moment, it was evident that he stumbled upon something that had piqued his interest, something promising.

A sense of anticipation hung in the air, heightened by Gojo's joyful expression. He didn't hesitate to voice his discovery with a triumphant exclamation, his voice carrying a mixture of amusement and determination as he declared, "Found you."

The atmosphere crackled with tension as Captain Gojo sprang into action. In a flurry of movement, he rushed across a part of the clearing, displaying a deceptive blend of grace and power. He directed his energies towards a smaller tree, its trunk shuddering under the force of his kick, though it managed to withstand the blow.

With unparalleled precision, he then launched his bamboo sword, sending it hurtling through the air with unerring accuracy. As the bamboo sword found its mark, Captain Gojo ascended the medium-sized tree with ease. His movements were swift and deadly, each calculated step bringing him closer to his target.

"Got you," Captain Gojo's voice rang out once more, victorious and determined. His strong hands found purchase on Renta's back, seizing him by the fabric of his kimono. In an unexpected and skillful maneuver, he swiftly brought Renta down to the forest floor with a resounding thud. The suddenness of the action left Renta gasping and grunting in response, a testament to the captain's unparalleled prowess.

Captain Gojo's predatory gaze bore down on the young Zenin member, his smile gleaming with the thrill of the chase. However, in an instant, it took an unexpected turn. Something small and round, almost imperceptible in its flight, struck Captain Gojo's back shoulder with precision. It hit him squarely, and upon impact, it burst into a cloud of fine, black powder that hung in the air like a sinister shroud.

Confusion flickered across Captain Gojo's face as he pivoted, seeking the source of this unexpected assault. The forest, which had moments ago been a tranquil backdrop, became a whirlwind of disorienting darkness as the black powder enveloped him, forcing him to close his eyes. It swirled around him, an irritating presence that penetrated his senses.

With each breath, he unwittingly inhaled the fine particles, the black pepper powder infiltrating his eyes, nose, and throat. His reaction was immediate and visceral. He began to choke, his airway constricted, and his throat irritated by the acrid substance. Sneezes erupted uncontrollably, punctuating his struggle for breath. He grappled with the discomfort and the irritation caused by the black pepper powder, his expression shifting from predatory to one of bewilderment and discomfort and annoyance.

Utahime blew her bird call three times as she quickly put on her socks and shoes. Renta knew it was Utahime then as he scrambled from the ground and began running in a direction, anywhere away from Captain Gojo. After launching the initial surprise attack from her concealed treetop position, she descended to the forest floor, swiftly changing her vantage point to continue the assault on Captain Gojo.

With a practiced hand, she retrieved another small ball from her pouch, her movements deft and precise. Her aim was unwavering as she targeted Captain Gojo once more, the projectile hitting him squarely in the chest. The ball detonated on impact, unleashing another cloud of fine powder that enveloped the captain.

The black pepper powder continued to assault Captain Gojo's senses, hampering his ability to see and breathe effectively. Utahime, now further away from his disoriented figure, didn't relent. She maintained her focus and readiness, prepared for another shot.

As she released yet another projectile, Captain Gojo's reaction was swift. He snatched a fallen branch from the forest floor, wielding it like an improvised shield. The branch met the incoming projectile with a resounding impact, but the small ball exploded upon contact, the black powder once again filling the air.

Captain Gojo, now partially obscured by the swirling powder, and with half his face and mouth covered by an arm sleeve, displayed an uncanny sense of awareness. His squinted gaze pierced through the haze with deadly precision as though he could pinpoint Utahime's location despite the chaos that surrounded him.

Utahime, recognizing the urgency of the situation, made a quick decision. She abandoned her current position and ran in the opposite direction of where Renta had fled, heading toward Captain Gojo's hill. The forest around her became a blur as she sprinted, her heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and determination.

With a nonchalant kick, he sent the tree behind him shivering, and his bamboo sword descended like a loyal companion. He effortlessly caught it in mid-air without even glancing at it. As he continued to move, Captain Gojo displayed a dominant presence. His predatory instincts were sharp, and he had little patience for distractions. With a quick, dismissive gesture, his focus was unwavering as he let the other one run free to pursue the one who dared to hit him. He had a clear target in mind.

His demeanor was one of unwavering determination as he stalked after the elusive figure who had become a thorn in his side despite the irritation caused by the black pepper powder. Each step he took through the forest was calculated, each movement exuding a predatory grace. His presence was commanding, and his intent was clear: he would give this elusive adversary the attention they so ardently sought.

Captain Gojo's aura of power and resolve was intense as he pursued his quarry, and Utahime, aware of the gravity of their confrontation, prepared herself for the next phase of their battle on Captain Gojo's beloved hilltop. His pursuit was nothing short of ruthless. His speed and determination closed the gap between them despite Utahime's initial head start. With each stride, he narrowed the distance, and the thudding rhythm of her heart in her chest echoed the urgency of her predicament.

The woman's breaths came in shallow gasps as she sprinted through the forest, the adrenaline coursing through her veins fueling her desperate flight. The forest around her became a blur of green and brown as she pushed her body to its limits.

Desperation fueled her actions, and in a daring maneuver, she pivoted onto her knee amidst the dense underbrush. As the white-haired man closed in, she fired another shot, a desperate attempt to slow him down once more. The projectile sailed through the air, a tiny sphere of potential salvation.

But Captain Gojo was a force to be reckoned with. His frighteningly intense blue eyes locked onto her amber ones, their gazes colliding in a moment of tension and resolve. The small ball she fired was cleanly severed in two as the pepper dissipated nowhere near Gojo.

Utahime knew that she was in deep trouble, her options dwindling with each passing second. She couldn't outrun him forever, and she needed to think fast on her feet to escape this perilous situation.

With quick thinking, she made a critical decision. She reached into her pouch and crushed all the soft, round balls containing the black pepper powder. The fine particles would serve as her last line of defense. With determination burning in her eyes, the princess changed her course, making a run for the hill that overlooked the serene lake.

The forest bore witness to her desperate sprint, the landscape passing by in a blur as she ascended the incline. The hill promised an elevated vantage point and, perhaps, a chance to regroup and strategize. The race against time and Captain Gojo's relentless pursuit reached a critical juncture, and her fate hung in the balance.

Utahime's instincts flared with a jolt of adrenaline as she sensed the imminent danger behind her. With lightning reflexes, she managed to spin and dodge the wooden sword that had been aimed at the vulnerable small of her back. Her heart pounded in her chest as she skidded forward, narrowly avoiding the potentially devastating blow.

Gasping for breath, she came face to face with the man who had been relentlessly pursuing her. Captain Gojo stood before her, his demeanor unsettlingly calm. His breaths were measured, and he didn't appear winded in the slightest, a stark contrast to Utahime's labored panting.

The distant sound of a gong resonated through the forest, signaling a critical development in the game. There was now just fifteen minutes remaining, and the pressure intensified as the countdown continued.

Utahime, her chest heaving with exertion, stared into Captain Gojo's eyes. His casual demeanor opposed the formidable threat he posed. His words, spoken with a hint of nonchalance, hung in the air like a chilling promise.

"Little Hiko," he addressed her with an almost dismissive tone, "Give me Suguru's flag, and I won't beat you black and blue."

Utahime's determination and resolve shone through as she steeled her nerves and steadied her gaze. Her breathing, though still heavy, regained a semblance of control. She felt a renewed sense of strength, clutching the pouch containing the black powder tightly in her hand. Her silence spoke volumes, a resolute refusal to yield to his demands.

Captain Gojo's response was marked by a sigh of exasperation, his eyes narrowing slightly as he shook his head in apparent disappointment. His words carried a tone of mock sympathy as he delivered his retort.

"It's okay," he said dourly, "I will console you when you're crying."

In the blink of an eye, the demon-like man closed the distance between them, his formidable presence looming over her. He was ready to engage in physical combat, his intention clear. However, Utahime anticipated this moment.

With remarkable agility, she ducked and, in a swift motion, threw the pouch high into the air as she dropped her body completely onto the ground with a nimbleness he didn't expect her to possess. Its contents, the fine black pepper powder, dispersed into a swirling cloud above them. Gojo covered his face from the offensive seasoning in the air. As she balanced herself on the floor with her hands, she executed a well-timed maneuver, landing a sweeping side swipe on Captain Gojo with her kick.

The unexpected attack caught him off guard, causing him to falter and lose his balance. He teetered on the brink of falling, his posture momentarily disrupted by Utahime's swift and skillful countermove, forcing himself to use the bamboo sword as a crutch to remain on his feet while his arm sleeve shielded his face.

Utahime's movements were hasty and precise as she executed her escape plan. With the agility of a seasoned dancer, she rolled onto her feet and wasted no time in taking off. Her body flowed seamlessly as she navigated the terrain, making her way toward the descending slope that loomed ahead.

With determination propelling her, Utahime leaped into the air, her landing marked by a controlled slide down the steep incline. The forest that had been her battleground now gave way to a dramatically different landscape. The dense foliage gradually transformed into the serene shoreline of a picturesque lake. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she turned onto her feet safely, her muscles responding with a precision born of intense training and determination. She sprinted down the descending slope, her feet pounding against the leveling incline, her speed and agility allowing her to put distance between herself and the relentless pursuit of Captain Gojo.

Utahime's heart raced, but her resolve remained unwavering. She managed to elude Captain Gojo, at least for the moment. Her breaths came in rapid succession as she continued to put distance between herself and Captain Gojo. Her every muscle strained as she sprinted along the shoreline.

The gong rung again, signaling that there were only minutes left.

Captain Gojo's unyielding hunt was unyielding, his quick and fast footsteps echoing in her ears like a relentless drumbeat. With the shoreline stretching out before her, she knew that she needed to reach higher ground to make it back to the starting point.

The white-haired demon closed the distance behind her, Utahime couldn't contain her frustration any longer. Her voice rang out in a desperate scream, an exclamation of exasperation and defiance. She refused to look back at the man who pursued her; instead venting her frustrations into the void.

"You're so annoying! Can't you just let me have this?!" she shouted, her words carrying the weight of her exhaustion and irritation. "Leave me alone! Please!"

In response, a cheerful laughter roared from behind her, drawing nearer with each passing moment. Captain Gojo's voice carried a playful tone as he retorted, his lack of exhaustion evident, "You're so mean! You're the first person to call me annoying to my face besides Shoko and Suguru."

Utahime's frustration reached a boiling point as she continued her uphill sprint. Her voice carried a mantra of irritation, each repetition punctuated by the rhythm of her footsteps. "You're annoying, you're annoying! What are you?! Some kind of demon?!"

Her frustration poured forth in an unrelenting stream of words, but the young man found her outburst utterly amusing. His laughter, mingling with her cries of irritation, created a surreal backdrop to their relentless chase.

Utahime's world tilted as she was suddenly grappled from behind, her feet lifted slightly off the ground. She squirmed and struggled against Captain Gojo's capture, her muscles straining with desperate resistance. She tried her best to elbow him, but his hold was an iron grip. She tried swinging forward with her legs, but she couldn't get enough momentum.

Her voice rang out in a fierce cry, echoing as she yelled, "Let go!"

Captain Gojo, however, seemed to revel in the thrill of the chase. His laughter, infectious and carefree, filled the air as he clutched her in his grasp, the sensation of her struggling against him only adding to the excitement of the game. Utahime's struggle against Captain Gojo was a collision of emotions and physicality. With her body firmly held by his grasp, she wriggled and fought against his control, her frustration and defiance fueling her efforts.

"Haha," he laughed heartily, his voice brimming with dark amusement. "I caught you!"

During their struggle, Captain Gojo's nimble fingers reached for the knapsack on her back, his intent clear to secure the flag that poked out from within. However, in the heat of the moment, as his other arm held her captive, something peculiar and unexpected brushed against his hand. It was a sensation that defied his expectations, an odd combination of flatness, fleshiness, softness, and tenderness. Her desperate wriggling against him only accentuated this surprising sensation.

Captain Gojo was momentarily stunned, his grasp on her faltering and slacking a bit as he tried to comprehend the mystery his hand encountered and brushed against. The sudden and unexpected sensation arrested his movements. He couldn't comprehend how something could be flat yet bumpy. The sensation was so startling that it momentarily froze him in place, confusion clouding his features.

That fleeting moment of distraction proved to be Utahime's opportunity. In a decisive move, she lifted both of her arms high in the air, going prone and sliding down the towering man behind her. Her agility and determination allowed her to escape his clutches, slipping away like a shadow. As she descended, her fingers closed around the Gojo flag, snatching it from its place. With the flag in her possession, she took off running once more, leaving Captain Gojo stunned with Captain Geto's flag and her knapsack in his grasp.

Captain Gojo blinked out of his momentary stupor; his competitive spirit rekindled. With renewed determination, he resumed the chase, his footsteps echoing as he pursued Utahime. He knew he couldn't let the little rabbit get away, not with the flag taken from him. With renewed determination, he sprinted with full force, the chase resuming with a renewed intensity.

Utahime's sprint carried her back to the starting point with Captain Gojo's flag clutched tightly in her hand. As her feet crossed the designated threshold, a resounding gong reverberated through the forest, signaling the end of the game. Frustration gnawed at her as the realization sank in. She had gone through all the trouble, endured the chase and the challenges, only to be unable to turn in the flag as the game abruptly concluded.

She gritted her teeth in frustration, her amber eyes reflecting her annoyance and disappointment. The game eluded her just when victory had seemed within reach. Her features contorted into a frustrated and angry expression.

Seconds later, Captain Gojo appeared on the scene.

With the game concluded, the remaining members of Gojo's team emerged from the forest, along with Renta, who still clung to Team Zenin's flag. The forest relinquished its secrets, and since no one managed to turn in a flag, the winning condition was determined by the number of tokens collected. The tension that filled the forest moments ago gave way to a sense of closure, and the competitors now awaited the final tally of tokens to determine the victor.

As the captains and participants gathered, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation.

General Yaga took on the role of announcer. His authoritative voice resonated through the clearing as he declared the results. Each word carried weight, and every participant held their breath in eager anticipation.

"With nine Zenin tokens and seven Geto tokens," General Yaga announced, his voice unwavering, "Team Gojo wins with 32 points. Coming in second place is Team Zenin with nine Geto tokens and five Gojo tokens, totaling 28 points. Team Geto secures third place with seven Zenin tokens and five Gojo tokens, resulting in 24 points."

A ripple of reactions spread through the assembled participants. Cheers and applause erupted from Team Gojo, celebrating their hard-earned victory. General Yaga joined in the applause, congratulating the winning team.

"Congratulations, Team Gojo," he said, his clapping hands punctuating his words. "Members of Team Gojo can skip tomorrow's run."

The announcement marked the conclusion of the game and the beginning of a well-deserved break. Dinner awaited, but for Utahime, the sting of her near victory turned defeat was too fresh. Fueled by anger and frustration, she made the decision to skip dinner and instead prepare for a soothing and much-needed hot bath.

As the group of men, including Satoru and Suguru, made their way toward the barracks' common baths, an unusual thought struck Satoru, and it appeared to be a rather serious one. He walked alongside the rest of the group but couldn't shake the nagging idea. With a sudden determination, he called out to his best friend, Suguru, who turned to him with a curious expression.

"What is it, Satoru?" Suguru inquired, his curiosity piqued.

Satoru's response was enigmatic yet purposeful.

"I'm going to test something," he declared, his voice carrying an air of intrigue and purpose. He then proceeded to put Suguru in the same grapple he used on Hiko earlier, attempting to recreate the surprising moment that caught him off guard. The other men in the group watched with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement, unsure of what to make of Satoru's unexpected experiment.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Suguru, while caught in the grapple, couldn't help but laugh, his annoyance apparent.

After releasing Suguru, Satoru repeated the same maneuver on Nanami, whose reaction was one of mild displeasure, and Haibara, who found the situation rather amusing. The men were subjected to Gojo's experimental grapples one by one, each with their own reaction, from bafflement to amusement.

However, when Gojo turned his attention to Naoya, a member of the group who had been observing the proceedings with disbelief, the atmosphere took a different turn. Gojo took a step toward Naoya and began to speak, but Naoya's response was immediate and laced with a dangerous undertone.

"I'll fucking kill you if you try," growled Naoya, his words leaving no room for doubt. He knew precisely what Gojo was attempting, and he made it clear that he had no intention of being subjected to the same experiment.

Gojo Satoru reclined in the soothing embrace of the hot bathwater, surrounded by the tranquil ambiance of the common baths. The warmth enveloped him, chasing away the weariness from the day's challenges. However, despite the relaxing environment, his thoughts remained restless and preoccupied.

There was something about Hiko that nagged at him, a lingering suspicion that had taken root during their intense game earlier. As he leaned back against the bath's edge, his brows furrowed with deep thought. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, and that uncertainty troubled him.

The steam from the hot water swirled around him, creating a veil of solitude amidst the communal bathing area. Satoru's mind raced, sifting through the events of the day, searching for clues or answers that might unravel the mystery.

He kept looking down at his hand that captured Hiko as if it held the answers to his questions. His keen intellect and intuition were honed for such challenges, but this one seemed elusive, defying easy explanation.

As he soaked in the warmth of the bath, Satoru was determined to uncover the truth. The puzzle weighed on him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Iori Hiko than met the eye. The hot water provided a momentary respite, but his mind remained focused on unraveling the riddle that was Iori Hiko.

Notes:

Thanks for reading like always, and I would like to know your thoughts if you have any. :)

Chapter 8: Konpeito Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

8

Konpeito

The officers' meeting on the following morning brought with it a sense of fresh energy and anticipation. As the sun's early rays filtered through the windows of the meeting room, eight new faces would soon grace the gathering. Each officer proudly wore the distinctive uniform that marked them as officers, their ranks prominently displayed like badges of honor. Among the eight of them were Kashimo, Higuruma, Kusakabe, Choso, Ishigori, Mahito, and Daido.

Captain Suguru Geto made his entrance with a charming, warm, and welcoming smile that seemed to put everyone at ease. Dressed in his usual attire that mimicked those of a monk, without the vestments of course (he wasn't a real monk), he moved to take a seat beside the lower-ranked officers. The officers who served directly under Captain Geto were Commander Daido Hagane, Lieutenant Hanami Mahito, Lieutenant Itadori Choso, and Lieutenant Ishigori Ryu.

"How was yesterday?" Captain Geto asked. Suguru's question cut through the air, his smile an invitation to share their thoughts on the previous day. Whether it was simply lip service, or true curiosity, it was clear that he valued their input and camaraderie enough to ask about it. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm and welcoming glow on the gathering as they prepared to discuss the challenges and triumphs of yesterday's event.

In response, Mahito couldn't help but smirk, his eyes dancing with mischief as he spoke.

"Captain Gojo was brutal," he admitted, the memory of their encounter still fresh in his mind.

Ishigori joined in the conversation with hearty laughter, recalling a particular incident involving Choso.

"The best part was seeing Choso strung up like an animal," he chuckled.

Choso responded with an evil glare before he quickly regained his composure, taking a sip of his tea as they waited for the generals and the other officers to join the meeting.

Captain Gojo, who was usually a whirlwind of boundless energy, was visibly exhausted as he opened the shoji door to the side and entered the room. This morning there was a discernible weariness in his demeanor. It was a rare sight for those who were accustomed to his unflagging vitality and enthusiasm.

The white-haired young man offered a subdued greeting to those already present in the room; his usual exuberance tempered as he waved at them with the flick of his wrist, muttering a soft greeting. Second Lieutenant Ichiji, one of his personal aides, followed closely behind him, closing the door behind him. The contrast between Gojo's usual demeanor and his current state of fatigue did not go unnoticed.

"Didn't sleep?" Suguru inquired, acknowledging the unusual state of Captain Gojo, who was known for his ability to maintain high energy levels, regardless of his rest. The fox-eyed man observed the visibly exhausted Gojo with a keen eye and a note of concern in his voice.

Captain Gojo took a seat opposite Suguru beside the officers who reported directly under him. His direct reports included Commander Kashimo Hajime, Lieutenant Higuruma Hiromi, Lieutenant Kusakabe Atsuya, and Second Lieutenant Ichiji Kiyotaka. His white hair was a stark contrast against the dark hakama pants he wore. Despite his fatigue, he retained an air of composure as he crossed his legs on the floor. Suppressing a yawn, he candidly responded to Geto's question, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion, "Nope, couldn't shut off my brain."

It was strange to think that even someone as resilient as Captain Gojo could have moments of vulnerability.

The entrance of General Gakuganji and General Yaga, accompanied by Captain Zenin, brought a sense of authority and formality to the meeting. As they arrived, Yaga opened the sliding shoji door with a measured and deliberate air, the sliding panels gliding smoothly along the wooden tracks. Captain Zenin followed protocol, and closed the door behind them, ensuring privacy and confidentiality within the meeting room.

General Yaga took his place within the room. He was clad in the traditional attire of a black kimono and hakama. His presence commanded respect and reverence, embodying the wisdom and experience that came with his position.

General Gakuganji, distinguished by his white and deep purple kimono and hakama outfit, sat with an air of authority and formality as he took in all his subordinates. General Gakuganji took on the role of initiating the meeting with his imposing presence and a voice weathered by years of experience. He leaned forward slightly, preparing to address the room, but before he began speaking, a loud and raspy cough erupted from his throat. The room fell silent as he cleared his throat.

Gakuganji then said, "Gojo."

"Yes," the white-haired man turned to one of his teachers. His face was neutral. "General?"

"Good job on holding yourself back," Gakuganji praised. "You're finally growing up a little bit."

Gojo merely smirked, choosing not to retort as he accepted his teacher's words with a little bow.

General Gakuganji's gruff voice, now free of the earlier cough, carried a tone of seriousness as he delved into the details of the war game event. His words, measured and deliberate, outlined the successes and challenges encountered during the competition. As the meeting progressed, the room became a hub of strategic discourse with ideas, observations, and recommendations flowing freely.

