The Yukishiro family's daughter, residing in the house adorned with Camellia flowers, has become a young woman. Her beauty, now surpassing even her mother's, is extraordinary. Though still possessing an air of coldness, she has acquired the ability to engage in fleeting conversations with the neighbors. Despite this, the majority find her elusive and challenging to approach, while the rest perceive her as arrogant and aloof.
The master of the Yukishiro family, devoid of any inherent talent despite his lineage's illustrious history, witnessed the gifts of generations seemingly skipping him and manifesting predominantly in his daughter and son.
Following the demise of the mother, the burden of overseeing the son's upbringing and managing the household affairs fell entirely upon the daughter's shoulders. Although the family's head was a remarkably kind man, he struggled to prove himself as a competent father. After his wife's passing, it appeared as if he actively sought reasons to be away from home. Consequently, the mantle of household responsibilities gracefully rested on the young shoulders of his daughter. She, seemingly effortlessly navigated through these duties while immersing herself in the realms of knowledge and art.
Perhaps it owed itself to the influence of her uncle, a sporadic visitor to the household, a man untethered to any settled existence and a close associate of Sakuma Shōzan. This man, perhaps, steered her not only towards the pursuit of literary endeavors but also submerged her in the depths of economics, politics, and other subjects typically deemed unnecessary for a woman destined to become the lady of a Samurai household.
While most women her age from similar backgrounds focused on acquiring brightly painted kimonos to enhance their beauty, she opted for the cheapest, often nearly white and minimally adorned attire. The remaining funds meant for her personal adornment were consistently diverted towards the purchase of books.
Much like her late mother, she faced ridicule for her thirst for knowledge and her eccentric mannerisms. However, in contrast to her mother, she exhibited an unyielding resolve and remained impervious to the scorn.
Single-handedly raising her brother from the tender age of eight, she found herself growing up in the absence of her parents. Despite shouldering such responsibilities, she remained unseen in moments of tears or sorrow. To the world, she appeared as a composed young girl, effortlessly shouldering burdens that even adults found challenging. The only witness to her unspoken struggles was the aged retainer, who occasionally shed tears, lamenting, "Oh, my poor young miss, it must be so hard." The astute young girl, however, recognized the toll on the old retainer and would often encourage him to rest.
The aged retainer's murmurs about the young lady resonated sporadically, "The young miss is so kind; she even asks if I have eaten properly," he would say, while wiping tears with the hem of his kimono.
Although the listeners feigned attention, the moment he left, their whispers resumed:
"There he goes again..."
"Does the Yukishiro family believe that by spreading rumors like this, they can dispel the rumors surrounding their daughter?"
"Did you see the tears of that old retainer? I looked closely this time, and he wasn't even crying."
The conversation lingered for a while, the pattern predictably recurring, and the retainer remaining blissfully unaware.
The young son, perhaps due to losing his mother at birth and barely knowing his father, was wholly and solely attached to his sister. She not only cared for him as a parent but also provided his education. He loved her deeply and admired her from a tender age.
Unlike most Samurai women, the daughter not only received an education surpassing that of men in typical Samurai households but also harbored a profound interest in Rangaku. This interest, however, seemed precarious given the escalating Sonno Joi movement. Yet, since most of the movement was confined to Kyoto, she didn't face extreme opposition. What did disturb the neighbors was her habit of visiting the city outskirts. Many suspected she was providing free education to underprivileged children, a suspicion she made no effort to conceal, unlike her mother. Her nonchalant response to criticism was almost infuriating, at least to the onlookers.
The man frequently seen with her was her childhood friend, the Second Son of the neighbor, the only person who played with her throughout her entire childhood - Akira Kiyosato. Their bond was so tight that neighbors were convinced that as they grew older, marriage was inevitable.
Unlike the adults who struggled to comprehend her thoughts, Akira's mother had always been affectionate, treating her as her own daughter. However, as she matured, the prospect of their union seemed implausible. She blossomed into an extraordinary beauty, surpassing all expectations. Scholars at Shijuku often sighed, lamenting that if only she were a man, she would undoubtedly become a great scholar.
Thus, Akira, lacking exceptional swordsmanship or scholarly prowess and being only the second son of a Gokenin, seemed undeserving of her from any perspective.
As anticipated, discussions of marriage swirled around her. The neighbors speculated that the number would have been far greater had the household possessed more financial prowess. Like the destiny of any great beauty, she was not short of admirers. Yet, unlike most women, she genuinely viewed it with great annoyance, perhaps because it interrupted the time she would spend on other pursuits.
