Chapter Text
Tokyo, 1906
"Those Choshu dogs want to make a scapegoat out of me!" Koujirou slammed his fist on the low lacquered table, making the ceramic cups rattle. The clear liquid swirled precariously, but didn’t spill - fine imo-shochu, too precious to waste even in anger.
Sitting across from him, Heiji instinctively steadied his cup before taking a sip.
The sounds of shamisen and the drunk singing of patrons in the neighboring room drifted through the thin paper walls, drowning out their conversation. The riverside teahouse was alive this evening with a colorful crowd of merchants, artists, and townspeople seeking escape from their daily duties under the warm glow of Asakusa’s paper lanterns. Among them, the two high-ranking officers seemed almost out of place in their ornate uniforms. Yet, the mistress of the establishment welcomed them as old friends for she had known both of them long before their rise to prominence. They too had once been frequent guests of the entertainment district and the weathered walls of the teahouse had been seasoned with their secrets, their heavy weight seeping through the woven flooring and pooling beneath, in the murky waters around the wooden stilts. Even now, with the burden of responsibilities pressing upon their shoulders, Koujirou and Heiji still returned to this place whenever they both found themselves in Tokyo and wished to meet in a less formal setting.
"They want to pin all the blame for our losses on me to make their boy look better," Koujirou continued his tirade against the Central Command. "How many times had I begged them for supplies? For any of the ammunition promised? Only to have my requests denied with Kodama’s condescending lectures on the japanese fighting spirit. And now, after having to rely on the only ‘bullets’ left at our disposal, they cast me as the one who had pushed for this strategy all along!"
Heiji listened to his old friend as he always had.
"I wouldn't care if they dragged my name through mud." Koujirou looked at his fists, knuckles white, and willed them to unclench. His gaze remained on his open palms. "We're all murderers, Heiji-don. All of us." He met Heiji's eyes to accentuate his point, and held them, until the bushy brows drew together. "But by singling me out, they've made me a pariah. No one will listen to what I say anymore, not even in matters of national importance."
"Is this about the railway in Manchuria?"
Koujirou nodded. “Rejecting Harriman’s proposal was a diplomatic suicide. With our treasury depleted, we can't possibly manage a project of this scale alone. Not to mention provoking Russia. We can’t risk another war.”
"Wasn't it agreed that the Kwantung Military Government would be finally disbanded?” Heiji recalled the reports he'd read in Jiji Shinpo. “I thought that settled the matter."
“That was merely to appease Britain. It’s all paper play for children. Kodama still aims to build his force on the continent, only now he plans to do it under the guise of a private company.”
"And you're standing in his way," Heiji surmised.
A heavy sigh escaped Koujirou. "I'm so tired of those clan politics." His shoulders slumped, and he leaned against the cushioned armrest.
Heiji studied his face in the candlelight with increasing worry, that familiar look of apprehension creeping into his eyes. “You push yourself too hard.'
"I cannot let this go, Heiji-don. He won't let me."
They both fell quiet. The name unspoken hung in the air, dense like funeral incense and Koujirou's gaze drifted outside. Below the open shoji screens, the reeds along the riverbank swayed gently in the evening breeze.
“You need to tread carefully, Koujirou-don. You’re making some powerful enemies.”
“What more can they do to me?” A hollow laugh escaped him as he covered his eyes with his hand. “I don't have anything left to lose.”
He barely registered Heiji's movement until the sudden grip on his wrist yanked his hand aside, and he found himself staring into eyes burning with unfamiliar intensity.
"You still have me!" The shout filled the small room.
Koujirou went still. In all their years together, he had never seen his friend's composure break like that.
The iron grip softened, and Heiji's other hand came up to cradle Koujirou's between both of his. His palms, calloused and old, were as warm as they were back then, and his eyes never lost their honesty. It stirred in Koujirou memories he had long tried to bury. Memories of times of endless possibilities, when Heiji's presence by his side was all he needed. He could still see them, riding side by side through the hills - victors returning home. But then, unbidden, another figure emerged in his mind's eye joining them and the warmth of the memory suddenly gave way to a chill of guilt in his chest.