"Any suggestions for the next round of war games?" General Yaga's question hung in the air, prompting thoughtful consideration from the gathered officers.

Geto addressed General Yaga with respect and reverence as he voiced his thoughts, "Yaga-sensei, I do have some recommendations."

General Yaga listened attentively, his demeanor one of patience and openness. He encouraged Geto to share his ideas, eager to hear what insights and innovations the younger generation had to offer.

A tolerant smile graced Geto's lips as his dark eyes regarded his best friend with annoyance.

"No more captains allowed in the game," Geto proposed, his tone carrying a hint of humor.

"Ah, someone is jealous!" jeered Gojo with a knowing and slightly cruel smile, enjoying the slight way Suguru was unnerved even though no one else would have noticed the slight tightening of muscles in his jaw and neck. Gojo quickly replaced his jeers with something more playful, less hurtful as he added his own input with a touch of playful complaint.

"If we are talking about complaints," he chimed in, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "No more of those little death balls of seasoning. It hurts when inhaling as they explode into your face. Annoying little tricks really."

The meeting continued with the exchange of ideas and feedback, each suggestion contributing to the ongoing refinement of the next war game. General Gakuganji then transitioned to the next topic signaling a shift in the meeting's focus, drawing attention to the officer recruits. It was a moment for the lower officers to share their insights and evaluations of the candidates they had trained and lived alongside. Their collective experiences would form the foundation for their recommendations.

Lieutenant Hanami Mahito wasted no time in naming his recommendation.

"Nanami Kento," he declared with confidence, his choice resonating with many nods of agreement from the other officers in the room. "The kid has consistently demonstrated exceptional skill and proficiency throughout training. He also has shown the ability to adapt to various challenges and adversaries marked him as a standout candidate, showcasing his readiness for the role."

Ichiji then added, "Private Nanami has proven himself to be highly reliable and dependable when assigned tasks and taking on leadership roles. His commitment to his duties and his team has resulted in a successful outcome. His composure and level-headedness in high-pressure situations will also be invaluable."

The officers each offered their insights and evaluations, meticulously discussing each of the recruits in turn. Their deliberations were thorough and methodical as they examined the readiness of each candidate for an officer position. As the discussion progressed, they eventually reached the name of Haibara Yu.

Choso, with his keen observations and discerning eye, began the assessment of Haibara Yu immediately.

"When it comes to Haibara Yu," he began thoroughly, "I believe we should exercise caution in considering him for a leadership position. He's not ready yet. Haibara is a good kid, adequate fighter, but he is careless and emotional. If this was a real battle, Haibara would have been slain."

The officers then proceeded to provide a comprehensive analysis of Haibara Yu's strengths and weaknesses, highlighting areas where improvement was needed and expressing their reservations about his readiness for a leadership role. Their evaluations were based on their experiences training and working alongside him, aiming to provide a fair and balanced assessment of his potential within their ranks.

With the discussion about Haibara Yu's potential for an officer role concluded, the officers turned their attention to the next recruit on their list, Iori Hiko. Lieutenant Choso was among the first to voice his opinion on Iori Hiko's potential for an officer role.

"Iori Hiko," he began. "Has displayed several promising qualities during his time with us. He's intelligent, sociable, and he's a team player. He possesses the ability to gauge the situation and adapt accordingly."

Ishigoro chimed in, echoing Choso's sentiments. "Over the course of the first month, Iori Hiko has made significant strides in terms of endurance. His dedication to training and his adaptability have been impressive. Moreover, he's a competitive individual who consistently explores innovative approaches to problem-solving."

"No." The word was said with finality with no more room for discussion.

The discussion took a sudden turn when the dissenting voice cut through the conversation, forcefully opposing Iori Hiko's recommendation. The unexpected interruption prompted General Yaga to direct his attention to Satoru Gojo, raising an eyebrow in curiosity about the underlying reasons for his dissent.

"Iori Hiko is weak," Gojo asserted bluntly with a touch of a cold, logical approach. "While he may possess intelligence and adaptability, he lacks a fundamental aspect of a soldier – the ability to inflict harm or kill. He lacks the necessary killer instinct. During our engagement in the game, Hiko never once demonstrated a willingness to hurt or harm me. Instead, he consistently focused on evasion and buying time. He avoided causing harm at all costs. I don't know if it is because he wasn't taking it seriously, or simply thought of the exercise as a game and held back."

Gojo continued to present his perspective on Iori Hiko's suitability for an officer role with a calm and methodical demeanor. He delved deeper into his rationale, emphasizing his concern about Hiko's perceived inability to confront the harsh realities of the battlefield.

"Being a soldier, especially in an officer's role," Gojo explained, "requires more than just intelligence and adaptability. It demands a readiness to make difficult decisions when the situation calls for it. The battlefield is not always a place of strategy and evasion; it often entails moments where one must act decisively, even if it means causing harm."

He further emphasized his point by citing the specific example of their encounter during the game. "At one point, even when he was forced to defend against me, Hiko's primary focus was on subduing and further evasion. His attempt to knock me down should have been to break my ankles, not trip me," Gojo noted. "While these tactics have their place, they cannot be the sole strategy on the battlefield. There were moments when he could have taken actions that would have allowed him to gain an advantage, but he consistently chose not to."

"He is weak," Gojo said with conclusiveness. He saw Hiko's perceived unwillingness to cause harm as a significant drawback, one that could jeopardize the safety and effectiveness of their team in high-stakes situations. As Gojo concluded his assessment, he remained steadfast in his position, maintaining that Iori Hiko's perceived weakness in this critical aspect outweighed any other promising qualities he might possess.

Utahime spent a little over a month at the regional military training area which also served as a checkpoint for those leaving the Western region. During this time, she had never explored the Ashigarashimo District. However, when she finally plucked up the courage, she was captivated by the stunning scenery that greeted her.

The journey into town, taken by cart alongside a few others, lasted approximately an hour. As they descended from the mountainous and forested region where the barracks were situated, the town gradually came into view. It was a sight to behold with the river gracefully flowing downstream into the heart of the bustling village. As the young woman disembarked from the cart, she stepped into the heart of the village, immediately struck by the charming atmosphere that surrounded her. The village was a visual delight, with meticulously crafted white and blue cobblestone steps leading the way through its winding streets.

The surrounding scenery was nothing short of spectacular, enhancing the overall beauty of the town. On one side, the ever-white snowcapped Mount Fuji stood majestically, providing a breathtaking backdrop to the landscape. Its majestic presence against the skyline was a breathtaking sight that she couldn't help but admire. The beautiful Hakone Shrine, nestled on the serene Lake Ashi, was also something she wanted to eventually see. It was a welcome escape from the rigors of her military duties.

What struck Utahime even more was the resemblance between Ashigarashimo District and her life in Miura where she rarely stepped out of. The familiarity of the salt-infused air, the sound of waves lapping against the shore, and the continuous arrival and departure of ships at the portside allowed nostalgia and comfort to wash over her.

The natural beauty and the coastal elements of the district resonated with her as if she was almost back. Stepping into town for the first time, there was this little tingle of excitement and trepidation running up and down her body. In the past, there had been opportunities to visit the town, but fear and paranoia held her back. She couldn't help but worry that a single glance from the townsfolk would expose her true nature.

Utahime thanked herself for finally mustering the courage to take advantage of the permission to explore the town, which was granted twice a week. She embarked on this journey by herself, determined to make the most of it, but also hyper-aware of the potential risks that awaited her. Her vigilance was on high alert as she navigated through the bustling streets. Utahime kept a watchful eye out for pickpockets and ruffians who might take advantage of her inexperience or perceived vulnerability. Every step she took was cautious, and she kept her belongings close, determined not to let her guard down.

The machiya-style wooden houses and storefronts were masterfully built and kept. Each building had a story of its own with intricate details and designs adorning their facades. The late morning sun cast a warm glow on the structures, enhancing their rustic beauty.

Utahime found herself in a quiet moment just before the lunchtime rush, allowing her to leisurely explore the village. The wooden lattices adorning the shopfronts caught her attention. Each lattice was a work of art, showcasing the unique craftsmanship of the town's artisans. From silk and thread shops to rice sellers, liquor stores, and tea houses, the lattices were distinct and meticulously crafted. They not only added to the town's visual appeal, but also served as practical markers, enabling people to differentiate each shop by simply studying the intricate framework. Utahime took her time to absorb the details, appreciating the intricate beauty of the village and its charming streets.

As Utahime continued her exploration of the town, she eventually wandered into a quieter and more tranquil section of the area. There, she stood in front of a particularly inviting, and rather enormous, tea house that took up the entire block; its exterior adorned with intricate black lattice work that resembled the delicate patterns of bird feathers. The tea house exuded an air of elegance and serenity, making it stand out amidst the surrounding buildings. The craftsmanship of the pattern work, reminiscent of the graceful designs found in nature, added to the establishment's charm. It was as though the very essence of tranquility had found a home in this corner of the town.

Utahime couldn't help but be drawn to the tea house's aesthetic appeal. Its serene ambiance and unique architectural details held a magnetic allure, inviting her to step inside. Then someone spoke to her from the tea house.

The young woman stood there both captivated and intrigued by the voice that suddenly reached out. A sultry, velvety voice spoke to her in Mandarin, "Young miss, I've been looking for you, waiting for you to come outside of your castle, and wonder into me."

As the tea house's door slid open slightly in response to the breeze, tresses of long, slivery hair floated along with the wind, creating an otherworldly and mesmerizing sight. Utahime's eyes widened in astonishment, and she took a tentative step closer to the enigmatic tea house. It was as if she couldn't believe what was unfolding before her, as if the sly smile lurking in the obscured darkness might be a mere illusion, as if that voice wasn't something from the distant past.

"Young miss," the voice beckoned her once more. "Do you know Li Bai? When I was a young girl, I learned this verse with my dear friend. Perhaps you know it, but it goes:

Moonlight spills onto my bed

It is as bright as a reflection of snow on the ground.

I lift my head and see the moon."

As the voice finished the verse, Utahime found herself completing it in time with the woman in the shadows, Utahime's voice filled with emotion, cracking slightly, "I lower my head and I long for home."

Something deep within her cracked open as a flood of emotions washed over her. It was as if a long-held dam within her heart had finally given way, releasing a torrent of feelings that had been pent up for far too long. Warmth, sorrow, tenderness, relief, anxiety, and happiness surged through her body in a tumultuous wave.

The intensity of these emotions threatened to overpower her, and Utahime could feel the telltale signs of tears welling up in her eyes. Her vision blurred as her waterlines grew moist with the unshed tears that glistened on the brink of rolling down her cheeks. Her lips quivered, caught in a delicate dance between trembling and forming words.

Before her stood a ghost from her past, a figure she had likely never expected to encounter again. The sight of this mysterious presence stirred emotions that had long been buried within her, and she found herself grappling with nostalgia, relief, and longing. Utahime's heart raced as she faced the beautiful shadow before her, reminding her of a time when she had longer hair and wasn't so self-starved in fear of filling out curves.

"Mei," Her pretty voice quivered as she whispered. Between small gasps of breath, she fought to maintain her composure, understanding that crying might be perceived as unbecoming. A solitary tear escaped from her eye, tracing a path down her cheek until it reached the corner of her lip. There she could taste the saltiness of her own tear, a bittersweet reminder of the complex emotions that now surged within her; but most of all, she could taste the brackish joy. "Mei."

"Hello," giggled Mei Mei sweetly, sliding the tea house's door wider and she stretched out her arms, welcoming the weeping girl with open arms. In the gentle light filtering through the tea house's door, the other girl's arms were a beacon of welcome and comfort, even in the shadows of the room. "Utahime."

As Mei Mei uttered her real name, the final thread of restraint within Utahime snapped. Overwhelmed by emotions and memories, Utahime couldn't hold back any longer. Tiny sobs escaped her, and without hesitation, she rushed into Mei Mei's waiting embrace. It was as if a barrier had crumbled within Utahime, and her resolve to hold back shattered completely. She broke into tiny hiccups and harsh gasps for breath as she buried her head into her friend's embrace. The other woman slid the door close and then soothed Utahime with small words and pats on her head.

In that moment, the tears continuously flowed freely as Utahime sought solace and comfort in the arms of someone who knew her.

It took a little bit, but the girl finally managed to stop her tears and compose herself. Sitting on the third floor of the teahouse, Utahime had a great vantage point of the front street below where there were quite a bit of people now bustling around. To her left there was a large, open courtyard in the middle of the teahouse which allowed natural light to filter in, casting a gentle glow on the surroundings.

"You're the owner of the Kokucho Trading Company and Fleet now? That's amazing, Mei."

Utahime couldn't help but be in awe of her childhood friend. What couldn't Mei Mei do? She was a Lady Pirate, Company Owner, and Tea House Entertainment Proprietress. The silver haired woman before her had a smile on her face, looking pleased from Utahime's praise and surprise.

Mei Mei graciously accepted Utahime's words of admiration, her own smile reflecting the satisfaction she felt from Utahime's genuine surprise and appreciation. Mei Mei explained calmly, her eyes reflecting a hint of the complexities that came with her business, "I run the Portuguese and Chinese trading routes, but of course, there are always those who aren't happy with me."

"When did you come back?" asked Utahime, seeing two female servants carrying with trays towards them. "It's been four years?"

"I was in Kyoto for a bit on business then I was going to surprise you," the other woman said nearly dismally, but Mei Mei would never be dejected unless she lost money. She was almost soft as she looked at Utahime with a tinge of regret and disappointment. "I even brought gifts for you. I've heard about your situation. I came to visit, and your mother and brother were in tears. As you can imagine, I was astonished to hear about your rebellion. Sweet, obedient Utahime broke the rules for once."

As the two servants approached, they placed wooden trays before Utahime and Mei Mei with great care and reverence. The presentation of the confections was a testament to the teahouse's dedication to artistry and precision.

"You should have just become a pirate with me, Utahime," teased Mei Mei, her light brown eyes glinting in the sunlight. "You could have been my First Mate."

On the wooden tray before Utahime, a carefully crafted nerikiri wagashi took center stage. Its shape resembled a zinnia flower, and its delicate, intricate design captivated the eye. The confection appeared almost too beautiful to eat with its detailed pleats on the soft, mochi skin. The skill and craftsmanship of the teahouse's culinary artisans rivaled those in the Imperial Palace.

"Pirate? Me? I couldn't imagine myself doing that," Utahime could only smile in return, thanking the servant.

"And yet you are disguised as a man, as a soldier," retorted Mei Mei, her light eyes flickered outside the window, watching the citizens of the town going about their business. "The only difference is you answer to men while you could have answered to me instead."

"Hmm, maybe," Utahime cracked a toothy grin. "But then I would still be in this situation, I think."

"My offer still stands – you can always become a pirate with me. We can sail the seas, free from the laws of man, drinking and reveling in our desires where only cash and jewels is queen!"

"Maybe in a different universe," snickered Utahime, her eyes crinkling in delight at the suggestion. "Maybe after this war."

Beside the nerikiri wagashi, a small piece of castella sat, its golden-yellow texture hinting at the rich custard flavor within. It promised a delightful contrast in both texture and taste to the other treat.

Completing the exquisite display, a meticulously prepared bowl of matcha tea awaited Utahime. The vibrant green hue of the tea was an invitation to savor its earthy aroma and complex flavors. It was a moment of sensory delight, where both visual and gustatory pleasures awaited, and Utahime couldn't help but anticipate the experience with eagerness.

"I am officially trading," admitted Mei Mei. "I am employed under the Imperial Family."

Utahime's gaze remained fixed on the sumptuous spread before her, her appreciation extending beyond its visual beauty to the promise of taste and aroma that lay within these meticulously crafted confections and tea.

"A message?"

Mei Mei relayed the following, "In the eastern capital, come summer, a gentleman with the star and divination gauze awaits the return of a missing tune. The Sun knows all. Joy is dearly missed now that a long winter has extended."

The young woman's eyes welled with tears once more as she absorbed the words, feeling their emotional weight and significance. She then replied, "When summer comes, perhaps a ballad can be shared as even snow must give way to spring. The moon is the refrain's companion, yearning for a way back home."

"Received. A Black Bird will deliver your feelings," Mei Mei nodded, smiling wistfully as she took in her dear friend's countenance. Mei Mei didn't care for much besides money, but growing up with the woman before her, perhaps, it made her soft. They learned with one another and pestered Taoist Daoling together.

If Mei Mei had a younger sister, she hoped it would be someone like Utahime. Someone honest, pure, and straightlaced. Someone unlike herself.

"It'll be 96 mon if you have a string of coins – I'll give you the four-coin discount."

"Hmm?" Utahime pretended not to understand her friend. "What was that?"

Amused, Mei Mei then uttered, "Hmm, I suppose I'm being paid enough via the Imperial Contract anyways."

It was undeniable Utahime's body was overwhelmed with joy at the reunion. Yet, beneath the surface of her happiness, there lingered a bittersweet undertone that occasionally surfaced in the form of water drops tracing their way down her cheeks. These tears were not born of sorrow, but rather a poignant recognition of how much had changed since they were together.

Mei Mei was someone great, and here she looked like a shameful rat.

"Do not cry," Mei Mei told her, wiping away a stray tear. "How about a song instead?"

Mei Mei's words of comfort were accompanied by a thoughtful gesture, summoning a servant who appeared with a zither, its wooden frame and strings gleaming in the soft light of the teahouse. It was placed before the teary woman. Seeing the zither, Utahime couldn't help but laugh. Mei Mei always knew how to get what she wanted.

Utahime then playfully accused through her tears, giggling, and choking a bit, "You just want me to play."

"You always played better than me," the other woman kindly said with warm nostalgia and a hint of admiration, placing a tray of four attachable ivory finger picks before the other girl.

Utahime, her grin now mingling with the traces of tears on her cheeks, carefully fixed three of the finger picks onto her right hand. Her fingers deftly tested the strings of the zither, adjusting and retuning them to her liking. Once satisfied with the instrument's harmony, she began to play, her nimble fingers creating a melody that resonated with both the past and the present.

In the refined and elegant part of the village, Lady Shoko was prepared for a mandatory outing by her maids, as per her uncle's specific request and insistence. This excursion had been planned to meet the expectations of propriety and tradition, aligning with her family's reputation for honor and social standing. The Ieiri Clan were below the Gojo Clan in terms of status, money, and nobility, but this was a marriage granted by the Imperial Family. Even if she wanted to break the engagement off, it would be defying the emperor himself.

"You're so beautiful, my lady," Saki, her favorite maid, exclaimed, looking at her handy work. Now that she was ready, Shoko waited for Satoru to come pick her up.

Shoko couldn't help but be filled with regret that she couldn't show this version of herself to Suguru instead.

The doctor's presence was nothing short of captivating as she dressed in a vibrant, scarlet kimono adorned with delicate Sakura patterns. The patterns come alive with the graceful movements of the fabric. The rich, crimson hue of her kimono accentuated her beauty, casting her in a radiant light that made her look like a vision of spring in full force as April had arrived.

Her dark, silken hair was meticulously pinned back, adorned with several red, silk roses that added a touch of romantic allure to her ensemble. Each rose was carefully chosen to match the vibrant red of her kimono, and they appeared blooming amidst the darkness of her brown hair, creating an exquisite look, leaving onlookers breathless.

Shoko's makeup was subtle but expertly applied. A light dusting of powder and blush on her cheeks gave her a rosy, youthful glow, and her lips were adorned with a shade of pink that resembled the softest petals of a cherry blossom. The overall effect was enchanting, making her look like a young woman on the cusp of love, her beauty illuminated by a newfound sense of excitement and anticipation.

Lady Shoko was a perfect porcelain doll.

As she moved gracefully, her kimono swayed elegantly with her movements, revealing glimpses of intricately embroidered patterns that adorned the layers beneath. The green silk of her obi, tied in an intricate bow, added a majestic touch to her ensemble. Shoko was accompanied by her loyal maid, who trailed a couple of steps behind her, offering assistance when needed and ensuring that every detail was in place. The maid's presence was a testament to the meticulous preparation that had gone into Shoko's appearance, ensuring that she looked nothing short of perfection for this important occasion.

However, what Shoko hadn't anticipated was that Satoru would insist on dragging along Suguru on this occasion. The unexpected presence of Suguru in this otherwise routine outing added a layer of complexity to the situation, one that Shoko had not foreseen. They were all childhood friends, but as they say, it was complicated.

Shoko couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The dynamics between the three of them were intricate and delicate, and she was acutely aware of the unspoken tensions that simmered beneath the surface. Despite her initial surprise, Shoko maintained her composure. She understood the close friendship between Satoru and Suguru, and it wasn't unusual for all of them to spend time together. However, she couldn't help but feel as if something was amiss.

Did Satoru know?

Walking through the more refined part of town with Satoru and Suguru, Shoko's thoughts continued to race. She couldn't help but question the nature of her relationships with these two men, one her fiancé and the other the one who held her heart. The weight of her secret meetings with Suguru bore down on her, and she constantly wondered if Satoru was somehow aware of the subtle changes in her behavior when they occurred.

Satoru appeared blissfully unaware of the turmoil within Shoko's mind as he maintained his cheerful disposition. He cracked jokes, engaged in light banter, and seemed genuinely excited about their outing. The contrast between his carefree demeanor and Shoko's inner turmoil only intensified her anxiety.

Guilt began eating away at her person.

Throughout the outing, Shoko kept a watchful eye on Satoru, studying his every move and word for any hint of suspicion. The tension she felt whenever their eyes met was unmistakable, but she managed to conceal her inner turmoil behind a carefully crafted facade.

As the day unfolded without any indication that Satoru was privy to their secret, Shoko's anxiety began to wane. She allowed herself to breathe a little easier, relieved that their carefully guarded secret remained intact.

Suguru looked completely at ease as if he had mastered the art of concealing their shared secret. Shoko couldn't help but admire his composure and ability to navigate the intricate web of their hidden relationship.

