Archive of Our Own ^beta

Akemura opened his eyes because birds were singing outside the window.

It was such a strange, atypical sound for the place where he usually lived that it yanked him straight out of his sweet sleep. For a few seconds, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling in bewilderment, not understanding what kind of room this was. Then he turned his head to the side, but that didn’t make things any clearer — he had never been in this place before. He was dressed in a thin yukata, and this place — this room — smelled as if it had been renovated recently. The scent of fresh paint. That surprised him even more, because he didn’t remember any of his acquaintances doing repairs lately.

No matter how you looked at it, the year and a half before that had been consumed by war.

He felt thoroughly tired, and Akemura recalled without much pleasure the last thing that had been on his mind. Ah yes. The peace agreement. The army’s leadership had decided to make a deal with the enemy and sign a treaty. Everyone had been waiting for it. Some had even cried with joy. In Akemura’s head, at that very moment, there had been only one thought spinning — but they will take revenge. Humans are touchy creatures; they would surely attack again as soon as they had the chance. That was how the history of civilization worked: first you beat the enemy, and then he gathered new strength and struck back. The offended rose to power, those who whispered to a people exhausted by constant oppression that, see, we can still carve out a place under the sun and show them — our enemies — what we’re worth. The ecstasy of the crowd, all that… Terrible times gave birth to strong people. Akemura had no desire to wait for a second war, when he would no longer be a youth full of strength but, perhaps, an old man, so he solved this problem quite simply.

He turned to his blade and thought — they all must die. Total annihilation. Men, women, the elderly, and children. Every single one.

Magatsumi answered his call.

At first, Akemura didn’t care how it would be done. He was ready to take upon himself the burden of the greatest sinner in all of history, all for the sake of a happy future for his descendants. It was a noble sacrifice, and history would judge them all later, as they say. But at the very last second, a thought occurred to him, a fear — what if these foolish people, clinging to the principles of humanitarianism and morality like a child’s blanket, started blaming his precious brother-in-law? Rokuhira-san didn’t deserve that; he had created the blades for a pure ideal — the protection of the innocent — and these people… They could easily rewrite history; what did it cost them to twist the motivation of one man?

Then he thought — it has to be done so that no one understands anything.

What happened next, Akemura didn’t know. There was darkness in his head, as if the film had suddenly stopped. Maybe it simply hadn’t worked. Maybe he had been so exhausted back then that he forgot everything. His body ached a little now, and it wasn’t the pleasant fatigue after training, but emptiness. It was hard even to lift one arm. Maybe this was a hospital? But no. Birds. There were no birds left in the city. A prison? But the bed was far too soft. Something didn’t add up.

With effort, he got to his feet and slowly made his way to the doorway. This place — the room, the house as a whole — radiated newness, as if it had only recently been built. The wood smelled of fresh cuts. Akemura ran a finger along the doorframe, still wondering where he was, then pressed his forehead against the cool wall. His head was splitting. Oh, he was so tired. He had never been this tired before. Not even during the war, though at times back then he thought — now I’ll just fall to the ground, close my eyes, and die. But he had to go on. For his sister’s sake, for his nephew’s sake. For that small lump of flesh his sister had carried beneath her heart.

The thought of Chihiro was a pleasant distraction, and Akemura drifted into it — and because of that, he missed the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs around the corner, the ones he couldn’t see.

When he lifted his head, he met Shiba’s gaze. Shiba’s presence here surprised him; he was without his uniform, as he had been in recent months, wearing a loose white shirt, his hair tied back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He looked relaxed and, finally, well-rested. A rare sight. At first, Shiba himself hesitated, but then a brazen grin bloomed on his lips, typical of that moron, and he strode up to Akemura and grabbed him by the shoulders.

Unfortunately, Akemura was smaller than him, so it looked… well, the way it looked.

"Mura-chan! Finally! You were out cold for a whole week. We were starting to get scared. Want some water?"

Akemura suddenly realized that, despite such a significant span of time — a week unconscious, which he didn’t remember at all, meaning he had either been delirious or not woken up even once — he didn’t feel… the way people usually feel after that. He was simply tired. But he wasn’t even thirsty. Still, he decided not to worry Shiba and nodded, and Shiba tugged him along. When he noticed Akemura sway, he snorted loudly:

"What, should I carry you in my arms?"

"Thanks, but no need. I think I’ll crawl on my own."

"Yeah, and how long are you gonna crawl, little snail?" when Shiba suddenly appeared right next to him again, Akemura almost squeaked as his feet left the floor. Sure, he was fairly young compared to the other swordsmen, but this was already too much. "Come on, don’t be such a pussy. You of all people should be carried around like this."

Why? Akemura wondered.

Then Shiba took a step through space and ended up on the first floor. Ah, so this was a residential house… But that thought came later; Akemura had never tolerated such teleportations very well, and if by the end of the war he had managed to get used to them, now, so weakened, he felt the nausea rise again. But he had to distract himself quickly, because downstairs he saw Rokuhira and Azami. They seemed to be in the middle of a conversation and were also dressed differently, in ordinary clothes, completely unfamiliar… Turning around, they stared at the scene in surprise, and then both smiled and gathered around Shiba, who carefully set Akemura down on the floor.

"Akemura! Finally."

"We were already worried we’d have to go to the hospital."

"Did something happen?" he slowly walked over to the couch and sat down, and Rokuhira nodded energetically.

"During the signing of the peace treaty, you suddenly lost consciousness."

"The doctors said you had severe exhaustion. In the end, you slept through almost all of the ceremonial events."

"And Samura’s wedding. Where Shiba got drunk as hell and puked in a flower pot."

