A/N: Hi Everyone,
Here we are with the next chapter, this time from someone we have been most eager to get into their head and explore in this fic.
The one and only Genbu Kururgui, who remains overall a mystery despite his prominence in the series lore as the last Prime Minster of Japan and being Suzaku's dad. Outside of a few bits and pieces in some of the novels, audio dramas hinting to what he was like.
Liar's Dice will have an Ensemble Cast of POV's running throughout its run A Song of Ice and Fire Style. Exploring each side and the cast in them that shows different pars of CG's world and how each POV navigates through everything.
Me and Maka are very happy with how this chapter turned out, and getting to implement some of the ideas we had on Genbu that we hope you will find most interesting.
Thanks very much and enjoy the chapter
Kind Regards
Mamba and Maka of Deadly Viper Quill
Vladivostok Russia, 23rd March 1990 A.T.B
"The bearer of our flag must be as pure as the Spirit of Our Nation," Genbu declared, his voice cutting through the morning chill. "Tradition mandates that only a virgin may carry our standard into battle."
A murmur of unease shuffled through the ranks. The intended flagbearer, a young soldier barely out of his teens, had been rendered ineligible; his purity lost not in the throes of youthful passion but in the shadows of war's brutality. Just nights before, after the strategic obliteration of the Vladivostok port, some troops had indulged in a spree of violence against the Russian populace in Egershield, culminating in acts of justice and vengeance across the Shkot Peninsula. Against those that had raped, pillared and stole from the Japanese people on its islands, lands that they had snatched away years ago. The men charming and making sure the seeds of Japanese blood were pumped into those poor Russian women, that clearly needed the comforts of the Japanese men.
Genbu felt a surge of revulsion at the memory, his disgust palpable. "It is with shame I speak of last night's actions by our own," he continued, his gaze stern and unwavering. "We stand not only as conquerors but as representatives of our homeland. Remember, our honor must reflect in our actions, both in battle and beyond."
The soldiers stood silent, the gravity of Genbu's words—and the weight of their actions—settling heavily upon them. Selecting a new flagbearer now became not just a tactical decision but a moral quandary.
"Who among you will carry our flag?" Genbu challenged, scanning the faces before him. His eyes landed on a young private, his features set with an earnest, naive determination, untouched by the night's transgressions.
Stepping forward, the chosen private accepted the flag and the pistol with a somber nod, understanding the honor and horror intertwined in his task. Genbu placed a firm hand on the young man's shoulder, a silent benediction mixed with an unspoken apology for the fate he might meet.
"Set up the Type 89s," Genbu commanded, referring to the Japanese Army's mobile infantry 'knee-mortars'. Some armies would consider them a relic, but recent modernizations had made them insanely productive in infantry operations in this war.
The 'Maruta' weapons squad, a group of hardened veterans trained by him and his far more intelligent, passionate and loyal men than the old farts at High command. Adept at handling the compact yet powerful mortars, quickly sprang into action. Within moments, the mortars were assembled, their barrels aimed toward the dim light ahead of an enemy position.
As the squad made their final adjustments, a flutter of white flags appeared atop the battered walls of the Russian garrison. The flags, symbols of surrender, waved feebly in the breeze, a silent plea for mercy from the beleaguered Russian forces within, not such the strong bears now thought Genbu gleefully as the Russian wimps floundered beneath him. However, the sight did little to halt the proceedings; if anything, it steeled Genbu's resolve.
"These men had their chance before the siege," Genbu muttered under his breath, his voice a mix of resolve and regret. The decision weighed heavily on him, but the strategic importance of securing the garrison without further casualties to his men overshadowed the call for compassion. With a final nod, he signaled the weapons squad to proceed.
The first mortar shell arced high into the sky, a deadly harbinger of the destruction to follow. It landed with a thunderous roar atop the fortress, its explosion echoing across the battlefield like the crack of doom. Successive shells followed, each one finding its mark with terrifying accuracy. The white flags, now torn and soot-stained, seemed to disappear amid the chaos of explosions and collapsing structures.
As the smoke cleared, Genbu raised his arm, signaling the infantry to advance. "Charge!" he shouted, his voice carrying over the din of battle. The infantrymen, bolstered by the success of the mortar attack, surged forward with renewed vigor. They moved across the no-man's land like a tide, their boots pounding the earth, their faces set in determined, almost grim lines.
The makeshift fortress, now little more than a crumbling edifice, was manned by a handful of Russian Marine stragglers. These were men, who had narrowly survived the initial onslaught at Vladivostok port, their uniforms tattered, their faces haggard with defeat and exhaustion. As the Japanese forces approached, the desperation of the situation became palpable; the stragglers, recognizing the futility of resistance against the well-coordinated Japanese assault, scrambled to find cover or raise their hands in surrender.
Genbu, leading from the front, was the first to breach the perimeter of the fortress. His sword drawn, his eyes scanning for threats, he moved with a lethal grace born of years of training and battle-hardened instincts. The resistance they met was sporadic and disorganized, quickly quelled by the disciplined advance of his far superior troops.
Inside, the scene was one of utter devastation. The barracks ahead lay in ruins, their structures battered by the relentless mortar fire, a stark testament to the ferocity of the assault. Amidst this chaos, the young flag bearer, a symbol of hope and purity amidst the carnage, miraculously remained unscathed.
With a stern nod, Genbu gave the crucial order. "Plant our flag in the heart of their stronghold," he commanded, his voice resonant over the din of subsiding gunfire. "Only then will we accept their surrender."
The flag bearer, his face set with determined resolve, grasped the flag tightly. With a rallying cry, he charged forward toward the center of the devastated barracks, the fabric of the flag billowing behind him like a wave of resolve. The remaining men, inspired by his bravery, followed close behind, their shouts merging into a chorus of impending victory.
As they moved, the Russian troops, overwhelmed by the onslaught and the symbolic advance of the flag, began to throw down their arms in surrender. Desperation etched on their faces, they raised their hands in defeat, hoping for mercy. However, not all were spared; amidst the confusion and lingering animosity, several were cut down by gunfire or the merciless swing of a sword, their pleas lost in the chaos.
The scene unfolded with grim inevitability, each moment etching deeper into Genbu's conscience. He watched, torn between the roles of a commander and a moral man, as the flag bearer approached the predetermined spot. Just as the young soldier prepared to plant the flag, a sudden movement caught Genbu's eye.
From the shadows of a partially collapsed wall, the Russian Marine commander emerged, the supposed legendary Russian General Maksim, looking whitered, almost skeleton-like and limping like a woman, a mere shadow of the man. Who supposedly had taken Finland during the early stage of the war, held out for 500 days against EU Forces near Copenhagen Port.
His expression, one of defiant despair. In a swift, desperate act, he raised his pistol and fired, the shot echoing sharply through the air. The flag bearer staggered, a bright stain blossoming on his uniform, before collapsing to the ground, the flag slipping from his grasp.
Garbling something out of that thin mouth, that Genbu couldn't make monkeys of such a nascal language these russians spoke.
Instinct and training took over. Genbu raised his rifle with practiced ease, his aim settling on Makism.
The tension of the moment stretched taut as he squeezed the trigger, the report of his rifle merging with the last cries of battle. The commander was hit, his body jerking back from the impact, and he fell just as the flag bearer did, both figures crumpling to the blood-stained earth in tragic symmetry.
And then…
It all became nothing. Perfect, pitch, black nothingness.
