Keichō 16, 12th month, 5th day
The days leading to the meeting at Nijō Castle feel like a taut string pulled to its breaking point. There is something in the air—an unmistakable weight—settling over all of us. I can feel it in the way the men move, in the whispers of the soldiers and the silent looks exchanged between trusted generals. It is as though the entire nation is holding its breath, waiting for something inevitable.
In two weeks, Tokugawa Ieyasu and Toyotomi Hideyori will meet. On the surface, it is a simple summit, a diplomatic discussion between two men who hold the fates of all Japan in their hands. To the outside world, this is nothing more than the continuing power struggle between the Tokugawa and the Toyotomi. But there is more at play than mere politics. I feel it in my bones—this is no ordinary meeting.
The animal spirits are still at large, and their influence over Hideyori is undeniable. Mayumi confirmed my suspicions. They whisper in the young heir's ear, urging him toward actions that could threaten the fragile peace Ieyasu has worked so hard to build. They care not for the politics of men, only for the rule of the strong over the weak, the chaos they can sow. The Templars are lurking in the shadows, pulling strings, watching for any opportunity to turn the tides of history in their favor.
Keiki Haniyasushin, Mayumi's creator and a force unto herself, will be present at the meeting. I do not yet fully understand her intentions, but I know her power. She is not a mere god, but a force capable of shaping the very fabric of this world. Her idols—those animated creations she crafts from clay—are unlike anything I have ever seen. And if the animal spirits, the Templars, and the forces behind Hideyori have their way, she may very well be the one to bring about the collapse of all that Tokugawa has built. Whether she will act as a savior or a destroyer remains to be seen.
I find myself caught between two worlds. On the one hand, I am bound to the Tokugawa cause, the family that promoted me from an Ashigaru to a samurai. My loyalty to Ieyasu is unshakable. On the other hand, I cannot ignore the darker forces at play, the very forces that could undo all of Japan's hard-earned stability. If Hideyori falls under their influence, or if the animal spirits force his hand, the nation will be thrown back into the chaos of war.
I will attend this meeting, as will Mayumi and Keiki. I must be ready for anything. The shadows move swiftly, and the world is shifting beneath our feet. The future of Japan is on a knife's edge. I can only hope that, when the time comes, I am strong enough to stand against whatever storm approaches.
— Yagi Toshimichi
The summer heat clung to the air like a silk robe soaked in water, heavy and oppressive. The cicadas droned in the trees, their relentless cries weaving an unbroken symphony of tension. The towering walls of Nijō Castle seemed to amplify the sound, reverberating through the courtyard where banners bearing the Tokugawa hollyhock crest swayed lazily in the still breeze.
Inside the audience hall, the atmosphere was even heavier, laden with the weight of generations of conflict and fragile alliances. Tatami mats stretched out in pristine rows, bordered by polished wooden beams that gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the lattice windows. Incense burned quietly in the corners of the room, its tendrils of smoke curling upward like the silent prayers of onlookers.
Tokugawa Ieyasu sat in regal repose, the weight of his years visible only in the creases around his eyes. Despite having abdicated his position as shōgun, his presence radiated authority, a reminder that he still held the strings of power firmly in his grasp. To his right stood Tokugawa Hidetada, his son and the current shōgun, watching the proceedings with quiet vigilance.
Yagi Toshimichi stood near the threshold of the hall, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his katana. Clad in the unassuming armor of a retainer, he was an unremarkable figure among the silent sentinels lining the room. But his sharp eyes missed nothing. Every shift in posture, every flicker of emotion in the gathered lords, and every subtle motion of the attendants were etched into his mind like brushstrokes on parchment. This was not just a meeting of men—it was a contest of wills.
The great doors creaked open, and the faint sound of footsteps heralded the arrival of Toyotomi Hideyori. He entered flanked by his retainers, their heads held high as if to challenge the air of dominance permeating the Tokugawa stronghold. Hideyori, youthful yet composed, wore robes of deep azure embroidered with golden cranes. His face betrayed neither fear nor defiance—only a measured calm that belied the stakes of this meeting.
"Toyotomi-dono," Ieyasu greeted, his voice low and steady, carrying across the room with the weight of a bell tolling in a silent temple. "You honor us with your presence."
Hideyori bowed, the angle deep and respectful but not submissive. "Tokugawa-dono, the honor is mine. I come in the spirit of peace, to reaffirm the bonds that unite us under the heavens."
The young lord's words were careful, polished, and diplomatic. Yet, as Yagi observed him from his post, he caught the faintest flicker of hesitation—a tremor so slight it might have been nothing more than the weight of the moment pressing upon him. Or perhaps it was the whispers of those unseen forces Yagi knew lurked behind this encounter: the Toyotomi's allies among the animal spirits and the ever-shadowy Templars.