Koujirou reluctantly pulled away from Heiji’s hold. Turning the gesture around he guided Heiji’s hands back and pressed them gently against the brass buttons of the naval uniform. “It's easier this way,” he murmured.
Heiji's fingers curled slightly, before falling away. His eyes still searched Koujirou's face for something. Finally turning aside, he only asked quietly, “Has it ever become easier for you?”
The question was simple, yet Koujirou felt his throat constrict. In Heiji's carefully chosen words he saw, for the first time, a glimpse of his own suffering reflected. Beneath years of skillfully projected contentment, Heiji's question was as close to a confession as he could allow himself.
Before he could find the words to respond, however, the door to their room slid open, and a young man in a cadet’s uniform burst in.
"Father! I found you!" Koito Otonoshin's words tumbled out in a rush.
Heiji's eyes took a moment to clear before he found his voice back. “Otonoshin, what are you doing here?”
"Lieutenant Yamanaka told me you were here and—" Otonoshin froze mid-step at the sight of the other man sitting at the table. "Kieee!" he yelped, nearly tripping in his haste to bow. "Forgive my intrusion, General Hanazawa!"
"You should have waited." Heiji's stern tone wavered beneath a smile he couldn't quite suppress. "We were discussing important matters."
Blush still visible on his cheeks, Otonoshin bounced back to his feet. "I couldn't help it, Father. The moment I heard you were in Tokyo I had to come.”
Koujirou observed the scene, noting the genuine affection between father and son. He knew Heiji had come to Tokyo specifically for Otonoshin’s ceremony. After graduating from the Academy the boy was to finally receive his commission as Second Lieutenant.
Otonoshin’s hands moved in excited gestures as he described the preparations, slipping more and more into their homeland dialect.
"Your father's been telling me you wish to be assigned to the Hokuchin, is that true?" Koujirou interrupted the flow of words.
Otonoshin straightened, his face brightening. "It is my dream, sir."
"We'll be lucky to have you." Koujirou nodded in approval, then glanced at Heiji to share in the moment. Instead, he caught his old friend's smile fade for a moment beneath his white beard, a shadow of sadness lurking behind the pride.
His mind drifted back to the conversation they had earlier that evening. Heiji had hesitantly revealed his doubts about letting Otonoshin follow in their footsteps. "I fear my heart couldn’t take another loss," he had admitted in a cautious whisper as if he was confessing to treason.
Koujirou had felt a pang of discomfort at those words. His immediate reaction was to downplay the seriousness. "Otonoshin is strong, just like his father," he had said, his tone light but his eyes avoiding Heiji's. He knew Heiji had wanted more than empty reassurance. But he couldn't bring himself to offer it. Heiji’s doubts had stirred in him uncomfortable memories of his wife’s desperate plan to shield their own son from danger—a plan Koujirou had countered in the name of duty. The memory of the result of his actions lingered, yet, he refused to let these emotions surface, redirecting that conversation to safer topics, because acknowledging Heiji’s fears would mean acknowledging his own failures.
Now, as Otonoshin shared his stories with youthful enthusiasm, Koujirou felt that same discomfort coil beneath his ribs and push against his lungs. The young cadet's words grew distant, muffled, as if underwater. His shape wavered like a stirred reflection in a lake until the face that gazed back at him was no longer Heiji's son’s but the chrysanthemum-white visage of Yuusaku.
He blinked, but the eerie vision persisted - his son's figure, standing at attention in a cadet's crisp uniform. Shadows gathered in the corners of the room, pressing closer.
"Koujirou-don, are you unwell?" Heiji’s voice cut through the haze.
The dark-skinned boy standing before him mimicked his father's concern, and Koujirou only then noticed his quickened breathing.
"It's nothing. Must be the hour catching up to me. It’s been a long day." He rose slowly, offering a strained smile as he excused himself. "I should leave you both to your reunion."
---
Asakusa's nightlife still whirled when he left the teahouse, lantern-lit streets filled with theater goers and other revelers, yet the crisp night air felt sobering on his heated face, and so, he dismissed his rickshaw-runner, telling him he would return by foot. He chose to walk along the graveled embankment of the Sumida River, knowing fewer would venture it at this hour. The earthen wall dropped sharply to his left, where reeds grew thick along the water's edge. Wind swayed the silvery plumes, their rustling following him like phantom footsteps.