With each passing moment, Shoko found herself walking a tightrope, attempting to maintain a facade of normalcy with Satoru while secretly cherishing her moments with Suguru. The delicate balance between love, loyalty, and deception weighed heavily on her heart, and she knew that one misstep could change everything.

They were safe.

Suguru was safe.

Flanking Shoko on both sides were two men, each representing a different facet of her life. Her fiancé was dressed in a pristine white kimono adorned with intricate blue geometric patterns and graceful swirls. His expression was one of happiness despite his dark glasses hiding his eyes. Shoko knew he was unaware of the complexities that lay beneath the surface of their trio.

In stark contrast, the man who held Shoko's heart was dressed in a captivating black kimono, intricately embellished with opulent gold damask patterns. Shoko couldn't read Suguru. She didn't know what he really thought. She didn't know why she loved him. Whatever they had between them, an embodiment of the secrets he and Shoko shared, was concealed from the very best friend who stood beside them. His gaze was neutral always looking ahead, no longer shining with longing and restraint, a silent acknowledgment of the forbidden love that bound him to Shoko.

Satoru was the only one who really did the talking even then Suguru joined in occasionally, quipping with his best friend. She was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed Satoru stopped walking alongside her and Suguru.

"Satoru?" Shoko called out. Confusion knitted her brows as she looked at him, wondering what had caught his attention. Following his gaze and person, her eyes settled on a closed tea house that he stopped in front of.

The allure of the tea house was undeniable. It stood there, a silent sentinel of aural beauty, with the sweet melodies of a zither pouring forth from its highest floor. The music was hauntingly beautiful, filled with raw emotions that seemed to narrate a tale of yearning and unfulfilled desires.

To her surprise, she noticed that Satoru wasn't the only one who had come to a standstill. Bystanders on the bustling street also paused in their tracks, drawn to the enchanting melody that seemed to hang in the air like a whispered secret.

The zither player's skill was undeniable, each note booming with a depth of yearning that left an indelible mark on the listeners. Shoko found herself caught in the spell of the music; her heart entangled in the forlorn love story woven by the strings of the instrument.

Satoru's fascination with the music was evident where the melody emanated. It was rare to see such a serious expression on his face – one of concentration and conflict.

The sun soaked the scene in a warm, golden hue, casting long shadows that danced on the cobblestone street. As the mesmerizing zither music continued to pour forth from the tea house, the atmosphere shifted, imbuing the moment with a sense of enchantment.

Shoko watched as the expressions of those around her mirrored her own fascination. Even Suguru was openly captivated by the plucking of the strings. Strangers, whose paths might never have crossed in the bustling streets of the town, now stood shoulder to shoulder, united by the allure of the melody. There was a hush that fell over the crowd as if the world quieted to allow the zither's haunting notes to take center stage.

Satoru's admiration for the music was evident. His eyes were locked and unmoving onto the highest floor of the tea house where the mysterious musician plucked the strings of the zither with exquisite skill. Shoko couldn't help but marvel at how the music seemed to hold his attention so completely, as if it had the power to change him into someone different for a moment in time.

It was as though the zither player's soul had been laid bare through their music, and everyone who listened was invited to partake in the emotions it conveyed.

The forlorn love story told by the zither's delicate notes resonated deeply within Shoko. At least, she believed the song was about unfulfilled love. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the tea house, feeling an inexplicable connection to the music and the unseen musician.

As the last note of the zither's lament hung in the air, there was a collective sigh from the onlookers, as if they had all been awakened from a dream. The spell was broken, and life in the town resumed its usual pace.

The ride back to the barracks had a markedly different atmosphere now that Utahime knew Mei Mei was present and would remain there until the army's departure for the impending war.

Utahime held in her possession a special gift from her uncle (delivered by Mei Mei) – a pouch of Konpeito candies. These delectable treats were a rare and cherished find, known for their small, round, and bumpy appearance, a result of the natural cooking process using the Portuguese sugar. The candies came in a delightful assortment of colors – white, purple, red, and light blue – the colored versions of this candy could only be found in the palace exclusively.

As Utahime clutched the pouch of Konpeito in her hand, she couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude that her uncle still thought of her even if in his mind she was only as a little girl. Utahime marveled at the colorful array of candies within the pouch.

As the cart rumbled along the forested path, Utahime's fingers traced the contours of the pouch, each candy within it representing a piece of her journey. She couldn't help but wonder if these sweets, with their distinct colors and flavors, might offer her some comfort and familiarity in the uncertain times that lay ahead.

The sight of Captain Gojo perched in the wisteria tree under the soft, fading hues of the evening sky painted a picture of solitude and contemplation. Utahime couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy as she observed him from a distance, his posture reflecting a sense of isolation that seemed to weigh on his shoulders. The gentle breeze played with Captain Gojo's unruly hair, and the billowing sleeves of his kimono added to the ethereal quality of the moment. It was a stark contrast to the dangerous, carefree, and playful Gojo she often encountered during their training.

Utahime's thoughts drifted to the time she seen him in town with Lady Shoko and Captain Geto. The trio appeared so joyful together, and it was evident that Gojo shared a deep history and bond with both. However, the complexity of their relationship had likely left him with a heavy heart.

The young woman was positive Captain Gojo knew he was being cuckolded.

Utahime couldn't help but empathize with the captain. As she continued on her way to her quarters, the image of Captain Gojo, sitting alone in the wisteria tree, lingered in her mind, leaving her with a sense of melancholy that she couldn't easily shake.

Her footsteps were slow and deliberate. Looking over her shoulder, Captain Gojo remained perched in the tree; his gaze fixed on some distant point in the horizon. His expression, though distant, carried a hint of pensiveness.

Her heart dully throbbed as she considered Captain Gojo slightly tragic.

She couldn't help but feel a sense of pity for him, recognizing the depth of his emotions and the complexity of the relationships he probably, most likely, navigated. As she moved further away from the wisteria tree, the sight of the lonely captain stayed with her, leaving an indelible impression of his vulnerability.

Beyond the trappings of power, her thoughts delved deeper. She pondered the emotions that might course through Captain Gojo's veins – the responsibilities he bore, the challenges he faced, and the intricate web of love and betrayal he traversed. She wondered about the solitude that often accompanied positions of authority, the isolation that could come from standing at the pinnacle of influence.

The woman couldn't help but empathize with the complexity of Captain Gojo's existence. She recognized that beneath the facade of strength and command, there might be vulnerabilities and moments of doubt. She contemplated the dichotomy of his role – a figure who held sway over others yet might grapple with his own uncertainties.

In that moment of contemplation, Utahime found herself pondering the human behind the title, the individual who carried the weight of leadership and the burden of expectations. She imagined the thoughts that might flit through his mind – the moments of reflection, the moments of pride, and perhaps even the moments of yearning for simplicity and normalcy.

Utahime was sure she was going to regret this, but she couldn't ignore him.

She turned back. Her steps were purposely loud enough so he knew she was coming – she didn't want to surprise him. The young woman clutched the pouch of Konpeito candies in her hand, unable to read his face as he looked down on her from the tree branch he was perched on.

The princess didn't need the sweets given to her by her uncle. She was sure that Captain Gojo needed the sweetness more than her.

The poor, cuckolded man.

After all, wasn't his life so bitter already? So tragic.

Wasn't that why he enjoyed sweets so much? To balance out the bitterness that life gave him.

She stopped a respectful distance from the tree, her gaze steady as she addressed him.

"Captain Gojo," she began, her tone respectful but not overly formal. "I thought you might like these."

Her hand extended the elegant pouch of candies toward the cheated man.

Gojo had been thinking of ways to touch Hiko's chest without coming off as a strange person when the little rabbit walked toward him, calling out to him.

Gojo jumped down easily from the tree. His landing was so soft that it barely stirred the fallen petals and leaves beneath his feet. He moved gracefully, approaching the wide-eyed individual with measured steps, his eyes still concealed behind his glasses.

The rabbit's gaze, though, was an open book to Gojo. He could read the emotions that danced within the bright, amber eyes. There was an assortment of feelings he hadn't seen directed at him in quite this way before. Pity was there, laced with an unmistakable sympathy, as if the rabbit greatly commiserated with him for some reason.

He couldn't help but be intrigued by the emotions of the person before him. Where had all the annoyance and tolerance gone? Replaced by compassion and empathy? What caused this strange change?

It wasn't often that Gojo found himself at a loss for words, but the rabbit's unwavering sincerity left him momentarily speechless. He stood before Hiko, the pouch of mysteries held delicately in the outstretched hand, and he wondered what had prompted this unexpected gesture.

The rabbit quickly took his hand and deposited the pouch in his hand before moving away as if they were afraid of being burned alive.

Hiko then said, "I hope you enjoy them, Captain Gojo."

The rabbit walked away, looking a little proud of themselves.

Gojo's nimble fingers delicately unraveled the pouch, revealing its contents. The sight of the colorful candies nestled within made for an intriguing yet simple gift. However, Gojo's sharp mind didn't linger on their sweet appearance for long. As he examined the candies, a realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. His typically vibrant blue eyes narrowed into a focused gaze as he connected the dots.

The candies were unmistakably the Imperial Konpeito. His mind began to churn with thoughts and possibilities, each one leading to more questions.

In that moment, he determined that he was going to touch that chest once more no matter what.

Notes:

Thanks for reading like always, and I would like to know your thoughts if you have any. :)

Chapter 9: Dirty Little Animals Notes:

This is the end of act one.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

9

Dirty Little Animals

Mei Mei and Utahime engaged in a spirited bout of sparring in the open courtyard of the Onyx Fowl Tea and Entertainment House. The tea house section of the place remained shuttered; its secrets hidden from most patrons. For Utahime, it was only her second day back, and she couldn't recall precisely when the tea house opened, nor did she care at the moment.

The sun cast long shadows as the two women circled each other, their movements fluid and graceful, like a gambol of martial prowess. Mei Mei, the older and more experienced of the two, moved with the ease of someone who spent years perfecting her craft. Her stance was low and powerful, mimicking the stability of a horse stance. She watched her childhood friend carefully, her light eyes sharp and focused.

"You're distracted, Utahime," Mei Mei remarked, her voice a melodic but stern reminder of the seriousness of their training. Quickly she stepped forward and executed a quick open-hand chop, aiming for the other woman's shoulder.

Utahime's instincts kicked in just in time. She leaned her shoulder back and used her arm to barely redirect the powerful chop, narrowly avoiding the attack. In the same fluid motion, she twisted her hip forward, countering Mei Mei's move with a closed-fist punch delivered with her other hand.

As the two women sparred, the younger woman couldn't help but voice her curiosity between punches and blocks. "When does the tea house open?"

Mei Mei responded with a sly smile. "The tea house only opens if the patron has enough money for the daytime delights."

She evaded Utahime's closed fist with a graceful step and smoothly transitioned into a grappling move. Mei Mei's hands gripped Utahime's wrist and arm, forcing the younger woman's arm behind her back as she attempted to push her down into submission.

Utahimewas far from perturbed by the move. Years of training together and separately honed her reflexes and instincts. With a jerky and rough motion, she used her free arm and leg to break out of Mei Mei's grasp, breaking away and regaining her stance.

The courtyard seemed to echo with the intensity of their training as both women paused, catching their breaths. Utahime broke the silence with a hopeful question, her guard still up but a glimmer of amity in her eyes. "Truce?"

Mei Mei, her chest heaving with light exertion from the exercise, threw her head back and let out a hearty laugh. It was a sound that resonated with the confidence of someone who had seen countless battles and triumphed in every one.

"I thought you wanted to establish how Hiko would fight and train?" she teased, her tone light but challenging.

Utahime nodded, acknowledging the point as she kept her guard up. Mei Mei continued to inch forward; her fists clenched tightly. The tension in the courtyard was palpable as the martial artists enclosed each other.

"Yes," Utahime admitted, her gaze unwavering, "I think I have an idea. Less fluid, more powerful. Maybe traditional? Like father. I'm not confident if I have throwing down yet."

Mei Mei nodded thoughtfully, considering Utahime's words. It was clear that their sparring session had given the woman valuable insights into Hiko's fighting style and training. But before the pirate could respond, Utahime surged forward, closing the distance between them with four sudden, quick steps. Her legs and hips were low as she swept forward, and bringing a hammer fist down, aiming for a destabilizing jab to Mei Mei's side.

Mei Mei, caught off guard by Utahime's sudden attack, went low as well. She instinctively blocked the strike with her leg and forearm, unable to back up in time. The impact reverberated through her body, but she held her ground, her years of experience allowing her to absorb the blow without faltering.

"You've gotten better," Mei Mei praised, her voice laced with genuine admiration. It was a rare compliment from her. "General Iori still trains you every morning, doesn't he?"

Utahime's frustration simmered beneath the surface as she launched into another series of rapid closed-fist punches and sharp chops. Her movements were precise, calculated, and imbued with a sense of determination. She remained locked in her horse front stance, her feet and legs planted firmly on the ground.

"Ugh, you don't know half of it!" Utahime exclaimed, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation. Her blows rained down like a relentless storm, each strike carrying the weight of her grievances. "He throws his daughter around without a care in the world!"

Mei Mei's expertise allowed her to deftly block Utahime's jabs and chops, but the younger woman's determination was unwavering. Utahime's attacks were like a ceaseless tide, unyielding and fierce, a reflection of her resolve to improve her skills and prove herself.

As the other woman's onslaught continued, the silver haired vixen patiently bided her time, studying her opponent's movements. She recognized the pattern in Utahime's attacks, a rhythm that hinted at an opening. Mei Mei, in a calculated decision, chose to take a hit, allowing one of Utahime's strikes to connect so that she could seize the opportunity.

With trained reflexes, Mei Mei closed the distance between them and moved in to grapple Utahime. In a swift and fluid motion, she looped her opponent's body, leveraging her own strength and technique.

There was this graceful twist of her body as Mei Mei skillfully maneuvered Utahime, using her opponent's momentum against her. In an instant, Utahime found herself thrown down to the ground with a controlled force that left her momentarily stunned.

Utahime landed on the courtyard floor with a soft thud, her body sprawled out. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the wind was knocked out of her, and she was temporarily pinned down by the masterful maneuver. Mei Mei's swift and calculated actions left Utahime vulnerable and at her mercy.

The silver-haired woman, victorious and in control, held one of Utahime's arms in a twisting lock, raising it up and keeping it suspended. The young woman winced, feeling the strain in her shoulder and arm as Mei Mei applied just enough pressure to keep her subdued without causing injury.

It was a clear and indisputable victory.

Utahime lay prone on the floor, her gaze fixed on Mei Mei, a combination of exhaustion, admiration, and determination in her eyes. She may have been defeated in this spar, but she knew that every encounter with Mei Mei brought her one step closer to the idealized version of Hiko she aspired to achieve.

"It's my win, Utahime," Mei Mei declared, her voice carrying a sense of accomplishment. The victorious woman's triumphant smile was accompanied by her words of victory as she gently assisted Utahime to her feet, displaying a surprising warmth despite their fierce sparring. She dusted off Utahime's training attire with a caring touch, her actions betraying her tough exterior. She was genuinely pleased with the progress her sparring partner had made. "You're playing two songs, and you're paying for the snacks."

Utahime's heart sank as the realization of her defeat sank in. She knew that the songs Mei Mei would request were no ordinary melodies; they were intricate tunes that demanded exceptional skill and emotion to perform. And now, she was about to perform not one but two of them. She also feared for her wallet.

"H-how much?" Utahime stammered, her voice trembling with dread and curiosity.

Mei Mei's light brown eyes gleamed impishly, holding up three fingers, causing Utahime's eyes to widen in shock. "Three strings of cash?!"

A nervous chuckle escaped rosy lips as the young woman contemplated her coin purse and how light it became in one session. But Mei Mei's laughter was infectious even in this moment of teasing.

"Don't worry," Mei Mei reassured her, her laughter tinkling. "I'll give you a discount of twelve coins."

Utahime's curiosity got the best of her as she examined the gift Mei Mei presented her. It was a delicate and elegant piece, an intricately braided cord made of cotton and silk, its pristine white contrasting beautifully against her fingers. The cord was just a little longer than her wingspan, and its craftsmanship was nothing short of exquisite.

The transformation in Mei Mei's demeanor was striking. She had shed her sparring attire and now appeared in a simple yet elegant deep purple robe, with crisp white pants beneath and comfortable monk shoes.

The princess couldn't help but be charmed by the gift. "What is this?"

With a playful glint in her eye, Mei Mei chuckled softly. "A present to replace the ratty strip you use to tie your hair."

Utahime rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips as she spiritedly responded, "You've always had a way with words."

In an adoring manner, Utahime thanked Mei Mei for the thoughtful gesture. "This is beautiful craftsmanship. Thank you."

She delicately removed the cloth strip she had been using to tie her ebony hair up, its frayed edges a testimony to its wear and tear. Nimble fingers looped the braided cord several times around her hair, securing it in place with an expert touch. The cord added a touch of elegance to her appearance, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for Mei Mei's kindness.

Mei Mei's smile remained warm.

"Be careful not to hurt yourself," she advised. "Your hesitation will get you killed."

Her feet walked briskly back to the cart, and the wind was nice on this exceptionally warm. There had been a fleeting moment when her path crossed with Captain Geto, and though he hadn't taken note of her presence, her attention was drawn to him. The dark man was a commanding figure, someone who was hard to ignore due to his imposing height, commanding presence, and undeniable good looks. Perhaps the young woman was simply nosy, but what made him even more intriguing was his close friendship with the other two. Their dynamic was complicated from what she had seen.

As she continued her way past the long-haired man, the princess couldn't help, but cast a glance back at Captain Geto. He stood before a shop display showcasing exquisite yosegi wares, his gaze fixed intently on the fine wooden pieces adorned with geometric patterns. The marquetry crafts were a work of art with intricately patterned designs crafted from different woods, each chosen for its unique grain, texture, and color.

The yosegi pieces possessed intricate patterns that were a mosaic of different woods. The result was a harmonious blend of natural beauty where wood became art, and art became a reflection of nature's diversity.

The young man appeared momentarily lost in thought. His furrowed brow and distant gaze hinted at a deeper contemplation as if the patterns on those wooden pieces had stirred something within him. It was as if he were lost in thought amidst the beauty of the wooden creations. There was a hint of gloominess in his eyes, and his shoulders bore a heavier burden than they had when Utahime first noticed him. Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, Captain Geto finally tore his gaze away from the captivating display. His shoulders, which had been held with military precision, slumped slightly.

Utahime understood that whatever thoughts or emotions had surfaced in the captain's mind were not her concern. Her feet moved along, continuing forward. It was just a fleeting encounter, a glimpse into a moment of vulnerability for a man who usually wore his stoicism like armor and weaponized his charm like poison. She knew better than to pry into the captain's thoughts and feelings. He was dangerous like Captain Gojo. Additionally, the girl understood that there were layers to his persona that were best left untouched, and it wasn't her place to delve into them. Her head and mind kept her attention forward, putting the encounter behind her.

The passage of time had done little to alleviate Utahime's growing unease. It had been approximately three weeks since the intense Capture the Flag game, and a constant feeling of being under watch settled over her like a suffocating cloak. This sensation, always bearing down on her back, was relentless. Morning runs, lunch breaks, and dinner times had all become moments of discomfort as if invisible eyes followed her every move.

Even the sanctuary of her quarters no longer provided the solace it once did. The woman started to feel as if even her sleep was not entirely private. The intrusion of this ever-present scrutiny had taken a toll on her sense of security.

Before leaving her quarters each day, Utahime had developed a new habit. She would meticulously check and adjust her chest bindings five to six times when it used to be twice. Her gaze would inevitably drift to her flattened chest, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of dissatisfaction. She knew she was already of a modest size, but when compared to the more generously endowed Shoko or Mei Mei, her lips involuntarily turned downward into a slight pout. The reality was that she was fairly certain her chest would never grow any larger.

Utahime couldn't help but engage in a quiet, motivational pep talk, addressing herself with determination. "You can do it today as well! You're halfway through your second month! April is almost over!"

As she glanced at herself in the mirror, she wrestled with conflicting emotions. Was she simply being paranoid, her heightened sensitivity to the gaze of others playing tricks on her mind? Or perhaps she was overthinking things, her exhaustion from the extra and demanding training at the tea house taking its toll.

The uncertainty gnawed at her, leaving the princess to grapple with a sense of vulnerability that she had never experienced before. The watchful eyes around her seemed to close in, and she longed for the day when she could find respite from this oppressive feeling.

Captain Geto led the dwindling group of officer trainees to the serene, picturesque lake, stopping at the shoreline. It was a tranquil scene, the water gently lapping against the shore, framed by lush trees, and bathed in the soft glow of the sun high in the sky. The calmness of the lake contrasted starkly with the anticipation in the air.

Over the past weeks, the officer's training regimen had taken its toll, and now, there were just forty of them left, their numbers having dwindled significantly. Captain Geto stood at the water's edge, his ever-present smile not fading, but his tone was blunt and matter of fact.

"You will be learning to swim, or drown," he stated simply, leaving no room for negotiation. His words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the harshness of their training. He continued, his words delivered with the same calm confidence, "Cross the lake and retrieve the wooden puppets floating in the water and bring them back. That's easy, isn't it?"

The trainees exchanged glances, the challenge before them clear but deceptively simple in description. Retrieving wooden puppets from the tranquil lake sounded straightforward enough, but the lake was vast, and the task would undoubtedly prove to be far more demanding than it appeared.

As they glanced out at the wooden puppets, bobbing in the distance, the true extent of the challenge became apparent. The puppets were not within easy reach; they were scattered across the expanse of the lake, challenging their swimming skills, and testing their endurance.

The officer trainees swallowed their apprehension and apprehensively approached the water's edge.

Utahime couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry for another reason entirely. The challenge itself was not what concerned her; she considered herself a proficient swimmer, having grown up surrounded by the deep bay and water her entire life. The prospect of crossing the lake and retrieving the wooden puppets wasn't the issue – it was the possibility of having to remove her clothes.