"That didn’t happen," Shiba growled.

They all talked over one another, smiling and laughing, and as Akemura looked at them, he wondered — so it didn’t work? That is, the blade hadn’t managed to do what he wished, so it failed? That was disappointing… He didn’t allow himself to show it outwardly, though his heart grew heavy. These people would take revenge. These people would attack. Their children would grow up and crave vengeance. They would create new weapons, and then even enchanted blades wouldn’t be enough. Rokuhira-san and the other swordsmen wouldn’t be able to perform the same miracle as in the past. The bandage had needed to be ripped off immediately, sharply, even if it hurt — and he hadn’t managed to do it.

He never created a peaceful world for his sister’s son.

Just as Rokuhira-san had said, during the signing of the peace treaty, Akemura suddenly lost consciousness for a little over a week. The doctors who examined him cited mental exhaustion and severe fatigue, and their only recommendation was rest. It was a fairly standard piece of advice, because the war had left behind many broken former soldiers who either didn’t know where to put themselves or, after witnessing nightmarish scenes, had lost the will to live. Not all of them, of course, but it was normal… In any case, Akemura wasn’t surprised at all.

He had already seen something like this near the end of the war, when Samura-san cut out his own eyes. Back then, it had been a shock to Akemura: Samura had been one of the oldest on their team, younger only than Subaru-san, and yet he had been the first to break.

That was the first thing Rokuhira told him; by then, evening had already fallen, and Shiba and Azami had gone home. Only the two of them remained, and somewhere nearby, little Chihiro was sleeping sweetly in his cradle. Then Rokuhira added that he had decided to live away from everything worldly, because the war had left him, too, with plenty of baggage in the form of migraines and bad dreams, and dealing with postwar problems was no longer his responsibility as a blacksmith — for that, the army had been reformed. Yes, reasonable, Akemura decided; Rokuhira certainly shouldn’t be sticking his nose into politics. And so he had built himself a small house far from large cities, in the mountains, where he hid away, and only Shiba and Azami knew his location. Maybe someone else from the trusted crowd. However, when Akemura naturally asked why he was there with him, Rokuhira’s face suddenly darkened, and then he looked at him seriously.

Something about that gaze put Akemura on edge, though he couldn’t explain what exactly. So he wasn’t even surprised when a broad hand came to rest on his shoulder. Compared to Rokuhira, he had a rather fragile build.

"You’re so young, and even you were worn down by the war… Remember? What the doctors said. Well, you don’t remember, but I told you. That you need a good rest. Far away from sources of stress. There," Rokuhira gestured vaguely with his hand, but Akemura easily understood he meant the capital, "they’re dealing with postwar problems now. Rebuilding cities, all that… I don’t want you to get dragged into it, too. Rest here for now. Regain your strength. You’ll still have time to go back."

Ah, he’s taking care of me. That thought warmly soothed his soul, and Akemura smiled. He had always respected his sister’s husband; he was an extremely kind man, and the fact that he had taken him along to such a well-protected place to give him a chance to recover mentally was deeply touching. Plus, he added to himself, it meant he would get to help take care of Chihiro. Of course, he felt a weakness for his nephew. Who wouldn’t, when looking at such a wonderful baby?

And yet, Rokuhira wasn’t saying something. Something… Akemura read people easily — he had learned that trick from Uruha, who had explained what to watch for in conversation — and now he noticed that Rokuhira spoke gently, but stretched a rather empty thought across many words, and on top of that avoided looking at him… He was hiding something. Growing wary, Akemura cast a quick glance back toward the house — they were sitting together on the veranda now, and above them shone a bright white moon.

"Is that all?" he asked probingly, and Rokuhira looked at him.

The smile slowly slid from his brother’s lips. Ah, he wasn’t even going to resist. What was it? What was tormenting his soul so deeply? Were they the same worries that plagued Akemura himself? The thought suddenly seized his heart. What if… What if everyone, including Shiba and Azami… what if they were rejoicing because the enemy was gone… What if he didn’t have to agree with the principles of humanitarianism, because in this case they were inappropriate…

What if his brother understood his idea and accepted it?

"That island…"

Rokuhira clenched his fist, and Akemura froze, holding his breath. What if he says — the enemy is still alive, that’s bad, they’ll surely take revenge… Accept his idea. Or maybe something had happened during the signing of the peace treaty… But he didn’t allow himself to rejoice too early, because he knew — Rokuhira-san was a righteous and kind man deep down; he wouldn’t reason like that… unless something had happened.

"…all the people here… are dead."

"What?" Akemura faltered, and Rokuhira raised his eyes to him.

"I didn’t want to tell you, so as not to worry you. But it’s not something that can be hidden for so long. Something… destroyed all life on the island. No one has figured out what yet… but I’m afraid the datenseki stored in the mines resonated with the blades… with your and your comrades’ desire to bring victory. In the end, even I can’t be certain how it works… I’m sorry, all your efforts… You brought peace, and my creation, it…"

While Rokuhira continued to apologize haltingly, too immersed in sorrow, Akemura stared at him without blinking.

Dead? There were no enemies left.

So his plan had worked. He had managed to take the lives of everyone on the island, literally stealing their life energy. Maybe that was why, upon waking, he hadn’t felt like drinking — it was a residual effect; pulling off something like that required enormous effort, and that was why he had lost consciousness. So there was no more danger… Chihiro-kun would be able to live peacefully in a new, bright world…

But that meant no one had understood it was him. And Rokuhira was blaming himself for something he hadn’t actually done… That was probably why he had hidden himself away here. To escape the terrible memories. To avoid hearing the whispers in the reformed army — that it was he, the creator of the weapons, who had taken hundreds of thousands of innocent lives even after the enemy had bowed its head. So that not only he would be far from it all, but Chihiro too…

Children always suffer greatly for the sins of their parents.