—
Genbu woke abruptly, his body drenched in cold sweat, heart pounding as if he were still on that battlefield. His breaths came in rapid, shallow gasps, his mind struggling to reconcile the nightmare's vivid intensity with the serene reality of his meticulously crafted, traditional Japanese bedroom at the Kururugi estate. The paper screens, delicate and understated, stood in stark contrast to the chaos he had just relived.
He sat up, feeling a wave of nausea and dread wash over him, his hands trembling uncontrollably. Panic gripped him, his chest tightening with a sense of suffocation. Unable to sit still, Genbu threw off his bedding and rushed to the adjoining bathroom. His footsteps were muffled by the tatami mats, a soothing sensation beneath his bare feet that did little to quell the storm within.
At the sink, he splashed cold water on his face, the shock of it grounding him momentarily. He gripped the porcelain edges, his knuckles white, water dripping from his hair and face.
The reflection staring back at him in the mirror was haggard, eyes wide with lingering fear and memories he couldn't shake as the attendants pampered him with a towel before he dismissed them aburptly.
Desperate for further relief, Genbu made his way to his closet, where he kept a hidden bottle of Japanese Nikka Whisky, none of that crock stuff from Saki or bland imported piss. With practiced ease, he retrieved it and poured himself a few fingers into a small glass. As he did, his eyes fell upon his collection of uniforms, meticulously hung and maintained. Among them was the tattered remains of his uniform from the Battle of Vladivostok, still carrying the stench of gunpowder, blood, and tinned ahi tuna.
He lifted the glass to his lips, the amber liquid catching the dim light of his room. The first sip burned, the warmth spreading through his chest, slowly dulling the edge of his anxiety. He took another, deeper sip, his hands gradually steadying.
"We did what we had to do to protect our seas," he muttered, the words a well-worn mantra.
"Otherwise, the Russians would have stolen our ports in Hokkaido or the Kuril Islands. And with them, the mines…"
He repeated the phrase, not for the sake of justification, but as a ritual of sorts, a lifeline to pull him from the depths of his panic. Each repetition helped him reclaim a bit of control, the rhythm of the words soothing his frayed nerves. The logic behind the statement, drilled into him through years of military service and nationalistic fervor, provided a fragile but necessary anchor.
As the whisky worked its way through his system, the immediate terror ebbed, replaced by a heavy weariness. He sank to the floor, his back against the closet door, eyes closing briefly as he sought to regain his composure. The scent of the old uniform, faint but persistent, mingled with the sharp tang of the whisky, grounding him further in the present.
Genbu opened his eyes and looked around his room, the familiar sights and sounds a balm to his rattled mind. He placed the glass down gently, its contents half-drunk, and took a deep breath. The nightmare's grip was loosening, but the memories it dredged up lingered, a reminder of the burdens he carried.
"We did what we had to do," he repeated once more, softer this time, as if to convince himself anew. The words settled over him like a thin blanket, providing just enough comfort to stave off the cold tendrils of his past. "Gods know what the Russians could have done if they got ahold of all our Sakuradite."
With a final, deep breath, Genbu rose to his feet, resolved to face the day ahead with the stoic determination that had always defined him. The dream had been a cruel reminder of the past, but it was the present and future that demanded his attention. And so, with a final glance at the tattered uniform, he left his room, ready to embrace the challenges of his waking world.
—
The forest overhead, that was blossoming into its Spring element finally after months of a snowly winter, filtered the morning sunlight into dappled patterns on the narrow trail where Genbu and Bayoko jogged. The air was cool and crisp, invigorating their senses as they kept a steady, brisk pace through the woods. Both men wore athletic clothes that fitted their physiques, their movements synchronized with the rhythm of their breathing, the silence between them punctuated only by the sound of their footfalls and the occasional rustle of leaves.
Genbu held himself to the epitome of discipline and determination. He continued to maintain a steady stride, his focus evident in the lines of his face. His brother, slightly more relaxed, matched his pace with ease, his eyes occasionally drifting to the serene surroundings before returning to his companion.
"Genbu," Bayoko began, breaking the comfortable silence,
"I've always wondered why you're so committed to keeping yourself in peak physical condition. Given your rank, it's unlikely you'll ever see battle again. I mean, the frequency of your cardio goes beyond just simple health and maintenance."
Genbu's eyes remained fixed on the path ahead, but a slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Bayoko, you and I both know that Japan's stance may be neutral now, but history teaches us that peace is never guaranteed. Our nation's sakuradite deposits make us a target of envy and ambition. There will always be a war on the horizon, whether it's fought with weapons or diplomacy."
Bayoko nodded thoughtfully, acknowledging the truth in his brother''s words.
"I suppose that's true. It's important for you to be as strong as your beliefs. People will inevitably look up to you as a conservative leader, someone who embodies the values and resilience they strive for." A mischievous glint appeared in Bayoko's eyes as he continued.
"But tell me, Genbu, are you sure your dedication to fitness is purely for the sake of the nation? Or is there perhaps a certain... someone you're trying to impress? Maybe a particular gentleman in your company, rather than just the officer fitness boards?" Genbu eyed his brother up for that sly remark.
"You always have a way of finding humor in everything, Bayoko. But no, my motivations are not so personal. My commitment to fitness is a matter of principle, a reflection of my readiness to protect and serve, even if it means doing so from a different kind of battlefield."
Bayoko grinned, his teasing undeterred. "Come on, Genbu. Besides, it's not like anyone would fault you for having a bit of a personal life. Even the most dedicated officers are allowed some indulgences."
Genbu barely managed a smile as he glanced at Bayoko.
"I appreciate your concern, but my path is clear. Duty and honor come first. Everything else is secondary."
As they rounded a bend, the forest opened up to a small clearing, a tranquil spot where sunlight spilled freely, illuminating the vibrant greenery. They slowed to a walk, taking in the beauty of the moment.
Bayoko took a deep breath, appreciating the crisp air and the camaraderie he shared with Genbu who was enjoying the smell of the clean japanese air.
"You know," he said,
"for all your seriousness, I think you might actually enjoy the idea of leading by example more than you let on. It's not just about duty, is it? There's a part of you that genuinely wants to inspire others."
Genbu looked at Bayoko, his expression thoughtful. "Perhaps you're right. There's a satisfaction in knowing that my actions might motivate others to be their best selves. But it's a responsibility as well. One that I don't take lightly."
Bayoko clapped a hand on Genbu's shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring.
"And that's why you're the perfect man for the job, Genbu. Although, you could lead a bit more with your heart."
Genbu's eyes remained fixed on the path ahead, his expression unwavering.
"I can't afford not being too stiff with things, Bayoko. I have to be the spirit of the nation. That means embodying the ideals of those who hold strong nationalistic beliefs, those who still revere Shinto and its traditional views of what an ideal Japanese society is. But it also means representing the 'new and old' generations of the 'iron rice bowl' that is Japan's economy. Both the farmers and the Zaibatsu."
Bayoko's curiosity was piqued. "But why do you lean so strongly toward the hyper-conservative side? There are other ways to lead."
Genbu sighed, a deep, resolute sound. "I need to brother, so that the future of Japan can be strong. We can no longer be straddling behind other nations. As it stands, the centrists and liberals ensure that we dominate only in the Sakuradite trade and nothing else. But being an independent nation, Japan has the potential to become something great, to prove itself to the world and regain what we once had."
Bayoko nodded, understanding the weight of Genbu's convictions but still probing.
"But is that the only way to achieve greatness? By leaning so far to one side?"
