I don't know how long I've been thinking about this story... if I think about it, probably more than a year. I'm the kind of person that when I have an idea in my mind, I can't be at peace. I couldn't control myself and just started writing a few days ago and found myself writing non-stop. You will see that this chapter is VERY long, although I hope it won't be tedious. I recommend you find a good window of time to be able to read it uninterrupted and find some playlist to go with it. At this point I already have 3 more chapters written from beginning to end and the summary of half the story. And if I continue at the rate I'm going I'll finish writing in record time.

I hope the few fans that exist of this ship are eager to read a new story and have patience with this author for not finishing the previous ones. I promised myself that I was going to get this out of my head once and for all before I could continue anything else. I like to take advantage of my moments of inspiration and as long as my mind is thinking about this 24/7, I can't write anything else.

It only remains for me to tell you that I personally like this story a hell of a lot more than Disenchantment. If you liked that story I'm sure you'll like this one too, thank you very much for coming to read!


The rise of the ronin


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Chapter I: The death

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Permanently alert, he walks almost wandering through the polished stone paths silently meditating. And although his thoughts are of an ominous nature and extremely disturbing for any chonin, the darkness does not manage to take away his smile. The gloomy ideas that are created in his mind are embodied in a person and without realizing it he clenches his fist on the hilt of his katana.

As he passes, he conscientiously ignores the admiring glances and a few envious ones, although the light female laughter manages to curl the corners of his lips even more. Perhaps he can't actually see them, all the people wandering around the market, and it's almost a miracle that he doesn't bump into any of them without a cane pressed under his palm. But, it's just that this fellow is not one of the bunch and it is evident to see him strolling among the common people with a kamishimo, black and gray, to the unknowing eye. However, the merchants, who know the fabrics much better than the common people, can recognize the purple flash beneath the weave of that fine cloth. The silver embroidery running down his sleeves like a vine must have cost hours of hard work by hundreds of seamstresses and their pricked fingers.

After a while of walking, he stops in front of the store of the best blacksmith in the imperial city and leaves his katana on the table while the blacksmith works with his back to him.

"I need to give it a sharpening. The blade is a bit deteriorated, but it's my favorite, could you have it for tomorrow? I need it urgently."

He recognizes his voice, and does so with some annoyance. He doesn't let go of the activity at hand, but gives himself a second to look over his shoulder at him.

"I can sense your annoyance all the way over here," he says again, twisting his lips.

"Couldn't you have come here a week ago? I have work here, I know you hear my hammer clearly."

And he hears the burning embers releasing sparks, and smells the wood burning with frightening precision.

"I thought I was the only one giving work to this crusty old blacksmith."

"I'm the best blacksmith in town, that's why you always come here."

"I'll come early tomorrow morning for it, take good care of it. Did I tell you it's my favorite? "

"Maybe I'll test the edge of that sword on your neck, boy?"

"How funny you are when you're busy, has your wife made you suffer the pregnancy?"

"Gojo-san... I don't want to commit any crime..."

"See you tomorrow, Kataba-san. Send my sincere compliments to your wife, consider my name if you have a boy," he replies with a smile painted on his face.

As he turns around, he can still hear his voice, mingling with the others in the main street of the market. He mumbles profanities, diverse and colorful, so entertaining that he tries to memorize them in case he has to use them in the future. Although he doesn't think he'll be able to replicate his mental acuity when it comes to uttering an insult.

After leaving his favorite weapon in the hands of the blacksmith, he continues on a very clear route that he has been planning for some time now. The list is not too long, dried meat, dried fruit, clothing for cold nights, rope, arrows. Only the absolute essentials. After strolling for the last time through the crowded streets of the largest market in the Imperial capital, he turns to the place that has been his home for the last fifteen years.

It tastes bitter to him that such a long journey ended this way, although he is not entirely sure what his expectations were in the first place.

In the stables he strokes his favorite horse, leaves it saddled and hides what he has bought in the market behind a pile of hay.

The palace gates open as he peers in, wide open, drawn by four guards from each end. He raises a hand and salutes with a smile. Most of these soldiers owe him their lives after he saved them on some excursion, the newer recruits greet him with the admiration one has for legends. But he feels he has done no more than necessary and that had already begun to bore him.

The air inside the palace feels different, clean, not like the market where the smell of charcoal, blood and urine prevails. Here you only occasionally smell gunpowder mixed with flowers.

The women inside the palace are what smells best. They bathe daily and spray themselves with the most provocative perfumes. As if they know or suspect that he has slightly sharpened the rest of his senses by voluntarily blocking his eyesight. Although from time to time, caught by intrigue, he lifts his blindfold to glance at them or a plate of food. More than once, however, he has been disappointed by letting his expectations fly high after sensing a captivating scent. Which is why it is increasingly rare to be able to meet Gojo Satoru's eyes.

Neither the food, nor the women, nor all the money that the emperor offers him manages to calm the anxiety that grows day after day inside him. A foreboding throbbing in his chest leaves him sleepless, wandering like a soul in sorrow through the corridors. And although he knows he has many friends inside the palace, he can't help but perceive cursed energy growing inside the walls, as if a damnation were about to fall upon him at any moment.

There is no need to wonder where it comes from, he knows it with such certainty that it makes him nauseous.

Then he turns to the one who saved him from an unfortunate fate. The parched skin pales and reveals the veins that run through his body like a vine cluster. Convalescent, wandering between two worlds, the Emperor enjoys short periods of lucidity. Fortunately, so to speak, he is not forgotten.

Sitting beside the bed that will be the scene of his death, he waits patiently for him to take his last breath. He knows perfectly well that he doesn't have much time left, perhaps a matter of days or hours. He can hardly fall asleep because, when the Emperor sleeps, he remains with his eyes open to the swaying of his chest and the hissing coming from his nose. Each time he himself falls asleep, he awakens startled with a single thought clouding his mind, «Is he alive?»

"When I was little, I used to play with my older brother...we would sneak around and wander in the marketplace until an innkeeper's sons picked on my brother not knowing he was the heir to the throne. They beat us up and when the guards found us, my father almost cut off the innkeeper's sons' hands, but instead he gave the two of us five lashes on our hands. Have I ever shown you the scars, Satoru?"

"No, you haven't," he lies, as he has told him this story at least six times. He stretches, sitting cross-legged on the floor and glances at Taishō's scarred hands and feigns a surprised expression that he has been practicing exclusively for his master. Satisfied with the slight smile of his master, who still wanders in memories that have been lost in his mind for decades, Satoru sits back down in his seat.