The conversation between Ieyasu and Hideyori shifted from pleasantries to a more substantive discussion, the room growing heavier with the exchange of ideas. Ieyasu, for all his experience, could not help but be intrigued—and somewhat unsettled—by the young Toyotomi's sharpness.
Hideyori took a sip of tea before placing his cup back on the low table with a deliberate motion. His gaze met Ieyasu's, steady and unyielding. "Tokugawa-dono," he began, his voice calm yet commanding, "there are many matters that require attention in the realm of governance. The power of the Toyotomi family has long been founded on a firm base, and I intend to strengthen it further."
Ieyasu raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. He had expected the boy to remain docile, as he had been led to believe by Katagiri Katsumoto, Hideyori's guardian. It was said that Hideyori had little more than the appearance of leadership, a puppet beneath the manipulation of his advisors. But here, before Ieyasu, sat a man—not a child—who spoke with the authority of one who had been groomed not only by the legacy of his father, but by a keen mind of his own.
"I've recently examined the wealth of our lands, particularly in the Osaka region," Hideyori continued, his tone taking on an edge of determination. "Our rice harvest has increased by nearly thirty percent this year alone due to improved irrigation methods. The farmers have been cooperative, their yields growing with the introduction of more efficient tools and techniques."
Ieyasu felt a pang of surprise, the words sinking in like an unexpected weight. The Toyotomi, often dismissed as a family relying on their legacy rather than innovation, had managed to achieve something remarkable. Thirty percent? It was more than most of his own domain had seen in years.
"Impressive," Ieyasu murmured, but the edge of his voice betrayed a flicker of unease. "But what of the foreign trade? The westerners continue to show interest, but what of our relationship with them?"
Hideyori's lips curled into a faint smile. "We've already established solid relations with the Portuguese and Spanish merchants. Last year, we saw a significant increase in trade of silk, cotton, and firearms. I've personally ensured the creation of a system where the profits are shared equitably among the daimyo and their retainers, rather than hoarding them in the hands of a few."
Ieyasu's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "And the foreign influence, their presence in our lands?"
Hideyori's expression remained steady. "The foreigners, like the Dutch and Portuguese, are tools of opportunity. We benefit from their knowledge of Western weaponry and technology, as well as the wealth they bring. But rest assured, Tokugawa-dono, the Toyotomi family will remain the ultimate authority in Japan."
Ieyasu leaned forward slightly, a fleeting look of surprise passing over his face. This young lord was speaking not only with clarity but with conviction. The Toyotomi were not simply a family of soldiers, but an emerging force in the complex web of international trade and diplomacy. If Hideyori continued on this path, Ieyasu realized, his power could very well be threatened.
"Your foresight is commendable," Ieyasu said, his voice soft but carrying the weight of years of experience. "But how do you intend to manage the internal politics of your clan? You know as well as I that maintaining the loyalty of your retainers is just as important as your external relationships."
Hideyori's eyes gleamed with something akin to confidence. "The loyalty of my retainers has been fostered through respect and fairness. I've ensured that each one is rewarded according to their service—whether it be land, wealth, or influence. My family will never falter, for we are bound by blood and honor."
Ieyasu sat back, taking in the words, but he could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. The boy spoke with the calmness of someone who understood the delicate balance of power, who had a grasp on the game of governance far beyond his years.
"I admit," Ieyasu said slowly, his tone even but his mind racing, "I had long believed that you were... unprepared for such matters. That the influence of your guardian, Katsumoto, was more substantial than your own."
Hideyori's gaze never wavered, his voice betraying no hint of anger. "It was wise of you, Tokugawa-dono, to have such a figure watch over me. But it would seem that I've learned much on my own in his absence."
Ieyasu's mind churned. The rumors, the whispers of Hideyori's incompetence, had been lies—lies spread by Katsumoto to keep others from underestimating the young heir. The true power of the Toyotomi family, it seemed, had been quietly growing in the shadows. The boy was no fool. He had been waiting for the right moment to step forward and assert his influence.
As Ieyasu glanced across the room, his eyes momentarily met those of his son, Hidetada. The younger Tokugawa's face was impassive, but Ieyasu could sense the unspoken concern between them. If the Toyotomi family had truly grown this much in strength and cunning, the stability of the Tokugawa reign might not be as secure as he had once thought.
Somewhere in the quiet corridors, Yachie Kicchou observed the unfolding situation, the subtle manipulations she'd sown in the young Hideyoshi heir began to bear fruit. Her teachings—on bending others to one's will, on exploiting weaknesses, and on positioning oneself to control the future—were evident in his every movement. He moved as if guided by invisible strings, a puppet of her quiet influence. Yet, Yachie knew that even her most trusted pupil was only a piece in a far grander game. Her plans stretched beyond him, far deeper than any single individual could comprehend. She had never sought mere control—her true desire was chaos, the kind that would upend the fragile peace and cast aside the weak who clung to it. In the world she envisioned, the strong would rise once more, and the weak would know their place.