But there had been no sin. Akemura had done everything. For the first time in his life, he felt at a loss: on the one hand, he didn’t have to listen to all that nonsense about the value of every single life. War, no matter how you look at it, pushes humanitarianism into the background. He had had a goal — to ensure the safety of the country — and Akemura had done it, paying with the blood of the enemy. Yes, there had been children and old people there, but it was dangerous to leave them alive. They would have returned, thirsting for revenge. Children were especially dangerous when deprived of their parents — from cute puppies, they turned into wolves. On the other hand, he didn’t want Rokuhira to blame himself for something he had no involvement in at all. That is, he had seemingly performed a miracle in secret, giving no one a direct reason to accuse Rokuhira, and yet he still began to suffer, believing himself guilty…

What should he do?..

Confess? But Rokuhira was already blaming himself. If Akemura told him outright — it was me who killed them with your sword — he would continue to hate himself anyway, because one way or another it would turn out that he had had a hand in those deaths. Of course, Akemura didn’t consider them tragic. Yes, he felt a little sad about the children, but what could be done? That was the price of victory in war. The safest way to finish everything. And now there was no proof, and there was still a chance to convince his brother that he had nothing to do with it at all.

Akemura hated lying. But there was such a thing as a lie for the greater good. Rokuhira was needed here. He had a small son. He had simply created a weapon. It wasn’t the creator who killed people, but the people who carried his creation. All the blame lay solely on Akemura.

"It’s not your fault, that’s for sure," he said cautiously, then squeezed Rokuhira’s shoulder. When Rokuhira looked at him with a bitter expression, as if to say he didn’t believe it in the slightest, Akemura added more gently: "It could have been a defensive mechanism on the island… You remember those people yourself. They fought as if tomorrow would never come. All for the sake of victory. Who knows, maybe their biology differed in some other way. Or their government… the members of the exiled royal family might have released some kind of gas to take everyone with them. You know? Like — if we can’t have our land, then no one will. One last spit in the face."

"There were no traces of gas."

"These are just assumptions… You surely understand what I mean," Akemura moved closer and looked into Rokuhira’s face. Don’t blame yourself for what I did, flashed through his mind. But I can’t tell you yet. For Chihiro’s sake. Live for Chihiro, damn it. "Until anything is proven, there’s no point in worrying. It could have been anything. Anyone. And it’s already happened."

"I can feel it."

Rokuhira’s intuition had always been exceptional. Yes, he understood — he had had a hand in this, and Akemura was that connecting link between him and the deaths of all those people. No, this couldn’t go on like that… Akemura had seen this once before — this face, the false smiles and cheer that ended in tragedy. Samura — this had happened with Samura. He, too, had looked as if the burden was too heavy for him, and it had ended in tragedy. However, this time, Akemura had an argument against which Rokuhira had nothing to say.

A child.

Love, in general, often changes people. It didn’t matter what kind: for one’s own child, for family, for a beloved chosen partner. Samura loved that girl, and because of that, he became weak. Ibuki loved his brother, and because of that, he became… weak. Rokuhira loved Chihiro, and because of that… But at the same time, all of them — Inori, Natsuki, and Chihiro — were the anchors that helped them hold on. Samura harmed himself but did not kill himself, because he couldn’t finish it to the end — he was awaited. Natsuki was always by his brother’s side when he grew weaker. And Akemura himself… was his sister his weakness? Or his nephew? Maybe he, too, was weak? Maybe Rokuhira was right, and by the end of the war, he had simply gone mad? But not like Samura — rather, the opposite?

Maybe there was sense in humanitarianism?

No. Nonsense. War is war. What kind of humanity was even being talked about here? One had to be able to separate the wheat from the chaff.

Akemura had done it because it was the right thing to do. Rokuhira had nothing whatsoever to do with his decision.

When he returned to Rokuhira with the child in his arms, Rokuhira looked at him at first as if he didn’t understand the point of it. Akemura, meanwhile, stepped carefully so as not to wake Chihiro. He was a big baby, and it seemed to Akemura that the burden of duty to the country wasn’t quite that heavy… All right, that was a joke. He was just afraid of dropping him. Chihiro was, no matter how you looked at it, the most precious treasure to him right now. When he handed the son to Rokuhira, he whispered:

"This is what you should be thinking about now."

As for everything else, he thought, I’ll take care of it.

Rokuhira looked at the child in his arms, and something in his gaze changed subtly. As for Akemura, he thought — he would have to keep this secret for now. Another necessary sacrifice, this time an egoistic one.

"Okay," Akemura said seriously. "Let’s start."

He took a hair tie, pulled his hair into a tight ponytail at the back of his head, then turned around.

He couldn’t have been more ready for this battle. An apron, hair out of the way… The most difficult fight lay ahead, because sitting in Rokuhira’s arms in front of him was Chihiro, who absolutely refused to eat formula and was being fussy. He was already three months old, and Akemura waited in horror for the day they would have to switch to vegetables. And that would happen very soon! But there was nothing to be done. They had to do everything perfectly, even if Chihiro cried and kicked. He was still small and didn’t understand the importance of all this.

Rokuhira watched Akemura intently, and when Akemura picked up the bottle with the formula, he said:

"I’ll hold him."

"Use the rattle."