"What did the doctor tell you?" he asks, not knowing that he has already asked this question three times.

"That you have little time left, maybe you will die today. Maybe tomorrow... You shouldn't waste your energy telling these stories again..."

"Wow... how indelicate you are, Satoru. Women don't like rough men like that, so promise me you'll try to improve that aspect of your personality, that's an order. The next woman you meet, you must treat her with great respect. When I die, I will do my best to accompany you with my spirit and send you a patient woman."

"Even if I promised you, you would not remember it later."

"How cruel," he says and then laughs, "but it's true," he sighs and sits up on the bed, seeming to remember that his mind has been playing tricks on him. His long silver-gray hair falls like a huge waterfall behind his back and he groans for a moment, his back hurts from spending so much time in this bed. His eyes suddenly don't look as lost as they did a moment ago, almost hidden behind his many wrinkles. He stops to think about something, meditating silently, watched by Satoru's attentive eyes.

"I have very little time left, don't I?" he asks and Satoru nods. Then he sighs and smiles slightly under his thick mustache. "The Zenin clan must be sharpening their fangs, waiting for the moment when I die," Satoru folds his arms and doesn't feel like answering his question, but Taishō smiles bitterly just seeing the way the corners of Gojou's smile slowly turn down. "In that case... you should leave the region as soon as possible... The first thing he will do is try to turn you into his lackey and we both know how that conversation will end. If you don't want any trouble... the best thing to do is to leave now, before I die. Take your things and go, they are going to force you to perform seppuku."

"I am a bushi. Do you want me to sully my own honor by hiding like a rat? I'd have to perform seppuku anyway and I think I'm too young for that anyways."

"You don't even practice all the virtues of bushido."

"Huh? Don't I seem virtuous enough to you?"

"You have courage, no doubt, absolute honesty, honor and loyalty... but you still don't practice respect, compassion and righteousness?"

"No one does, I have not met any samurai who follows the way of the warrior to perfection."

"Why do you think there are so few? Child, you still have a lot to learn. When you take off that blindfold you will realize how much you have to live for. That's why I want you to leave now. Anyway... I'm going to die."

"As long as I'm alive... you'll only die of natural causes."

"I release you..." he pronounces, raising a hand to touch his shoulder, "from your promise, Satoru."

"Are you delirious again, old man? Maybe I should take you for a walk to get some fresh air and stop your hallucinations."

The Emperor bursts out laughing, unable to take offense at the disrespect of his most loyal lackey.

"Now that you mention it... yes, I could use some fresh air..."

It comes as a surprise that he wants to leave his quarters, but he prefers not to mention it, simply standing up and stretching out a hand to help him out of bed. After Taishō refused his help to get up, he extends a cane to him and escorts him to the door that slides open as soon as the Emperor makes his way out. The two young maidservants waiting on their knees on the other side of the door can't help but smile as they see the Emperor's favorite escort walk past them.

Taishō looks up and squeals once they both reach the palace gardens. He seems to have suddenly become annoyed and Gojo wonders what he has done now to put him in a bad mood.

"A few years ago, I used to be taller than you, at what point did you stretch yourself so far? I should have issued an edict about it, I should put you in jail for being taller than your Emperor," he says and uses his cane to hit Satoru in the calf. And he, as loyal as he is, can't move despite anticipating the attack and gladly takes the Emperor's blow.

"You haven't shrunk that much, it's the hump," he comments, stroking his back as if it were a magic lamp.

"What nonsense, you know you can't treat me with such familiarity."

"Why do you let me treat you that way then?"

"I guess I've gotten used to how inappropriate you are... Besides, you're too strong to lose you. You've served me very well, Satoru. One simply has to learn to tolerate you."

"Where are we going?" he asks as he notices that his master changes course and suddenly leaves the gardens and walks to the family cemetery.

"To see my son."

With great effort, the emperor sits on the ground, his knees have become particularly fragile. Satoru imitates him and watches him join his palms together to raise a last prayer and then remain silent for a few seconds.

"I think it's time, Satoru. These are my last days... so I will use the strength I have left to ask you one last favor..." His servant waits attentively for his master's words. I want you to go to Yokohama and look for a small family..." Among his clothes there is a handwritten letter, written on an old and wrinkled paper, yellowed by the passage of time. "I won't say another word, I'm afraid this will reach the wrong ears".

"Do you have bastard children? I have suspected it," he answers, smiling again, "I haven't overlooked your little trips."

"Oh, have you? Perhaps I haven't been as subtle as I would have wished... I need you to protect that family, though I regret having to resort to putting you back in charge of someone else's care. You just need to get them to safety. Once you do that you will be free of me forever."

"You said you were releasing me from my promise, are you asking me to serve them?"

"There is a small fortune hidden in the temple of Ichijō-ji. Consider it your last job... Make the children safe and take the money... just give them enough to survive. Could you do that?"

"Ichijō-ji? That region is full of curses..."

"No one better than you to get there."

Satoru smiles to himself, he knows he is unable to let go of what is probably his master's last wish and scratches the back of his neck while meditating on everything that will be triggered by Taishō's death.

"How do they look like?"

"You'll know who they are without much trouble... The girl has hair the color of the sea. As vibrant as the clearest sky your eyes have ever seen."

"Blue?" Satoru questions incredulously. "I've never seen anyone with hair like that."

"There's only someone else like her... But it's not someone I want near the girl. If you should happen to cross paths with that person on your journey... Tell him I kept my promise."

"So after all these years you've kept a couple of secrets, old man."

"Will you?"

"Well, when you die, I'll have a lot of time on my hands... I'll have to think about it. I don't much enjoy the idea of taking care of a bunch of children... It sounds exhausting... Besides, I'd have the Zenin clan on my heels. If I decide to help you, I hope that small fortune you speak of is not so small... I'd like to continue having this lifestyle once you're gone. Hey, can you hear me?"

He turns his gaze to his Lord and finds him frowning, looks back and forth among the tombstones and sacred temples, turns to see the torii adorning his own son's grave and his eyes mist over as he reads the name written there.

"Did he die? But... when did this happen? Satoru?"

He hears Taishō's broken voice and raises a hand to caress his back.

"A few years ago..." he looks at him confused; his eyes soaking wet. "But... don't worry, I'll protect the rest of your children."