Genbu's pace quickened slightly, his determination evident in his stride.
"I want a Japan where our army can defend the nation entirely in case of attack, not just serve as 'glorified security' for the Sakuradite mines in the North. We need to be prepared for any eventuality, and that means fostering a sense of strength and unity that transcends political divisions. A Japan that would be willing to fight to the last man against invaders."
"You know," Bayoko said after a moment,
"I get where you're coming from. But don't forget that strength isn't just about physical power or military might. You have to be loved by the people too. A nation without a leader it loves is doomed for collapse or invasion, where the invaders could be called 'liberators'."
Genbu glanced at Bayoko, allowing himself to spare a rare softness in his eyes.
"Perhaps you're right. But for now, my path is clear. I must be the pillar that holds up our nation's ideals, even if it means bearing the weight of controversy and opposition."
Bayoko smiled, his respect for Genbu deepening.
"And that's why you'll succeed. Because you're willing to do what it takes, even when it's not easy."
"This, I surely hope."
—
Genbu arrived at the Kururugi shrine, its ancient wooden beams bathed in the golden hues of twilight.
Genbu approached the stone steps with a sense of solemnity, each step deliberate, grounding him in the weight of his purpose and the history that he carried with him. The air was heavy with incense and the soft rustle of leaves, a sacred silence enveloping the grounds, broken only by the distant murmurs of nature.
He reached the main altar, where the flickering flames of votive candles cast dancing shadows on the intricately carved wood. Here, he stood before the deities of Shinto, the gods who watched over his ancestors and his own tumultuous journey. Genbu bowed deeply, his hands coming together in a prayerful gesture.
He closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to drift back to the harrowing days of the campaign into Russia years ago. Faces of comrades who had fallen in battle surfaced in his mind. He whispered their names, a litany of honor and remembrance, his voice barely audible yet filled with profound respect.
Each name carried a memory, a story of bravery and sacrifice. Genbu felt the weight of their loss, a burden he had carried for years. He had led them, fought alongside them, and watched them fall. Now, he stood here, their memory intertwined with his prayers, seeking the strength to carry on their legacy.
As he finished his silent tribute, Genbu reached into his pocket and retrieved a small, weathered token—a piece of cloth torn from the tattered flag from the fortress battle.
"I hope you're at peace, young man," he murmured, his voice breaking the stillness. "We did what we had to do, for our country, for our people 5 years ago. As long as Japan exists, you will never be forgotten."
His thoughts then turned to the gods themselves, seeking their guidance and blessing.
"Great spirits, watch over us. Grant me the wisdom to lead, the strength to protect, and the honor to uphold the values we cherish. Help me steer our nation towards a future worthy of their sacrifice."
As Genbu turned to leave the serene haven of the shrine, he was suddenly met by a familiar figure approaching from the entrance.
Colonel Amashita, his uniform crisp, his hair smoothly oiled, eyes and demeanor respectful, stepped into view. The colonel's presence, though not entirely unexpected, brought a ripple to the calm waters of Genbu's contemplative state.
"General Kururugi," Amashita greeted, his voice low and deferential.
"I came a day early, hoping to pay my respects at the shrine."
Genbu's eyes narrowed slightly, his instincts tingling with skepticism. He had known Amashita long enough to suspect that the colonel's visit had a dual purpose.
"Is that so?" Genbu replied, his tone even but edged with curiosity.
"Or is it more likely that you wanted a moment alone with me before the gathering?"
Amashita's shoulders tensed, and he bowed his head slightly, a gesture of both respect and contrition.
"You are right, Genbu," he admitted, his voice tinged with humility.
"I did hope to have a private word with you. Please accept my apologies for any deception."
Genbu nodded, appreciating the honesty but remaining guarded. "What is it that you needed to discuss, dear Colonel?"
Amashita took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. "I wanted to reaffirm some critical points before tomorrow's rally."
Genbu's gaze sharpened, his attention fully captured.
"And you wanted to address these concerns personally?"
"Yes," Amashita confirmed, his expression earnest.
"Specifically, I wanted to discuss Captain Josui Kusakabe's support. There have been rumors and doubts, but I can assure you that Captain Kusakabe is fully committed to backing you. He will be attending the rally tomorrow after all."
Genbu's brow furrowed slightly, contemplating the implications.
"I see. Josui's presence is very appreciated."
Amashita nodded in agreement.
"Precisely. I spoke with him at length, and he is resolute in his support for your vision. He, too, believes that the old-guard of the military is standing in the way of meaningful progress for the nation and its armies."
A sense of relief tempered with caution washed over Genbu. The political landscape they navigated was fraught with peril and uncertainty, and the loyalty of key allies was paramount.
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Amashita. It is reassuring to know that Josui remains steadfast. We will need all the support we can muster in the days ahead."
Amashita straightened, his expression reflecting a mix of duty and mutual respect.
"I felt it was important to communicate this to you directly, away from the formalities and distractions of the rally."
Genbu appreciated the colonel's initiative,
"You did well, Amashita. Your foresight and dedication are commendable."
The colonel bowed deeply, his gratitude evident.
"Allow me to leave you to the shrine," Genbu said finally, his voice steady.
"We have much to prepare for, and the rally tomorrow will be a pivotal moment in our journey."
As he descended the steps, the shadows lengthening around him, Genbu felt the presence of those he had honored, their spirits guiding him forward.
Noticing Amashita stayed behind, in deep contemplation no doubt of what they had.
—
Genbu walked through the ornate halls of his ancestral home. His bodyguard and subordinate, Lieutenant Okino Matsunaga, led the way. Okino was a striking figure, his sharp features and militaristic gaze giving him an air of unyielding determination. His face bore the marks of past battles, scars that spoke of his experience and valor. There was a rigid beauty to him, with his broad shoulders, muscled biceps, and fantastic buttocks, the kind that only a true warrior could possess. The kind that Genbu secretly admired.
As they walked, Genbu found his thoughts returning to the upcoming rally. The idea of seeing Josui Kusakabe again, a man with whom he had shared a close and complex bond, filled him with unease. The intimacy of their past, juxtaposed with the current political tensions, created a knot of anxiety in his chest.
"Lieutenant Matsunaga," Genbu began, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
"Do you ever wonder about the loyalty of those we once called friends?"
Okino glanced back, his expression one of curiosity mixed with concern. "Is this about Captain Kusakabe, sir?" he asked, his voice low and measured.
Genbu nodded, his steps slowing slightly.
"Yes, Josui. We were once like brothers, as all soldiers are, inseparable in our dedication to Japan. But now... I fear our paths have diverged too much. His presence at the rally tomorrow—it stirs old memories and new uncertainties."
Okino's gaze softened, his respect for Genbu evident.
"Captain Kusakabe's support has been confirmed, sir. Colonel Amashita assured you of that."
"I know," Genbu replied, his voice tinged with frustration.
"But the past is not so easily forgotten, nor is it easily trusted. We fought side by side, bled together. But now, there is a distance between us."
Okino nodded thoughtfully. "It's natural to feel that way, sir. The bonds forged in battle are strong, but so are the tensions born from divergent paths. Trust your instincts, but also trust in the loyalty and dedication of those who follow you now. Your leadership has earned their respect. Besides, I know my blood brother all too well to doubt his loyalties lie elsewhere."
Genbu sighed, appreciating Okino's words but still feeling the weight of his concerns.
"It's not just Josui. I fear the enemies I'm creating among our own ranks. The old guard, the new generation of officers— like counting bullets Katase, they seem oddly united against the changes I represent. I worry about the stability of our forces, and the potential for internal conflict."