It wasn’t the first time he had seen Yuusaku’s ghost, but never before had it been so vivid. He noticed its presence often, hovering on the edge of his vision. Tonight though it was as if Yuusaku was really standing there, just as he remembered him. Except for his eyes. The apparition had kept his son's eyes hidden in the shadow of his uniform cap even as he felt its gaze fixed directly at him.
The vision had lingered in his mind, annoyingly persistent.
Koujirou shook his head and quickened his pace. To dispel unwanted thoughts, he chose to focus instead on his reaction at the teahouse - Why did he push Heiji away? Why did the warmth of recollection turn so cold? Intrigued by his own reluctance, he turned his mind back to that spring day.
---
Yatake Platteau, 1869
The trail wound through the hills as the army marched on. The dense greenery of Kyushu was a welcome sight after their long absence and it spurred them forward even as the day was coming to an end. As the forest began to thin, the distant edges of the Kirishima mountains flickered through the trees against the evening sky.
On an impulse Koujirou nudged his horse forward, the animal surging ahead and Heiji followed suit. Wind whipped against their faces as they galloped past the Satsuma footsoldiers, racing to be the first to reach the clearing at the plateau’s edge. Koujirou felt a rare exhilaration, a sense of freedom that matched the thundering of hooves beneath him.
As they crested the ridge, the full expanse of the mountains came into view, the blooming Kyushu azalea painting their hillsides in vibrant patches of red. And somewhere there, still hidden beyond those peaks, was the Kagoshima Bay and the mighty silhouette of Sakurajima. Koujirou reined in his horse and dismounted. He heard the leather of Heiji's saddle creaking as Heiji joined him. The two stood close together, narrowing their eyes, trying against reason to catch the first glimpse of home.
It was Heiji who reached out, his hand brushing against Koujirou's before Koujirou clasped it firmly. The evening light caught the glow of Heiji's dark skin, the long strands of his koguma flowing down his back as he gazed ahead with an expression of quiet awe. Koujirou's eyes lingered on him, and the world seemed to narrow to just this: the warmth of their joined hands, the curve of Heiji’s smile, and the perfect stillness of the mountain air suspended around them. Their eyes met.
“We camp here for the night,” he said simply and Heiji nodded, letting their hands part. Together they turned their horses back down the trail.
As they rejoined the column, a familiar figure rode out to meet them. Saigou Takamori’s large frame cast a long shadow in the fading light.
“We’re a day’s ride from Kagoshima,” Koujirou reported with a note of satisfaction in his voice.
Saigou sighed deeply. “We’re finally home”. He looked between Koujirou and Heiji, regarding them with paternal warmth. “You two have come a long way. You left as mere nise and now return as leaders of men. The war might be over, but your true fight begins now. Tomorrow, we start building a new nation. It will take not just strength, but wisdom and conviction, to shape Japan's future.”
Koujirou touched the kingire strap fastened on the arm of his uniform, the soft brocade, worn from months of battle but still gleaming with imperial gold thread. “Our loyalty to the Emperor shall guide us, Saigou-sensei.”
Saigou’s eyes twinkled with a mix of amusement and deeper understanding. “That’s a noble sentiment, Hanazawa, but you must seek a higher purpose.”
Confusion furrowed Koujirou's brow. He couldn't fathom how anything could be more worthy than devotion to his Heavenly Highness. Isn't that what they had fought this war for? The very foundation of their new Japan?
Saigou’s hand rested on Koujirou's shoulder. "Remember, those guided by the sun can find themselves lost when it becomes clouded."
---
Across the river, dim gaslights flickered, reflections wavering restlessly on the dark water. The echo of Saigou’s words still haunted him, their meaning as elusive as it was then. What higher purpose had guided Saigou to abandon his loyalty, to march on Tokyo against the very Emperor he had once sworn to serve? The image of Saigou’s last charge at Shiroyama burned in Koujirou's mind - a battle with no hope of victory, yet fought with unwavering conviction.
His hand unconsciously traced the spot where the kingire once sat on his arm. He had devoted his life to serving the Emperor, sacrificed all that was asked of him, and more. The bonds of brotherhood forged in Satsuma, the warmth of his hometown - all abandoned for his oath of loyalty. His own son, laid down in a foreign land for the glory of Japan, along with countless others entrusted to his command.