As Captain Geto made his way toward a shaded area where Captain Gojo was patiently waiting, Utahime jogged after him. Her concern was eating at her, and she needed answers before the challenge commenced. With a furrowed brow and a hint of hesitation, she inquired, "Captain Geto, you know I'm not feeling well. I think I need to go to the infirmary."

Captain Geto's response was not what she had expected. The polite dismissive demeanor he had displayed earlier turned cold and terrifying in an instant. His eyes bore into her, and his tone took on a chilling edge as he responded, "Weren't you in the infirmary wing all of last week?"

Utahime couldn't help but feel a surge of apprehension at his reaction. She had indeed been in the infirmary wing for a significant portion of the previous week, under the pretense of assisting Lady Shoko. Her period had arrived, and while it hadn't lasted the entire week, it had been a welcome excuse to escape the training regimen. She didn't want to reveal the true reason for her frequent visits to the infirmary, but she had hoped that the long-haired boy would show some leniency or understanding.

Her lips parted to respond, but she found herself at a loss for words. The fear of her secret being uncovered had taken hold, and Utahime desperately searched for a way to explain her request without revealing too much. The tension in the air was plain as she struggled to come up with an acceptable excuse.

Captain Geto's response to her request held a hint of devilish intent, a gleam in his eyes that made her heart sink. His offer, while on the surface seemed like a concession, was laced with cunning.

"How about this?" he proposed, his tone dripping with a challenging edge. "Complete the swimming lesson with your clothes on, and rescue five wooden puppets, and I promise you are excused from swimming exercises from now on."

Utahime's eyes widened in surprise, her mind racing to process the implications of his offer. Her resolve solidified as she met Captain Geto's gaze with a determined one of her own. It was a tempting proposition to be exempted from future swimming exercises. She immediately accepted his offer. In his scheming glint, he seemed to be underestimating her, perhaps even hoping that the burden of clothing would prove too much for her.

Captain Geto's gaze never wavered from the smaller man as he continued to assess his happy reaction. He was fully aware that the added weight and resistance of the soaked clothing would test Hiko's stamina and abilities to the limit.

"Hurry up, and go," he commanded, shooing Utahime off.

Captain Geto's commanding tone left Utahime with no choice but to hurry. With a determined nod, she turned and headed toward the lake, ready to embark on the demanding swimming exercise. As the woman began her attempt to retrieve the wooden puppets, Captain Geto walked over to where Satoru was sitting in the shaded canopy, taking the seat next to him.

Suguru observed Satoru closely, his ever-present smile softened by genuine curiosity. "You look especially concentrated today," he remarked, his tone carrying a note of intrigue. "What happened?"

Satoru met Captain Geto's gaze; his expression thoughtful. "I hope today's training pays off," he replied cryptically, his words hinting at a deeper purpose behind the specific training he had arranged.

Captain Geto noticed Satoru's bewilderment as they watched Hiko leap into the water, still clad in all his clothes. Satoru voiced his confusion, his brows furrowing. "Why is he swimming with clothes on?"

Suguru, who had been observing the scene as well, offered a casual shrug of his shoulders.

"Who knows?" he responded with a nonchalant air, his words revealing little about what had happened.

Twenty long and grueling minutes passed during which Utahime navigated the vast lake with determination and unwavering resolve. The weight of her soaked clothing had indeed proved to be a challenging hindrance, but she was determined to meet Captain Geto's challenge head-on especially if it was getting her out of swimming training.

As she emerged from the lake, her clothes clinging to her, making her look like a drowned rat. Utahime felt a surge of pride swell within her as she swept her growing bangs back. She accomplished the task, retrieving the last puppet required of her, and her exhaustion was overshadowed by a sense of accomplishment. She couldn't help but feel a hint of triumph as she made her way to the shore.

Captain Geto's expression was a sight to behold as he watched Utahime saunter off, water dripping from her soaked clothes. His face visibly twitched, betraying the surprise he felt for her tenacity and determination. She met the challenge he had set with flying colors, and she wasn't shy about displaying her sense of accomplishment.

Utahime, her clothes still dripping from the challenging swimming exercise, didn't let the opportunity slip by. With an earnest tone, she reminded Captain Geto, "Please keep your promise."

Satoru, who had been listening to the conversation with an air of quiet contemplation, couldn't help but interject with a note of curiosity. "Promise?" he questioned, his voice grave and calm, betraying little emotion.

Suguru heaved a sigh of resignation. He cast a glance at Satoru and then reluctantly admitted, "I told him he can skip swimming training if he manages to rescue five puppets with all of his clothes on."

Upon hearing Suguru's confession, Satoru's face twitched, a subtle indication of his surprise and annoyance as he clicked his tongue. The revelation that Suguru made such a promise caught him off guard.

Utahime couldn't explain why, but there he was again for the fifth time, standing in front of the yosegi wares store. It was Captain Geto, and he seemed oddly out of place, almost lonesome in his demeanor. His presence had a magnetic pull, drawing her attention when she should have simply walked on, continuing her journey to Mei Mei's tea house.

As she hesitated, her inner monologue wrestled with conflicting emotions. This was none of her business, she told herself firmly. When had she become such a busybody, meddling in the affairs of others? She had always been content in her own world.

Perhaps when she found a world outside of her koi pond something changed within her. The world beyond her peaceful sanctuary opened, and she couldn't deny the curiosity that taken hold.

Utahime pondered as she watched Captain Geto from a distance, a feeling of empathy washing over her. Was this what it felt like to be amongst people who were not her servants and family? To be curious about others?

Maybe this was Fate – the red strings – wrangling her, tangling her to be nosy about the two-faced man. After all, wasn't every accidental brush of the shoulder some sort of fate and destiny entangling strangers with one and another? It was a thought that danced at the edge of her mind.

With a deep breath, the young woman approached her Captain. She couldn't explain why he appeared so lonely today. Talking to him wouldn't hurt, or so she hoped. If he got mad at her, at least he wouldn't be lonely anymore, and that thought was enough to quell any reservations she might have had.

The princess took a step closer but was respectfully distant from him.

Her deepened voice gentle and caring as she spoke to the man beside her. She too began to study the puzzle boxes. "Captain Geto," she began softly, "You like looking at these boxes quite a bit, don't you?"

He turned to her, his eyes narrowing coldly, devoid of the usual politeness she had come to associate with him. He wasn't pretending today with her. His response was curt and direct, his words cutting through the air like a blade. "You're nosy, aren't you?"

Undeterred by his stern demeanor, Utahime mustered the courage to ask for permission to speak freely. "May I speak freely?" she inquired politely, a respectful request for an opportunity to share her thoughts.

Geto didn't care. "No one is around," he granted, giving her the green light to express herself.

"Thank you," Utahime replied with a nod of gratitude before she allowed her thoughts to flow freely. "I am indeed nosy, but at least I don't darken people's doorsteps with their mulling over wares they won't buy."

Captain Geto's response carried a hint of amusement as if he appreciated Utahime's straightforwardness. He replied, his tone slightly softened. "What do you know?"

"I don't know a lot," she admitted candidly. "I'm weak. I cry without difficulty. I hurt easily. I have never been outside of my home until recently. I'm constantly afraid of making mistakes." Her vulnerability was on display, a raw and honest confession of her insecurities. "But I know I make my decisions carefully. If I want something accomplished, I do my best to make it happen."

By nature, Utahime thought of herself as a simple creature.

She shifted her attention to Captain Geto's fascination with the yosegi puzzle boxes, her tone gentle but inquisitive. "You look like you really want something out of these yosegi puzzle boxes, Captain. Why not just pick the one you like, and buy it?"

Captain Geto's response was guarded but revealing. "It's not that easy."

"Nothing is easy," she mused, emphasizing the universal truth that life often presented challenges that required careful consideration and effort. Surprised by the candidness of their conversation, Utahime couldn't help but offer a sincere compliment. "You're surprisingly easy to talk to, Captain."

The young man remained silent, his thoughts seemingly wandering in the midst of their conversation. Utahime, undeterred by his contemplative mood, decided to take another step and ask, "Captain, can I ask you a personal question?"

Captain Geto's response carried a hint of surprise, mingled with a hint of amusement. "I'm surprised you're still asking for permission when you're relatively straightforward."

The woman offered a simple shrug, her expression sincere. "Comfort between two acquaintances must be put forth by both parties."

His response was a short, breathy laugh, a rare moment of levity from the stoic Captain. His eyes crinkled with amusement as he finally turned to fully face her. He tilted his head, amused by her request, and raised a brow in anticipation.

"Go for it. Ask."

"Do you want to eat lunch with me?"

Utahime's unexpected invitation caught Captain Geto off guard. He furrowed his brows and scrunched his face slightly as he considered her question.

"Why?" he asked, curiosity and a hint of skepticism lacing his tone.

Her response was simple and heartfelt, a gesture of consideration that seemed to surprise him. "Just because you seem like you need company," she explained. "And you don't seem like bad company yourself."

Utahime wasn't done, though, and she playfully teased him, hitting the nail on the head. "You probably fight with Captain Gojo and Lady Shoko about where to eat all the time, but you always give in, don't you?"

Captain Geto's lips turned downward into a frown almost immediately, her assessment hitting uncomfortably close to home. He couldn't help but be taken aback by her, and his surprise was evident.

Utahime's laughter rang out merrily as she continued to jest with the younger man. "I'll even treat you," she offered good-naturedly, a warm smile on her lips. "I'm older than you, after all. So where to?"

She pulled out her coin purse, and she shook it up and down as the coins jingled in a cheerful tune. Captain Geto's response was a prolonged silence as he stared at her with those dark, doubtful eyes of his. He was uncertain of what to make of this unexpected offer and the sincerity that was offered freely.

Utahime didn't press the matter when Captain Geto initially hesitated. Instead, she simply shrugged and turned to go, prepared to let the invitation fade away.

However, Geto surprised her by stopping her with a few words. The frown on his face was less severe now, but it was still there. "Where are you going? I thought you were going to treat me?"

Turning back to him with an infectious grin spreading from ear to ear, Utahime playfully responded, "Well? Where to?"

"Soba."

Captain Geto's unexpected arrival at their table left Nanami, Haibara, and Utahime momentarily taken aback. They found themselves caught between standing and sitting, unsure of how to respond to their captain's presence.

As the young lord took the seat next to Nanami, his usual smile gracing all three of them, the atmosphere was charged with surprise and respect. The moment was marked by a brief silence, as they tried to navigate the unexpected shift in dynamics.

Nanami, Haibara, and Utahime exchanged quick glances, their uncertainty evident in their expressions. They were torn between wanting to show respect to their captain and the desire to make him feel welcome at their table.

"Everyone sit," Captain Geto's insistence broke the tension, and he encouraged everyone to take their seats. His elegant demeanor was on full display as he picked up his chopsticks and gracefully placed a piece of simmered tofu into his mouth. His actions were both poised and confident.

Following his lead, all three of them resumed eating, their initial hesitation giving way to a more relaxed atmosphere. Haibara couldn't help but express his curiosity about the change in their dining routine. "Lord Geto, don't you usually eat with Lord Gojo?" he inquired, seeking an understanding of the captain's motivations.

"I felt like a change of pace today," he admitted before scooping up a portion of rice and chewing it. "Yu."

"Yes?" the younger boy asked.

"You have a younger sister, right?" Geto asked.

Captain Geto's inquiry about Haibara's family piqued the younger boy's interest. With a bright smile, Haibara responded eagerly, "Yes, I do! I have a younger sister who's two years younger than me."

Nanami and Utahime exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued as well. It was clear that Captain Geto had something specific in mind with this line of questioning, and they waited with anticipation to see where the conversation would lead next. The air was charged with a sense of intrigue as they wondered about the captain's intentions.

"How would you feel if I wanted to marry her?" Geto asked bluntly to Haibara.

Captain Geto's blunt question left everyone at the table in a state of shock. His inquiry was unexpected and carried a weight of seriousness that hung in the air. He directed his question specifically to Haibara, and the younger boy's expression registered a mix of surprise and bewilderment.

Utahime couldn't help but gape in astonishment at the bombshell Geto just dropped. Her eyes blinked as she struggled to process the implications of his question. It was a revelation that raised countless questions in her mind. What about Lady Shoko and the complicated dynamics between them? Was he truly considering giving up on his feelings for her?

Captain Geto, seemingly undeterred by the surprise his previous question elicited, redirected his attention to Nanami with another probing question. "What about you, Nanami? Do you have a sister who is of marriageable age?"

The unexpected inquiry caught Nanami off guard, and he was left momentarily speechless. The surprise on his face was evident, and he struggled to respond as he began to cough, his reaction full of astonishment and perhaps discomfort at the sudden shift in the conversation.

Utahime continued to watch the unfolding scene, her eyes reflecting her lingering surprise as she tried to decipher Captain Geto's true intentions. His calculating gaze turned toward her, and a shiver ran down her spine as she anticipated what might come next.

However, before he could even pose his next question, Utahime responded firmly and decisively. "No," she said immediately, her tone leaving no room for ambiguity. "No. Just no."

Captain Geto blinked in response to her swift and resolute rejection, but his amusement was evident as he tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear. His grin, toothy and mischievous, hinted at his intention to continue the conversation regardless of her protest.

"Hiko, you don't even know what I'm going to say or ask," he remarked, teasingly challenging her resistance.

Utahime pursed her lips and shook her head once more, her determination unshaken. "No, just no, Captain," she repeated firmly, a line she had drawn that she wasn't willing to cross, regardless of the direction the conversation might take.

Captain Geto's playful and pretend absent-minded manner didn't deter him from pursuing his line of questioning. He shifted the conversation toward Utahime's family. "I know you have a younger sister who is on the shelf. She's been trying to get married for a while. I am the perfect solution to her problem. I get a princess, and she gets married."

Haibara, now intrigued by the revelation, couldn't help but interject with a question of his own. "Your sister is a princess? Does that make you a prince?" he inquired; curiosity piqued.

"No," explained Utahime. "Only the female descendants of the Iori clan have imperial status."

Haibara seemed duly impressed by this revelation, his eyes widening with interest. "Wow, so your sister is a princess," he remarked, clearly fascinated by the noble lineage within Utahime's family. The unexpected turn in the conversation had brought forth a new layer of curiosity and intrigue as they delved into the intricacies of her family's history and status.

Haibara's curiosity appeared unquenchable, and he continued to press on with his questions about Hiko's sister (herself!), oblivious to her desire to move on from the topic.

"Is she pretty?" he inquired, seemingly unfazed by her reluctance.

Utahime struggled to find a suitable response, momentarily taken aback. "Uh," she stammered, "she looks like... a woman?"

Captain Geto, never one to pass up an opportunity for humor, interjected with a teasing remark. "Well, you're very pretty," he quipped, his eyes flickering up to her face. "If your sister looked anything like you, she must be very unfortunate looking."

Utahime's pride was instantly stung by the insult, and a flush of indignation colored her cheeks. She couldn't let this stand.

"I will have you know she is very attractive!" she retorted firmly, her voice carrying a note of defensive pride. "There were a lot of people clamoring to marry her, but because of circumstances, the proposals were rejected! You lot from the West wouldn't know because you're stuck over there while we are making progress in the East!"

Utahime had had enough of the conversation and decided that she no longer wanted to participate. She got up from her seat, excusing herself from the ongoing discussion at the table. She felt many things ranging from indignation to embarrassment to sympathy for Captain Geto's predicament, as well as a growing sense that he might be giving up on his feelings for Lady Shoko by entertaining the idea of marriage as a means to move on.

Utahime felt a little bad for Geto that he felt desperate enough to rely on that method.

As she stepped away from the table, Utahime couldn't help but reflect on her thoughts. It was clear to her that Captain Geto was considering a significant life change, and yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that he might be making the wrong decision by choosing to move on in this manner. The idea of using someone else as a replacement didn't sit well with her. She couldn't fathom that any sane woman would willingly want to fill such a role.

The triangle got even more muddied.

As Utahime made her way back to her accommodations, she unexpectedly crossed paths with Captain Gojo, who was waiting by the entrance to the officer recruits' quarters. His smile upon seeing her was enigmatic, a little smile that carried an air of mystery and contemplation.

"Person I was waiting for," Gojo greeted her, his tone calm and composed as he approached her. "Take a walk with me."

He left no room for protest.

Utahime responded confidently, "Yes, of course, sir."

She grown accustomed to Captain Gojo's unique and sometimes eccentric behavior, and it seemed that his manic energy dissipated or that she had simply become immune to it over time. The young woman was no longer afraid of him like she used to be. As Utahime followed Captain Gojo on their late-night walk, she couldn't help but wonder about the purpose of this unexpected meeting at such an hour. The captain's intentions remained a mystery to her, shrouded in the quiet stillness of the night.

They arrived at the spot where he had grappled with her during the Capture the Flag event, a peculiar junction where the shoreline met an uphill incline. Utahime looked around, taking in the serene sounds of the nearby river and lake, and the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind before returning her attention to the captain.

The white-haired boy was quiet – uncharacteristically quiet as she knew him. Though if the princess had to admit, she didn't know Gojo very well. She had observed him as the energetic leader who often seemed indifferent to the training of his soldiers, as well as the puzzling and occasionally unpredictable individual who had a penchant for sweets. Gojo Satoru – as she knew him – was a field of conundrums and every time she stumbled upon something startling, it made her sympathetic towards him. Whether it was his isolation, manic energy and attitude, dangerous persona, or nasty habit to be a glaring brat.

That was who Gojo Satoru was to her.

Captain Gojo stood there with his back turned to her in silence, each passing moment seemed to intensify the young woman's unease. Her nerves began to fray as she found herself scrutinizing details about him that had never seemed intimidating before. Captain Gojo was the tallest of the three captains, standing at a towering 190 centimeters while she herself was a much more modest 165 centimeters. The stark height difference made her feel smaller and more vulnerable than she truly was. Normally, she would have welcomed the quiet companionship of the younger man, but something about this situation felt off.

Her insides began twisting and shaking.

Utahime's instincts began to scream at her, urging her to leave this eerie silence behind. She slowly started to back away, putting some distance between herself and Captain Gojo. Her heart quickened its pace as she finally couldn't bear the silence any longer.

"Captain?" she ventured cautiously, her voice trembling slightly.

At her call, Captain Gojo finally turned around, removing his black bifocals, and producing a pouch of candies she had given him weeks ago. The pouch was mostly empty, a testament to his fondness for sweets. He nimbly opened the pouch, selected a candy, and with a warm smile, tossed a purple Konpeito candy her way.

Utahime caught the candy with ease, but as she held it delicately between her thumb and nail, she regarded it with a hint of confusion. Her gaze remained fixated on the candy for a moment, her thoughts momentarily distracted by this unexpected gesture from her captain.

Confused, but curious, she tore her eyes away from the candy and raised her head, locking eyes with her captain. She muttered, "Captain Gojo, wha-?"

In the blink of an eye, Gojo closed the distance between them with a speed that bordered on the inhuman. It was a movement so swift and unnatural that it left her momentarily speechless as his fingers gripped the collars of her kosode top and the two white under slips she wore, prying open her top. His hands parted them roughly, spreading it wide, pushing the garments down her shoulders until it reached the junction where her elbows were, exposing her to elements as the wind turned cold and unforgiving.

Utahime's thoughts came to an abrupt halt as she froze in place, a chill running down her spine. It was as if thunder struck her. Her tongue betrayed her, refusing to form words, and she felt a sudden wave of dread wash over her. In that moment, her face paled, turning as white as a sheet. Utahime's eyes widened in astonishment as she registered the sudden proximity of her captain and his hands on her clothes.

Gojo Satoru undressed her.

The startling nature of his approach left her feeling vulnerable and uncertain, her heart racing. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation, but she found herself at a loss for words, unable to articulate her thoughts or feelings. Utahime's fingers lost their grip on the candy, and it slipped from her grasp, tumbling down the incline with a soft clatter. The colorful confection rolled further and further away, making its way down the slope until it finally came to a rest on the shoreline.

She could feel his dark blue eyes trail and claw all over her bare shoulders and upper arms as they raked down to the flattened chest that was bound so tightly by bandages. Her lips trembled uncontrollably as those same hands that exposed her, pulled up the garments slowly from where the fabric bunched and pooled at her elbows.

Gojo fixed the top crudely. His touch was rough and hasty as he tugged at the parted clothing, attempting to bring it together. The result of his efforts left Utahime's attire looking far from its original state of order and precision. The clothing appeared abused and wrinkled, bearing the unmistakable signs of Gojo's uncharacteristically forceful handling. This unexpected turn of events left Utahime feeling both disheveled and bewildered as she tried to make sense of what had just transpired.

Her heart thundered loudly in her ears. The adrenaline coursing through her veins caused her heart to race uncontrollably, the sound of its pounding almost drowning out the world around her.

A powerful wave of humiliation and shame swept over Utahime as she looked up at the man who moved away from her. The unreadable look on his face left her exposed and vulnerable like she had been doused with icy water and left unable to withstand the harsh elements of this unsettling encounter as she was now raw and disoriented, struggling to regain her composure as her hands trembled trying to fix her clothes correctly.

Deft fingers trembled uncontrollably as she tightened her grip on the fabric, the adrenaline and tension of the moment taking their toll on her physical composure. Her hands were trying to right the wrong he inflicted on her. She was trying to undo the degradation flooding her system.

"Why…?" she asked no one in particular. She had only one person to blame for her situation – herself.

Captain Gojo's bright blue eyes sparkled with manic euphoria, and a sinister pleasure danced across his features as he observed Utahime's crumbled state. His amusement was boundless as he reveled in the effect he had on her, his expression lighting up with a sadistic glee that sent shivers down her spine.

He exposed her identity, his laughter taking on a cruel edge.

"You're that woman from the pond!" he exclaimed with a boisterous declaration, the delight in his voice intense. He once again invaded her personal space, locking his gaze with her terrified, wide eyes, savoring every moment of the fear that coursed through her.