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Between comings and goings, and in a matter of only two days, Taishō's condition worsened considerably and his delusions became so violent that Satoru was forced to subdue him to administer his medicine. He went so far as to smash a door with his old sword and threatened a young servant girl whom he mistook for a curse sent to collect his soul. Then, as if nothing had happened, he told Satoru about old battles with curses from his most terrible nightmares. But he never mentioned anything about them again, those he entrusted to him in the temple where the remains of his only legitimate son lie.

At times Satoru wonders if that was just another delirium, or if those words were the last shred of lucidity he had left. Whatever the answer, he knows that he has to leave the palace the moment his master takes his last breath, before that little madman proclaims himself the new Emperor of Japan.

Sitting cross-legged, he looks under a dark blindfold at the way his chest is rocking gently and with such difficulty that it is even hard to see it. He finds the idea that someone as powerful as Taishō ended up becoming this senile old man incredible. Especially, having met him at his peak of recognition.

Having stayed awake for the last two nights, he has a strange feeling that he must not close his eyes even for a second. Something inside him tells him that he cannot leave this bed for a moment, that he cannot miss his last breath for anything in the world. As if death was waiting for his next blink of an eye to take him away from the world of the living.

Taishō's forehead glistens with sweat that a maidservant insists on wiping with a damp cloth until he raises his weak and pale right hand to stop her.

"Retreat yourself... I want to be alone with my son," he suddenly says to the maid.

Satoru looks surprised and the girl looks at him, slightly confused. They both know perfectly well that Gojo is not Taishō's son and he is most likely delirious again, as dementia has not given him a minute's rest in the last few hours.

Without saying a single word, the girl apologizes, gets up and leaves the room, leaving them alone. Behind the door waits the most renowned physician in the empire along with the most important men in the entire region. They mutter tirelessly about the future that awaits them after the emperor's inevitable death.

The emperor extends his hands towards him, lying on his bed, and Satoru hesitates for a moment before shaking

"Promise me, my son, that you will find a good woman... You have spent a long time alone..." he says and coughs.

"You shouldn't stress yourself," he reminds him.

"My son, my boy. You've grown so much," he pronounces slowly, his voice hoarse, and caresses Satoru's cheek. He gets a lump in his throat; he is used to play along so as not to provoke any more unpleasant emotions during his last moments of life. However, he forces a weak smile, "So strong and brave... So stubborn..." Satoru suddenly smiles and lets out a light laugh. "Don't laugh at your father's words, I'll be watching you from the other side, do you hear me? I'll be watching you every step of the way... Every decision I'll be there with you and I'll find a means to guide you if you lose your way. Thank you for taking care of this old man for so long..."

"It's my duty," Gojo answers, trying not to break the fantasy in which he finds himself, imagining that he is talking to his late son.

"Of course it is... Satoru..." His name slides softly across his tongue and his head sways to the side. Satoru suddenly wipes away his smile, "Not a day goes by that I am not thankful that I crossed your path, I often wonder what would have become of you... If you had made good decisions even when you were alone... I gave you everything I could give you, and taught you everything I had to teach. You were my greatest comfort, after I lost my blood... I still had you by my side. So hungry to learn... You have mastered it all... I wish I could leave you in a more gentle, less wicked world... That's my only regret... Just... take care of them..."

Uttering the word with a last breath that leaves Satoru mute. The knot that lies beneath his neck tightens, the emperor's chest does not rock again and he looks down at the hand that falls limp on the bed. He closes his eyes for the last time, his lips parched, his temper calm. And he never breathes again, never again.

He has been waiting for this moment for a long time, however, upon seeing him lifeless, he cannot get out of his astonishment and his lips twist for a bitter moment in which he tries to hold back a feeling that begins to tear at his chest very quickly. Despite this, after a few minutes, he stands up, ignoring the whirlpool that consumes his skin and walks towards the exit, but not before giving a last look to his master, to leave the palace. After his exit he doesn't say a word, but the doctor and the feudal lords enter the grounds in a hurry, only to confirm what they have patiently waited for.

Just as he takes the reins of his horse is that the bells begin to ring throughout the imperial city, waking the citizens in the middle of the dawn. But, as Satoru knows perfectly well what awaits him, he mounts on the back of Oguri, a white-coated thoroughbred, and rides out of the city at full speed in the opposite direction to the pilgrimage that begins to form in the streets.

The doors of the houses open to the sound of bells and Satoru knows that there is something inherently wrong with marching in the opposite direction of the palace. But there is nothing more he can do, as avoiding the new Emperor is the smart thing to do. There is no heir and the northern army has been preparing to take the palace for months. In fact, perhaps suicide by seppuku would be more pleasant than staying and waiting for what the Zenin Clan plans to do with him.

The lump in his throat does not loosen, even outside the imperial city wall. Not even when alone in the dim moonlight in the middle of a thick forest. Not even by pulling hard on Oguri's reins can he let out a little of the helplessness that gnaws at him. So he stops by the river when he hears a shriek.

Umibozu.

A black slime, thick as oil, with eyes running down his body as they watch from one place to the other. Hundreds of eyes watching him from the water, clustering one on top of the other. The curse that sinks ships. It pierces through the hulls of ships and feeds on the shipwrecked.

Satoru climbs down from Oguri's back and walks slowly. Umibozu's countless eyes begin to point at him. It is not common to see this curse come out of the river, it prefers to hide in the depths, form an eddy with its own body and swallow entire boats. However, he has heard of some people who have seen it come out to swallow some distracted fisherman.

As Gojo's tabi soak up the river water, Umibozu stands up. His eyes wide open, so wide open that from a distance you can see black veins like clusters covering the curse's eyeballs. Rising like a wave, Satoru feels the current of the water sweeping inward, swirling as if the curse could swallow the water within itself.

He calmly grips the hilt of his sword and waits silently for signs of his attack. The air around him, the evil energy concentrating and growing in front of him to launch itself like the dizzying wave of a tsunami.

The sword shrieks against the scabbard as Satoru unsheathes it mere inches from the curse. It cuts precisely into its core, the place where the most cursed energy is concentrated. He feels the water falling on the skin of his face like a pleasant summer drizzle. He feels his outstretched arm numb; his muscles so tight that he has nothing left to do but laugh at himself. This has not been remotely enough to end the disdain that lies within his chest.

Satoru sits down on the banks of the crystal-clear river and removes the bandage from his face to pour himself some water from a canteen he has hidden under his clothes. He stops to contemplate the forest and looks up at the moon.