The plan was simple: they needed to distract Chihiro and secretly feed him before he figured out what was going on. A couple of times this method had worked, but the problem was that Chihiro was a very perceptive baby, and soon the rattle stopped being interesting enough for him, whereas the bottle with the hated formula approaching his mouth very much was. Because of that, several attempts to feed Chihiro properly had already failed. That is, of course, he still ended up fed in the end, because he got tired of resisting — but Akemura and Rokuhira got even more tired than he did.

Never in his life had Akemura thought — damn it, battle was easier than dealing with a child. And his sister had somehow done everything perfectly fine during the first months…

The main thing was to make Chihiro take the bottle; after that, everything went smoothly. But getting to that point had become a real ordeal… He clearly took after his mother in temperament. Akemura sighed, then gave the command — shake the rattle — and, like a shadow, moved toward Chihiro. Chihiro stared at it — they had tried to make it more interesting by hanging little bells on it, which completely mesmerized him — and at that moment, Akemura carefully approached from the other side. The bottle was ready. Just a little more, a little more…

The moment Chihiro suddenly turned toward him, Akemura slipped the bottle into his mouth. Chihiro simply stared at him with his big reddish eyes, then latched on. God. It worked. They did it. No, really — when they started moving on to vegetable purees, it would be even worse. But about that… he would think about it some other day… not today…

"Well done," Rokuhira snorted while Chihiro desperately clutched the bottle with his tiny, chubby fingers. "You did it. Who would’ve thought, huh? That the skills would come in handy."

"Please don’t joke like that. War was much easier."

His answer, full of completely sincere suffering, made Rokuhira laugh, and when he laughed, Chihiro rejoiced too, making strange chirping sounds like a little bird. Akemura, however, wasn’t laughing. He had expected that he would truly be able to gather his thoughts in seclusion, far from intrusive society, but it turned out that living next to a baby didn’t allow for that. In the end, he and Rokuhira sometimes took shifts. Of course, Akemura didn’t do all that much… After all, it wasn’t his son, and Rokuhira didn’t want to trouble him too much, but still, he actively participated in the life of this tiny little human being, and before their eyes, an ugly pink worm was gradually turning into something resembling a person.

Chihiro was such an adorable child that even Shiba sometimes came over just to squeeze him. Akemura couldn’t even blame him.

Every time he looked at him, he thought — if I did all of this, then it was for you. To create a future where the country — and you in particular — would live in peace. It was only his sin, and it was his to bear. Akemura didn’t feel any particular pangs of conscience. It was the best decision available to him. Otherwise…

In any case, it didn’t matter.

"I heard Samura-san’s wife is pregnant. Soon, he’ll be wondering how to feed a baby, too."

"Oh, well, at least now we’ll have experience to help him," Rokuhira laughed, and Akemura sighed mournfully.

"I’m sure he’ll be a nightmarish father."

"What do you mean?"

"He’ll probably run circles around his child, gasping left and right, and won’t let any bad kids near him. Like a brooding hen. It’s terrifying."

"That’s wonderful!"

"Yes, but when Samura-san does it, it becomes terrifying, because he’ll be extremely serious about it."

If Samura weren’t such a moralist, he would probably understand my point of view, Akemura thought, but he had no desire to bring this up with him — of all people, Samura was the last he planned to share his thoughts with; he had been the first to break. Let him live peacefully surrounded by his family; maybe it would make things easier for him. No matter how you looked at it, Samura was still a dear comrade to him, and Akemura worried about his well-being, too. Well, in a way.

While Chihiro continued to empty the bottle, Akemura decided to step outside. He put on the homeowner’s soft slippers and went out into the yard, onto the withered grass.

It was mid-November. Soon the cold would come; winter would arrive. There would be more snow in the mountains than in the city. They needed to get warm clothes for Chihiro… So many concerns. For now, Akemura tried not to take too much interest in what was happening in the real world — he had done his part, and the rest was up to the army — but still, he sometimes listened to Shiba’s and Rokuhira’s conversations about what was going on beyond this little oasis. Sometimes he wondered — what were the others doing? Protecting the peace, right? They still had the blades. He hadn’t seen his own yet, and hadn’t asked either, assuming that Rokuhira wouldn’t give it back — like, wait a bit longer, you haven’t recovered, rest… And if Samura was busy with his wife, then what about the others? Uruha, Ibuki. The others? Were they protecting the nation’s peace, destroying the sprouts of rot that might appear?

Why did it sound as if an army that had withstood a dangerous enemy couldn’t eradicate the infection within its own country?

Whenever Akemura thought about that, his head started to ache.

The army would fix everything. He was sure of it. They still had several enchanted blades… they should be enough even against some sorcerers… Ibuki’s abilities were extremely dangerous. Uruha had taken part in purges even before… and so on. They would manage somehow without him and Samura. Samura would return later, when the child grew up…

"Everything okay?"

Hearing the voice behind him, Akemura turned sharply; Rokuhira stood there, holding Chihiro. He had already dozed off. Had Akemura really been standing there thinking for that long?.. Sometimes so much time slipped by in thought.

With effort, he tore his gaze away from Chihiro, looked at Rokuhira, and shrugged.

"Just a little tired."

"Yeah… Sorry," that unpleasant guilty look appeared on Rokuhira’s face again. Mourning didn’t suit him. "For making you worry over my son so much. It’s not really your responsibility."

"It’s fine. I’m only happy to help."

What was there to say? He could have refused and run away. He had stayed of his own free will. So Akemura stepped closer and leaned down toward Chihiro. Still so small. Round. Like a little bun. Akemura wanted to squeeze him in his arms and never let go — this tiny treasure, this little sun — but he merely smiled tiredly and pressed his nose to the crown of Chihiro’s head. He smelled of milk. Even out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Rokuhira was smiling.

