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I don’t usually stare at others, it’s not polite, nor “lady-like” or whatever else I was taught.
Yet I keep noticing Kotaro’s sorrow.
We’ve been at this war meeting for over an hour, and rather than suggest anything chaotic, or plot anything corrupt, he’s just sat, bored, occasionally playing with his gloves or toying his hair around his finger.
“Oichi?” Kojiro asks me, and I turn to him.
I smile politely, “Oh! Yes. I think we should send some forces to the village. If it’s true there’s a planned bandit raid, I don’t think we should risk it.”
Kotaro raises his head slowly, his eyes languid. “She’s right. They may rise up against us otherwise, calling us cowards for refusing to protect them.”
This is the first thing he’s said the whole time, and it’s unusually normal compared to what I would usually expect from Kotaro.
The daimyo rubs her chin. She’s normally not so lost in her own thoughts, but the pressure from other clans has been rising. I notice Kojiro gently reaching out to her, and all the tension melts away from her face as she reaches forward to grab him.
She looks back at us, and smiles. “You’re both correct. If things should get worse, we can always send reinforcements to the border lands.”
A few minutes later we finish, and we all leave. I notice the daimyo leaning on Kotaro as we leave and bite my lip. I thought rising up against my brother would heal the pain of Nagamasa’s absence, but it does nothing for me except dull the pain and stop my crying fits.
I notice Kotaro’s gait is labored, shoulders slack, and his head is lowered. He might be plotting something, so I walk after him, reaching for my kendama at my waist.
He turns the corner, and I follow, but he’s vanished.
I already know what he’s going to do, so I reach for my kendama, and look up at the ceiling. “Do you really think you’re all that subtle, Fuma?”
He’s sprawled against the ceiling, then lowers himself while keeping his feet up, hanging like a bat.
Kotaro laughs, “I did not expect Oda’s blood to take an interest in my actions.”
I walk past him, “I don’t have time for your games. What are you doing?”
His eyes flare, and he unlatches his feet, somehow landing a perfect handstand, then standing back up. He tilts his head to the side, “Well, Oichi…I’m not sure how to explain it, but I have a…rare condition that has been present since childhood.”
I feel a twinge of pity tug at my heart, “And what is that?”
“...Seasonal Chaotic Disorder.” Kotaro answers, looking away. “Winter and all it’s…festivity, pure snow, and fireplace warmth is…disruptive for my system.”
I wasn’t expecting to hear Kotaro suffer from something so difficult. “Is there any way to cope?”
Kotaro shakes his head, “No no, I just try to focus on other things.” He answers, but I can see how it’s weighing on him and almost miss his grim smirks.
“It’s going to affect your performance.”
He laughs. “You know where to target me, Oichi. Very well…what do you suggest?”
I look away and fold my hands in thought. “Well…I’m not familiar enough with your interests to answer that.”
Kotaro tilts his head, “Hmm…” He hums as we stand in silence, thinking.
He gives a faint smile, “Ah…I think I know what might help me. But I’ll need two other people for it.”
“Three others. I’m not part of this, officially, that is.”
He’s taken aback but doesn’t push back. “Three others, then,” He finishes. My reputation implies a completely different woman than the one he’s facing now. “So I can play a favorite of mine from my childhood.”
I brace myself for whatever he will say.
His grin turns sinister, and his eyes sharpen, “Hehe…yes…sugoroku.”
“...S-sugoroku!?” I blurt out. “That board game?!”
“I suppose you didn’t think I would find interest in something so…benign?” Kotaro asks, folding his long arms over himself.
“Yes, but…that game in particular is such a simple party game, surely you wouldn’t want something more…engaging?”
Kotaro gives a dark grin, “Ah…Oichi, you truly are unaware of sugoroku, aren’t you?”
***
Mitsunari is helping set up the board, even though he’s not playing (or so he claims), while Kojiro is trying to give the room more “ambience” that he thinks Kotaro would like– and judging the hanging red flowers, candlelight, and relaxation in Kotaro’s posture– it seems Kojiro’s aesthetic obsession is working.
The daimyo sits down, trying to study the rules, “I played this only a few times as a child, and I don’t recall the rules very well…” She says under her breath, refusing to let anyone realize her weakness.
But she is unaware I heard her reveal her weakness.
***
In the midst of the most brutal match of this war, Masanori knocks on the door.
“Hey guys! The food you ordered is here–” he opens it and enters and screams.
Kojiro is currently fuming with quiet, restrained anger at me, “What? It’s just a game.” I say with a sly grin.
The daimyo grins smugly at Kotaro, “Another bad roll, Kotaro?” She jokes.
Despite losing horribly so far, Kotaro looks happier than he has in months. “Why would one wish to predict the dice anyways? The chaos is the allure.”
With the fear of a scared fox, Masanori places the food on the ground and runs off.
“Someone should fetch that,” Kotaro says, “Perhaps we’ll decide with the end of this game?”
“The food might be cold by then,” I add.
“Not for me.” Kotaro says, stretching his arm out in that strange way he can, and reaches across the room for his bowl of snacks.
“Couldn’t you have just grabbed the other food?” Kojiro asks.
Kotaro blinks. “I…” but rather than try to find a clever excuse, he simply reaches over and gives Kojiro’s snack bowl to him, then the daimyo’s.
He hands mine over with an almost gentle grace, and when I reach for it, the tip of my fingers brush against his wrist, and we both stop breathing for a moment. The only thing that snaps us out of it is the looks the daimyo and Kojiro exchange.
Kojiro reaches for his makeup case to refresh himself, but as he raises his hand mirror to his face, he whispers “All’s fair in love and chaos.”
I see Kotaro silently mouth shut your mouth as subtly as he can, before excusing himself to get some “fresh air”, but his blushing cheeks betray his intentions.
Meanwhile, I’m hiding behind my snack bowl, and wondering if I’m the true Fool of Owari.
Specifically, a Love-Struck Fool of Owari.