Perhaps it is intentional that he has chosen this route that goes straight to the city his Lord mentioned to him earlier, the one in which those he believes are his illegitimate children are hiding.

He smiles to himself, not even asking their ages or anything else that might help him find them. Perhaps the only piece of information that could really help him is that the girl has a very particular hair color. But at the same time this seems highly unlikely to him. If such a person existed, he would probably have already heard something about it. Which makes him think that all this was just one of his delusions. Then he takes the parchment out of his pocket, it is a letter written by someone with bad handwriting, probably a child. It doesn't say too much, only that he likes to watch the ships leaving the harbor in the morning and that he occasionally eats at the inn of Kota-sama, who makes the best chohan in town. The letter is torn, Taishō has only given him a fragment. It has no signature or address. But Satoru knows that it is enough of a clue to start his journey so he ends up getting back on Oguri's back and gallops quietly towards the port city of Yokohama.

As the days go by, he even contemplates the idea of going to the temple at Ichijō-ji. Perhaps, if the whole story of his bastard children was nothing more than the invention of an unbalanced mind, the part about the fortune hidden in the temple is something true and he could even leave the country and seek a life elsewhere. In fact, exorcising a few curses to get to the temple doesn't seem at all complicated, a strange force under his hands begs him for a fight at this moment. In fact, exorcising a few curses to get to the temple doesn't seem at all complicated, a strange force under his hands begs him for a fight at this moment to shake off the grief after the death of his dearest friend, the one he has even come to feel more like a father than his own parent.

He strokes the coat of his horse, which is already beginning to complain after such a long journey. He does him the favor of getting off his back and takes the reins to guide him as he takes his first steps in the city of Yokohama. He does himself a favor by seeing the first peddler dragging a cart with his bare hands and for a couple of coins takes a woven straw hat. He quickly replaces his bandana with a pair of glasses with black painted lenses and puts his new hat on top.

Twenty days have passed since Taishō's passing and he has already begun to hear the news from the imperial city. The announcement of the surrender by the former emperor's Minister of War was something he anticipated. As well as anticipating a considerable price on his own head.

Perhaps it would be easier for him to keep a low profile if his hair were not so conspicuous.

Several days have passed already and his stomach grumbles more than Oguri. His body works too quickly and he usually can't tolerate long journeys without feeling that he will starve to death if he doesn't eat a good bowl of rice and some eggs, fish and soup. Having lived so many years in the palace, he is not at all amused to go back to his days of hunting for survival. The hard meat of a rural rabbit is no match for the fine herb-flavored dishes of the imperial palace.

Satoru sighs, his days as a street rascal have begun again. If Taishō's firstborn had not died of a mysterious illness, right now he would be protecting him and the empire until his last breath.

The city of Yakohama is as vibrant as the imperial city in Kyoto. The port makes its market the nest of export products. There are so many merchants advertising their offerings that, amidst the hustle and bustle, not even he with his nearly two-meter height manages to cause much of a stir. Hundreds of people walk around him while he hides his face under his straw hat, tugging at his horse's ropes as he looks for a face friendly enough to approach.

It is not until he sees a painter that he stops. The canvases he spreads on the small walls of his store are painted in black and red ink. Beautiful faces of courtesans mostly, women showing shoulders, a leg, a slight blushing smile. Smaller ones are spread out on the counter. Satoru recognizes the figure of some curses and in front of them what he assumes must be sorcerers. Below are some much more explicit drawings that make him smile.

Among them there is one that captures his attention more than any courtesan, it is a warrior with light blue eyes. The light blue ink stands out against the grayish canvas and the black lines. The delicacy with which he has drawn the samurai warrior's features makes him a little proud. If notices have already been made with his face, he hopes they are as flattering as this one.

"How much for this one?" he asks the painter.

"Do you know who that man is, young man?"

"No idea, but he looks all right," he says, a little hunchbacked. A long, mischievous smile tugs at his lips. He can't help but let his vanity grow as he waits in anticipation of what the painter will answer.

"He is the ronin of the Gojo Clan. The masterless samurai."

Gojo's smile fades as he hears his answer. He takes from a small pouch under his clothes a couple of coins that will be more than enough payment for his painting.

"You are very generous!"

"It's a good painting... You know, I'm passing by and I'm looking for an inn. Could you tell me if Kota-sama's inn still exists?"

"Otsune Kota? Sure, where it has always been."

"Could you refresh my memory? I've been in Kyoto for a long time and this city has grown so much, I hardly recognize the harbor anymore."

"Just follow the road to the fishermen's wharf, continue along the river and you will see Shibiki-sama's pottery workshop, it has two kilns next to the door, it's easy to recognize. After the next street you will find Otsune's inn. There is no way to get lost."

"Thank you, and here. An extra for your time," he says, bouncing a coin with his thumb into the painter's lap.

Following the instructions to the letter, Satoru soon finds the pottery workshop. The sun has already set and hides behind the horizon, taking its rays with it. As he walks, he sees a sturdy man coming out of a two-story building, lights a torch that he leaves in front of the inn and turns around to go back inside. Satoru reads the name of the inn carved on a wooden sign hanging from the last roof tiles. The Sea Inn.

He ties a knot in the reins by the entrance and gives Oguri's face one last caress before pushing open the door.

"They probably aren't used to seeing samurai." Gojo thinks after closing the door behind him.

Their gazes fixed on him and the sudden absence of voices around him, trying with little concealment to hide their astonishment. Pupils travel quickly across his costume composed of several layers of cloth that manage to hide his attire. His sword barely peeks out from his waist, but its hilt is too ostentatious to overlook.

Satoru sits at a small wooden table, making no effort to hide from the stares that eventually drift away and the conversations that were going on prior to his arrival continue. However, he still senses the air of distrust that has been hanging in the air, he can even breathe it.

A stout man with a dark, bushy mustache stands in front of him and Satoru raises the arches of his smile, ready to place a rather extensive order. But his smile is slowly erased when he sees the expression of this guy, who seems to be the owner of the inn.

"We don't want any trouble," he says, glancing sideways at his katana.

Satoru tilts his head; he should have known that displaying a weapon in this way would only bring him inconvenience. But he was so used to everyone in the imperial city knowing exactly who he was that he overlooked it.

"Don't worry, I have special permission from the emperor," he says as he searches through his pockets until he finds a small edict signed by Taishō, which he then displays in front of the inn owner. I won't be here for long. "Maybe you can help me with some information."

Of course, the Emperor's name and signature leaves him dumbfounded and he stammers a response in a kinder tone and then bows to him.