Okino's expression hardened, his loyalty to Genbu unwavering.
"The old guard fears change, sir. They cling to ideals that have softened and resist progress. The new generation, having been indoctrinated by them, are hesitant to embrace a different future. But you, General Kururugi, are the beacon of that future. Your vision for Japan is what we need to move forward. Some resistance is inevitable, but so is the support of those who see the necessity of your leadership."
Genbu paused, turning to face Okino fully. "Do you believe we can overcome this, Okino? Can we truly unite our forces and lead Japan into a stronger future? Our own damn right wing barely can hold itself together without bickering."
Okino's eyes met Genbu's, filled with steadfast conviction. "I do, sir. With your leadership, we can. You have the strength, the wisdom, and the resolve to guide us through these turbulent times. The rally tomorrow is just one step on that path. Show them the leader you are, and they will follow."
Genbu glanced at Okino, a fondness in his eyes that went beyond mere camaraderie.
"You've always been my precious little samurai," he said, his voice softened by genuine affection.
Okino's lips curved into a faint smile, his usual stoic demeanor momentarily lifted. Genbu, moved by the rare display of warmth, leaned in and kissed him.
Okino accepted the kiss, but his response was measured, lacking the fervor that Genbu had hoped for. This lack of passion, though not entirely unexpected, stirred a flicker of self-consciousness within Genbu. He pulled back, concealing his disappointment behind a mask of composure.
Inwardly, the rejection gnawed at him, adding another layer to his mounting stress. The connection he craved seemed elusive, and the emotional distance between them felt more like a chasm in that moment.
"Let's get you settled, sir," Okino said, his voice steady and professional as he opened the doors to Genbu's quarters.
Genbu stepped into the room, its traditional decor a comforting sight. He began to remove his military jacket, and Okino moved to assist him, their actions a well-rehearsed routine. The weight of the day seemed to hang in the air, the earlier moments of affection now shadowed by unspoken tension.
As Okino carefully placed the jacket on a hanger, Genbu turned to him, a touch of weariness in his eyes.
"I need to destress," he said, his tone both a statement and a plea. "Some sexual release, or a damn good blowjob, would really help me clear my mind for a good night's sleep."
Okino nodded, his expression remaining neutral.
"We have plenty of time to destress before tomorrow, Sir. Whatever you need."
Genbu felt a pang of frustration at Okino's detached response, but he swallowed it down, focusing instead on the relief he sought. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his thoughts a turbulent mix of duty, desire, and the weight of the upcoming rally. Okino knelt before him, his movements precise and practiced, yet Genbu couldn't shake the feeling that something vital was missing—a deeper connection, a shared passion that remained just out of reach.
As Okino began to undress him further by unzipping his pants, Genbu's mind wandered back to the anxieties that plagued him.
The thoughts of Josui, the political maneuvering, and the internal strife within the military all swirled together, making it difficult to focus solely on the physical sensations.
Despite Okino's skilled touch, the emotional void loomed large, a reminder of the complexities and sacrifices inherent in his position.
"You're always so composed, Okino," Genbu said, trying to bridge the emotional distance with words.
"Sometimes I wonder if you ever let your guard down."
Okino paused, looking up at him with a hint of surprise. "My duty is to serve and protect you, Sir. In all aspects."
The acknowledgement, though brief, gave Genbu a small measure of comfort. He reached out, cupping Okino's face in his hand. "Thank you, Okino. For everything."
Okino nodded, resuming his ministrations with a renewed focus. As the night wore on, Genbu allowed himself to let go, if only for a little while, finding solace in the familiar routine and the unspoken bond they shared. The upcoming rally, the political intrigues, and the ghosts of the past would wait for another day.
For now, in the quiet confines of his quarters, he sought to reclaim a sense of peace, however fleeting.
—
The large meeting room at the Kururugi estate was a proof to the enduring beauty of traditional Japanese aesthetics. As Genbu entered, he was greeted by the sight of a meticulously designed space that seemed to breathe with the spirit of old Japan. The walls were adorned with intricate woodwork, each panel carved with scenes of nature—blooming cherry blossoms, soaring cranes, and tranquil koi ponds. The craftsmanship was exquisite, a tribute to the artisans who had poured their skill and passion into every detail.
Tatami mats covered the floor, their woven fibers adding a natural texture that complemented the wooden elements of the room. Low wooden tables, polished to a glossy finish, were arranged in a harmonious layout, each one set with delicate porcelain tea sets and lacquered trays holding an array of traditional sweets. Shoji screens, with their delicate paper panels framed in dark wood, allowed the soft, diffused light of the garden outside to filter into the room.
The ceiling was a masterpiece in itself, with exposed wooden beams that highlighted the room's architectural heritage. Lanterns hanging from the beams cast a warm, inviting glow, their paper shades adorned with calligraphic poems and ancient symbols of good fortune and protection. In one corner of the room, a tokonoma alcove displayed a scroll painting of a majestic mountain landscape, flanked by an arrangement of seasonal flowers in a simple yet elegant vase.
Genbu stepped in and was greeted by a chorus of light applause, a warm and respectful gesture that was customary for such gatherings. The sound of clapping hands mingled with the faint murmur of conversations and the soft rustle of traditional garments.
He moved gracefully through the room, his presence commanding yet approachable. As he made his way towards his closest supporters, he shook hands with each person, exchanging firm grips and earnest smiles. Each handshake accompanied by a deep bow.
The exchange of bows was a dance of mutual acknowledgement, steeped in tradition and reflecting the deep-seated cultural values that bound them all.
Taizo Kirihara, the bald-headed rat prick with what little remained of his sticky hair amidst that wrinkled face of his, greeted Genbu with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Genbu-chan," he said, his voice carrying a tone of exaggerated warmth,
"It's always a pleasure to be invited here. Your events truly are elevated above all others."
Genbu returned the smile with equal politeness, though he felt the undercurrent of animosity.
"Kirihara-san, it's good to see you too. These events wouldn't be the same without your... contributions."
Standing beside Kirihara was his wife, Maiko, a vision of elegance in her kimono. She was well-known for her performances of traditional dance, often a highlight of Kururugi and Kyoto House events.
Genbu felt a genuine warmth towards Maiko, her presence a stark contrast to her husband's calculating demeanor and his grubby hands. He was unworthy of being married to the sakura of the Kururugi Clan and Genbu's aunt. one of which not being of any true blood, but lower than even the lowest of grubby people that were only good for killing.
"Maiko," Genbu greeted her with a respectful bow, "your dance tonight will undoubtedly be the highlight of the evening."
Maiko smiled warmly as she bowed deeply, which Genbu returned with a lower bow of his own.
"Thank you, Genbu. It's always an honor to perform here. I hope my dance brings some peace and joy to the evening."
As they conversed, Taizo produced a card and a donation, presenting them to Genbu with a flourish. Thankfully with both hands and not embrassing himself as he did in the past.
"A small token of my appreciation for your efforts, Genbu-chan. The donation should help further your cause."
Genbu accepted the card and donation, masking his irritation. The card was written in an elegant, calligraphy-like script that he knew was be difficult for him to read.
His grubby way of reminding him of his continued struggles with reading and more.
"Thank you, Kirihara-san," Genbu said, keeping his voice steady.
"Your generosity is much appreciated."
Kirihara''s eyes gleamed with a hint of triumph. "Of course, anything for the betterment of our nation."