It was nice to know that he loved his son and approached his duties as a father responsibly… well, he tried, at least. Even effort was worthy of praise. And Chihiro had never been sick yet; he just grew calmly and tried to chew either Akemura’s hair or a lock of Shiba’s, which Shiba always complained about (but allowed to continue). Children… yes, the future lay in children… They learned from their parents, and if things continued like this, Chihiro would grow into a good child. Rokuhira certainly wouldn’t scold him for something trivial; he would grow up to be a fine person.

Chihiro would have a happy life.

Akemura had tried so hard for that.

"Want to? Hold him."

"I’m afraid I’ll drop him," he said honestly, and Rokuhira snorted.

"You didn’t drop him the previous times. Come on, he’s your nephew. Yeah, go on."

Chihiro stirred in his arms but didn’t wake up, and Akemura continued to watch him — this tiny bundle of flesh and blood. His own blood. The son of his beloved sister. So small, so warm… He felt his eyes suddenly sting for some reason, and then he abruptly sank to his knees, still clutching the child, and while Rokuhira anxiously asked — what happened? — he thought about how much he loved this child, this charming baby. Never in his life had he felt such all-encompassing love. For him, he was ready for so much…

Words couldn’t describe it.

Shiba mentioned it in passing — things were not calm in the cities.

That was when Akemura’s patience snapped. He rushed to Rokuhira and begged him to give him the blade so he could help the others fight crime. To hell with rest — he could no longer sit quietly and wait while someone else dealt with it. But after his request, Rokuhira looked at him so strangely that Akemura — who had seen countless nightmarish sights during the war — felt truly afraid for the first time. There was something in that look, in the expression on his face… He suddenly felt like nothing more than a younger brother who had come with his sister to meet her husband. A nobody. Yet for some reason, Rokuhira didn’t get angry, though Akemura had thought he would. He simply placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it lightly, and then said softly:

"No. I won’t give you the sword."

Why?.. But Akemura didn’t ask the question, though he replayed it in his head many times afterward. Why wouldn’t he give it to him? Was something stopping Rokuhira? Nonsense. He had no reason to do that — only a vague concern for Akemura’s condition. After all, he had lost consciousness so suddenly at the signing of the peace treaty, having given more energy than he possessed…

Or maybe… he knew?

Akemura wasn’t sure that this prospect frightened him. Someday, he would confess himself when he was certain Rokuhira would take it not too… emotionally. After all, first he needed to take care of Chihiro, and matters of the past could wait — especially since the remnants of the problems were being dealt with (or were supposed to be dealt with) by the army. Still, the possibility that it could surface earlier never went away… Perhaps he really was a little unsettled, because he feared that his sister’s husband would take it the wrong way. No… not like that. Take it personally. After all, it was he who had entrusted Akemura with the sword. But that wasn’t his fault — it had been Akemura’s own decision…

In panic, people became suspicious, and Akemura knew that.

For now, however, there wasn’t a single hint that Rokuhira suspected anything. Perhaps he truly was too worried about that small incident. No matter how you looked at it, from the outside, it seemed as though Akemura had simply lost consciousness spontaneously due to exhaustion caused by the blade. And knowing that the sword’s abilities hadn’t affected others too well either — for example, Samura, who had seen too much and had therefore decided to blind himself… Yes, perhaps that was the real reason behind all of it.

That night, he couldn’t sleep, and he went out onto the veranda to get some air, but even there, Akemura found no peace, pacing back and forth and occasionally glancing outside. The first snow was slowly settling onto the black earth. Chihiro’s first winter. He should show it to him tomorrow… For a moment, Akemura froze mid-step. He remembered the previous winter. It had been terribly cold. His sister had said to him then — little brother, don’t catch a cold. She’d given him her scarf. And where had he put it?.. He couldn’t quite remember…

A cry came from upstairs, and Akemura raised his head. Awake. He hurried upstairs, and when he saw Rokuhira trying to crawl out of bed, he hissed at him:

"Keep sleeping. I’ll handle it."

"It’s fine, I—"

"I’m not sleeping anyway."

The daytime worries over the baby had completely worn Rokuhira out, and he almost immediately fell back asleep; Akemura, meanwhile, picked Chihiro up. Why are you crying, little one? What’s bothering you? Are you lonely? The diaper was dry… Thirsty or hungry? But Chihiro refused the bottle and just kept whimpering. Well, well. Look at you, Soga Akemura, turning into a professional nanny. The thought amused him, and he went downstairs, closer to the outdoors. Maybe Chihiro was too warm. He was wrapped up so tightly.

When he stepped outside, the child in his arms fell silent, gazing in delight at the snowflakes falling from the sky. Akemura looked up as well. The sky was black, deep, like an ocean. They had once fought by the sea… Only here there was no smell of salt, no piercing wind. When Chihiro reached up with his tiny hands, trying to catch the snowflakes, Akemura glanced at him briefly, then lifted his gaze back to the stars.

In the cities, you could never see them.

"Look, there’s Vega, and over there — Altair. Once every seven years, they meet… There’s a whole legend about it. You can make a wish."

Of course, Chihiro didn’t understand him at all. He simply raised his little hands, trying to grasp Akemura’s face, and Akemura bent lower. Such a tiny little life… A gift from above. He wished he could always tell him about the stars. But maybe later. In the future. When Chihiro grew up. He would surely follow in his father’s footsteps… Chihiro’s hair was still very soft, and Akemura stroked his head, then pulled him close. Well, at least he wasn’t crying anymore.

Akemura pressed him to himself and tightened his embrace. Closed his eyes.