It is normal for the locals to fear him almost immediately when most samurai have been imprisoned or punished by death after decades of horrendous acts and abuse of authority. Having repealed the laws that allowed them to even test the edge of their katana on any opponent, Taishō made a few enemies. At the same time endearing himself to many of the people of Japan.

"Of course," he says, lowering his head to him. "How can I help you?"

"First, I want three plates of whatever they're preparing in the kitchen," he replies, turning his nose toward the place where the smells that won't leave him alone are nesting. "And a room for the night."

"Right away, sir," he replies in the same friendly tone and leaves his sight too quickly for a man of his size and build.

Gojo can hardly believe that this guy can fit through a door and smiles at the sight of him walking with such haste. His smile widens even more when he sees him return with a girl behind him and the three plates he has ordered. The girl even seems intimidated by his presence, so much so that she fails to raise her eyes to his face and focuses all her attention on the glass of water she's pouring for him.

"Anything else I can help you with?"

"Sit down," he orders her in a rather light tone, taking his chopsticks to start eating, "I don't want to draw any more attention from your customers, I think I've caused a little commotion... No one takes their eyes off me," he begins in a lower tone, hoping that his words don't reach anyone else inside the inn.

"This is a big city; the port has brought much wealth to the locals... but it has also brought along undesirables... Before the Emperor banned the practices of the samurai... they had taken over the city. If they wanted something from us and we did not comply... they threatened to try new swords on our sons. But... if the emperor allowed you to continue the practice that means you're not that kind of person" Satoru nods. "It's a pity that he passed away without leaving an heir..."

"I know... And before I make the people at your inn more nervous, I'll get to the point. You are Kota Otsune, right? I know your chohan is famous in this part of town."

"Is that why you came? You should have said so earlier, I would have prepared one especially for you. Any friend of the emperor is a friend of mine."

"I wish the reason that brought me here was that simple. I'm looking for someone..."

"Who?"

"That's my problem... I don't know her name. All I know is that she's a girl with unnaturally colored hair..."

"Unnatural? Like... yours?"

"A little more particular, it's like the river that runs around the city."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know anyone who looks like that."

"In that case... is there a child you usually give a plate of chohan to from time to time?"

"Children?" asks the man, leaning subtly across the table. His bushy eyebrows meet in the middle of his forehead.

Satoru nods with a mouthful of rice after taking his first bite of food. The truth is that, as the days have gone by, he has only convinced himself, more and more, that this whole story about bastard children is nothing but a fabrication. If it weren't for that fragment of a letter he would be absolutely sure.

"Oh, the Miwa children, yes. They live on the other side of the bridge, right across from the pier. It's only a few minutes from here. Their mother died many years ago and they live with their aunt."

"What about their father?"

The innkeeper shrugs.

"I don't know anything about him."

A half-chewed cue ball hangs in the middle of his throat at that answer. Satoru swallows and looks again at the man's pleased face. He doesn't notice that he even has a few grains of rice stuck on his lips.

"I can take you there in the morning," he continues, to his surprise. "It's very late and I'm sure you must be getting tired. They often come here, occasionally playing with my son, Chiro."

Satoru remains silent for a while, too long for his own liking. Realizing that it wasn't Taishō's delusion makes all this even more complicated. He could have left here the next day had he only known that these children didn't even exist, but now he must carve out an even more extensive plan to get them safe from whatever the new Emperor has planned.

"You'll have to wake me up," he tells him, smiling again. "I've always had trouble with schedules."

"First thing in the morning it is," he says, standing up.

"Better a couple of hours after first thing in the morning," Satoru replies.

With a full stomach, having paid extra for the attentions, he follows the innkeeper's daughter to his room and once alone, he plops down on the bed that squeaks to receive him. There is a world of difference between these sheets and those of the imperial palace, though this bed is definitely better than sleeping in the middle of the forest hidden under the shade of a tree. He sighs as he places both hands behind his head and crosses his legs as he thinks about the strange encounter the next day holds for him.

The death of his Emperor has been so recent that he has barely had time to get used to the idea that he is no more. Nor does he have much time to do so, since he will have to present himself to these children and take them out of the city without knowing exactly where to take them, or with whom, or under what pretext. Perhaps, for the time being, the safest thing to do would be to take them to some island. Maybe he'll end up visiting some old friends, cash in on a few favors and finally go for his small fortune once the children are safe and sound, as promised.

Satoru wonders if he'll be able to recognize them just by looking at them, if they will have inherited their father's features. Although the mention of his hair is something that begins to intrigue him. What is the reason for such a characteristic?

"Blue like the sea and the clear sky..."

He suddenly gets a headache, probably because he anticipates a long trip with kids he doesn't even know. In fact, he's not even sure they'll go with him when he shows up. The worst thing would be if he had to kidnap them. This promise he has made is starting to sound more and more complicated, the more he mulls it over.

Be that as it may, he won't have any answers no matter how hard he tries to think. He closes his eyes still listening to the bustle in the dining room and tries to enjoy the small comfort this bed offers him. For this may be the last time he will have one for quite some time.

He doesn't know how many hours have passed when he opens his eyes again. The voices in the dining room rise in pitch, no longer conversations; Satoru hears shouting. He rises quickly on the bed and pushes back the curtain. The streets are ablaze.

Women with carrying children run in dozens through the streets, but from his position he can't see what they are running from.

Satoru grabs his things and adjusts his belt with his sword before pushing open the door and descending the stairs. The innkeeper carries buckets of water next to his daughter as men and women alike come in and out carrying them. Gojou catches the scent and hears more shouting crowding through the streets.

He runs quickly through the front door, dodging those trying to help collect water to put out the fire that is beginning to take over several houses.

Oguri moves frantically, about to break his own reins when Satoru takes them in his hands and doesn't waste a second to ride on his back. He lifts his chin and contemplates the thick black cloud rising in the sky like a snake, indicating a course he can deduce.

This can't be a coincidence.

"Otsune!" Gojou shouts, holding on tightly to the reins to slow Oguri's steps. "Is that the direction of the house?"

The innkeeper watches in astonishment and stammers a reply, then tries to regain his composure and nods. But before he can put it into words, Satoru jerks the reins and rides down a narrow street where he assumes the children's house is.

Dodging villagers, Satoru looks among the houses for some clue, anything that might help him distinguish the place where the children might be. The only thing he remembers is what Otsune Kota mentioned to him, that the house is located on the other side of the bridge.