Moving on, Genbu continued to greet the other guests, but the interaction with Taizo lingered in his mind.
He spotted Atsushi Sawazaki standing off to the side. Atsushi, with his slender frame and professional demeanor, reminded Genbu of a salaryman more than a soldier or bureaucrat. Genbu approached him with a grin.
"Atsushi, you're looking rather skinny," Genbu remarked, clapping him on the back.
Atsushi's face flushed slightly with embarrassment. "Do I look like I was fat before?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of self-consciousness.
"Of course," Genbu said with a chuckle, knowing well that Atsushi had always been a thin man.
"Though thankfully not as fat as Sumeragi Natsumi is, that whale nearly tipped the conference room table last month with how much she's gained,"
Atsushi managed a weak smile at Genbu's reply.
"I've lost some weight recently. I came down with dysentery during my last business trip to China. It was a rather lengthy hospital stay."
Genbu's brow furrowed with concern.
"Do you really believe these frequent visits to China are worth the apparent effects on your health?"
"It's always worth having some positive relations with the 'near abroad.'" Atsushi straightened his posture, his expression firming with conviction.
Genbu sighed, his gaze thoughtful.
"I fear that the more we open our businesses to China, the more confident the Chinese will become in pushing Japanese businesses around."
"China is far too involved with internal problems to pose a serious threat. Despite Prince Chen's military successes in Mongolia and elsewhere, the country remains preoccupied with its own turmoil." Atsushi's eyes hardened, reflecting his steadfast belief in his work.
"Perhaps you're right. But I can't shake the feeling that our economic ties could eventually be used against us." Genbu nodded slowly, considering Atsushi's words.
Atsushi placed a reassuring hand on Genbu's shoulder.
"Japan needs to engage with the world, not withdraw from it. China remains an ideal place for intercontinental diplomacy missions, including the one that is up and coming. We need to be there, to ensure our interests are represented and protected."
Genbu looked at Atsushi, seeing the resolve in his eyes.
"You're a brave man, Atsushi. Just be careful. The world beyond our borders is unpredictable."
"I will, Genbu. And thank you for looking out for me as always." Atsushi nodded, appreciating the concern.
With a final nod, Genbu moved on.
There were still many others to meet and greet.
He exchanged pleasantries with Oboro Shinozaki/Kirihara. Dressed as always in her beret hat, some sort of black gothic glvoes and kimono style that was a bit too gaudy for Genbu's tastes.
Her husband, Saburo Kirihara who truly embraced his namesake and position of Maiko's children, stood nearby, offering a silent nod. He seemed like he really rather be anywhere else.
"Genbu," Oboro said softly, "we're all here because we believe in your vision. Don't let anyone undermine your resolve."
Japanese politeness meant that no one could ever truly know how genuine these words of support actually were.
"Thank you, Oboro-sama," Genbu replied, appreciating her kind words regardless of intention.
"Your support means a great deal as always."
Oboro nodded as Genbu saw her make her way to embrace her mother-in-law Maiko.
Genbu smirking at Kirihara's unamusement at the display of affection on display.
"General," Saboro greeted, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of tension, "family ties certainly take us to interesting places."
Genbu felt a pang of guilt, knowing that Saburo had every right to hate him. He forced a smile, interpreting the statement as a subtle jab but choosing to move on.
"Indeed, Captain. It's good to see you."
As the conversation turned, Oboro introduced a young woman that had de their way over them .
"Genbu, this is Akira Maclean."
Genbu took in Miss's appearance, noting her youthful beauty and rather looming figure that meant for once he was not looking down but eye to eye with a woman, yet there was a burden she seemed to carry behind her eyes, which seemed to have a foreign tint that Genbu noticed. She looked like a young woman truly blossoming in the springtime of her youth, but there was a harshness there, a glimpse of inner turmoil.
Genbu got the feeling that they weren't exactly thrilled to be at his rally. Something that they empathized by blowing their fan around the room.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Maclean-san," Genbu said, bowing slightly.
Miss Maclean nodded in reurn, her expression guarded.
"Likewise, Genbu-kun." The weird accent confirmed Genbu's suspicion that this person was of some foreign blood as well as Japanese considring her non japanese surname.
He hated being referred to by his first name by anyone he didn't know or like. Perhaps Miss Maclean knew this too and was trying to unnerve him on purpose.
"Just General Kururugi, is fine."
Despite the prestige of such a rank and one Genbu took great pride in, it would never be enough for the man. Not until the rest of the country could stand tall with the rank of 'independence above all'.
Genbu also noticed that accompanying Miss Maclean was what was clearly her bodyguard from the military like flaks and boots she was adorning, an imposing foreign woman with a stern demeanor. The moment Genbu noticed her Russian features, a flood of emotions from the war in the '80s resurfaced. He stiffened, and it was clear this lady felt the same tension. The two refused to shake hands, a breach of etiquette that everyone chose to politely ignore.
Genbu saw from the gaze of his eye, that Miss Maclean's eyes flicked between them, a hint of curiosity and perhaps understanding in her gaze. She seemed to sense the unspoken history, the invisible scars that both Genbu and the Russian bore from past conflicts. The air around them grew heavier, the silent acknowledgement of old wounds adding to the complex dynamics of the evening.
"Your presence here is quite the statement, Miss Maclean," Genbu said, trying to shift the conversation.
"I hope you find the event enlightening."
Miss Maclean's lips twitched into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "I'm here to observe, Kururugi. To understand the currents that shape our future."
Genbu appreciated her candidness. "And what do you see?"
Miss Maclean's gaze was steady, unwavering.
"I see a nation at a crossroads, led by men and women with different visions. Some look to the past with reverence, others to the future with hope or fear. And then there are those, like yourself, who seek to bridge the gap between tradition and progress."
Her words struck a chord with Genbu.
"It's a delicate balance," he admitted.
"One that requires strength and wisdom to maintain."
'"And a willingness to face the hard truths that often cuts both ways," Miss Maclean added, her tone suggesting she was well-versed in such matters.
Genbu found himself nodding.
"Indeed. It's not an easy path, but it's one we must walk if we are to secure our nation's future."
As the conversation progressed, Genbu couldn't shake the feeling that Miss Maclean, despite her youth, had a depth of understanding and experience that belied her years. She was a keen observer, and her insights hinted at a mind that was always working, always analyzing.
That and the fact they clearly had some fashion sense, that was designed to basically beg people to look at her, with her purple satin-covered hands, High-class purple dress and sparkling heels to go with their violet hair and eyes.
He didn't trust her.
Since no one else was willing to do so, Akira took it upon herself to bridge the awkward gap. She turned slightly towards her bodyguard, gesturing with a respectful nod.
"General Kururugi, allow me to introduce my bodyguard, Belyana."
Belyana stepped forward with a composed grace that belied her imposing presence. Her sharp features and intense gaze reflected a history that paralleled Genbu's own, yet it was tempered with a professionalism that spoke of her dedication to her role. She extended her hand towards Genbu, a gesture of formality and mutual respect.
For a moment, Genbu hesitated. The memories of past battles, of bloodshed and loss, flickered through his mind. Yet as he looked into Belyana's eyes, he saw not an enemy, but a fellow soldier who had endured the same hardships. Steeling himself, he reached out and grasped her hand firmly. The contact, surprisingly, brought a sense of relief that caught him off guard.
"Belyana," Genbu acknowledged, his voice steady, though the tension was still evident in his stance.
"It's an honor to meet you."