There was that cruelty again shining through.

"I knew it! I knew it!" Gojo continued, his gleeful words dripping with condescension. "I knew there was something off from the moment I laid my eyes on you at camp. How foolish can you be to disguise yourself as a man? This isn't a fairytale. Oh my god, the General's daughter! You stole his conscription notice, didn't you? I remember thinking there was someone eavesdropping on that day! Hahahaha!"

Utahime remained deathly still and silent, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white as she listened to Captain Gojo's mad ravings. "Are you going to cry? Are you?" he goaded her.

With a sinister and maniacal laugh, Gojo celebrated her exposure, relishing the chaos and turmoil that this revelation would bring. He jeered mockingly, "Wait until the rest of them hear about this." His laughter continued to ring with madness as he contemplated her predicament. "Should you be killed for deceiving the emperor?"

The implications of Captain Gojo's words sent a shiver down Utahime's spine, and within her, a switch seemed to activate. As Gojo turned his back to her, lost in his wild rant, something within her shifted and twitched into place – it was a dark and disgusting thing that came crawling out into the light.

She blinked rapidly.

Gone was the fear that gripped her just moments before. In its place, her eyes transformed into steely darkness, and her heart beat with a newfound calmness as her breathing evened out. Her lips no longer trembled with anxiety. With unwavering resolve, she made a decisive move. Utahime swiftly undid the braided cord that held her hair up and coiled the long cord around both of her hands, pulling it taut and preparing herself for whatever might come next.

If she was going to die, Utahime might as well take him along with her.

Iori Hiko was no more – Gojo Satoru killed Hiko.

Only Iori Utahime remained now.

Utahime moved with a deadly quietness, not making a single sound as she closed the distance between herself and the man who was lost in his ramblings. Captain Gojo remained preoccupied with his own thoughts, convinced of his correctness, and utterly oblivious to the ominous aura that surrounded her.

It was only at the very last moment that he finally sensed the unmistakable killing intent radiating from her. His instincts kicked in, and he whirled around, facing Utahime, his eyes widening in realization as the braided cord was already looped his neck, pulled tight and constricted.

Her fists turned deadly white as she pulled as hard as she could – there was no longer any hesitation from her as her body hungered for this man's death. Her body would willingly bleed to kill the man who shamed and humiliated her, exposing her, butchering a part of her, leaving her raw.

She strangled him with the braided cord as her feet made quick sharp jabs to his knees where the joints met and were sensitive and soft. He landed on his knees as his hands tried prying the braided cord around his neck off. Seeing that his hands were going to be a problem, willingly loosened the loop around his neck as she masterfully restrained him, binding his wrists together with the remaining length. Her hands pulled the remaining length back, and there was a slight choking noise escaping from Gojo's mouth.

As Captain Gojo looked up into Utahime's dark, smoldering amber eyes, he couldn't help but grin widely despite his lack of breath, his expression undeterred by the restraints of the situation. This was the same woman who had regarded him with a fierce and primal intensity back at the koi pond, and he couldn't contain his excitement at encountering her once more.

There was a peculiar thrill in facing this woman again, someone who had left a lasting impression on him with her intense gaze and resolute demeanor that regarded him as an animal despite his beautiful facade. Gojo's excitement burned brightly, and he relished the opportunity to engage her.

Utahime's fingers tightened their grip on the cords as she locked eyes with Captain Gojo's crazed grin. He was strong, fighting against the restraints as he made gaps in the strangle, pushing against her hold. Her palms began burning from the braided cord, wrapped around her hand, hurting from the contested power between her and him. Her expression contorted into a deep frown as she strained against his strength, determined to maintain her stranglehold on him. She was well aware that he was physically stronger than her, but with his hands currently bound and him on his knees fighting against the braided cord, she saw an opportunity to assert her dominance and finish the job.

She wrapped her legs over his shoulders quickly and decisively, looping her ankles around his biceps as she attempted to force and crush him between her thighs as squeezing with not only her thighs, but also the cord wrapped around her hands.

Gojo went limp in her stranglehold, Utahime cautiously loosened her grip, her guard momentarily lowered as she checked to see if he was incapacitated. However, Gojo had other plans and seized the opportunity to break free from her stranglehold, his hands swiftly working to release the restraints that had bound them.

Utahime's hands lost their control over the cord as it unfurled from her grasp, and before she could react, Gojo sprang into action. With impressive speed and agility, he got up from his knees and deftly hoisted her over his shoulders as his hands gripped her kimono top, throwing her off him. As she was thrown through the air, she curled her body, landing opposite him on the balls of her feet as her hand helped steady her or else, she would have fallen onto the ground on all fours.

Looking a little exerted, Gojo was mostly excited as he caught his breath finally. He picked up the braided hair cord from the ground and played with it, twirling it in his hands. His dark blue eyes regarded the woman before him. He then leered at her and said, "So much for a princess? Didn't know you made a habit of restraining people. Though I wouldn't mind dying between your legs."

His strong legs moved into a front stance as he regarded her with glee, his fists were up and closed. The cord definitely left marks on him – it was only fair he did the same to her as his eyes burned her image into his mind.

Straightening up, her posture was fluid and limber as if she was readying herself for a dance with slightly parted feet that were placed front and back. Her palms were open and relaxed while her eyes maimed him a thousand times over already. She in particular wanted to claw out his eyes.

Her amber eyes narrowed at him, breathing out, "Heh."

Notes:

Thanks for reading like always, and I would like to know your thoughts if you have any. :)

Chapter 10: Utahime Notes:

Hello everyone,

This is officially the start of the second act.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

10

Utahime

The disguised woman took measured, deliberate breaths, her senses sharpened for the imminent clash. Her amber gaze locked onto Captain Gojo, unyielding and unafraid, as he loomed near her. His eyes, an icy shade of blue, possessed an otherworldly intensity, reminding the woman of his unparalleled reputation of combat prowess that had brought him to this moment.

In a blur of motion, Gojo advanced, each step characterized by a fluid grace with formidable power. His footwork was impeccable, and they were perfect and effortless, angering Utahime even more as he closed the distance between them in a mere six, long steps. Gojo Satoru moved with deceptive swiftness despite his large frame.

His right fist, previously clenched in anticipation, uncoiled like a spring, relinquishing her silken white cord that cascaded to the ground. The cord whispered its descent, a momentary distraction from the impending confrontation. As his fist arced through the air, it was a strike born of precision and deadly intent. He aimed for her upper arm, seeking to exploit a weakness, to test her mettle. Simultaneously, his free hand darted forward, seeking to ensnare her in a vice-like grapple. His fingers reached out like talons, eager to secure a grip on her clothing, to bind her in a web of submission.

As her Captain's fist hurtled toward her, the woman reacted with quick enough agility just to dance away from his clutches. Her arms shot up, palms open like a pair of graceful fans, and she pivoted swiftly. In a half-circle twirl, she flowed seamlessly into his personal space, her elbow honed like a dagger, aimed squarely at his chest. Despite the vast difference in their sizes, she knew Captain Gojo well enough to anticipate some of his movements. Utahime had been a vigilant observer, a shadow amongst her comrades, absorbing every nuance, every detail of their actions, especially those of the officers and the seasoned samurais.

Beneath the cascading strands of her dark hair, she ducked beneath his raised arms, slipping gracefully beneath his armpits. With a masterful maneuver, she found herself suddenly behind him, a ghostly presence in his blind spot. Her attack was swift and precise, both elbows striking his broad back with the full force of her body's momentum, the weight of her resolve fueling her blows.

Her philosophy was simple: observation was her greatest weapon. In the long hours of tedious scrutiny, she learned the value of knowledge and awareness of others. Every habit, every skill, every temperament she could observe became a resource for her in any situation that might arise. The more she knew, the longer she watched, the stronger Utahime became, always striving to be 120 percent more effective by incorporating every facet of her understanding into her actions.

For a fleeting moment, the captain lost his footing, his balance disrupted by the unexpected assault from behind. Her elbows dug into his back with surgical precision, pushing him off kilter. But he was no ordinary adversary. In the blink of an eye, he recovered, his mastery of the martial arts evident as he swiftly righted himself as if the strikes to his back had never occurred.

Her earliest memories were a blend of graceful melodies and fierce determination, a juxtaposition of the feminine art of dance and the raw power of martial arts. Her mother, with strict love and patience, had been her first teacher, guiding her delicate footsteps in the world of dance. She learned not just to hear the music but to feel it, to synchronize her movements with every note, to sway gracefully through every transition. Her mother instilled in her not only the physicality of dance but also the nuances of expression – the subtle language of the body.

On the other hand, her father had introduced her to a world of discipline and strength through martial arts. Karate and various other styles and schools became a canvas upon which she painted her courage and resilience. Life took a different turn when her father brought home an older girl, just a year or two her senior, along with a Taoist priest named Daoling. The priest's primary role was to nurture her understanding of Shinto and the intricacies of the I Ching. Yet, he also became her guide in another form of art, the art of turning circles, much like dancing.

Now, in the heat of combat, she sought to weave these teachings into a seamless sequence of action. Her lithe form darted like a phantom, a fleeting mirage always a step ahead of Captain Gojo's reach as she traded blows and blocks with him. Her feet kicking and jabbing at his knees, shins, and ankles; however, as expected Captain Gojo was an exceptional fighter as he instinctively blocked her power footwork with some ease. She feinted a left jab to his right only to drop and finish with an elbow to the side of his abdomen. His hands caught her, but she was able to break out of it easily as she twisted out of his unsteady hold in three short steps as she faced his back. As the encounter unfolded, she transitioned smoothly from an upright stance to a lower, more grounded position. Her feet spread wide apart, anchoring her in a sturdy horse stance.

With a swift, compact movement, the back of her closed fist met the side of his ribs, delivering a calculated strike that sought to exploit any weakness. In a fluid follow-through, she lunged into a sweeping open palm strike, aiming for the vulnerable center of his spine. Yet, she was a practitioner of versatility, constantly shifting, never bound by a single path. As Captain Gojo began to turn toward her, preparing for a counterattack, her agility and adaptability came into play. Without losing momentum or speed, she redirected her energy, lowering herself to the ground with both hands. Her nimble maneuver allowed her to evade his imminent blow, narrowly escaping a potentially devastating punch that almost brushed against her ear.

Now on the ground, her movements became grounded and deliberate. Her feet became weapons, sweeping with precision and force against the captain's ankles. In four rapid steps, she aimed to break his balance, to disrupt his stance, to weaken his foundation.

The captain's feet danced with uncanny agility, sidestepping her arching roundhouse kick aimed at his groin. His eyes, still tinged with that spark of amusement, locked onto her as she scowled at him. Undeterred by his evasion, her body coiled like a tightly wound spring, preparing for the next sequence of her relentless assault. Her other leg swept upward in a graceful arc from the ground as the trajectory of her kick redirected towards his face. With preternatural speed, the captain read her movement, his hand snaking out to grip her ankle in a vice-like hold. He dangled her like a fish upside down with her one leg.

But she was far from finished.

Displaying a tenacity matching her skill, Utahime pushed herself up from the ground, her free leg folding into a formidable weapon. Her foot lashed out, a kick aimed squarely at his chest, a calculated gambit to force him to release his hold on her as she handsprang away from him, landing on her feet as she tried to pull him down. Captain Gojo, sensing the impending danger, relinquished his grip on her ankle and swiftly sidestepped her oncoming attack, smoothly reducing the distance between them.

She knew what was coming next, having observed him execute this sequence countless times. With her heightened awareness, she anticipated his move as the captain's fists and upper body coiled with precision, setting the stage for a rapid flurry of punches. Eighteen consecutive strikes were unleashed in a blistering five seconds. Yet, there was something both intriguing and infuriating about the captain's approach – he was deliberately avoiding her face; instead targeting her shoulders and upper body. It was as if he were holding back. The woman couldn't help but find this combination of interest and insult compelling. In his decision to go easy on her, he unwittingly provided her with a better chance at victory, a chance she was determined to seize.

Aware of the vast disparity in power, strength, and speed between herself and the captain, along with his uncanny reaction time, the woman recognized that her advantage lay in her agility and the unpredictability of her dynamic footwork and movements. Her style was characterized by sweeping, twirling, and turning actions, low and limber, always poised to change direction or misdirect her opponent. She possessed knowledge of him and knew what he was capable of, but she understood that the longer the battle raged, the closer he came to deciphering her patterns and anticipating her next move.

Seizing the initiative, she decided to take a calculated risk. Utahime backed away, evading his relentless barrage of punches, her lithe form circling around each blow with practiced precision. The moment arrived when she chose to absorb one of his punches that would transition into a backhand strike. Her defense was swift and strategic. Using the back of her nondominant arm as a shield, she blocked the incoming strike, absorbing most of the damage. Simultaneously, her dominant hand closed around his thick wrist, albeit not with a full grip.

The impact of the blocked strike against her forearm sent tremors of pain rippling through her body, and she couldn't help but emit a shuddering grunt of discomfort. She knew that had she not managed to slow his momentum with her other hand, her forearm would have likely shattered under the force of his blow.

But she welcomed the pain; it was a price she was willing to pay. Her intent was clear – to capture his hand and gain control over his wrist. Her hand twisted the captured wrist while her forearm exerted pressure, pushing against it, almost causing his wrist to rotate out of its natural position if he hadn't broken out of it quickly. She clicked her tongue at him, annoyed at herself because she lacked the momentum to break his hand. Her aim was to incapacitate him in some form in order to create an opening for herself. Yet, the captain remained unfazed by the pain of his almost dislocated wrist. In a swift and unyielding response, his other hand snaked around her neck as she attempted to pivot away in a quick and low sweep. His grip tightened, forcing her back against his unyielding chest in a grappling hold.

The atmosphere shifted intensely as Captain Gojo's tone hardened.

"You need to calm down," he admonished, the earlier amusement gone from his voice. He was no longer playing, and his actions spoke louder than his words. Gojo forced her legs wide apart with his own, destabilizing her while maintaining the constricting neck hold with his forearm, further limiting her ability to regain her footing.

Undeterred and fueled by her unyielding spirit, she didn't offer a verbal response. Instead, both of her hands came up, clawing at his unrelenting forearm in a desperate bid to break free from the vice-like grapple. Her resistance only seemed to trigger his grit as his grip on her throat tightening, affording her precious little air. As Gojo's sleeve rolled up, revealing an expanse of taut skin and muscle, Utahime understood that the situation had escalated to a dangerous point for her.

Summoning a reservoir of resolve, the woman unclenched her jaw as much as she could within the confining hold, opening her mouth with a single purpose in mind. In a daring move, she clamped her teeth down on his exposed forearm, biting through his skin with unwavering willpower. The captain flinched, momentarily startled by the unexpected pain, and unconsciously loosened his hold on her.

It was the opening she needed. In that fleeting moment, Utahime slipped out of his grasp, her lithe form slinking down into a split before she executed a remarkable roll away from him as she had seized her chance to escape.

The captain's icy blue eyes remained fixated on the lightly bleeding bite mark on his forearm as if he couldn't quite believe what had just transpired. His gaze traced the grooves of teeth indentation, his distraction momentarily consuming him. But Gojo was quick to snap back to the reality of their ongoing confrontation, aware that he couldn't afford to let his guard down, not even for a second.

Meanwhile, the woman wasted no time. Seizing the opportunity while he was preoccupied, she sprinted toward his back with incredible speed. Her intent was to leap up and deliver a powerful kick with her legs. However, his instincts kicked in just in the nick of time, despite his temporarily compromised arm.

As he felt her approach, he pivoted with a remarkable swiftness, shifting his attention back to her. Her flying kick, which had initially been aimed at his torso, suddenly transformed into a different kind of move. She expertly hooked her leg over his shoulder, using her momentum to turn it into a grapple. Her technique was executed with precision as she used her entire body weight to force him onto his back, her agility and strength proving to be formidable.

With the Captain now on his back, the woman didn't relent. She swiftly maneuvered herself into a dominating position, straddling him as she sat on his chest, effectively restricting his breathing. Her knees pressed into the sides of his neck, applying pressure that made each breath a struggle.

In response to her control, his hands gripped her hips with punishing force, attempting to throw her off. When that tactic failed, he resorted to a more aggressive approach as her two hands clenched each other, prepped to swing down on his head with all the force she could manage. One of his hands shot up, fingers finding her shoulder, and with a sharp, precise motion, he wrenched her shoulder, forcing her to grit her teeth together as his fingers pinched down on pressure points in combination with the other hand on her hip. His blue eyes gleamed brightly as he smirked widely at her before he returned the favor she bestowed on him earlier. Without hesitation, Gojo opened his mouth and sank his teeth into her inner thigh hard through the fabric of her hakama, not letting go. Her piercing scream echoed through the air as pain shot through her, a shocking retaliation for her earlier bite.

Her knees relinquished their pressure on his throat. Gojo seized the opportunity with unyielding fortitude. He pushed against her, swiftly reversing their positions, pinning her beneath him. His piercing, unnaturally blue eyes bore into her, their intensity unwavering as he gazed down at her with a focused intent, the battle far from over, but the momentum firmly in his favor. With her pinned beneath him effectively, the captain continued to hold her down with his hands and knees, his chest rising and falling with a controlled rhythm as his eyes roved over her. His grips on her shoulder and hips remained firm while one knee pinned down the leg he bit. His focus undivided as Gojo contemplated his options.

In an act of defiance, her other hand shot up, delivering a hard and punishing slap to his cheek. The resounding impact echoed between them, but the captain remained stoic, not even flinching in response. Her bright amber eyes locked onto his with unwavering determination, refusing to utter a word. After a tense moment of silence, he spoke quietly, a hint of introspection and perhaps even guilt in his tone.

"Okay," Gojo conceded, "maybe I deserved that one."

However, the sudden interruption of their conflict arrived in the form of crunching grass and kicked-up dirt. Rushing footsteps approached, and gruff hands swiftly pulled the captain off the disguised woman. Utahime took a moment to adjust her clothing, ensuring it had remained intact during the scuffle.

General Yaga intervened, restraining the captain and demanding answers. "Stop! What are you two doing?" he barked while General Gakuganji shook his head and glared at Captain Gojo.

The woman, still on the ground, flashed an exasperated look at the two generals and pointed at the man now in their clutches, her actions silently conveying her perspective on the situation.

Doctor Ieiri and Lady Shoko, to say the very least, were surprised to see so many high ranking officers just as the uncle and niece pair were ready to head back to the rented estate back in town.

"Lady Shoko," Gojo said to his fiancé firmly as he had her uncle check on him inside one of the rooms. "Assist Iori."

In the hushed confines of the medical wing, the disguised woman sat in silence as the captain's fiancée attended to her injuries. The medicine woman's fingers moved with a gentle precision, assessing the damage to the bone, muscle, and swelling around the shoulder area. The patient remained composed, displaying no fear of the pain coursing through her. Her eyes, however, told a different story – they burned with an unwavering resolve, fixated on the wall opposite her.

Utahime sneered, knowing the captain was being treated by Doctor Ieiri in the room next to them. If she had a knife, she could have ended him when she still had the element of surprise, or at least taken his ear.

"You are alright," Lady Shoko confirmed after her examination. "You will be sore and bruised."

The woman on the medical table, prideful and unbroken, couldn't help but let her emotions seep through.

"I hate him," she admitted to the captain's fiancée, her voice tinged with bitterness. Her eyes, though, betrayed a hint of vulnerability, a glimmer of tears she refused to shed out of sheer spite. Her pride had been grievously wounded, and it showed, but most of all, she was disappointed in herself. It was easier to blame him though despite her mentally going through her memories, wondering where she had slipped up. "I hate him so much."

The doctor, taken aback by this confession, questioned, "He knows?"

The response came with a bitter twist.

"Confirmed with his hands and eyes," Utahime replied, her frustration unmistakable as she turned her angry eyes toward Lady Shoko. "You're going to be marrying an animal."

The doctor couldn't deny the truth in her words, but Lady Shoko couldn't condone them either. "While I think what Satoru did wasn't right, he isn't bad. He's just an idiot. A big, powerful idiot."

"He undressed me."

Shoko decided it was better to stay silent, unable to excuse his actions against the woman sitting across from her.

This only seemed to infuriate the injured woman further. Utahime turned toward the walls, her frustration pouring out. "I am sorry if my words about your future husband appear horrible, but it is the truth that he harmed me. And I don't know if it is because you grew up alongside them, but how do you even have some sort of feelings for them? Both? Your fiancé is a rough, terrible creature. And the one you love? I can't even imagine why. Why do you love him? Why do you love both of them?"

The doctor stared at her, taking in the woman's pain and anger, understanding that her friend was grappling with overwhelming emotions. The doctor recognized that she didn't truly seek answers to those questions, but it was difficult not to find a hint of irony in them. After all, she had asked herself the same questions many times before.

She finally spoke, acknowledging the woman's anger. "No, you're right. Satoru should have never done that to you. I apologize on his behalf."

Utahime's outburst prompted the doctor to open up about her own feelings.

"When I was a young girl," Lady Shoko began, her voice carrying a trace of nostalgia and sadness. "It was easy to admire and love him. Satoru… he was bright, vivacious, silly, and powerful and strong, but he was also…distant. I never felt like I could reach him, or rather, every time I tried to know more about him, it was as if there was a wall built too high for me to climb."

She continued, revealing her inner turmoil. "I never loved him romantically beyond a crush because it was never allowed to prosper to that point. He made sure of that, and I didn't want to bother beyond what I was doing. I do love him though – Satoru is very much like a brother I never had."

A faint smile crossed her lips, tinged with self-deprecation and resignation. "And the one I love? I didn't look at him beyond a good friend growing up. Suguru was always getting into trouble with Satoru, and those two were always seeking trouble, laughing loudly. At one point, I felt jealous of them because Suguru is closer to the man I am going to marry than I am. Then I found my eyes meeting Suguru's eyes more and more often. It wasn't always on purpose. Sometimes I would look up and he would stare at me with those dark eyes. And they were always standoffish and unreadable like Satoru's…but the difference was that he was looking at me, actually looking at me. I felt seen. I was finally visible to someone one. I think that was when my jealousy became something else entirely, gradually."