He presses his ankles against Oguri's belly and the animal gallops with strength and determination. The fire spreads and the heat explodes the window panes. He ends up covering his nose with a sleeve as the smoke spreads like poison through the streets. And he doesn't stop until he finally manages to see a small bridge and in front of it a two-story house that has already begun to collapse.

He has no choice but to tie Oguri's reins to the same bridge that helped him find the house. But he keeps his distance as he sees a barely familiar face on the other side of the street, handing a woman a small cloth bag.

.

.

.

.

.

His hands calloused, hard as rocks after bleeding for hours. With a fishing rod in his palm and two medium-sized fish on his back. His hair is in a ponytail and his back is painfully straight. His perfect posture is nothing more than a facade he has grown accustomed to despite the inclemency of his girdle.

The dark-haired young man walks on the stones filed by the passing of the stream. Barefoot, his feet pale as those of a dead man. He walks briskly across the gravel to the first patches of green on the ground, at the foot of a massive oak tree on which he has hung an old pair of socks. Below, among the roots sticking out of the ground like crooked fingers, his waraji, the straps made of straw about to break, so he takes care of them as if they were the emperor's sandals.

His brow furrowed, anticipating what will happen once he gets home with no more than two fish to feed four mouths. There is a sad look in his eyes, his round, dark eyes surrounded by a crescent of bluish skin. He pauses for a moment in the solitude of the forest, listens to the river crashing gloriously against the rocks and gathers enough courage to puff out his chest again and set out on his journey.

He walks carefully so as not to end up breaking his sandals and thinks about how much he has in his pocket, then adds that to the coins he hides under a loose board in his room, but in the end, he doesn't think it will be enough to buy a new pair.

Crestfallen, he does something he would be ashamed to confess he does all too often. He imagines his feet clad in the fluffiest socks and smiles to himself, wrapped in a pair of getas carved from the most exquisite wood in the region. Walking on lacquered maple planks down a hallway filled with kneeling minions as he makes his way wearing a red kimono filled with handmade embroidery by the most expensive dressmakers in the empire.

"Birds and cherry trees..." he imagines engraved on the fabric in golden thread, shining like gold.

He stops. A pair of feet appear in front of him, nails dirty and toes bruised, a shadow stretches over him and he is suddenly forced to look up. Under a straw hat a man watches him intently. Two beside him, smiling. They surround him and he merely reaches a hand to his waist to unsheathe a wooden sword.

"Idiot," the larger one rasps and before he can draw, he hits him in the head with the saya of his katana.

The blow is fast and precise. Still confused by the impact, he makes a slight gesture to flee, but a second later he falls to the ground after being kicked in the back. The straw laces of his sandal break and immediately a stabbing pain disables his ankle.

He looks over his shoulder as the third guy carries away the carp he has spent all afternoon trying to catch. At that moment, his vision blurred, he sees a third member of the group.

As they pick his pockets and laugh at his misfortune, the leader watches with satisfaction as a fourth smirks behind him. On his neck, small and wide-eyed, two large eyeballs dangle from two pale viscera that connect them to the rest of his small body.

He doesn't know it, he doesn't know that the creature is sucking blood from his body with slowness and a voracious appetite. He does not know that minute by minute that being invisible to his eyes is getting stronger.

Lying there, after miserably receiving a few kicks, without a coin on him and without dinner for his brothers, he gets strength from somewhere to bring his trembling hand to the hilt of his wooden sword.

"Do you still think you can hit me with that?" laughs the one who does not know he has been cursed and steps forward a few paces, laughing at the imprint of his victim.

Crouching down, face to face, he looks at him and smiles. He extends a silent invitation to land a blow, if he can. But to his surprise and to the amusement of the other two standing behind him, the boy lands a punch in the air, just over his shoulder.

Cacophony of laughter in the air erupts beside them, so loudly that the two thieves end up rubbing their bellies in pain. The poor beggar, beaten and full of dirt, has not even managed to land a blow with him in front of him. They don't even notice that their boss isn't smiling, they don't watch him as he strokes his shoulder and rotates it over the joint with such intrigue that it perplexes him. His brown eyes go from his shoulder to the boy and back again. He sways from foot to foot, backing away until one of his henchmen bellows 'let's finish him off'.

"Wait..." he interrupts at once. The boy's ultramarine blue eyes are fixed on him with a frown, and after watching him for only a couple of seconds, he averts his gaze. "Let him go..."

"But he saw our faces."

"Let him go! Don't you listen? Are your ears so dirty, you stupid pieces of shit?"

Submissive, they apologize and lower their heads like subdued dogs and that man who bastardizes them looks at him again for the last time, barely getting up from the ground. The debt that only they know has been settled, although none of them will say a word. Only they know what has happened, though perhaps the bandit leader has only a suspicion that made him uncomfortable enough to spare his life.

After leaving the trio that has left him with his sandals broken and his clothes in tatters, he gets up using his wooden sword as a cane and pitifully walks the remaining stretch to his house. His right ankle is swollen, as is his lower lip. His cheek is bruised and there is a lump in the middle of his head where he was first hit.

He should have been more grateful when he thought he only had a couple of carps for dinner and the worst that awaited him was his aunt's reprimand, he thinks as he trudges to the door of what he wryly calls 'home'.

-Didn't you bring anything?

Surprisingly is the first thing he hears as he enters. His gangly appearance is not the first thing that catches his aunt's attention, but rather, his empty back. The question catches him by surprise for a confused moment in which he finds no immediate answer. She has chosen to ignore the obvious bruises on his face, as well as the way he uses his wooden sword as a crutch.

She, with her face wrinkled and her brow furrowed, twists her lips in a gesture that does nothing more than blatantly confess her disgust at the sight of him. Her foot sounds impatiently on the old wood of the floor and she crosses her arms to reiterate her question.

-You didn't bring anything? -She says louder, as if he'd had a hard time hearing her the first time.

-No, aunt..." he answers in a whisper that ignites her wrathful side. She really dislikes the shyness of his tone.

Her aunt steps forward, grabs his dark hair in a fist and pulls without knowing that her whole head hurts, nor does she care.

-What do you want your brothers to eat now? It's your responsibility to feed them, not mine! What are we going to do now?! -she screams and spits while she shakes him by the hair until she throws him to the ground.

The boy, just like those obsequious henchmen, bows his head like a dog that seems to beg for forgiveness.

-I'm sorry... I..." he whispers and feels a blow on his shoulder.