Due to her widespread admiration and numerous proposals from esteemed households, everyone was taken aback upon learning that the daughter of the family had become engaged to the second son of the Kiyosato family.
The news spread through the air like a heavy fog, and the response was a chorus of discontent. Most were left bewildered, wondering, "Why?" The rest, a somber few, muttered silently, "What a waste." It's conceivable that these sentiments reached the ears of the young man. Perhaps it was this collective judgment that led gentle Akira, an average swordsman at best, to seek adoption into a Hatamoto family and volunteer for the Mimawarigumi in Kyoto. The young woman, an unassuming listener, held her peace. In the neighborhood, assumptions brewed that he marched toward his demise. His swordsmanship, unremarkable, was ill-suited for the perilous grounds he ventured into—the epicenter of the Sonno Joi movement, where Bakufu officials met their demise daily, their bodies often defiled beyond recognition. The ruthless politics of fear, where dismembered body parts became gruesome souvenirs sent back to grieving households. His mother, who once held a soft spot for Tomoe, found that sentiment wavering. It seemed that Tomoe's failure to prevent him from embarking on this perilous journey had sullied her standing in the mother's eyes.
The neighbors had become nearly convinced that she wasn't marrying him out of love. But what, then, was her motive for marrying him? No one understood that.
The return of Akira, after his six-month stint with the Mimawarigumi, stirred pleasant surprise among everyone, catching them off guard. "Perhaps he is going to make it," resonated in the thoughts of each onlooker. He had been absent during the last six months of his duty, which had progressed well. However, a month before his anticipated return and marriage to the woman he had cherished for a decade, a love embedded since childhood and the understanding of what love truly meant, he was discovered dead.
His torso had been ruthlessly bisected vertically, and eventually, his neck was pierced. A letter revealed his determined struggle until the end, evident in the drag mark of his blood—perhaps a desperate attempt at survival. That day, tears were shed by everyone; he was a man dearly beloved.
"Why him?! He wouldn't even kill an insect!" resonated the disbelief of some childhood friends. Yet Tomoe, engaged to him, didn't shed a single tear. She calmly received the news from Akira's father and brother, bowed her head deeply, and saw them off. Her coldness sent a chill down the spine of onlookers. Everyone believed she had never loved Akira. Only her little brother clung to her hand, looking up with a concerned expression.
Kiyosato Akira, the gentlest man one could find, likely never even had the blood of an insect on his hands. Yet, he met a brutal end, murdered by a terrorist – Hitokiri Battosai. The Bakufu called him a demon; the Ishin Shishi called him a god.
However, in the eyes of those around, it wasn't Hitokiri Battosai who bore responsibility; people seldom spoke of him. To them, the sole perpetrator was Tomoe, the one for whom Kiyosato Akira volunteered to go to the Mimawarigumi—she was the embodiment of evil.
Yet, the focus of all blame, when she received news of his death and bowed down deeply, expressing gratitude to his family members for bringing the news, that marked the last time she was seen. Initially, people believed she had ceased leaving the house of shame. However, soon all traces of her vanished, and she was nowhere to be found—neither in the house nor anywhere outside. Along with her, Akira's keepsake, her mother's Tantō, and her diary that she always kept with her had also disappeared.
Now the neighbors blamed the father for not being there for his daughter, for not placing a comforting hand on her head when she received the news of the death of her soon-to-be husband, or when she faced accusations from his mother and the people around, holding her responsible for his demise.
For several days following Tomoe's disappearance, the young boy now residing with the retainer was observed frequently coming and going from the house. One neighbor even spotted him running around the outskirts of the city, yet that marked the last sighting of him. It was the sorrowful wails of the old retainer that informed everyone that both the daughter and son of the Yukishiro family had vanished.
In the days following their disappearance, the head of the household ceased leaving the house. Neighbors speculated that, with his entire family gone, he might opt for death. However, he endured, an empty shell of a man, fixated on the garden where his wife once tended and his children played—the plum tree his daughter adored. The flowers blossomed, and the birds sang, just like on the day his wife passed, seemingly oblivious to the tragedy, as if nothing had occurred. Everything persisted as it should, just as it always had.
They were gone, just like that, akin to tiny pebbles drowning in the river. They submerged in the flow of time, leaving not even a faint ripple in their wake.