"He is not a kind man. Neither of them are kind. Although it is amusing to be with both of them… You know, being with Suguru is really fun. I have tons of fun when I am with Suguru," paused Lady Shoko as she reminisced about her memories. "He told me I would be the first person he wanted to see when he came back from his first campaign with Satoru. I didn't believe him… Until Suguru did return, and he came straight to see me, foregoing his parents. It makes a girl think… It makes a girl wonder. It makes a girl believe."

The injured woman, her emotions still raw, couldn't help but question the doctor's acceptance of her complex situation. "And you're okay with the situation?"

The doctor, looking out the window at the night sky, replied with a hint of melancholy. "There's nothing I can do to change the situation." She sighed softly, her tone reflecting a sense of defeat. "Besides, I ended the game with Suguru already. I lost, and he won. I won't hurt forever."

The other woman's frustration was concealed beneath a mask of silence. And then Utahime said bluntly, "So Captain Geto is your breeze underneath the moonlight…"

Lady Shoko could only stare at the other woman before laughing lightly, finding her choices of words funny. "That's certainly one way of describing a love affair."

Utahime couldn't help but wince when her hand accidentally brushed against the place where Gojo bit her.

What a terrible creature, scoffed Utahime. She hoped his mark on her would disappear soon.

In the wake of the intense altercation, an emergency officers' meeting was convened, and all the officers were in attendance. Both the woman and the captain knelt before the two generals; the atmosphere tinged with tension. Surprisingly, Utahime exhibited a remarkable composure despite the lingering discomfort from the bite she had received earlier, a subtle ache throbbing each time she squeezed her thighs. She concealed her annoyance well, maintaining a cold and unyielding facade, fully aware that some form of punishment awaited her. She didn't care anymore – whatever came would come.

The old general, his fingers tracing the length of his long beard in contemplation, broke the silence with a measured inquiry. "What happened?"

The captain, seated beside her, responded with nonchalance, casually shrugging his shoulders. "Nothing much. Just a disagreement which turned into a sparring session. There's nothing more, nothing less."

Hearing his words, Utahime felt a tremor of unease ripple through her. She kept her head lowered, but her thoughts raced as she stole a sidelong glance at his relaxed figure. What was Gojo playing at? She couldn't bring herself to trust him, not after what had transpired. The memory of her misplaced trust, the betrayal that had followed, haunted her thoughts. The woman chided herself for her naiveté, for not being vigilant enough.

The old general shifted his attention to her, his voice commanding as he instructed, "Look up."

Complying with his order, she met his gaze, her expression impassive as she offered a straightforward response. "Captain Gojo questioned my manhood, and I took offense when I should have not. I apologize."

Calmly, she elaborated, "It was a misunderstanding."

Gojo chimed in, maintaining his nonchalant demeanor. "A minor disagreement. You know how I can be sometimes."

The old general regarded the two of them seriously, his voice carrying a stern warning. "As long as it does not affect your ability to follow commands, I do not care. Never allow this to happen again. Do you understand?"

Her response came quietly, a hint of contrition in her voice as her eyes turned downward. "Yes."

General Gakuganji and General Yaga had already spoken privately with the captain earlier and saw no need for further discussion now. The story did not change. With a brusque dismissal, the old man signaled the end of the discussion. "Fine. If you two do not wish to discuss what happened, we will consider this incident done and over with. Everyone dismissed."

As the officers began to disperse, Gojo leaned in closer to the woman, his words meant for her ears only. His voice held a hint of threat and mischief as he whispered softly, "Early tomorrow morning before dawn breaks, you will meet me at my private sparring grounds."

Utahime couldn't help but emit a light snort, casting a disdainful glance in his direction.

"Or else," he continued in the same hushed tone, "I will be telling everyone about your manhood."

Her glare bore into him, a silent acknowledgment of his ultimatum.

"Good. We have an understanding then," he concluded, sealing their unspoken agreement as they parted ways, the weight of their complex relationship hanging heavily in the air.

Walking alongside his closest friend, Satoru couldn't resist the urge to pose a peculiar question to Suguru. "Suguru, what would you do if you found out there was a cuckoo bird amongst your eggs?"

Suguru arched an eyebrow at his friend's unusual inquiry, casting a curious glance his way. He couldn't help but notice the disheveled state of Satoru's appearance and couldn't help but inquire, "What a strange question. Does this have to do with Iori back there? And why you are all scuffled up?"

"Nah, nah," Satoru brushed off the questions, waving his hand dismissively. Suguru, however, remained skeptical, regarding Satoru with a lingering sense of doubt. Sensing his friend's disbelief, Satoru sought to clarify, emphasizing, "They're weak! That's what I'm saying."

Accepting Satoru's explanation at face value, the long-haired man offered a simple response. "Sure. If that's what you're saying, then isn't it fine? Why does it matter?"

"Of course, it matters! I'm just saying, what would you do?" the white-haired captain pressed, referencing his earlier cuckoo bird question.

"A cuckoo, huh?" Suguru pondered the scenario for a moment before breaking into a bright smile. "I would crush it. It's not supposed to be there, after all."

"I-" Satoru began to respond but was interrupted by a sudden realization, his gaze drifting to the bite mark on his arm. "Heh, managed to leave a mark on me, after all. I forgot…"

Concerned, Suguru inquired curiously, "What is it?"

"It's nothing," Satoru attempted to downplay the situation, rubbing his neck. The Iori woman managed to strangle him, and it was likely he would bear marks in the morning. She had also attempted to crush his neck between her legs. He then wondered when her bite mark would fade away, musing about the peculiar woman. Then, a thought struck him. "Ah, the name."

Suguru's interest was piqued. "Name? A name for a nonexistent cuckoo bird, huh?"

Growing irritated with Suguru's banter, Satoru then sly brought up a topic he knew the other man would not want to talk about in the most casual manner he was able to. "You and Shoko have been acting rather strangely lately. Is there something I need to know about?"

Suguru's once-bright smile froze on his face as he responded, "No, of course not. We are the same as always."

Satoru, aware of the feelings between his two best friends but not caring really about what they were doing, responded callously, "I see. That's good then. There are only a couple of months left until I marry her. Sheesh, my clan is such a drag… The wedding will probably be in Kyoto."

Suguru remained silent, his frozen smile masking his internal turmoil. His emotions were a tightly guarded secret, but jealousy burned within him.

He continued, "No more morning practice until further notice, Suguru. I have a project I am working on."

"Good," Suguru replied curtly. He wanted to avoid spending too much time with Satoru, at least until he could rid himself of these vexing emotions. He had never wished to covet what Satoru possessed, but jealousy was a relentless companion.

Utahime sat submerged in the comforting embrace of her private bath, the hot water enveloping her like a soothing caress. Leaning her head against the smooth wooden wall of the bathing chamber, she was lost in a sea of conflicting emotions. Confusion, fear, and a heavy burden of uncertainty weighed upon her, drowning her in a tide of despair.

He knew. He knew the truth she had fought so hard to conceal. He knew she was a woman, that she had dared to defy her father's orders, that she had hidden behind the guise of a man. It gnawed at her, this knowledge of his. What had betrayed her? What had shattered the carefully constructed façade she had so painstakingly built?

All she had ever tried to do was treat those around her with kindness and respect, to be a loyal comrade to her fellow warriors. Yet, where had that path of goodwill led her? Nowhere, it seemed. Instead, she found herself ensnared in a web of trepidation and anxiety, a constant sense of impending doom looming over her.

In this moment, she felt utterly powerless, crushed under the weight of his knowledge and his plans. She could sense it, an ominous presence lurking just beyond her grasp. He had something in store for her, something that would undoubtedly alter the course of her life.

Her amber eyes, once filled with determination and hope, now stared vacantly at the clear water before her. Her fingers idly traced ripples through the surface, droplets sliding off her skin like silent tears. She hated him. She hated herself. But above all, she blamed herself.

Why had she been so weak? Why had she not been born with greater strength, both physical and emotional? These questions haunted her as she sought refuge in the solitude of her bath, her heart heavy with the weight of her own perceived shortcomings. The bite on her thigh ached as the indents of his teeth refused to disappear. His mark on her annoyed her immensely as she stared down at the dents.

As the steamy tendrils of hot mist enveloped her, they danced like ethereal spirits in the air, weaving a mournful tapestry around her fragile form. In a moment of despair, her head sank beneath the surface of the hot water, submerging her in the cocoon of her private bath.

Beneath the liquid veil, she unleashed her anguish, her screams echoing soundlessly in the watery void. Bubbles surged to the surface, creating ripples that echoed the turmoil within her soul. The world above seemed distant and irrelevant as she continued to scream, a cathartic release of pent-up emotions that had long festered within her.

Her dark, inky hair, unbound and unrestrained, swirled like a melancholic shroud around her as her inner turmoil unleashed in the water. In this moment of solitude, beneath the surface of the water, she allowed her pain to surface, to be carried away by the flow, even if just for a fleeting moment.

In the serene back garden, where the fragrant blooms of spring enveloped the senses, there sat a little girl high above the world, nestled in the embrace of a majestic, maidenhair ginkgo tree. Her melodious voice weaving into the tapestry of nature's symphony as she sang a sweet melody into the golden afternoon air. Perched upon the lofty boughs of the tree, Utahime swayed her bare feet to and fro, swaying like delicate pendulums. Her long, ebony locks cascaded in wild abandon around her cherubic face, kissed by the golden sunlight filtering through the dense foliage. The tiny leaves of the ginkgo tree brushed against her cheeks as the breeze carried the scent of earth and blossoms to her lofty sanctuary.

"Little Bird, little bird," her voice sang with the rustling leaves, "Fly away."

This daring escapade from the attentive eyes of her mother was a spirited rebellion, a fleeting respite from the clutches of her mother and the watchful eyes of the household servants who followed her mother's every word. She had ascended the towering tree with nimble hands and fleet-footed determination, ascending to a vantage point that granted her an unparalleled view of the world below. Her bright eyes beheld a world that stretched farther than her usual confines, a world ripe for exploration.

Then there was the angry visage of her mother entering her field of view in a flurry of orange. A vision of beauty even in her exasperation, her mother emerged at the base of the tree. Her hands rested firmly on her elegant hips; her brows knitted with concern. Three devoted servants gathered below, their faces a mixture of worry and duty. Alas, her solitude was shattered by the irritated cadence of her mother's voice.

"There you are," her mother declared with a hint of relief and admonishment in her tone. She sighed loudly, tapping her finger against her kimono sleeve as she stared up at her daughter. "Get down. NOW."

The little girl's lips quivered; her defiance evident as she clung steadfastly to her leafy refuge. Her cheeks flushed with both exertion and indignation as Utahime responded to her mother's command with a stubborn shake of her head.

"No! I don't want to!" she exclaimed, her small form almost trembling with conviction. Her tiny arms grasped the branch with all the strength she could muster as if clinging to her newfound freedom. The world below seemed a distant memory.

Summoning the household to her aid, Urara called out for assistance, "Anyone! Get some help to get this girl down!"

A servant, quick on her feet, darted off in search of a skilled tree-climber. But the little girl would have none of it. She refused vehemently, her defiance manifesting in the violent tremors that shook the branch beneath her.

"No," Utahime asserted, her voice tinged with a stubborn resolve. She even turned her nose up at her mother, trying to imagine her away. "I don't want to! If I can't practice with Mei Mei and Taoist Daoling, I don't want to practice dancing or anything else either!"

In the quiet moments that followed, the little girl's heart brimmed with frustration and longing as she clung to that fragile branch. She yearned for more than the confines of dances, songs, and tedious scripture practice. The world outside beckoned to her, promising adventures beyond the scrolls and brushes, and the thrill of learning alongside her dearest friend. Little Utahime didn't wish to be confined to the art of calligraphy and painting, day in and day out. Why couldn't her mother understand her?

But the precarious branch beneath her betrayed her weight, surrendering its strength and stability as it trembled ominously under the weight of her defiance, no longer the steady perch it had been moments before. Panic coursed through her as it began to slope downward, swaying ominously. Fear etched lines on her mother's face as she watched the branch incline perilously. Her mother's voice, laced with fear and urgency, pierced through her tumultuous thoughts.

"Stay still," the command came, filled with a mother's desperate plea as Urara's eyes widened in fear. "Don't move!"

Terror gripped the young girl, her body shaking uncontrollably as she clung to the weakening branch. Her screams punctuated the air, her fear amplifying with each inch the branch surrendered to gravity. The frantic cries of the female servants below only added to her anxiety, their panic echoing her own.

Then, in an instant, the branch snapped, her tiny hands unable to grasp anything as she plummeted from the tree. Her eyes squeezed shut, her body tensed, awaiting the searing pain she thought was inevitable. Her screams filled the air, her eyes squeezed shut as she prepared for the inevitable pain.

"No!" her mother's anguished scream echoed in the air. "Someone catch her!"

As she descended through the air with the wind whipping through her loose tresses, her heart pounded in her ears. But the anticipated pain didn't come as expected. Instead, her fall was cushioned by a yelping female servant who had sacrificed her own body to break the girl's fall. The servant lay on her back, holding onto the young lady, both of them wincing in pain.

"No!" the panicked young girl cried out, scrambling off the servant. Fat tears freely flowed down her round cheeks as she looked at the servant's pained expression. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"

"This is your consequence," her mother's stern voice uttered. The imposing figure of her mother stood tall behind her, her shadow looming over Utahime as the lady of the manor directed the other servants to come to the aid of the one who had saved her daughter. "Never forget this. Selfishness can hurt those around you."

The little girl sobbed even harder, her cries echoing in the garden. She repeated her apologies as her words became a mantra of atonement, kneeling on the ground, her voice laden with remorse and a fervent plea for forgiveness.

Every day, the little girl visited the injured servant. Sometimes, in her little high-pitched voice, she sang sweet melodies to soothe her. Other times, she read scripture with unwavering devotion. And often, Utahime simply apologized, her remorse genuine and heartfelt.

Then the woman woke up during the early morning when the world was still dark, feeling her body ache as the sores were punishing. Every muscle protested, and her skin felt sore and tender, and Utahime cursed his very existence.

She arrived at his private sparring grounds, as instructed, before dawn had broken. Her hair was secured with a tattered strip of cotton fabric, a humble replacement for the cherished gift she had lost – a token from a dear friend. The gates to the grounds were left unlocked, and she followed the well-trodden path leading to the veranda of the sparring building. A deep frown creased her features as she took in the sight of the white-haired captain.

Beneath the veranda's sheltering eaves, Gojo stood gazing upward at the darkened sky, a hue that blended shades of deep purple and faint blue – the predawn colors that heralded the imminent sunrise. Utahime couldn't help but note that he was without his black bifocals. As he turned his attention to her, a mischievous smirk played upon his lips. He was dressed in dark hakama pants and a matching top, an attire that suggested he was prepared for something beyond the ordinary good mornings and hellos.

When she finally stood before him, curiosity dancing in his eyes, he inquired, "Your name?"

"Iori," she responded with deliberate obscurity. She understood the question he posed, but she had little desire to reveal her name to him, to let him know who she truly was.

Arching a brow, he tauntingly pressed on, "I want to know the name of the weakling standing before me. What is your name?"

Her frown deepened, and the corners of her lips turned further downward as she met his gaze with defiant eyes. In a tone laced with frustration, she repeated, "My name is Iori."

"You're dumb, stupid, and weak," he scoffed, his words laden with mockery. "Fine. If you insist on doing this the hard way." He gestured for her to enter the sparring room. "Let's spar, do you understand that? Or maybe you've been hit one too many times to comprehend anything now."

A growl of frustration escaped her lips, and she struggled to maintain her composure. Her eyes bore into him with unwavering determination as she responded, "Let's begin."

What followed was a humiliating experience as he effortlessly tossed her around during their spar. She landed only five hits on him, and the realization of her own vulnerability weighed heavily upon her. As the first rays of morning light graced the sky, painting it with a soft orange glow, their spar came to an end, leaving her quite aware of her own limitations as she grumbled against the body seated confidently on her.

Gojo held her firmly beneath him, his weight effortlessly pinning her to the ground. Her chest and face were pressed against the floor, hidden from his view, but he could feel her irritation in the way she complained beneath him. With an elbow resting casually on his knee, he sought to extract a piece of information from her as he watched dawn break across the sky. "What is your name?"

She sighed audibly, looking up at him with a defiant glare that sent invisible daggers his way. Fine, if he was so insistent on knowing her name, she would oblige. In a begrudging tone, Utahime snapped back, "Utahime."

A faint, almost pleased smile curled upon his lips as he repeated her name, savoring the sound of it. "Utahime, huh? What a name."

"Utahime," he repeated, testing it on his tongue. He released his hold on her, allowing her to rise to her knees. Leaning in closer, his eyes locked onto hers with a penetrating intensity as Gojo continued, "I like it. I like your name. It suits someone as weak as you, someone who needs help and protection."

Her glare, sharp as a blade, met his words head-on, but she barely had time to voice her retort before he sweetly crooned her name again, as though relishing the sound of it. "Utahime."

She stared at him in bewilderment, her defenses momentarily tempered.

"You're strange," Utahime remarked, her earlier anger giving way to perplexity.

"You and I both," Gojo said, a wry smile playing upon his lips. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head. He stepped out into the courtyard, gazing up at the sky. A bird gracefully descended, alighting on a lower tree branch. It twittered and regarded him curiously. Gojo extended a hand, and the tiny bird hopped onto his finger, unaware of his nature.

As she appeared at the entrance of the sparring room, she couldn't contain her curiosity any longer and asked, "Why did you not expose me?"

Turning to face her with the bird still perched on his hand, Gojo simply grinned as the bird took flight and soared away. He retrieved a pair of black bifocals from his attire, placing them upon his nose bridge, and replied casually, "I don't know what I want to do with you yet."

Her frown deepened, her gaze unwavering and resolute.

"It's not every day a princess falls into my hands," he continued with a wicked glint in his eye hidden behind the dark glasses. "Utahime."

Notes:

Thanks for reading like always, and let me know what your thoughts are.

Iori Utahime and Gojo Satoru officially meet.

Chapter 11: Revelations and Thoughts Notes:

Hello everyone, I am back! I hope you enjoy Act 2 a lot. I was asked when it comes to my fight scenes, what am I inspired by? I am inspired by wuxia movies like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, martial arts movie like The Grandmaster, and my guilty pleasure, Tekken.

Without further ado, here is chapter 11.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

11

Revelations and Thoughts

The female doctor arrived early morning and promptly as soon as light broke across the sky at her fiancé's private training quarters. Satoru had requested for the past two mornings, following the incident with Utahime, a meeting. The doctor had an inkling as to what he wanted to speak about. Shoko left her maid, Saki, to wait at the gate, dismissing her until further notice to ensure her fiancé's desire for privacy was respected. With the gate left unlocked, she entered the tranquil grounds, walking along the stone path that led to the training area. It was there that she heard her fiancé's jovial voice, carrying on the light spring breeze.

"Make sure you're cleaning the floorboards properly, Utahime," he instructed, his face adorned with a broad grin. He was attired for sparring, and Shoko could only assume he had completed his kata routines, or he finished sparring prior to her arrival. He wasn't wearing his bifocals. Her dark eyes then shifted over to the kneeling and hunched over figure scrubbing the wooden floor furiously. Utahime, who was bent over with a cleaning cloth in her hands, possessed an expression that was akin to a demon's as she was simmering with indignation. Satoru continued to tease her, saying, "I think you missed a spot!"

The woman, who was meticulously cleaning the wooden surface, hurled the cleaning rag to the floor with force. The impact of the rag against the wood was strong enough to where Shoko could hear it from where she observed them. The disguised woman shot him a fiery glare as Utahime challenged him from where she knelt, her finger pointing at the floorboards, "Spot? What spot? What dirt? Show me! Show me where it is dirty!"

"Eh, you're blind, Utahime. It's right there, duh."

"We are not close at all for you to be using my name as you like!" she protested as she snatched the rag from where she threw it, and began scrubbing the floor again, wondering if she really did miss a spot. It was clean! Utahime swore on her life the floor was clean. Utahime couldn't believe she was reduced to scrubbing the floors of the man who blackmailed, threatened, harmed, and frustrated her. This was so humiliating – she would have preferred to die over doing these stupid, menial tasks he tortured her with. And yet Utahime still did the tasks to the best of her abilities as her knuckles turned white from the force of her brushing and swiping.

The doctor watched the exchange unfold before her, sensing that she should, and could, not intervene and disrupt the harmony between the two. It was a pleasant sight to witness them getting along despite the unusual circumstances. Her fiancé then turned his attention to her, his smile now somewhat subdued but still present. The white-haired man beckoned her closer.

"Thank you for coming," Satoru said to her as Shoko approached them. His blue eyes then shifted his focus back to the indignant woman, who appeared to soften slightly in the presence of the female doctor. With a cheerful tone, he issued an order to the woman on her knees cleaning, "Go make some tea in the kitchen."

Utahime gasped at his audacity, deeply offended by his treatment of her as if she were a mere servant. Over and over, he just kept treating her like a servant, and every time it still shocked her. Utahime's hand threw down the rag once more, the impact echoing, as she got up. She voiced her protest, declaring, "I'm not your help! You need to know your place! You are so rude. The status between you and I is not equal. I'm older than you! You know I am a-"

"A woman who stole her father's orders. Who also dared to deceive the imperial army and all the officers?" Satoru interjected smoothly. He then mischievously repeated his request, "So, about that tea."