She has a broom in her hands and doesn't hesitate to give him a second blow.

"This is your fault! Your fault and your mother's fault for getting pregnant! I should be living my life, married to a good man! And I'm here! -She screams as she gives him blow after blow- -It's your fault, damn it! It's your fault that I have to take care of you! I couldn't even marry you to get you out of this house! You're nothing but a burden! A little monster who does nothing but steal the air from the rest of us! Aren't you going to say anything? Aren't you going to answer me?!"

"I..."

"You've got nothing to say! -I've done nothing but put my life on hold for you, you filthy brats!"

"We're leaving!" he shouts and prostrates himself at her feet. A tear rolls down his cheek as his aunt slaps him on the back with the broom straw. "We'll leave here in the morning... we'll take our things and go, the three of us together. We won't be a burden, I can take care of them..."

"Who are you going to take care of? Look at the state of you, covered in horse shit. You can't even take care of yourself, let alone take care of them. You're useless, you're dressed like a man to learn how to use that damn sword and instead of using it to defend yourself you've come crawling with it. You're useless, and I'm ashamed of you. Your mother must have died from enduring the shame of having you alone, not even your father wanted to take care of you."

Every word has pierced into her heart like an arrow full of poison. It expands inside her filling her with pain and one after another, tears fall from her dark eyes.

Her aunt doesn't even deign to give her the last lunge, she simply throws the broom to the ground and disgusted by the pitiful sound of her crying and walks away.

"Do you intend to go away and leave me alone? After I wasted my youth taking care of you like a real mother? There is no doubt that you are an ungrateful, miserable scum. How dare you propose such idiocy to me? You have to stay here and pay me back for my years of sacrifice. That's the least you should do."

She would like to refute, but she is nothing more than a dog that obeys despite hunger and violence. She nods and apologizes while trying to keep her voice steady. Slowly she gets up, gathers her strength without panting and wraps herself up as if giving herself the hug she'd like to receive, but the aunt leaves without saying much more than a threat: 'You'd better be here when I get back.'

She's probably gone into town to get something to eat, since again she failed and they have nothing to eat for dinner. This time she will have to make do by gathering leftovers to cook a stew for the boys.

A potato cut into small cubes, a carrot, half a green onion and a piece of dehydrated rabbit. She doesn't whine aloud while her siblings eat without asking what happened to the fish she promised to catch first thing in the morning. Nor dare they ask why she squints her eyes when she moves or stretches her arms.

"I guess I scared the fish away."

"You have to be quieter, next time we'll go with you. You make too much noise."

"Are you gonna help me? You'd better spend your time learning a real skill. Mr. Matsube was very kind when he offered to teach you blacksmithing. I imagine you're making the most of it; soon you'll be making a sword for me."

"Yes," says the youngest after sipping the last of it from the pot. "A real one, not like the one you have now."

The older one nods.

"A real one," she says.

"It's not that easy, it will take a long time and Mr. Matsube won't let us waste anything. We can't make any mistakes..." says the middle one. "Maybe with cheap steel...".

The little one grimaces, somewhere between annoyance and weariness. Then he scratches his ear with his little finger.

"Sometimes you're as annoying as Aunt Nami..." The sleeve of his kimono slides down and his barely tanned skin shows, catching his older brother's eye, but the little one makes a quick gesture and hides both hands under the table and smiles about to say the first thing that comes to his head.

"Is that a bruise?"

"What? You got hit?!"

"It's nothing!"

The eldest of the three takes hold of his wrist and uncovers it. On the tanned skin, drawn in dark ink, five fingers are perfectly visible, and although the little one has not pointed out the culprits, they assume it is none other than aunt Nami.

"That old hag," says the one in the middle.

"This has gone too far..." replies the older one. "I can tolerate her taking it out on me, but... Sochi, why did you hide it?"

"I didn't want you to fight with her... I didn't want her to hit you again. You never fight back..."

"I don't do it because I don't want to complicate your lives! Don't doubt that I would defend you with my life!" she exclaims and gets up from her seat. With clenched fists she turns and climbs the stairs to grab the first cloth bag within reach. Behind her, her siblings walk barefoot up the stairs at a brisk pace. They watch as she chooses the essentials and then lays them at her feet. "That's it, tomorrow we'll leave town. You two go to sleep, I'll wait for Aunt Nami to tell her myself."

"Don't do it alone! She's going to take it out on you again!"

"Why don't we just leave without saying anything to her?"

"She's taken care of us for over fifteen years..." he replies, adamant. "Maybe she doesn't deserve much in your eyes, but she could have let us starve to death or live on the streets. It's the least I can do."

They fervently object, but their older sister forces them to be quiet and obedient. This time it's different, she thinks as she sits waiting by the stairs. This time she has laid a hand on her younger brother and that's where she draws her boundary. She mentally promises herself that she won't let her hit her, she's had enough hitting for the whole month. She holds on tightly to the wooden sword her master gifted her the last time she saw him, before promising her that if she got a little better, she would gift her a real one. Sadly, she's sure he hasn't earned it yet.

A particular sound breaks the night silence, full of tadpoles and crickets. It is the sound of horses' hooves pounding against the stone path in front of their house. He gets up from his seat and with the help of a small wooden bench manages to see into the street through a crack between the door and the frame. There is no illumination other than that of the moonlight, which leaves everything around her covered in a bluish mantle. He can see the houses of the neighbors, who are probably asleep. After a moment he manages to see them, at least three men on horseback and in the shadows a woman is visible. She strains her eyes only to realize that it is her aunt.

The fortuitous encounter tastes strange to her, so she remains hidden and almost by instinct she clenches the hilt of her sword in her fist.

She sharpens her ear when the horses stop and a man with a white beard and sharp features gets off one of them.

"Are they inside?" He asks without introducing himself, so smugly that he lifts his chin and looks at her with tired eyes.

"What exactly do you want them for?" she asks, arms crossed, looking over her shoulder.

"Do you want the gold or not?"

She purses her lips, ponders for what seems like half a second, then nods. The sharp-featured man gestures to one behind him and he drops a small bag into her hands.

"Two boys and a girl, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," the aunt replies, her gaze lighting up in the middle of the night as she peers inside the cloth bag she's been handed.

She gasps, her eyes wide as plates. The white-bearded man walks slowly to the door and, on the other side, covers her mouth with both hands so as not to let out even the smallest of sighs.

"Do it quickly."