"Do you think I did everything right?"

A doubt, as if it had seeped in by accident, imposed by society.

For the country. For the people. For you. I sacrificed the enemy, drained their lives to zero. I took this step of my own free will, because it was necessary.

But Chihiro didn’t answer, and Akemura had known the answer to that question for a long time already.

Sometimes, it was simply a matter of politeness.

He woke when something touched his shoulder; he jerked his head up sharply and stared sleepily at Rokuhira, who was watching him with an unconcealed smile. At first, Akemura didn’t understand the reason, but then he lowered his gaze and saw Chihiro beside him, snoring softly, also dozing. They had both fallen asleep on the couch while Rokuhira was dealing with something. And how long had he been watching them?

"If you want to rest, I can take over the nanny duty."

"Oh no," Akemura slowly sat up, then yawned so widely his jaw nearly cracked. To be honest, he really did feel a little tired. "Today it’s my turn. Otherwise, we’ll mess up the schedule. You need breaks too, or you’ll go crazy."

A sly thought flashed through his mind: maybe he should go visit Samura and see how he was doing with his daughter. She had been born only recently; they’d received postcards from Shiba. Samura was probably upset. He struck Akemura as the type who wanted a son. Besides, no matter how you looked at it, he’d lived in Shirakai’s dojo for quite a long time… That could leave a certain mark. Still, Samura was far too kind. At the thought of the old man, Akemura’s eye twitched involuntarily, and he was only glad that Chihiro would be kept far away from that vile old donkey, who seemed to have managed to spite everyone. Even the Misaka brothers.

His thoughts returned to Samura’s daughter. Only half a year younger than Chihiro. Maybe they’d go to the same school? That would be cute… and it would give him more reasons to visit Samura himself. He should talk about it sometime…

Another day passed amid small concerns.

Living without some kind of goal was sometimes difficult, but week followed week, and Akemura kept thinking: here I am, rotting away, sitting in one place while the country needs my help. But there were other guys out there… that brought peace to his heart, and so he no longer tried to ask for the blade back, even though with it he could have dealt with almost all the problems in an instant. Perhaps in this case it was worth acting carefully. Still, he felt a strange apathy. Winter passed, spring came. The cherry blossoms faded. Chihiro was already six months old, his teeth were coming in, and he’d switched to fruit porridges. With each day, he grew bigger and bigger, turning from a tiny bundle into a small person. Watching him grow, Akemura felt a strange stagnation within himself.

What was he supposed to do next?

He needed to return, to uphold order. That would be right. But Akemura didn’t even try to step beyond the barrier. He caught enough worried looks from Rokuhira to know exactly what he would say.

At night, after they had put Chihiro to bed, the two of them sat in the kitchen. Rokuhira didn’t really know how to cook — the porridges they got from Shiba, and the recipe was as simple as it could be — but he was at least capable of brewing tea. He stood by the kettle, waiting for it to boil, while Akemura sat at the table, propping his head on his hand and trying not to fall asleep. He was so tired after the day. Seemingly, he’d done nothing, yet he was completely wiped out. So this was responsibility… It was fine — Chihiro would grow up, and it would get a little easier. Just a little, but still…

"How are you?"

Akemura flinched and lifted his absent gaze to Rokuhira. He set a steaming cup in front of him. Had the kettle already boiled? And he hadn’t even heard it… He’d been lost in thought.

"I’m fine," he answered evenly, watching the tea leaves sink. Then he blinked a few times. "Just sleepy."

"You know, you really should rest. More than I should."

Rokuhira was starting this again. Before, Akemura had gotten angry, but now he felt nothing. What irritated him was that feeling — that Rokuhira believed only they, the swordsmen, had done anything in the war. Rokuhira hadn’t slacked off either. All of them had done their part: Rokuhira, Samura, and even Shiba with Azami. Always showing this pity. As if they themselves didn’t need to take a break. But Akemura wasn’t an idiot: he knew why he was hearing these questions at all. The war had changed him — if it had made Samura blind, then it had opened his eyes. But Rokuhira still believed that memory loss during the peace treaty was a sign of weakness of spirit, like: the war ended, the adrenaline ebbed away, and he showed how he truly felt…

No, not like that. But it was too early for the truth. Rokuhira wasn’t ready yet. And Samura’s daughter had just been born. Everything could be postponed. If it came to that, he would go and turn himself in to the Kamunabi. Akemura didn’t see that as something frightening. Let them decide what to do with him. He was ready to serve the country — and for its sake, to lay down his life.

"With all due respect, I don’t trust leaving Chihiro with just you," he snorted, and Rokuhira choked noisily on air.

"Hey! Since when do you know how to be rude?" Akemura pretended not to hear the question. Sometimes even the deceptive veil of his politeness slipped. "He’s my son, after all. I can handle it! And anyway, that’s not what I was talking about!" this time, his face simply grew more serious. "I was asking how your last six months here have been."

"Oh… Okay, I guess…"

Akemura stared at Rokuhira in confusion. Was he asking whether he’d found peace of heart? Not about today’s condition, but in general? He just couldn’t let go of that pity, could he?

"No. Really. Everything’s fine. Brother doesn’t need to worry about me so much," he said gently, then picked up his mug of tea. "Being close to Chihiro is already the best medicine. I think Samura understands that now, too. He’s probably not sleeping, standing night watch for his daughter. That’s the kind of person he is."

"I’m glad you feel good being around Chihiro."