The disguised woman let out an exasperated huff, her cheeks turning red as she fought to contain her frustration. Utahime refrained from stomping off (her pride wouldn't permit such an undignified display) and instead headed in the direction of the kitchen with her head held up high, a place she had grown increasingly familiar with during her last few visits to the captain's private training grounds. These mornings had seen her endure rigorous sparring sessions, and he also had her perform various manual labor tasks. The woman had learned more about these grounds than she had ever cared about as the captain always had a new task in store for her.

Now that the other woman had left, the captain placed his black bifocals onto his nose bridge and turned his attention to the doctor, his tone taking on a slightly sterner and darker edge. "You knew from the start, didn't you."

"Yes," Shoko replied calmly, unruffled by his tone. "What of it?"

"And you didn't think to inform me or anyone else?" Satoru pressed, raising a brow at her. "Not even Suguru?"

She shrugged nonchalantly and then gazed up at the clear morning sky, a serene expression on her face. "I didn't deem it necessary for you to know. She isn't harming anyone. She isn't afflicted with any ailment. In fact, revealing her secret could have posed a greater danger to her."

"Is there anything else you're keeping from me?" Satoru inquired.

The doctor unwaveringly replied, "No. There is nothing else."

He only gave her a small, knowing smile and then nodded, accepting her words. His hand motioned for her to sit on the veranda, and the doctor complied. She sat quietly on the polished wood and peered at him curiously.

Satoru then spoke, "Do you ever wonder when it changed between us? The three of us?"

"What do you mean?" A sinking feeling filled the doctor as she controlled her voice well. Her worry was not affecting her voice or tone, or at least, Shoko thought so.

"I think it changed when I first went to war. I think it was that summer," he said. "I had never killed before, and it was exhilarating and frightening. I never felt so alive. I was fourteen then. Then I took Suguru with me the following summer for the rebellion at Fukuyama – and of course, Suguru excels on the battlefield because why wouldn't he? Though he doesn't enjoy war the way I do."

Shoko listened attentively, uncertain of where the conversation was heading.

"I think that's when it changed."

Silence lingered in the air for a moment before the woman with the beauty mark responded in a quiet voice, "I don't believe we've changed."

"I see," Satoru replied almost dismissively.

The courtyard was filled with a profound sense of serenity as quiet, shuffling footsteps returned, drawing the doctor's attention. Utahime reappeared, now carrying a beautifully arranged tray with an assortment of teacups, two delicate teapots, and a small clay pot filled with fragrant tea leaves. Despite the simplicity of the task, every movement exuded elegance and precision.

The disguised woman knelt gracefully, her actions reminiscent of a carefully choreographed dance. Her slender fingers lifted the teacups with a deliberate grace, aligning them perfectly on the tray. Then, with an artist's precision, her fingers used the tiny, bamboo spoon scooping the tea leaves into the smaller, empty teapot, her every gesture a study in grace. Pouring just enough hot water from the larger teapot with a graceful flourish, the stream flowed effortlessly into the smaller vessel.

Nearly a minute passed, during which the aroma of the tea filled the air, enveloping the courtyard with its sweet, mellow fragrance. It was a tantalizing scent that stirred the doctor's senses, making her mouth water in anticipation. Utahime first served the doctor, her movements elegant and unhurried. Finally, with a sense of resigned duty, Utahime reluctantly served the captain. Her actions, though begrudging, retained the same meticulous grace as she held up the teacup with both of her hands.

Satoru gingerly took the cup and smiled down at her.

As the doctor sipped the tea, her tongue savored its intricate flavors. Each delicate note, from the slight sweetness to the subtle bitterness and the refreshing aftertaste, was expertly extracted from the tea leaves. It was a harmonious blend of flavors, crisp and inviting.

"Your tea is delicious," Shoko complimented Utahime sincerely.

Simultaneously, Satoru, in his characteristic blunt fashion, expressed his opinion. "Your tea sucks."

His words cut through the serenity of the moment, creating a momentary tension in the air. Satoru continued saying, in a light tone, returning his teacup back to the tray. "Do it again. But this time make sure the tea doesn't suck."

The teacup whizzed past the captain, narrowly missing him as he effortlessly dodged the fast projectile. An expression of light indignation crossed his face as Satoru scolded the scowling woman, his words laced with sarcasm.

"Hysterics won't attract men, you know," he quipped, his tone carrying a teasing edge.

The doctor watched the exchange with a bemused smile, finding their banter strangely endearing, even though it was clear that the captain's provocation escalated the situation.

The last week of April arrived, and Utahime's life had become a constant battle of vigilance and paranoia ever since the Gojo brat uncovered her true identity. Her fingers and palms frequently checked her chest bindings, ensuring they remained secure and concealed any trace of her femininity.

As Utahime emerged from her room that fateful morning, the sun's golden rays filtered through the window, casting a warm glow on her disheveled appearance. Her eyes, heavy with the weight of sleepless nights and unanswered questions, scanned the hallway of her private room with trepidation. She knew she had overslept, neglecting her new morning ritual of doing the Gojo brat's biddings, but today she couldn't bring herself to care about the consequences. She was just too tired, not just physically, but emotionally drained.

The moment Utahime stepped over the threshold of her room, her heart sank like a stone as she collided with the two younger men who were on their way to breakfast. She couldn't muster the courage to meet their eyes. Dark, tired amber eyes remained fixated on the ground beneath her feet. With a fragile smile, she managed to croak out a good morning, her voice laced with uncertainty, before attempting to slip away unnoticed as she kept to herself.

However, fate had different plans as Haibara effortlessly ignored her avoidance. The happy-go-lucky young man, overflowing with a boundless curiosity, quickened his pace effortlessly, closing the physical gap between them. His cheerful demeanor, a stark contrast to her own internal turmoil, only amplified her unease. Haibara had always been too positive and caring, and today was no exception.

"Hey," Haibara spoke gently, concern etched into his features as he prodded her. "You okay? You seem different these days."

Her heart seized in her chest as paranoia flooded her senses. Different? How could he tell? Panic welled up within her as Utahime felt the heavy weight of his gaze bearing down on her. She halted abruptly, her steps faltering as her mouth and tongue struggled to find the right words. A surge of vulnerability washed over her, and her eyes avoided his gaze, her voice quivering as she replied, "I am the same… I must go."

With those words, Utahime abruptly turned away from the inquisitive young man, her swift retreat betraying her inner turmoil. She fled without looking back, her footsteps echoing with a sense of urgency that pierced the air. Behind her, the happy-go-lucky boy's face fell, his once-cheerful expression now clouded with disappointment.

"Did I do something?" he queried, turning to the blonde companion at his side, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Nanami, a steadfast observer of their interactions, merely shrugged in response. "I don't know. Did you?"

"I don't think so," Haibara murmured, his eyes fixed on the spot where she had disappeared. A pang of sadness gripped his heart as he uttered the truth. "He's definitely avoiding me, right?"

"Avoiding us," Nanami specified. The blonde moved closer to his distraught friend; a shared concern etched on both of their faces, leaving them bewildered by the inexplicable change in the person they both grown to know.

The woman had grown increasingly cautious, limiting her interactions to only the female doctor, and when it couldn't be helped, the Gojo idiot. Utahime no longer shared meals with Haibara and Nanami, fearing that even the slightest gesture might betray her secret as she now ate alone and quickly, avoiding any place that could render her alone. The uncertainty of the captain's intentions weighed heavily on her, intensifying her anxiety.

She operated under the assumption that silence equated to safety, but she never let her guard down. Her eyes were always locked onto the white-haired man, observing his every move, every time he flicked his eyes, and the way how his mouth moved. Utahime became hyper fixated on him, questioning every single gesture he made, reading into it. Trust was a luxury she couldn't afford, and she remained skeptical of the captain's true nature. Moreover, she suspected that the doctor and the captain discussed her at length behind closed doors. The situation was not that she did not trust Shoko any longer, but rather, Utahime became overly cautious of everyone, keeping herself at a distance.

The officer recruits were summoned to the sparring grounds where a cluster of dummies and an array of wooden weapons were scattered around. Padded linings and training equipment were also available which offered some comfort to the disguised woman. If she were to engage in sparring with someone, at least the padding would provide some protection and prevent direct contact with her chest should they aim for that area during their practice bouts.

The gathering was complete with every officer (minus the generals – the generals were no longer on the grounds) present. Their tops and hakamas were starched and gleaming while their expressions carried a sense of anticipation that hung in the air like a charged current.

Then, with an audacious flourish, the Gojo brat, the embodiment of youthful exuberance and boundless confidence, stepped forward in his standard black outfit. His arrival was heralded by that grin of his which had a way of both charming and infuriating in equal measure. Utahime couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation at the mere sound of his voice, though she maintained a stoic facade, her emotions hidden beneath a veneer of professionalism.

The Gojo brat launched into his speech, his words punctuating the charged atmosphere.

"Today," Gojo declared, his voice carrying across the area, "we have a Single-Eliminations Tournament. Random Weapons. Twenty rounds mean twenty winners, twenty losers." His words reverberated, setting the tone for the competition that lay ahead. In this format, the brat explained with an air of authority, competitors would be pitted against each other in pairs. The tension in the room grew taut as he continued to lay out the rules, "The fight will continue to go on until there is a clear winner. A clear winner means someone resigns, someone gets incapacitated, and they are no longer able to fight, or they are pushed out of bounds."

Gojo paused for effect, letting the anticipation build, before delivering the final punchline, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "What do you win, you ask? Nothing! This is for bragging rights."

The tournament kicked off with a sense of immediacy, the recruits taking their places on the ground as they awaited the matches. Among the forty remaining recruits, the happy-go-lucky Haibara and the stoic Nanami positioned themselves strategically, flanking her on either side, a formation that did little to ease her discomfort. Utahime maintained her composure, however, determined not to reveal her unease, her expression remaining indifferent.

"I'm excited," the optimistic Haibara exclaimed, his enthusiasm bubbling over. "This should be fun."

Beside him, the blonde assumed a more serious demeanor, his arms crossed in a stance of focused concentration. He nodded thoughtfully and remarked, "It should be interesting."

"What about you?"

The blonde's sudden engagement with her took Utahime by surprise. He wasn't one to initiate conversation unless prompted, making his inquiry all the more unexpected. She felt a subtle nudge from his pointy elbow, a silent invitation to join the discourse.

"I don't really care either," Utahime responded, her words tinged with a hint of disappointment, though the truth lay beneath the surface. "To be honest, I hope to win..."

"That is a good mentality," he affirmed. Nanami regarded her with a solemn nod, his eyes reflecting a level of seriousness that mirrored her own aspirations.

In the heart of the sparring arena, two boxes appeared from behind the Gojo brat, awaiting their turn to decide the brackets. Gojo handed the boxes to the commanders. Commander Kashimo, his hand moving with practiced precision, delved into the first box. His fingers emerged clutching a folded strip of paper, and his voice resonated through the tension-laden air as he pronounced the name, "Zenin Nobuaki."

Swiftly, the commander transferred the name onto a wide bracket paper, writing down the name of the first entry for the first round.

Zenin Nobuaki, a burly figure exuding arrogance, rose from his seat with a disdainful sneer, spitting contemptuously onto the ground before striding pompously into the center of the twelve-foot circle.

The recruits were taken aback when Captain Gojo instructed, "Pick your opponent," a surprise that added an unexpected layer of strategy to the impending duels. "In battle, you need to know how to be a judge of character."

Without a moment's hesitation, Nobuaki bellowed out a name, his choice evident. "Iori."

It was her. Utahime didn't expect to be fighting right away though the rest of the spectators remained unsurprised. After all, she was a smaller figure than the rest of them, and her frame appeared scrawny and seemingly fragile. She bore the appearance of an easy target, an assumption that Nobuaki had no qualms exploiting. The woman rose from the ground with utmost poise, employing only her core muscles to lift herself up. Her face retained its passive demeanor as she bowed respectfully, a courtesy not reciprocated by Nobuaki, who couldn't even be bothered to look her way.

"You got this!" Haibara chimed in, his encouraging words a rallying cry of support. She threw him a small smile.

The smaller figure stepped into the ring unbothered as her name was promptly inscribed by Commander Kashimo onto the bracket paper. Commander Daido now reached into the second box, his fingers extracting a tightly rolled piece of paper fate. His hands unfurled it, revealing the weapon for Zenin Nobuaki: the Yari lance.

Lieutenant Kusakabe deftly tossed the wooden lance to Nobuaki, who caught it with bored indifference. The sparring lance he was given was about eight feet in length and at the end of the oak shaft, there was a triangular-shaped wooden head.

"And for the Iori boy…" Commander Daido's voice held a tone of detachment as he unfurled a second strip, reading the verdict aloud, "The Naginata glaive is yours."

Kusakabe followed suit by tossing her the wooden glaive, a weapon more often associated with defense than aggression. The wooden naginata was seven feet in length, shorter than the Yari despite its curved end. Her hands and feet tested the wooden weapon, checking out its flexibility as it was made of bamboo. With a deft motion, she flexed the glaive, testing its tractability and strength. The bamboo yielded slightly to the pressure, yet it held its form with remarkable resilience. A smile, subtle but genuine, tugged at the corners of her.

A sardonic laugh escaped Nobuaki's lips as he belittled the weapon given to her. "Heh," he sneered. "You're using a woman's weapon."

Her response was silence, a stoic gaze that betrayed neither annoyance nor insecurity. She adorned the sparring helmet with controlled resolve, her thoughts unclouded by the implications of the weapon. She assumed her position with the naginata glaive, gripping it firmly by its counterbalance and the handguard. Her fingers found their place on the weapon, forming a secure connection that extended through her arms and into her core.

Across the sparring arena, Zenin Nobuaki was in the process of securing his helmet, his nonchalant demeanor belying the latent energy lurking within. His stance exuded a casual air, a façade of lethargy that concealed the coiled power lurking beneath the surface. With the yari lance held in his hands, he stood with a confident spread of his feet, grounding himself in readiness for the impending combat.

Despite the charged atmosphere, Captain Gojo, unaffected by the mounting tension, raised his hand and let out a casual yawn. His action was nonchalant at best. But then, with deliberate indifference, he extended his arm and struck a small bronze gong with its mallet, its resonant chime piercing the silence. The sound reverberated throughout the area, echoing, and mingling with the collective breath held by all those present. It was the signal they had been waiting for, the catalyst that would set in motion a clash of wills and skill.

In the blink of an eye, Utahime initiated the onslaught, a whirlwind of precision and speed. Her movements were as silent as a ghost as her steps glided effortlessly over the ground without a trace of disturbance. The bamboo glaive was held firmly in her grasp as her arms and hands executed her strikes with expert precision, each one decisive and relentless.

Her opponent, taken aback by her sudden and unexpected aggression, found himself steadily retreating as each slash and thrust was blocked by his lance. His defenses were barely keeping up with her relentless onslaught as her pattern of attack appeared random to him. Nobuaki was pushed relentlessly toward the edge of the circle, his every evasion a close call, his arms bearing the brunt of her fury as the curved blade pushed and pulled at his top's sleeves.

The glaive's thrusts and slashes were calculated, targeting his arms with unwavering focus. She allowed him no respite, no opportunity to counterattack or even lift his Yari lance for a retaliatory strike. The curved wooden blade of the naginata sliced through the air, leaving a trail of purposeful swipes that relentlessly pursued him as he ducked the attack before it quickly swung down on his shoulders, sending pain tremors throughout his body.

In a desperate attempt to protect himself, he raised his arms in a protective stance. Her response was swift and precise. Her arms shifted seamlessly as she maneuvered the glaive off his shoulder, pulling it back and thrusting into the narrow gap between his bent arms, forcing the curved wooden blade against the center of his padded chest. The impact knocked the wind out of him, a momentary pause in his defense that she exploited without hesitation as she did quick and powerful successful jabs in the same spot. Her glaive then withdrew before slicing down and pressed against his biceps, compelling him to lower his guard as she stabbed him there in the arms before he shook her off. In a fluid motion, she withdrew the glaive, her hands propelling the wooden weapon upwards as the glaive caught the edge of the protective sparring helmet, dislodging it from his head. The helmet went soaring through the air, a brief arc of disarray that culminated in its landing outside the circle. She would not allow her opponent a moment's respite or an opportunity to regain his footing as her glaive now aimed at his thighs, thrusting the wooden point of the weapon against him, digging into his thighs and ankles as he gave a sharp shout.

Captain Gojo's voice rang out as he called attention to the boundaries of the circle. "Hey, if you step out of bounds, you're out."

Her opponent, now standing his ground, extended his arms in a counterattack, thrusting the weapon wildly. It was a fleeting lapse, a momentary opening that she seized upon with relentless determination. Her glaive sliced through the air once more, targeting his exposed hands with punishing slaps and pointed stabs as the wooden blade smacked his hands hard enough to where two huge red swells formed immediately across the back of his hands. His grip on the yari wavered, and the weapon tumbled from his grasp, clattering onto the ground.

Flawlessly, she executed a low sweep at his ankles in quick successive momentum as her glaive's wooden blade found its mark. He was sent sprawling onto his back as his legs were hooked in the sweep's momentum. The glaive, in its relentless path, not only swept his ankles but also the fallen yari. The yari propelled toward her, and with a well-placed kick, she sent it flying out of the circle.

Her opponent lay weaponless and defeated on his back. The swift and decisive duel had reached its climax almost as soon as it began. In a mere 40 seconds, her calculated maneuvers brought Zenin Nobuaki to a definitive defeat. With the curved wooden blade pressed firmly against his throat, she left him with no avenue for escape or retaliation. The seconds ticked away in silence; the weight of her victory unmistakable as the crowd held its collective breath.

Finally, Captain Gojo's voice broke the tension, delivering the verdict with unwavering authority.

"Iori wins," he declared, marking the end of the first round.

With deliberate care, she withdrew the curved blade of the Naginata glaive from her defeated opponent's throat, her movements measured and poised. As she stepped away from him, she maintained her composure, her eyes never leaving the downed man.

However, her opponent had other plans. His defeat ignited a surge of anger and humiliation, and his large, hulking frame closed in on her with a sudden and alarming speed. His massive fingers, stiff and threatening, reached out with the intention of grabbing her and beating her to a pulp.

Utahime had anticipated this very response based on her observations of his character. He was prone to resorting to underhanded tactics whenever, and it was entirely plausible that he would attempt an attack once the match was declared over.

Immediately she relinquished her grip on the glaive, letting it fall to the ground with a clatter. Her deft footwork came into play as she sidestepped him in a single fluid motion before pivoting back into him. Her shoulder and elbow extended outward, pressing against his imposing form, while her nimble feet worked to trip his heavy steps.

As her elbow and shoulder made contact with his chest, that same arm extended upward, her palm connecting with his unprotected jaw. He had fallen forward with her trip attack as his jaw met her powerful palm strike with a forceful impact as gravity finished the rest of the work. A resounding crack echoed as his jawbone gave way, blood spurting forth from his mouth. Nobuaki recoiled immediately, clutching his injured jaw as blood flowed freely between his fingers.

Gojo's voice cut through the chaotic scene, his command clear and authoritative. "Break it up!" he declared, clapping his hands lazily. The captain's gaze shifted to Zenin Naoya, who bore the weight of his clan's humiliation as he bristled with anger.

"Naoya," the captain began, his tone measured but firm, "keep your clan members in check."

Captain Zenin's response was a roll of the eyes as he gritted out, barely masking the simmering anger beneath the surface as his accent slipped out, "Shut yer mouth Gojo. I don't tell ya how to run yer clan now do I."

The hissing snake knew that his clan suffered a blow to its reputation, first with the unexpected defeat and then the disgraceful tactics employed by his clan member was witnessed by all in attendance. The shame weighed heavily upon him, but Naoya also recognized that addressing the issue publicly would only further tarnish their name. He made a silent vow to deal with his clan member's transgressions privately and harshly, determined to restore the honor of their clan in his own way. In that moment, his commitment to preserving the dignity of his lineage burned as fiercely as his anger.

The lieutenants moved swiftly, separating the sore loser from the ring, their actions putting an end to the potential violence that had threatened to erupt.

Utahime bent over and reclaimed the glaive from the ground with a measured grace; her actions carrying an air of dignity. She offered a respectful bow to her defeated opponent, and then turned her attention to the officers as she bowed to them as well. She made her way over to the weapons' rack and placed the naginata back to its rightful place. Her fingers deftly removed the sparring helmet, removing it from her person as she placed all the protective equipment back onto the rack.

The sparring grounds saw the conclusion of the remaining matches, each one unfolding with a rapid intensity that mirrored the earlier bouts – some were incredibly drawn out while some matches finished within the span of a minute. Haibara and Nanami emerged victorious in their respective contests.

As the dust settled and the other captains and officers started to depart, the sparring grounds began to empty and Utahime seized the opportunity to approach Captain Geto. Utahime, her smile carrying a hint of tension, approached the man with the bun who had lingered briefly. Her nervous smile was met with a surprising change in his demeanor as he turned to her with a small curious look. No longer did he exude the icy formality of their earlier interactions; instead, he appeared openly polite yet laced with a subtle hint of amusement.

"Hello," Geto said, tilting his head at her. "What can I do for you?"

Her mouth opened and closed before opening again as she worked out her request with a sense of directness. "Sir, can I stay out tonight and return tomorrow morning?" she inquired quietly.

Captain Geto had undergone a subtle transformation when it came to the person before him. Hiko no longer dirtied his gaze as much as he used to. Hiko was almost pleasant company. His gaze remained on her longer than expected as he posed a counter question. "Why?"

"I would like to go to an entertainment house," Utahime stated plainly, allowing him to draw his own conclusions about her intentions.

Captain Geto regarded her for a moment, his eyes narrowing before widening in an almost surprised manner, only to return to their usual state. Her candidness was met with a hearty, almost melodious laugh from the captain. He appeared to appreciate her nervous body language as his eyes crinkled shut momentarily with a hint of impish amusement. Another laugh escaped Captain Geto's lips. His initial surprise gave way to a bemused understanding, and he spoke the following with an air of playful indulgence, "I guess even you have urges, don't you."