She climbs down from the bench and frantically looks around, finding only a spice rack large enough to obstruct the door. She walks quickly and pushes it with her back until she drops it, so close to the door that just by dragging it half a foot she manages to leave it locked. On the other side, voices are raised and she runs as she hears an argument starting to break out. But she wastes no time in looking around, and by the time she reaches the second floor she finds her brothers awakened by the noise.

"Take what you can carry!" she yells, grabbing the youngest by the arm. "Kano! Saddle the horse!" Cries without room for a reply.

The boys don't even have on a pair of sandals, all they managed to take in their hands was the cloth bag they had prepared for their departure and a blanket.

Breathlessly, as the front door rumbles to the rhythm of the kicks of two strangers, she picks up a torch and quickly lights it in the warmth of the embers she used to heat the supper. Then she reaches for a bow and arrows and goes out the back door where the boys wait impatiently for her on a horse. The animal moves from side to side, unsettled by the rumbling and shouting that begins to be heard from afar.

"C'mon, hop on!"

"You go, I have to stop them so you can gain distance. Do you remember the way to my master's village? Do you remember, Kano? Go with him, he'll get you to safety."

"No! We can't leave without you!"

An unrepentant grin tugs at her pale lips for an instant that vanishes into thin air, just before she gives the horse a good punch in the gut, sending it running away with the children on top of it. She's almost completely sure that she won't make it out of here alive, and she's even more sure that it's okay like this.

"Go with my master, I'll catch up with you!"

She says and the words choke in her throat at the end, certain that the time has finally come for her to put an end to such a miserable existence. Shoulders slumped, she turns around and from the outside she watches the door give way to the force of the intruders. However, a foreign glance sets her nerves on edge and she turns to the humble stable.

On the roof, leaning against the wood of the second floor walls is a man with crossed arms gazing fastidiously at the horizon, his eyes hidden behind dark glass spectacles, tracing a route she fears is that of his brothers. Alerted, she throws the torch towards him, but with a smooth gesture he manages to dodge it and it falls on the roof. The flames soon consume much of the thatched roof and the young man sighs at the sight of his lost prey. He climbs down from the barn with a single step and falls like a feather to the ground. It has taken him no more trouble than breathing, and he walks to her position like an angel who dazzles at the drop of a hat. But, despite this ethereal apparition, she wastes no time and before half the house can fall at her feet in flames, the young woman unsheathes a dagger.

The angel smiles mockingly, a machiavellian gesture even. His teeth gleam like pearls as he smiles and his face is half lit by the moonlight on one side and the warmth of the fire on the other. He raises an eyebrow in amusement and his eyes glint with sly amusement after inspecting her weapon.

"A dagger? I assume you have no idea who you're dealing with..." he says as he walks slowly, closing the distance between the two.

"I-I don't know who you are, I don't care either! What do you want the children for? What good are they to you? They're just children!"

"Their importance to me is not for you to decide. Now tell me where you sent them, did I hear you talk about your teacher? Point in the direction and maybe I'll spare your life."

The fire rises up beside them with such force that the younger one's forehead begins to sweat. But her terrified look, the stuttering of her voice and the trembling of the hand that raises her dagger are nothing more than the unguardedness of her inexperience. That other standing there, exuberant with confidence, is unaware of the firm conviction that lies within her.

"Let death come first!"

Satoru finds this comment deeply funny, but time is pressing and he stifles a small laugh.

"You're not going to kill me with that..."

"I know," she says and swallows.

The demonic angel frowns for the first time, realizing the contradiction of her words. For, of course, she was not speaking of her own death. The hand holding the dagger points at the wielder and watches the boy close his eyes tightly as she lifts her chin, exposing her unblemished neck.

He opens his eyes, perplexed. He really intended to slit his own throat in front of him and finds it so curious that he gets excited. But, the young man who was expecting the sharp sensation of the dagger's edge on his neck, opens his eyes a couple of seconds later to see the blade bent in such a way that it now looks like a marble.

Perplexed, she drops it to the ground and looks up to find the hidden eyes watching her enveloped in a kind of glee. He smiles softly and she quickly draws a conclusion.

"Sorcerer... " she says and takes a few steps back.

Satoru hears the front door of the small dwelling collapse and the air that enters with that push wildly fuels the fire. The house crumbles and each collapsing piece raises a cloak of heat, sparks and smoke. The strange sorcerer turns after hearing footsteps circling what's left of the house, turns his piercing eyes to the suicidal man and extends a warm smile.

-I guess you'll have to show me personally where they are.

Without wasting any more time, he puts his thumb and forefinger to his mouth and whistles loudly, on the other side of the wooden fence the sound of a neighing horse can be heard announcing its arrival. It's all he needs for that anxious-to-die man to turn around for a moment and carry him under his arm, he jumps almost two meters in the air and falls on the other side, barely bending his knees. Then he gets on his horse and grabs the reins, gives a whip and rides on regardless of the extra load.


I want to let you know a couple of things before you close this tab, although you may already be tired of reading. One very important thing I want to make clear is that Kasumi is presented physically as a man, and all the things that implies will be developed throughout the story. To my readers of the translation I ask them to understand the jumps I will have to make between her and him, since in Spanish I can often not specify the gender of the characters without affecting the reading. Many times I will refer to Miwa as she, when the actions are committed by her, and others I will refer to her as he or as boy, when the actions are seen from Gojo's pov.

Another thing is that Satoru in this story doesn't have the infinity technique or the six eyes technique. I know that's a lot to take away from a character, but in a war conflict it would be impossible to cause him difficulties. And I'm not going to go to the extremes that Gege went to either... I don't rule out the idea of him eventually having a power up. Anyway he is still very skilled and powerful. Another clarification I have to make is that this takes place in a feudal period of Japan, I didn't put a specific period because I tend to research too much and waste time getting involved in things that no one will care about hahaha Maybe they are in the Heian period, who knows.

Below I'll leave you a glossary so you can understand some words that are said throughout the fic, as I include more words I'll put them "at the foot of the page".

I hope that if you liked this beginning, although long... you can find some time to leave a comment. It will give me a lot of encouragement. I'll read you later!

Glossary:

Chonin: common people of the village.

Kamishimo: traditional samurai clothing.

Seppuku: Samurai's sacrificial ceremony to atone for a breach of the code of honor.

Tabi: stockings with separation between the big toe and the rest.

Ronin: masterless samurai

Wajari: sandals made of straw strings.

Getas: traditional footwear consisting of a wooden base

Chohan: traditional fried rice dish