Belyana's grip was strong, her expression unwavering.
"The honor is mine, General Kururugi," she replied, her voice carrying a slight accent.
"I have heard much about your efforts and dedication to your nation."
Genbu found himself nodding, appreciating the mutual respect that underpinned her words. "And I am sure you reflect similar values," He responded.
"It's clear that you are someone who understands the weight of duty."
Despite it all, the General couldn't help but feel like he had been the victim of some cruel joke. Here he was, shaking the hand with the russian like they had once fought on the same side or something. As if this was all a set-up to kick up his nerves.
Politicking is all about getting one's hands even dirtier than they were before.
Genbu subtly wiped his hand on his trousers, the gesture small enough to go unnoticed by most, but telling enough to those who knew him well. The contact with Belyana's hand had stirred a mix of old prejudices and lingering animosities, despite the shared moment of respect. He couldn't shake the deeply ingrained bias that painted Russians as adversaries.
His gaze then drifted towards another figure near one of the exits. The man stood out with his bald head and an impressive, meticulously groomed beard. His stern expression and crossed arms gave him an air of authority and vigilance. Genbu assumed this was another bodyguard of Akira's, placed strategically to keep an eye on the proceedings and on her.
Turning away from the imposing figure, Genbu refocused his attention on the gathering. His eyes soon landed on Colonel Amashita, a familiar face but in a different light. In the private sanctity of the shrine the other day, Amashita had seemed more approachable, almost contemplative. Here, amidst the grandeur and scrutiny of the public setting, he was every inch the battle-hardened warrior. His frame seemed larger, his presence more commanding, as if carved from steel.
"Amashita," Genbu greeted, his voice carrying the respect and camaraderie of long-standing military ties.
Amashita's eyes met Genbu's with a sharp intensity.
"Kururugi," he replied, his voice resonant and authoritative. "Quite the gathering you have here."
Genbu nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"An important occasion, Colonel. Your presence adds to its significance."
Amashita's gaze swept the room, his demeanor unwavering. His eyes likely laid on Akira and the others for a moment before scoffing in disgust.
"It's crucial to show unity and strength, especially in times like these. Where friend and foe may share a seat alongside each other at the same table, all for the sake of bettering one's nation."
Genbu felt the weight of Amashita's words, but perhaps didn't fully understand the underlying message.
"Indeed, Colonel. We must present a front of unwavering determination."
"You've always had a way of rallying support," Amashita continued, his tone both appreciative and probing.
"It's a talent that will serve you well in the days to come."
Genbu's smile widened slightly, though his eyes remained serious.
"And it's the support of men like you that fortifies our efforts, Amashita. A conjoined community of men of high values is what Japan needs to move towards a future of strength and prosperity."
Amashita gave a curt nod, his approval evident.
"Let's ensure we do just that."
Finally, Genbu made his way to the person he was most anxious to meet. Josui Kusakabe in his full uniform. The man whose stern eyebrows always seemed to lock his expression into a perpetual frown, making him look constantly angry or serious. As he approached, Genbu felt the familiar tension coil within him.
It felt awkward for the two of them, to say the least.
Josui stood tall, his posture rigid and eyes sharp, a contrast to his wife, Osono, who exuded a cheerful warmth. Osono was a rather large and jolly woman, dressed in a striking red dress adorned with heart figures. Her white socks, decorated with hearts, and ballerina flats gave her a sort of foreign, nostalgic flair, which was becoming more common in Japan in recent years.
To say she was sweet would be an understatement considering previous interactions Genbu had with her over the years he and Josui have known one another.
As Genbu neared, Osono's face lit up with a broad smile.
"Here comes our dear General!" she exclaimed, her voice rich with genuine affection and rather high squeaking. She moved closer, reaching out to pull her husband's arm, an affectionate gesture that also subtly asserted her control over him.
"Look, Josui!"
Josui's stern expression softened slightly at his wife's enthusiasm. He nodded curtly, his eyes meeting Genbu's with a mixture of familiarity and caution.
"General Kururugi," he greeted, his voice steady but lacking the warmth his wife displayed.
"Greetings and welcome," Genbu replied, inclining his head respectfully before turning his attention to Josui.
"Josui, it's good to see you again."
Osono's laughter rang out, a melodious sound that seemed to fill the space between them.
"Oh, Genbu, don't be so formal! We're practically family, aren't we?" She squeezed Josui's arm affectionately, her grip firm enough to make him wince slightly, though he quickly masked it with a stoic expression.
"Yes, practically," Genbu agreed, forcing a smile. The sight of the couple in good spirits put him at ease, if only for a moment. He had expected tension, perhaps even hostility, but Osono's cheerful demeanor seemed to diffuse some of the anxiety he felt.
"How have you been, Josui?" Genbu asked, genuinely curious. Despite their complicated past, he respected Josui as a capable and dedicated officer.
Josui's eyes narrowed slightly, but he answered with a measured tone.
"Busy, as always. The responsibilities never seem to lessen."
Osono chimed in before Genbu could respond.
"And that's why I'm here, to make sure he remembers to smile once in a while," she said with a playful peck to her husband's cheek and wink afterwards.
"Isn't that right, dear?"
Josui sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Yes, dear," he said, his voice carrying a hint of resignation mixed with affection.
Genbu chuckled softly, the familiar dynamic between the three easing some of his lingering tension.
"It's good to see you both in such high spirits," he said sincerely.
Osono's eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Well, tonight is an important one, isn't it? We should all be in good spirits. Besides, Josui and I always find a way to make the best of things. I can even find you your Genbu? Every man needs a woman to complete them?" Osono said.
Grinning in elight as Genbu massaged his neck for a second.
Before nodding in return, appreciating the lighthearted banter. It was a welcome reprieve from the underlying tensions and strategic maneuverings that often defined his interactions with others.
"Indeed, Osono. Let's make the best of tonight."
As they continued to converse, Genbu couldn't shake the feeling that beneath the jovial surface, there were deeper currents at play. Osono's sweet disposition, while genuine, masked a sharp intellect and a readiness to protect her own interests as she duly noted about the neighourhood groups she was connected to. The mothers network and church contributions that she was laying on thick with Genbu. Josui's stern demeanor, softened by his wife's influence, still held a core of resilience and determination.
Genbu knew that their presence here was not just a social obligation but a calculated move in support of his own campaign and ambitions. As he spoke with them, he remained vigilant, aware that every word, every gesture, could carry implications far beyond the immediate moment.
Despite this, he allowed himself to relax slightly, enjoying the brief respite from the constant strategizing. For now, at least, he could share a moment of camaraderie with old acquaintances, even as he remained ever watchful for the shifts and undercurrents that defined their interactions.
—
The party was held with all the grandeur befitting a traditional Japanese gathering. The air was filled with the enticing aromas of meticulously prepared dishes, ranging from sushi and tempura to steaming bowls of miso soup and plates of delicate sashimi. Sake flowed freely, and beer was shared in earnest, though everyone was careful not to overindulge. The atmosphere was one of controlled festivity, where the social graces of high society mingled with the subtle undercurrents of political maneuvering.
Genbu sat beside his brother Byakko and his own bodyguard, Okino Matsunaga.
Despite the festive setting, Genbu couldn't shake the unease that gnawed at him. His eyes darted occasionally to Okino, who was conspicuously not touching his food of tempura despite Genbu having fried it up for him.
Instead, Okino seemed to be engaged in an intense staring contest with Akira's Russian bodyguard, Belyana who was sipping up a beer while in the corner with someone.
