39: Black and White

A grand hall, vast and dimly lit.

Dozens of men in black kimono stood in clusters of three and four, their gazes all drawn to the center of the room—to a small boy in a deep blue yukata, led by the hand of a middle-aged man. They pointed. They whispered.

“Is that him?”

“The only survivor.”

“An entire clan, slaughtered in a single night.”

“Poor child.”

“Then how is he still alive?”

“Has the Daimyō been informed?”

The boy at the center of all this attention might as well have been deaf. He stood perfectly still, his face blank, his eyes flat and lifeless as standing water. Not a flicker of emotion.

A young man in a white kimono entered through the main doors—handsome, composed, walking with purpose. He crossed directly to the middle-aged man holding the boy’s hand.

“Lord Kiyokawa.” The man in white bowed.

“Captain Fujino.” Kiyokawa gave a short nod.

Fujino’s gaze shifted to the boy. It lingered there for a moment before returning to Kiyokawa.

“This is Lord Osamu’s child?”

“It is.”

“Lord Kiyokawa, the matter of the Ise family grieves me deeply. If there is anything I can do to assist you, please—do not hesitate to ask.”

“That’s kind of you, Captain Fujino.”

Fujino nodded once more to Kiyokawa, then slowly crouched down until he was at eye level with the boy.

“Your name is Shin, isn’t it?” He smiled gently. “Do you remember me? My name is Munekoshi Fujino. I used to hold you when you were very small.”

The boy stared at him. Not a ripple in those dead eyes.

Fujino rose with a quiet sigh. Kiyokawa shook his head.

“The trauma was too great. His mind may not be able to bear it.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“I’ve already petitioned the Daimyō. There should be a thorough investigation.”

“And the boy?”

“He’ll stay with me.” Kiyokawa’s voice was heavy.

“Lord Osamu would surely be grateful to you—his closest friend.”

“But the Daimyō may not agree. And the Ise family held power for a long time. They made enemies beyond counting. Protecting this child won’t be easy.”

“…Then we give the Daimyō a reason to let him live.”

Fujino paused, then dropped his voice. “One more thing, Lord Kiyokawa. If the Daimyō conducts the investigation himself, it’ll pull in too many threads. The truth will drown in politics, and nothing will come of it.”

Kiyokawa frowned, considering.

“Lord Kiyokawa,” Fujino continued. “I’ll be conducting my own investigation in private. Anything I uncover, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Then… I’m in your debt, Fujino.”

“Lord Osamu’s kindness to me is something I can never repay. This is the least I can do.”

“The Daimyō has arrived.”

……

The Kiyokawa Dōjō was no prestigious sword academy, and Kiyokawa Ittō-ryū was a minor school at best. Its standing in the city rested entirely on one thing: its master, Jūrō Kiyokawa, and his deep ties to the Ise family.

Propped up by the Ise family’s formidable influence, the little dōjō had enjoyed a status rivaling the great sword schools of the capital.

“Master—you’ve returned.”

Jūrō Kiyokawa came in through the side entrance with Shin beside him, and was met by an elderly servant—the household steward.

The old man glanced down at the boy with quiet confusion.

“Prepare a meal. And a set of children’s clothes. Take him to the bath.” Kiyokawa’s instructions were clipped and matter-of-fact.

The steward bowed and led Shin away.

Kiyokawa walked through the courtyard with Shin in tow and found a young man waiting on the engawa.

“Master.” The young man hurried over and bowed.

“Half the students didn’t show up today.”

“Is that so.” Kiyokawa’s gaze darkened. “Word travels fast.”

“Make preparations—quietly. We need to leave Kyoto within the next few days.”

“Master, what’s happened?”

“The Ise… have been wiped out.”

……

“From today, you are no longer an Ise.”

A small room. Shin stood freshly bathed, dressed in plain clothes, his long black hair still damp against his back.

Jūrō Kiyokawa stood facing him.

“Your name is Shin Tachikawa. Do you understand?”

Shin raised his head and fixed Kiyokawa with a blank stare. His eyes were dead.

“Father.” A small voice came from the doorway. Kiyokawa turned to find a little girl in a white floral kimono standing there.

“Yuko.” He nodded, waving her in.

She stepped inside, noticed the boy, and froze. Curiosity and shyness warred on her face. She ducked behind her father.

“This is Shin Tachikawa. You two will be living together from now on. I expect you to get along.”

Yuko peered around Kiyokawa, her wide, bright eyes fixed on Shin. She mustered her courage and stepped out, extending one small hand toward him.

“H-hello. I’m Yuko Kiyokawa.”

---

“Lord Osamu! You and the young master must leave immediately—we’ll hold them off with our lives!”

“My wife—where is she?!”

“The mistress is in the front hall, but that area… has already fallen to the enemy.”

“Damn it all! Take Shin and get out of here—now!”

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it’s taken without the author’s consent. Report it.

…

“Kid. Don’t remember me, do you?”

“Hah! Well, remember it clearly this time—my name is Munekoshi Fujino, and I’m the man who’s going to change this country!”

“That swordsmanship of yours isn’t half bad. What do you say—want to come work for me?”

…

“Hah? Kiyokawa Ittō-ryū? Never heard of it.”

“Let me make something clear—every swordsman here is a master of a recognized school. Nobody has time for your third-rate demonstration.”

“What stance is that? Iaidō?”

…

“Fascinating. Truly fascinating. I’ve never seen chakra used this way before.”

“Shin, your talent is wasted in a place like Konoha.”

“I have a boy here named Jūgo. I think you’d find him… very interesting.”

…

“Shin, help Mom with the dishes.”

“Shin, your dad’s very busy, okay? Try to understand.”

“Shin, take this over to Uncle Fugaku’s house for me.”

……

Tick… tick…

The clock’s second hand was impossibly loud in the stillness.

Shin lay on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

A dream.

Strange dreams again—images layered over one another, some familiar, some not. Faces he recognized bleeding into faces he’d never seen.

Same as last time I was sick.

He turned his head slightly toward the window. The sky was barely beginning to lighten, a thin fog still clinging to everything.

Another day.

He sat up and started getting dressed.

After washing his face, he came to the desk in his room. Two blades rested there—a bamboo sword and a black-sheathed katana.

His gaze lingered. He reached for the katana, felt its weight settle into his palm, and carried it out to the engawa.

He drew in a long breath of the cool morning air, then knelt in seiza on the wooden floor. The katana at his side. Eyes slowly closing.

---

“I’m heading out!”

Kiba stood in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Akamaru was tucked under his arm, equally drowsy.

“Your lunch.” Hana emerged from inside holding two bentō boxes. She walked up and handed them to him.

“Make sure you and Shin eat properly. No buying junk from the street stalls.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He took the boxes with a wave of his hand and turned toward the door.

“Be careful out there.”