And again that strange tone. Pity… but not quite. As if Rokuhira had said it with relief. Well, that was reasonable, Akemura thought distractedly, taking a sip from the cup. After all, they were one family now. Rokuhira was supposed to worry about him, and the fact that being near Chihiro supposedly made Akemura feel better… Well, all right, not supposedly. But the true reason for Rokuhira’s concern hadn’t actually gone anywhere.

A difficult situation.

"I know you’re probably sick of this question. You understand yourself — not everyone handles the end of a war well."

"That’s no joke," Akemura agreed. They all remembered the panic well, when Uruha had run into Samura after… his breakdown.

"Your friends are having a hard time with it, too."

"Anyone besides Samura-san?"

"I heard from Shiba that Ibuki has started drinking. And he’s not the type who’d drown his grief in alcohol without a serious reason."

Surprising. Of the Misaka brothers, Ibuki had always seemed the most steadfast to Akemura. If Rokuhira had said that Natsuki had fallen into despair, that wouldn’t have surprised him at all. Still, war broke the strong — and forged them as well. Natsuki had grown stronger, and Ibuki had broken. A pity. But if Ibuki was drinking, then who was protecting the country from internal problems? Was everything dumped on Uruha and the two other comrades? Or was Samura secretly helping out? Akemura couldn’t believe he was thinking this, but he needed to take care of himself first; in this state, he couldn’t help the country anyway. What if he broke down again? Let him worry about his daughter for now.

He took another sip of tea. It tasted bitter on his tongue.

"Don’t worry," he said wearily. "It’s all because they don’t know which path to choose. In simpler terms, because they have nothing to focus on truly. You and I take turns changing Chihiro’s diapers. Believe me, I don’t have time for despair."

"If I’ve managed to help you even a little, then I’m glad. After all, it’s my duty as the senior."

"You could take that responsibility on yourself. I mean the diapers."

A glint of amusement appeared in Rokuhira’s eyes.

"Stop joking around."

"You sound just like my sister."

Rokuhira smiled faintly, then stepped closer. The touch on his shoulder felt burning and pleasant. Chihiro has a wonderful father, Akemura thought. It was a pity he clung so tightly to morality, but he was by no means a bad man. It’s so that people like you can sleep peacefully that I was able to step over myself. But he said nothing — he simply rose to his feet and then was swallowed by wide, strong arms in a tight hug. If Rokuhira wanted to, he probably could have snapped his spine.

Well, purely out of love.

"You did well, Akemura."

Did well… The words echoed on his tongue with a pleasant sweetness. I’m glad you let me stay here, that you didn’t say it out loud, Akemura didn’t voice it, burying his nose in the collar of Rokuhira’s t-shirt. Even after a long break, Rokuhira still carried a faint scent of ash and iron. Maybe resting hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. I really do feel a little better. Later, I’ll do everything better, I’ll enter the fight right after my comrades…

…but for now, I’ll allow myself to be a little selfish and simply enjoy today.

"What? A divorce?"

When Rokuhira stared at Shiba — they were all three sitting in the kitchen — Shiba nodded with a rather philosophical air and then bit down on his unlit cigarette. Chihiro was with them, sitting in the guest’s arms, and Shiba was clearly trying to restrain himself. While the child played with the bracelets on his wrists, he shifted the cigarette to the other corner of his mouth and added:

"Well, more precisely, he tried. But Inori-chan growled at him pretty hard, so he only managed to stutter it out, and that was it."

"So the divorce didn’t actually happen?"

"Nope. Thankfully. But it was close. So yeah, that kind of crap, guys."

"And what about his daughter?" Akemura asked curiously. A grin spread across Shiba’s face. Oh, he knew exactly what that meant.

“You should’ve seen Samura. He’s worse than the two of you. Whines about having blood on his hands, yet absolutely dotes on his daughter. Quite the paradox,” Shiba pulled an exaggeratedly miserable face, then shifted his gaze to Chihiro and immediately broke into a grin. “And who’s this little one, huh? Who’s this sweet little thing? Huh?” like he was playing with a cat, Akemura thought absently, as Shiba lifted Chihiro higher and the baby babbled something. “No, just look at this adorable little bun! Rokuhira, how did such a wonderful little munchkin come from a monkey like you?”

When Rokuhira narrowed his eyes threateningly, Shiba shook his head with such a pitiful expression, as if he truly felt sorry for Chihiro.

“I hope he doesn’t take after you looks-wise, but your wifey instead. Or better yet, Mura-mura-chan!”

At first, Akemura considered how to respond, then let out a weary sigh.

“How many more stupid nicknames do you have for me?”

“Clearly not enough, if you’re still making faces like that. Seriously!”

“Keep joking, and you’ll regret it, Tougo.”

“Look, Mura-mura-chan! He’s switched to first names. He’s threatening me now.”

“I think you deserve it.”

“Well, well… Rokuhira, did you rope your brother-in-law into bullying me with you?”

Akemura and Rokuhira nodded in unison, and Shiba shook his head in dismay.

“Two traitors. I’ll remember this and be very offended,” he said, then adjusted his grip on Chihiro, holding him closer. “Look, Chihiro-kun, it’s just you and me against the whole world now. Hey, Rokuhira, you wouldn’t mind if I stole him from you, would you?”

“Will you change his diapers too?”

“And feed him in the middle of the night,” Akemura added.

“And make him eat his vegetables.”

“Oh, you know, guys, suddenly I don’t feel like it anymore. I think I’ll just be going…”

Of course, Shiba didn’t go anywhere. He kept fussing over Chihiro, and Akemura thought — that’s the last person I would’ve expected this from. There were people you could tell from a mile away would never marry, would stay bachelors their whole lives, and Shiba was exactly that type. And what about himself? On the other hand, Akemura was younger than the two of them, and thankfully, no one had started pestering him yet with questions like so when’s the wedding? and where’s your chosen one? Thanks — those could be left to the parents.