Yet, for all his unwavering loyalty, his conviction could never match the fierce brightness that shone in the eyes of those he had called traitors, as they ran willingly to their deaths on that day. And he still felt like there was something fundamental missing in him as a person. A piece of understanding, perhaps, or a depth of conviction that remained frustratingly out of reach.
---
The moon had risen high over the city’s rooftops by the time he reached his estate, its emptiness greeting him like a half-forgotten ache. Hiro had left some time ago, slipping away with some wounded soldier—a man whose name Koujirou hadn’t cared to learn. The house steward had informed him of it in a hushed tone as if fearing to stir his disinterest.
He wondered, for a fleeting moment, how long his wife has had an affair. She had always seemed to understand everything about him, yet he had never truly known her. Nor had he tried. Their lives had intersected only through Yuusaku. Now, with him gone, the last thread binding them had unraveled, and she, as if discharged from service, had disappeared without a word.
He followed the veranda to his study, where the maid had left him a lit brazier before retiring to the servants wing, but by now only weak embers remained, too feeble to ward off the night's chill. Koujirou paid it no mind. How unlikely it was, he still thought, that they had somehow raised Yuusaku to be so steadfast and virtuous despite the absence of love in their marriage. Yuusaku’s kindness, his strength, seemed an inexplicable gift, a bloom from barren soil.
Koujirou recalled with vivid clarity the day Yuusaku became an officer, the moment his son stood before him, embodying every ideal he had once hoped for. Yuusaku had worn his new rank with innate dignity and Koujirou had felt pride rise within him—an immense, swelling pride not just in his son’s achievement, but in the person Yuusaku had become. He saw in him a reflection of the principles he had tried to instill, the unyielding core that defined their lineage.
He had urged Yuusaku that day to dedicate his life to the service of Japan, which his son understood with maturity beyond his years. But the memory that haunted him most was Yuusaku's unexpected question:
"What about you, Father? How will you use your life for the good of Japan?"
It had been an audacious thing for a son to ask, but it revealed Yuusaku’s depth of thought.
Koujirou’s answer, at that moment, had faltered. Caught off guard, he could offer no response, feeling a quiet shame settle within him.
Seated now in his empty study across from the spectral form of his dead son, Koujirou found he could no longer evade giving the answer.
“Have you come to torment me, wraith?” he asked.
The apparition wearing his son's face did not reply. Moonlight filled the room, and in its cold clarity, the pale figure sat before him with the same disciplined posture his son had maintained in life, straight-backed as if always at attention.
“I did all you wanted,” Koujirou reported wearily. “And look where it brought me. My career is in ruins, my name tarnished. I've given everything…"
“No, you haven't.” Yuusaku's voice emerged from the silence, as sharp as winter frost. “Not yet.”
“What more do you demand of me?”
“I want you to see the truth, father.” the ghost spoke the last word with mock tenderness.
“I already see it!” Koujirou’s jaw tightened. “The direction this country is going. How it marches towards destruction. The Emperor's vision has been clouded by the ambitions of men who seek only power. I cannot let them twist your sacrifice for their selfish gain—”
“It wasn’t the Emperor’s will that killed me,” the cold voice slashed through his words. “It was yours.”
Koujirou’s breath halted.
“You sent me to die for an ideal you didn’t even understand.”
“I understood duty!”
“Did you? Or did you just fear the alternative?”
Koujirou felt a sudden, irrational surge of anger. “What do you know of fear?”, he spat. “You, who died so easily, so... convinced.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. But the ghost merely smiled, a sad, knowing smile.
“Is that what you think? That it was easy? Do you think it was easy to leave you, father, to die knowing it would break your heart? You taught me to believe in something greater, even if you never believed it yourself.”
The anger drained from Koujirou, leaving only pain. "Then why… why did you go?"
“Because you asked me to.” Yuusaku’s eyes lifted, meeting his father’s, and for a moment, they gleamed, clear and sharp.
"I… wish that I hadn't." The admission left his knotted gullet. "I've painted that hill with the blood of so many of the nation's sons, yet… I wish I had kept you safe." His voice trembled. "Is that so unforgivable?"