The tension between them was palpable, a silent clash of wills that added a layer of discomfort to the evening.
Noticing his brother's nervousness, Genbu felt his brother Byakko leaned in and whisper toh im,
"Are things as awkward as they look?"
Genbu gave a subtle nod towards Okino.
"Almost rather have Natsumi and her fat butt here and an EU war crime tribunal instead," he muttered, his attempt at humor masking the genuine stress he felt.
Byakko's eyes widened slightly at the dark joke, but he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.
"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" he replied, his tone light yet tinged with concern.
Genbu forced a smile. "You know what I mean."
Byakko nodded, understanding the delicate balance his brother was trying to maintain.
"Maybe try to get him to relax a bit?"
Taking his brother's advice, Genbu turned to Okino and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Okino, relax a bit. Have a few beers. This is supposed to be a celebration, after all."
Okino remained silent, his gaze still locked on Belyana. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice low and measured.
"It's not the party, sir. It's the Russian. She's been staring at my scars since we sat down and eying you up intently like she's studying you."
"She's probably just curious," Genbu replied quietly.
"But tonight is not the night to dwell on past conflicts. Let's focus on the present, on what we can achieve here."
Okino gave a reluctant nod, finally picking up his glass and taking a long sip of beer. The alcohol seemed to loosen his rigid demeanor slightly, though the tension in his eyes remained.
Genbu, deciding to try and loosen Okino up more nudged his shoulder as a small grin crept up on his lips.
"Got a good joke for you, Sumergi Natusmi is on a seafood diet, when she sees food she eats it."
Genbu was filled with joy as his guard galed in a good heft chuckle, though he noticed Byakko merely raised his eyebrow at him. He thought he nailed one considering her butt could take up a whole sofa by this point.
Byakko watched the exchange with a thoughtful expression.
"You two make quite the team," he remarked. "But you can't let every stare get under your skin, Okino. Not everyone here is an enemy."
Genbu nodded in agreement.
"He's right. Tonight, we're among allies and potential allies. We need to present a united front, show them that we are strong and undivided." Byakko added as they eyed around the room, evaluating all the people there whether it be for loyalty, cause or mere greed and ambition.
"I do admire Okino's vigilance, though. I understand why you keep him close."
Genbu found some humor in that statement, like some inside joke he could not share. Instead, he said,
"Men like Okino can always be trusted." His voice carried a rare warmth as he spoke of his loyal bodyguard.
"Unlike Sumeragi-sama, carrying some man's baby back in Moscow, stealing the glory and attention while the 'grunts' were fighting like hell in Vladivostok the selfish girl."
He paused, his gaze distant as he recalled the memories that still haunted him. "Shizuka always has a way of upstaging everyone. Fighting while pregnant, butting in, making the pace and winning glory, while we were drowning in bloody snow."
Byakko nodded, understanding the weight of those memories. "Shizuka surely knows how to cast a shadow on everyone. Including Natsumi-chan,"
Genbu sighed, a mixture of dissonant admiration and resentment in his tone.
"If Japan were ever invaded, she'd probably try and sue for peace if she doesn't jump out and fight, while Okino and I are knee-deep in the dead, fighting for Hokkaido."
A silence fell over their part of the table.
Finally, Genbu broke it with a resolute tone.
"But tonight, we focus on the future. We must show everyone here that we are ready to lead Japan into a new era of strength and independence."
Despite the lingering tension, there were moments of genuine camaraderie that managed to cut through the thick atmosphere of political intrigue. One such moment came when Maiko, took to the center of the room, her presence commanding immediate attention. Maiko's traditional dance ceremony had finally begun and it would not disappoint.
Dressed in an exquisite kimono that shimmered with shades of deep blue and gold, Maiko moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. The fabric of her kimono flowed like water, accentuating every subtle movement of her body. In her hands, she held two delicate fans, each one adorned with intricate designs that told stories of ancient Japan.
The room fell silent as the music began, a soft, haunting melody played on a traditional shamisen. Maiko's fans snapped open with a flourish, and she began her dance. Every step, every gesture was a testament to years of dedication and practice. Her movements were fluid and precise, each one perfectly synchronized with the rhythm of the music.
As Maiko danced, the room seemed to transform. The opulent decor and the weight of political machinations faded into the background, replaced by a timeless connection to their cultural heritage. The nobles, generals, and politicians watched in rapt attention, their faces softening as they were momentarily transported to a simpler, more harmonious time.
Genbu found himself entranced by the performance, that never ceased to amaze him. The elegance and beauty of Maiko's dance reminded him of the values he was fighting to preserve—honor, tradition, and the unique cultural identity of Japan.
For a few precious minutes, he was able to forget the weight of his responsibilities and the complexities of his alliances. In this serene interlude, he saw a reflection of the Japan he hoped to create—a nation that stood strong and proud, yet retained the grace and dignity of its past. One where Kururugi refined supreme above all else.
Byakko, still sitting beside him, leaned in and whispered,
"She's truly remarkable, isn't she? Well, enough that even you have taken notice of her femininity…"
Genbu nodded, his eyes never leaving Maiko.
"Indeed." He hadn't fully heard what his brother had said.
As the dance continued, Genbu glanced around the room. He saw faces that were usually hardened by ambition and rivalry now softened by the beauty of Maiko's performance. Even the usually stoic Josui Kusakabe seemed captivated, his stern features relaxed for once. Osono, his wife, watched with a proud smile, occasionally casting affectionate glances at her husband and seemly giving his butt, one Genbu knew all too well a few good squeezes and sending Genbu a wink.
Causing him to fluster and look away, she knew didn't see that sly woman?
Okino, seated to Genbu's other side, appeared slightly less tense Genbu could feel now, his focus shifting from the earlier confrontations to the captivating dance.
Genbu felt a surge of gratitude for his loyal bodyguard as ever, appreciating the quiet strength and unwavering support Okino provided.
When Maiko's dance finally came to an end, the room erupted in applause. The sound was warm and genuine, a stark contrast to the earlier, more restrained clapping that had greeted Genbu's arrival. Maiko bowed gracefully, her face glowing with the appreciation and respect of her audience.
She had given them a gift tonight—a reminder of the beauty and resilience of their shared heritage.
As the applause died down, Genbu rose from his seat and approached Maiko. "Your performance was breathtaking," he said, bowing deeply.
"You have given us all a reminder of what makes our culture so precious Auntie Maiko."
Maiko smiled, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "Thank you, Genbu-kun. It is an honor to share our traditions with such esteemed guest and for the man that will does our clan great honour."
Kirihara-san joined them, his earlier tension momentarily forgotten.
"You have outdone yourself once again my dear," he said, placing a proud hand on her shoulder.
"Your dance as ever has brought light to everyone's evening."
Genbu and Kirihara exchanged a look, a moment of unspoken tension passing between them.
Genbu took a deep breath and stepped into the center of the room, the weight of the evening settling onto his shoulders. The gathered crowd, still abuzz from Maiko's mesmerizing performance, gradually fell silent, all eyes turning toward the man who had summoned them here.
He could feel the anticipation in the air, a palpable sense of expectancy that demanded his next words justify the secrecy surrounding this event. Checking his notes carefully that he had taken weeks to write up,often having Okino or Byakko note where he had made spelling mistakes or written in Hiragana and not Kanji.
"Thank you all for coming tonight," Genbu began, his voice steady and resonant, filling the expansive room.
"I know many of you were curious, perhaps even puzzled, by the vagueness of my invitation. I appreciate your patience and your trust."