Yachie herself remained hidden, her presence concealed by the shadows, but her influence rippled through every layer of the scene. Her eyes, red as blood and burning with quiet malice, flicked from one player to the next. Her short, blonde hair framed a face that was both sharp and regal, while two yellow antler-like horns curled from the sides of her head, symbols of her power and connection to the primal forces. She wore a simple yet striking light blue shirt, paired with a flowing turquoise pleated skirt that swayed with the slightest of movements. On her back rested a green scaly shell, its iridescent scales gleaming faintly, extending down to her long, segmented tail—a natural armor that spoke of the beast within her. She stood, still as stone, watching the game unfold.
But as she observed, her ambitions for the land were clear. She would not be content to let things unfold on their own. No, her influence was too deep, her desires too strong. The chaos she craved was within her reach, and the young heir—who, for all his potential, was merely one of many pawns—would be just another piece in her grand design.
But just as she was preparing to take another step in her intricate web, a voice interrupted her thoughts.
"I do hope you are not planning to cause more trouble for the humans, Yachie," came the calm, measured voice of Keiki Haniyasushin. The words carried weight, not just from the authority in her tone but from the quiet menace that lay beneath. There was no physical presence to match the god's immense power, but her influence was undeniable.
Yachie turned slowly, her red eyes gleaming in the dim light. Keiki stood before her, her form imposing in its quiet way. The sculptor goddess wore a green headkerchief, a yellow dress with spiral decorations, and a necklace of magatama beads. Her long, graceful sleeves fluttered slightly in the air as she spoke, her eyes shining with a divine authority that was as unyielding as it was serene.
"I know what you seek," Keiki continued, her voice soft but firm. "I understand the chaos you wish to instigate, the way you seek to impose the will of the strong over the weak. But understand this, Yachie: Japan has already suffered enough. The weak have endured countless trials. Their strength is not something to be dismissed. You cannot simply crush them underfoot as you wish."
Yachie's lips curled into a faint smile, but her eyes remained cold, calculating. "The weak are the ones who cling to their fragile peace, Keiki. They are the ones who stifle true strength. I seek to restore the balance of power—to remind them that it is the strong who must lead, not the meek."
Yachie's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it, only the cold, calculating glint of someone who saw the world as a stage for her own ambitions. "You see, Keiki, you still do not understand," she said, her voice low, laced with a subtle condescension. "The weak have their place. They may cling to their fragile peace, but in doing so, they suffocate the true potential of the strong. I seek only to remind them of their place—to guide them back to the order they have forgotten."
She took a step closer to Keiki, her eyes never leaving the goddess. "You talk of balance, of cooperation. But that is a dream, a soft ideal. Cooperation is a fool's hope, especially in the Animal Realm. Only through competition, through the dominance of the strong, can true progress be made. And if that means eliminating those who stand in the way of that vision, then so be it."
Keiki's eyes, though calm, flickered with a hint of unease. She was not one to engage in battle lightly, but she could sense the dangerous edge in Yachie's words. Her lips remained pursed, her expression unreadable, but the tension between them grew thicker with each passing moment.
"I disagree with you, Yachie," Keiki said softly, her voice still polite but now carrying a weight that suggested she had already considered the consequences of her words. "The weak are not simply to be discarded. They have their place in this world, and their existence is not without purpose. You may think that by eliminating them, you will create a stronger world, but you will find that such actions bring only ruin in the end."
Yachie's smile faltered, just for a moment. It was as if Keiki's words struck a chord deep within her, but she quickly regained her composure. "Your words are those of a pacifist," Yachie spat, her tone turning sharp. "You believe in saving the weak, in protecting them from their own failures. But what good is peace when it only serves to prolong their weakness? What is the point of protecting a fragile balance when it only holds back the power of those who are destined to lead?"
She stepped closer, her tail flicking behind her like a predator's, her voice low and menacing. "You are nothing more than a barrier, Keiki. A hindrance. I will reshape this world, and I will do it without the pity you so readily offer. If I must discard a few to achieve my goal, then so be it. The weak will fall, and the strong will rise."
Keiki stood in silence, her eyes watching Yachie's retreating form, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a storm cloud. The tension between them crackled, an unspoken promise of future conflict lingering on the edge of the realm. Yachie's conviction was undeniable, but Keiki knew that such arrogance often led to ruin.
As Yachie disappeared into the shadows, Keiki's expression softened, her lips pressing into a thin line. The goddess of idols and creation was no stranger to the complexities of power, and she understood the dangers of unchecked ambition. Yet, despite her calm exterior, there was a quiet resolve building within her—a resolve to protect the balance that Yachie so recklessly sought to shatter.
Keiki's gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the subtle hum of the animal realm whispered of potential turmoil. The strong may rise, she thought, but strength without wisdom is fragile. It will not withstand the weight of time.