Her cheeks flushed slightly at his words, knowing what he was probably assuming, but she maintained her composure. Utahime nodded, hoping for his expected leniency. After all, Captain Geto was the easiest to talk to out of the three.

"Yes, you have my permission as long as you let me know which house it is," he granted generously. His hand playfully ruffled the top of her neat head before he continued, "Even Little Hiko has urges. Understandable."

"Thank you," Utahime responded with a note of genuine gratitude in her voice. With a respectful bow, she took her leave as she guaranteed him, "I will drop off the name of the house before I leave for town."

Captain Geto waved her off with an easygoing dismissal, a faint smile gracing his lips as he watched her retreat. As he followed the other officers, his smile lingered, leaving him in a good mood.

In the bustling streets of the town, Utahime found herself unexpectedly face-to-face with Lady Shoko who was accompanied by her maid. A subtle tension hung between them, a reminder of the recent events involving Gojo that had introduced an awkward dynamic into their relationship.

"Good morning," Utahime greeted, her voice pitched lower in a futile attempt to maintain her male persona. "Lady Shoko."

Lady Shoko returned the greeting with placid composure, her smile carrying a sense of formality. "Good morning, Sir Hiko."

As they exchanged pleasantries, the princess couldn't help but notice the fatigue etched into Lady Shoko's features. The shadows under her eyes had deepened, leaving Utahime to assume that Shoko was not getting enough sleep. Concern welled up within Utahime, prompting her to extend an unexpected invitation.

"I was about to go to a tea house," she began quietly, her voice softer and more genuine now. "Would you like to come with me?"

Lady Shoko's initial surprise was evident, but she composed herself and responded quietly, "I thought you were upset with me because of Satoru... that's why you haven't been visiting me as much."

The princess quickly shook her head, realizing that her paranoia created misunderstandings between them. "No, never," she emphasized. "I... I just wanted to be safe."

The doctor carefully observed Utahime, contemplating her decision. After a moment of reflection, she turned to her maid, Saki, and made her request.

"Saki," Lady Shoko addressed her with a calm assurance. "I would like to stroll with Sir Hiko. Please come back here in about three hours."

Saki hesitated, her eyes widening in apprehension as she stammered, "M-my lady, I cannot leave you."

Lady Shoko met her maid's gaze and spoke gently, "Please, Saki. I promise you I will be safe."

Unable to deny her lady's wishes, Saki reluctantly nodded, her anxiety evident. "I will be back here exactly in three hours."

With her maid's assurance in place, dark brown eyes watched as Saki stepped back, allowing her and Utahime to wander off toward the more upscale part of town. The maid's thoughts were left to drift, pondering the complexity of her lady's life and the multitude of relationships entwined around her.

The teahouse Utahime chose was none other than the Onyx Fowl Tea and Entertainment House. During the daytime, it remained shrouded in mystery, rarely seen by the townsfolk, and only accessible to those with ample means. It was a place where entertainment met opulence, and its reputation preceded it.

Shoko had never stepped inside the exclusive establishment before.

Utahime led Lady Shoko confidently to the entrance of this hidden gem, and the woman with the beauty mark couldn't help, but watch her companion curiously. "So how are you connected to this place?" she inquired, a note of intrigue in her voice.

With a hint of mystery in her own tone, Utahime replied, "A very good friend owns this place." She then turned more seriously, pausing just before opening the door as her hand hovered. "I wasn't trying to avoid you specifically. I just didn't want anyone else to figure me out..."

Lady Shoko nodded in understanding. "No need for an explanation. I'm just glad you don't hate me."

"I would never hate you," the other woman reassured her sincerely.

Lady Shoko smiled, a touch of sadness in her eyes as she remarked, "I'm getting married to the man you hate."

Utahime winced at the reminder, recognizing the complexity of the situation. She coughed quietly, clearing her throat to diffuse the tension.

"Come on," she suggested, trying to shift the mood into a lighter topic. "Let's get a drink and just unwind."

Her hands determinedly pushed open the door to the establishment as her feet stepped inside confidently.

"Mei! I brought a friend! I think you will like her," Utahime called out to the interior.

Mei Mei, the silver-haired vixen who presided over the establishment, appeared with a sultry smile from behind a door, her gaze assessing the prim and proper Lady Shoko. The top button of her purple Mandarin collar was unbuttoned.

"I like anyone who pays," she purred, her tone playful. "You are aware of Utahime's identity?"

Lady Shoko nodded in response, not entirely sure where the conversation was heading.

Mei Mei's beautiful face was set in an amused fashion as she led the two women up the stairs to a private room. She then asked the Seventh Ranked noble, "You don't know Utahime is a princess, do you?"

Lady Shoko's shock was palpable, a hint of surprise slipping past her usually composed facade. She hadn't been aware of Utahime's royal status.

The princess frowned at the silver-haired woman's words.

The silver-haired woman remained undeterred, her gaze cold as she proceeded further, "What? She needs to know if she is your ally. After all, you need to be protected... Does anyone else know?"

"This is part of the reason why I need a drink," The young woman confessed, sighing into her hand. She rubbed her temple as the thought of the white-haired samurai flashed across her mind. "Her fiancé—" Utahime motioned to Lady Shoko beside her. "—also knows, and I'm going crazy."

Mei Mei stopped abruptly, her tone taking on a cold edge as she turned her attention to Utahime. "Are you hurt? Did he threaten you? I can kill him. Can he be trusted?"

"He hasn't done anything to me yet…I don't know what he is planning," Utahime explained her uncertainty about Gojo's intentions, causing Mei Mei to grow even more concerned. The princess' dark eyes then shifted over to Lady Shoko, seeking answers. "Do you know what he is planning?"

Lady Shoko, in her characteristic calm manner, replied with an arched brow, "Do you really think I know what goes on inside his head? Just because I'm marrying the man doesn't mean I actually know what he is planning. He doesn't talk to me – at least, he doesn't talk to me about emotional things."

"Hmm, you're giving me loads of confidence," replied the vixen.

Lady Shoko, however, rushed to Satoru's defense, surprising both Utahime and Mei Mei. "Satoru isn't bad," she began, though her words were a tough sell. "He is a little rough—" Utahime's incredulous look prompted her to admit, "He is very rough. But he has a good heart. I think if he wanted to harm you, he would have done so right away."

"I don't think he is that simple," Utahime admitted, her concerns far from alleviated. "I'm too stressed out to care about him at this moment. I just want some alcohol. Please give me some alcohol, Mei Mei."

Mei Mei acquiesced with a snap of her fingers. Her long callous fingers then pushed the sliding shoji doors with mountains painted on them to reveal an elaborate private tearoom. Her following words carried a hint of ominous prophecy as she remarked to Lady Shoko, "You might not have a fiancé soon, Lady Shoko."

Lady Shoko simply smiled, her thoughts aligning with Mei Mei's sentiment. "That would be nice. Not having a fiancé."

As they settled onto the comfortable cushions within the private tearoom, female servants moved with smooth efficiency, attending to their needs. They served a variety of teas, an assortment of delectable snacks, and, most importantly, chilled, and expensive sake.

Mei Mei's laughter filled the room lightly as she directed her attention to Lady Shoko. "You're a doctor, correct, Lady Shoko?" she inquired.

Lady Shoko nodded in affirmation. "Yes."

With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, Mei Mei proposed a rather unconventional career change. "Want to just become a pirate? I always need more doctors," she suggested.

Entertained by the idea, Lady Shoko responded with a mysterious smile. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea. Sure, why not?"

The silver-haired woman's eyes switched over to Utahime as her persuasive powers came in full force. "See? You should just say yes like Lady Shoko."

Utahime, however, responded with a playful wag of her brows as her hands reached for the sake bottle. Her fingers delicately tipped the rim of the bottle, and expertly poured each of the women a cup of sake before serving herself. With a slight clink of cups, they raised their sake-filled vessels in unison.

"Here is to misery," Utahime declared.

"Misery," the three women echoed, their cups touching in a toast.

As the sake continued to flow, the atmosphere in the private tearoom grew increasingly relaxed. Utahime, in particular, was greatly affected by the alcohol with her cheeks flushed and her smiles widening frequently. With her inhibitions loosened, she turned her bright amber eyes and attention to the noble woman, her curiosity was piqued.

"Lady Shoko, I'm curious," Utahime began, her words slightly slurred. "Can I ask you personal questions?"

Lady Shoko, also under the influence of sake but not to the extent of Utahime's merry state, nodded in response. "Mmm. What is it?"

Utahime leaned in closer, her eyes glinting mischievously as she broached the topic, biting her lip. "You know in those sordid romances with the raunchy scenes? Have you ever experienced that with your breeze and moonlight?"

Mei Mei couldn't help but laugh at Utahime's directness, her light brown eyes dancing with amusement. Mei Mei watched the seventh ranked noble woman carefully, studying her face for signs of truths and lies.

Lady Shoko, though she appeared more composed, couldn't stifle her smile. "No, I did not sleep with Suguru."

"But you have kissed Captain Geto?" Utahime, clearly unembarrassed, puckered her lips together and began making kissing gestures as smooching sounds tumbled forth from her mouth between stifled giggles of mirth. Her hand holding her cup of sake was moving all over the place as she mimicked the intimacy shared between two people attracted to one another, spilling a bit of alcohol on her hand which she promptly licked up with a playful flick of her pink tongue.

Lady Shoko maintained her composure, choosing not to elaborate on the subject as she swallowed her sake in one shot. The sake itself was sweet, sour, and tangy like yuzu – a perfect complement to the springtime ambiance. Undeterred, Utahime shifted her line of questioning to another topic. Her eyes became even brighter as her hand sat her cup down on the low, polished table from her sprawled out figure on the floor.

"Fine, fine, what about a kabe-don? The wall hitting? Has Captain—? Oh, he has! I can tell by your face!"

Utahime burst into more high-pitched giggles, rolling onto her side, and playfully kicking her feet as she imagined Lady Shoko and Captain Geto in such an intimate scenario. Tears began escaping from the corners of her eyes as she found the idea hilarious. She could see it right now in her mind's eyes: Captain Geto starring straight into Lady Shoko's eyes and forcefully yet gently slamming his hand against a wall, trapping her in between. The intensity would be obvious and accompanied by some dramatic dialogue between the two.

Sputtering and choking a bit on her alcohol, Utahime then cheekily added, "Oh my, I can't believe it actually happens. If anyone tried that on me, I would think they were asking for a fight!"

"It was nice," replied Lady Shoko, bringing the rim of the teacup flush against her lips. She drank tea to clear her head a bit, feeling a little heated about her actions and memories. Lady Shoko's cheeks burned lightly, and it was not from the alcohol. Mei Mei, on the other hand, preferred to listen, occasionally sipping her sake between smiles. The silver haired woman made mental notes, storing away the information she was learning for future use if needed.

Utahime stood upright and told her what she really thought loudly, giving the other woman a piece of her mind. "Lady Shoko, you are not a restoration pill for these two men. Do not indulge them! If they are broken, they are broken! Let them fix themselves. You cannot change them with your power of love."

Shoko looked at Utahime and then smiled into her teacup, "Princess, they are not broken."

"Fine, but people only change if they want to change," Utahime, undeterred by Lady Shoko's initial reticence, continued to tease her. "I think you only like him because you don't know any better. They're both trash."

Lady Shoko, however, offered a more nuanced perspective. "Wealthy, handsome, powerful trash," she added, her words carrying a hint of fondness. "And young."

"Trash is trash!" Utahime declared emphatically, her smile wide as she reveled in the lively conversation among the three women. The conversation then shifted to a topic that had been lingering in the princess' mind ever since she became acquainted with the trio and their complicated situation. Utahime's curiosity led her to pose a question that had been burning within her, "So why don't you and Captain Geto just talk to the Gojo brat? If the brat isn't as bad as you say he is, why not just tell him the truth? Surely, he would understand. Just tell him to break off the engagement."

Lady Shoko, after a moment's contemplation, offered a sobering explanation. "The marriage between Satoru and I is mandated by the emperor himself."

Utahime paused, her alcohol-filled brain slowly processing the weight of that revelation. She sighed, recognizing the complexity of their predicament. "You have it tough. Yeah, there's no breaking the engagement unless something major happens, and even then, it's a risk. You can't go around telling the emperor that he chose wrongly. Nope."

Utahime pressed further, her curiosity unquenched. "And about the brat? Why not tell him?"

Shoko snorted lightly, wishing she had her tobacco pipe with her, and not caring that she was unladylike in front of the two women. The nineteen-year-old girl then expressed what she had thought about for a very long time. "He wouldn't understand. He would try his best to understand, but at the end of the day, he wouldn't understand. All Satoru has on his mind is fighting and getting stronger."

Utahime contemplated the trio's circumstances, finding them increasingly fascinating. "You would rather keep it a secret forever?"

Shoko's response was candid. "I don't think Satoru cares in the first place. And yes, after all, what is a secret if it doesn't stay a secret?"

Utahime delved deeper, probing Shoko. "Would you tell if he asked you directly?"

"Yes, I would tell him everything."

Utahime couldn't help but find the three interesting. The three of them were taking each other for granted and taking advantage of one another. It was almost scary how calm the woman before her was. It didn't make her a bad person, but rather, Utahime couldn't fathom her logic. The logic was perplexing to her, but she couldn't help but wonder if people could truly understand one another.

As the conversation wound down, Utahime's last thoughts centered on the potential misunderstandings that could arise from their secrets. She voiced her concern sincerely, and said, "Wouldn't the silence just cause misunderstandings?"

Shoko, sipping her tea, provided a clear and confident response. "I don't think there are any misunderstandings. I know who I am marrying, I know who I love, I know what I can and cannot do. What more is there to understand or misunderstand?"

With Lady Shoko's question lingering in the air, Utahime's eyes grew heavy as fatigue washed over her. Wasn't what Lady Shoko doing considered avoidance? Running away from the situation? Wasn't that what she was also doing? Wasn't Utahime also running away from everyone because she was afraid? Her thoughts turned briefly to the blond Nanami and the happy Haibara before Utahime murmured to herself, "I need to make things clear. I need to apologize."

The princess' eyelids drifted closed as heavy sleep overcame her, pulling her into the abyss. The enigmatic trio, with their intricate web of secrets and relationships, faded into the background as her mind entered the realm of dreams.

When the princess roused from her slumber, the soft glow of twilight bathed the room, signaling the onset of dinner and the encroaching darkness outside. Lady Shoko was nowhere to be seen, but in her absence, she had left a note expressing her enjoyment of their time together and the promise of a next meeting. The young woman, with a sudden burst of energy, scrambled to her feet, eager to continue her evening as her last thoughts before wandering off to sleep came back to her.

Setting out to find Mei Mei, the princess navigated through the tea house, now transformed for its nighttime entertainment. The beautiful pirate, engaged in conversation with one of her house managers, turned her attention to Utahime as she approached. With a casual demeanor, Utahime asked, "Mei, can you send me back to the barracks?"

Mei Mei, curious, questioned her initial decision. "I thought you were staying the night?"

The other woman shook her head decisively, thinking about misunderstandings. "I changed my mind. There's something I need to do back at the barracks."

Ever the businesswoman, Mei Mei agreed with a wink. "Sure. I'll charge you." Then she added afterwards. "Stay away from the man who knows. Gojo Satoru is dangerous."

"Of course," affirmed the princess.

Arranging for Utahime's departure, Mei Mei ensured her comfort and safety by sending her back in a discreet carriage cart drawn by oxen. The pirate was reluctant to send the woman back, but she also didn't want to cause further commotions. Most of all, Mei Mei knew Utahime was a smart girl. To accompany her journey, the silver-haired woman included five small boxes of twelve wagashi snacks, each box meticulously wrapped in blue silk. Utahime, now seated in the relatively luxurious carriage, pondered what she would do with the abundance of snacks – five boxes were a formidable challenge to consume on her own.

The trip to the barracks passed swiftly, and Uta arrived before the gates closed. Expressing her gratitude to the driver, she disembarked and briskly made her way through the gates, presenting her identification papers with familiarity.

In the dimming light near the cafeteria, her keen amber eyes captured a scene that troubled her immensely, sending shivers down her spine. Among the familiar figures of Haibara and Nanami were the unwelcome presences of Captain Geto and the Gojo brat. Confusion etched across her face as she wondered why they were all gathered outside, and it made her wonder, did they know.

Caught in the unexpected encounter, Utahime's reaction mirrored that of a startled animal ensnared in a trap. Her movements halted abruptly, but it was too late. Haibara spotted her, his energetic wave drawing the attention of the others. The men, including Captain Geto and Gojo, turned their gaze toward her, taking note of the stack of boxes she carried in her arms.

Attempting to avoid any interaction with the Gojo brat, she promptly ignored Haibara, turning on her heels as if she hadn't made eye contact with him. Her desire to see Haibara and Nanami conflicted with her reluctance to face the other two.

Haibara's immediate frown betrayed his disappointment. Speaking to the others, he lamented, "Hiko hates me."

Geto, perplexed by Utahime's abrupt departure, murmured, "I thought he was going to stay out tonight."

Nanami remained silent, his watchful eyes following Utahime's brisk departure. Gojo, with a genial smile, observed the unfolding dynamics among his friends, and suggested, "Maybe just feeling weak in the knees."

The group returned to their prior conversation when suddenly Utahime approached with purposeful, brisk strides. Determination burned in her eyes as she squared her shoulders and addressed Haibara and Nanami, and the other two.

"Good evening, captains," murmured Utahime. Her tone, though dejected, carried an urgency as she requested, "Nanami, Haibara, may I speak with you two privately?"

Before a response could be given, Gojo interjected with a relaxed smile, "Whatever you have to say can be said in front of your captains." The tension in the air thickened as the unexpected confrontation unfolded.

The princess' glare directed at Gojo didn't go unnoticed by the assembled group as the tension in the air between the two was obvious. However, as she let out a shuddering sigh, the harshness in her expression softened. Slumping her shoulders, she rolled her eyes before turning her gaze to the emerging stars in the evening sky. When her attention returned to Haibara and Nanami, a sense of vulnerability emanated from her as she worked her jaw open.

With a heartfelt apology, the twenty-two-year-old woman addressed the two, acknowledging her recent behavior. "I wanted to apologize for my behavior these days. I've been stressed. I don't want you to think I dislike you. In fact, I think it would be nice if my sister married anyone with your compassion and kindness…" Her voice trailed off into a muttered remark, "That being said…the bar is so low at this point…"

Snapping her head back up, Utahime bowed slightly, conveying her sincerity with her body. "I apologize for any misunderstandings."

Haibara's gentle laughter and Nanami's wide smile frightened her a bit before slow reassurance spread out through her body. Nanami spoke in that quiet voice of his, reassuring the girl, "You don't need to apologize. Friends fight, argue, and mess with each other all the time. Regardless, thank you."

Relieved, the young woman hesitantly asked, "Does this mean we are still friends?"

"Of course!" affirmed Haibara with a warm smile. His curiosity then shifted to the boxes in her hands as he pointed and inquired, "What are those?"

"A gift," she answered, giving one box each to the men present, and her hands even presented one to the Gojo brat because it would be rude if she left him out in front of all his friends. "These are wagashi snack boxes. Please enjoy."

Haibara's curiosity awoke as his fingers eagerly unwrapped the silk, revealing an exquisite assortment of delicately crafted desserts. The sweets took the form of intricately shaped flowers and adorable bunnies. Immediately he could tell right away that the display of culinary artistry hinted at their expensive nature. Amazement filled his eyes as he voiced his gratitude, "Thank you. They look amazing."

Geto and Nanami both threw her a curious look, knowing the snacks were not ordinary by any means.

Standing before them, Utahime simply replied, "Please enjoy them all," before excusing herself. The lingering bitterness and turmoil which marked her earlier demeanor lessened, allowing her body to feel a little lighter than the last few days. After expressing her frustrations, drowning her thoughts in alcohol, and granting herself a respite through sleep, Utahime emerged just feeling a little less sorry for herself. As she left the small group of men for her quarters, a newfound sense of self-assurance accompanied her every step.

She couldn't let him whittle her down. Utahime wouldn't let him no matter what he tried.

Gojo was quiet, taking in the pleasant faces that surrounded him, and slowly his straight lips curved upward. He then addressed Captain Geto with a peaceful expression, holding his wrapped box of wagashi snacks in his hand.

"Suguru," he said, drawing the other man's attention. His black bifocals obscured his eyes as he smiled brightly.

Turning toward Satoru with a questioning look, Suguru awaited an explanation as he held his box of snacks securely with one hand. He was surprised that Satoru hadn't unwrapped his box of sweets and immediately dug in.

With a carefree smile and dark eyes concealed behind his black bifocals, Satoru declared easily, "I know what I'm going to do."

The declaration left Suguru perplexed, uncertain about the intentions behind Satoru's mysterious statement.

As the doors closed behind them, the air in the emperor's private chambers hung heavy with a sense of urgency. General Yaga and General Gakuganji wasted no time, immediately dropping to their knees before the emperor with their arrival marked by six days of relentless horseback travel. The summons had been clear their presence was urgently required.

Upon their kneeling, the emperor's frowning countenance greeted them, and with a subtle gesture, he bid them to rise. "You can get up."

Standing, the two generals awaited their orders, and the emperor spoke, his words carrying a weight that matched the gravity of the situation. "Move your men to Kyoto. I have made training barracks available in the nearby hunting grounds."

A question surfaced in General Yaga's mind, and he voiced it respectfully, "My liege, this order couldn't be sent by an imperial courier?"

The shake of the emperor's head dismissed that notion, and he summoned someone forth from behind the curtains.

"No," he explained. "Your new orders are to move to Kyoto to continue training. Additionally, you will be escorting the princess from Miura to Kyoto. Do not let her identity be known. Do not allow anyone to harm her."

General Iori appeared, bowing in acknowledgment to his peers, and suddenly the realization struck the two generals as to why such a sensitive order could not be conveyed through conventional means.