He paused, allowing his gaze to sweep across the faces of his closest supporters, the influential figures of the Kururugi and Kyoto houses minus the Sumeragi's of course, and the various dignitaries and military personnel. His eyes lingered briefly on each one, seeking to establish a personal connection before delivering the heart of his message.
"Tonight," Genbu continued,
"We celebrate the Spirit of Our Nation!"
A murmur of surprise and curiosity rippled through the crowd. Genbu raised his hand, signaling for silence, and the room quickly complied. He took another breath, feeling the intensity of the moment, knowing that his next words needed to strike deep into the hearts of those present.
"In our modern world, we are surrounded by influences and ideologies that threaten to dilute our culture and weaken our resolve. We face pressures from foreign powers, and even from within our own society, that seek to diminish our identity and subvert our traditions. This celebration is not just about acknowledging the past; it is about reaffirming our commitment to the future."
"In the words of the Samurai of yore," Genbu quoted,
"A nation is a place where its people can die. If our people have lost the country where they can die, where they can sacrifice their lives, then we have lost our country itself. We must create a nation that is worth living in, a nation that is worth dying for! A nation that is doing more than protecting Sakuradite mines! But standing against the imperialists who wish to shatter us!"
He let the weight of those words settle before continuing,
"We must embrace the true spirit of sacrifice, the willingness to defend our nation with our very lives, if necessary. It is not just about military might, but about preserving the soul of Japan. It is about holding onto the values that have defined us for centuries—honor, duty, loyalty, and the unbreakable bond between our people and our land."
Genbu's eyes blazed with passion as he addressed the crowd, "Unless we regain the spirit of living and dying for honor, we cannot hope to bring back the true Japan. This spirit, the Yamato-damashii, is what we celebrate tonight. The indomitable will to protect our heritage, to stand unyielding against those who would see us fall. We cannot afford to be complacent or divided. We must unite under this banner of national pride and cultural preservation."
He paused, letting his words sink in, before delivering the crux of his speech, "We are at a crossroads. The decisions we make now will determine the future of our nation. We must reject the apathy and decadence that threaten to erode our society. We must embrace the values of our ancestors and ensure that our children and grandchildren inherit a Japan that is strong, proud, and true to its roots. But to do this, we must overcome the old men who stand in the way of our nation's youth! Our nation's future!"
The room was silent, every eye fixed on Genbu, the weight of his message hanging heavy in the air. He looked around, meeting the gaze of each person, seeing the flickers of resolve and determination ignited by his words.
"Tonight," he concluded, his voice unwavering,
"we celebrate the Spirit of Our Nation. Let this be the night we reaffirm our commitment to Japan's future. Let this be the night we pledge to uphold the values that make us who we are. Together, we will ensure that Japan remains a beacon of strength and honor in a world that desperately needs it. That is why…"
He gave himself a moment to inhale and swallow.
"I officially announce my intent to run for Prime Minister, to replace the coward that stepped down when we needed a strong leader the most and stop anyone that is unworthy of saving our nation!" As Genbu stepped back, the room erupted in applause, the sound swelling with a fervor that matched the intensity of his speech.
He felt a surge of satisfaction, knowing that he had rekindled the fire of patriotism and determination in the hearts of his supporters. Tonight, they celebrated not just a moment, but a movement—one that would carry them forward into a future where the spirit of their nation would shine ever brighter.
That is, if all of these applause were genuine. There was a considerable amount of sake and beer having been passed around.
Genbu made his way back to his seat, his heart still pounding from the fervor of his speech. As he scanned the room, he couldn't help but notice that not everyone shared his enthusiasm.
Miss Maclean, in particular, seemed unimpressed, her expression a mask of neutrality but screw her and her fake breasts Genbu thought.
A few others mirrored her demeanor, their faces devoid of the fire that had ignited within his military comrades. Well thanks for eating my food and drink you greedy pigs Genbu noted in his mind, these people would find that they will benefit the least from being in his magnificent aura once he was leader of Japan.
He chose to ignore the lack of enthusiasm from some quarters, focusing instead on the rapt attention and fervent applause of his fellow soldiers. Their faces glowed with pride and determination, the fire of his words reflecting in their eyes. These were the men who understood the gravity of his message, who shared his vision for a strong, unyielding Japan.
Byakko, seated next to him, leaned in with a congratulatory smile.
"You certainly captivated the crowd, Genbu. Though, I wonder if it might have been a bit too dramatic for some," he said, casting a glance towards the less enthusiastic guests.
Genbu shook his head, his expression resolute.
"I spoke to warriors, Byakko, not mere civilians. To those who are born of warrior clans, even those like that disgraced ninja of yore where Kirihara comes from. Our ancestors were samurai and hard-working peasants, not soft-skinned nobles despite our Taira lineage. They understood sacrifice, honor, and the spirit of Yamato-damashii. That is the spirit we must revive if we are to preserve our nation."
Byakko raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in his gaze.
"Of course, I appreciate strength and sacrifice like anyone else. But not everyone is strong enough to uphold such virtuous burdens."
Genbu's eyes hardened.
"Times may change, but the essence of what makes us Japanese does not. We cannot afford to be complacent or soft. Our enemies are not. We must embody the strength and resolve of our ancestors. Our people need to be reminded of their heritage, their duty. The sakuradite trade alone won't save us. Only a nation united by a shared sense of purpose and identity will stand strong against any threat."
Byakko sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You always did see things in black and white, brother. But perhaps that's what makes you a leader. You give people something clear to believe in."
Genbu nodded, his gaze distant as he looked around the room.
"And believe they must. For if they do not, we will be swallowed by the tides of history, and Japan will be lost. This is why I speak with such conviction. Not for myself, but for the future of our people."
—
Genbu excused himself from the gathering, the weight of the evening's events pressing heavily on his shoulders. He moved with deliberate calm through the grand corridors of the Kururugi estate, maintaining an air of composure until he reached the sanctuary of the bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door behind him and leaned against it, his mask of confidence slipping away.
His chest tightened, and he struggled to catch his breath. The walls of the bathroom seemed to close in on him, the sound of the festivities outside fading into a muffled hum. Genbu gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles white as he fought to steady himself.
He closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing, but the images and sounds of war refused to relent. The clash of swords, the cries of the wounded, the stench of blood and gunpowder—all of it bombarded his senses. He felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead, his heart pounding erratically in his chest as the cold marble of his bathroom sink, swaying into his hand and skin like a fish bowl.
"We did what we had to do," he muttered to himself, the words a feeble attempt to calm his racing thoughts.
"For the sake of our nation, we had no choice."
Leaning heavily against the sink, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. The face that stared back at him was one of a man haunted by his past, a leader burdened by the weight of his own ideals.
"We must be strong," he whispered to his reflection.
"For the sake of our people, we cannot falter."
But even as he spoke the words, he felt the fragility of his resolve. The panic attack gradually subsided, leaving him feeling drained and hollow. Genbu knew he had to return to the gathering, to face his supporters and maintain the image of the unwavering leader they needed. He took another deep breath, wiped the sweat from his face, trying to steady himself before he unlocked the door and stepped back into the corridor. Before feeling his shoulder hit the wall and his vision darkening until there was nothing left.
The battle within himself was far from over, but he could not afford to show weakness. His people depended on him, and he would not let them down. He would continue to fight, not just on the battlefield, but within his own mind, to uphold the vision he had for the Independent Japan.
To the bitter end.