Silence fell between them and grew, expanding in the stillness, pressing down like a held breath.
"I loved you, my son," he whispered on an exhale.
"You loved the idea of me," Yuusaku replied, his tone gentle yet unyielding. "You wanted me to become an icon, a symbol that would inspire the men. But it was never my destiny."
Koujirou looked up, a terrible understanding dawning in his eyes. "It was mine.”
Yuusaku nodded, his form beginning to fade. "You were never afraid of death, father. You were afraid of what it would mean."
Only the faint smell of camphor remained in the silent room.
Koujirou rose, his steps measured with grim purpose as if drawn by a force he had ceased to resist. From the drawer in his desk, he withdrew his tanto and placed it before him. In the oil lamp's dim light, the familiar blade gleamed with quiet satisfaction, like a patient lover who had waited decades hoping that he would eventually return.
He closed his eyes and for a moment he could see the black tendrils of hair falling around his face as he lay on the pillow of her lap.
But there were things he must do first. He reached the writing materials. The Privy Council had made their decision, but there was still a path to appeal to a higher instance. A general's death carried weight. Let his weigh heavily on the conscience of those who would abuse the divine mandate for their private goals. Let it echo in the halls of the Imperial Palace.
The brush moved with a steady cadence. Perhaps it, too, had waited for its moment.
On the page before him, Koujirou formulated his last will, his grievances put into a list of clear-cut points. He wrote of a nation still healing from one war, yet already planting seeds for another. The railway project was just the beginning - beneath its civilian disguise, an army would grow unchecked, too far from the Emperor's voice to heed it. More than an economic folly, it threatened to transform Japan into the very thing they had once despised - an empire of greed waging wars for profit. As one who had served the throne since the Restoration, he could not remain idle. His act of protest would not be rebellion, he wrote, but the truest form of service he had ever rendered.
He read that last sentence out loud and let out a quiet laugh. So this was what Saigou had meant all along.
He unbuttoned his stiff collar, letting his head fall back. The brass lamp cast shifting circles on the wooden ceiling, and he let himself simply watch them before his gaze settled on the kakemono hanging on the latticed transom - a gift from Heiji commemorating the victory at Tsushima.
'The rise and fall of the Empire depend on this battle', Admiral Tougou’s bold strokes proclaimed with martial certainty. Such unyielding declarations - how many years had they spent hiding behind such phrases?
Koujirou set aside the official document. It could wait. There were things he needed to say to Heiji—things that had been avoided too long. He reached for a fresh sheet of paper. This letter would be for Heiji alone.
Heiji-don,
Our meeting was cut short tonight and I’m filled with regret, knowing now that it was to be our last. I must thus entrust to paper what should have been spoken in person. But do not blame your son - it was my weakness, not his love, that drew me away. And perhaps such has always been our fate - a lifetime of advances and retreats, like two autumn leaves caught in the same wind, letting truth decay in the spaces between us.
You probably understand better than anyone the choices that have led me to this point. You’ve seen that emptiness within me long ago, that deficiency of human perception. Yet you still stood by me, trying to steer me away from this very path. But I've always been a willful man and therefore I must ask you to forgive this final act of selfishness.
My sincerest hope is that you can still salvage something of value from witnessing this end of mine. Yuusaku's sacrifice served no purpose other than proving myself an utter failure of a father. But you - you need not carry the same regrets. Keep your son safe, Heiji-don. Do not push him into the same darkness that consumed Yuusaku and now claims me. Let him find his own way, free from the shadow of our expectations.
His hand paused over the paper. There were words still unsaid, pressing against his chest. Strange - even now, at the end, they refused to take shape. But his brush still moved, and he found solace in the language they had always shared, knowing Heiji would understand the meaning. With a single fluid stroke, he finished the letter with his last poem.
The hillside stained in red
I now see them again:
Kyushu azalea in spring
As the ink dried, he heard a faint sound in the corridor. Soft footsteps, light and delicate as a bird. Then - a rustle of cloth. He could recognize this gait anywhere.
Tome.
In some way, he had always known she would come for him in the end.
“You’ve waited so patiently. I will be with you soon.”
He didn’t turn around and finished folding the letter as he heard her enter the room.