When Shiba mentioned again in passing that things were still uneasy, and that he’d barely managed to snatch some time to rush over here to check the safety lanterns, Akemura felt himself grow more alert. Why weren’t three enchanted swords enough? Yes, he and Samura were inactive, and Ibuki was theoretically more occupied with alcoholism (though his brother was probably trying to pull him back together), but three blades were already a lot. Still, asking about it in front of Rokuhira would’ve been unwise — he obviously wouldn’t have let Shiba answer properly — so Akemura decided to act more cunningly, even if it wasn’t entirely fair to his brother.

When Shiba finished his business, squeezed Chihiro one last time, and headed for the exit, Akemura followed him. Even though Shiba could teleport, he always did it outside Rokuhira’s property… Akemura wasn’t entirely sure how the barrier itself worked — maybe it blocked all sorcery; he couldn’t check that himself for obvious reasons — but it worked in his favor. When Shiba stepped out onto the stone stairs and stopped to smoke, he heard footsteps behind him and turned around, lifting an eyebrow in surprise.

"Oh, Akemura."

"No nicknames now?" Akemura snorted as he came closer, and Shiba broke into a grin.

"Gotta keep you on your toes. Do it unexpectedly. You want something?"

Of course, he understood immediately. Akemura pressed his lips together, then cast a quick glance back at the house. Rokuhira was busy with Chihiro right now. That was good — when he was with his son, he lost track of time, and Akemura didn’t need any extra questions about suspicious chats with Shiba.

"Shiba-san. Answer me honestly. What’s going on in the outside world?" when the corners of Shiba’s mouth fell, Akemura added with emphasis, "I’m not Samura-san. I won’t break. You don’t need to protect me. But you keep mentioning problems… Are enhanced blades really not enough to restore order?

Why is my older brother still keeping me here, locked up like some wild beast? I could easily wipe out all the scum poisoning ordinary people’s lives. But Akemura didn’t say it aloud. He just looked at Shiba pleadingly.

"Please. At least you answer me."

"Akemura," Shiba’s voice lost its mockery. He even dropped the nickname entirely. "I understand you’ve been living here for about a year now, but…"

"I’m fine, Shiba-san."

Shiba hesitated a little. He really is too kind, Akemura thought absently. No wonder he was Rokuhira’s best friend. They were alike in many ways, and their morals were the same. They worried too much about others. But Shiba was one of the executioners of the new organization. Akemura knew he had killed and tortured people. So even if he was kind at heart, he was still cruel — and could allow himself to step over pity.

After a brief silence, Shiba flicked ash from his cigarette and then pointed it at Akemura.

"Well, for starters, enchanted blades haven’t been used since the war."

"…the country is in danger, and you just locked the enchanted blades away in a vault?! With them, we could restore order in no time! Kill the bandits — or, if you don’t want that, at least throw them in prison! Others can decide that later! But we would eliminate even the smallest chance for those monsters to keep terrorizing the people!" Akemura’s voice was already growing hoarse from the strain, but he didn’t allow himself even the slightest pause to catch his breath. As he said all this — shouted it, actually — Rokuhira looked at him in silence, not a flicker of emotion on his face. "Fine, you don’t want to drag others into this, like Samura-san and Ibuki-san, then let me do it all myself! I alone am enough to put an end to this! I’ll sort it out in a couple of weeks! We’ll bring peace to this country! Why did you decide it was better to keep me locked up here and hide the blades?! You created a panacea and now refuse to give it to the people! Are you out of your mind?!"

In truth, Akemura rarely lost control like this. He preferred to resolve issues quietly and calmly, guided by reason rather than emotion, but even he had limits, and one of them had just been crossed. All this time, he had lived in the belief that his brothers-in-arms were continuing to protect the country from internal threats. Yet not only had Rokuhira denied them that chance — he had locked all the blades away — but he hadn’t even told him about it. An entire year!.. So much time wasted, when Akemura could have already acted, could have dealt with all the scum, and saved peaceful people! The thought of how many victims had been sacrificed while Rokuhira, for some reason, feared using the swords — his own creations — made Akemura’s heart bleed.

When he looked at Rokuhira’s face in desperation, Rokuhira pressed his lips into a thin line. He had been silent the entire time, and Akemura felt like a wave futilely crashing against a rocky shore. No matter what he said, there was no answer, as if he were being told without words: you are wrong, this is the only right choice. But that wasn’t true!.. He had exterminated the danger beyond the country’s borders; now it was time to deal with the rot still flowing through the veins of their nation! He was ready to destroy them day and night, just so bandits would finally stop terrorizing peaceful people, so people could breathe freely again! The war had ended a year ago, and people were still afraid to go outside!..

What kind of heroes were they, if they simply walked off the stage?

"Answer me!"

"Akemura."

When Rokuhira said his name, Akemura shuddered. Yes — come on. Say something. Tell me why you locked the swords away! Why did you ignore the needs of ordinary people?! We were heroes! He had already stained his hands with the blood of enemies, spared neither the elderly nor children!.. But Rokuhira didn’t know that. Right. It was as if cold water had been poured over Akemura’s head. To him, his wife’s younger brother was just a young man who tried so hard that he couldn’t endure it and lost consciousness from weakness on the day the peace treaty was signed.

He just pitied him. Damn it.

"An enchanted sword is a last resort. Especially in cities. You remember the scale of destruction yourself."

Oh, he remembered it well.

"But we won’t be fighting an enemy armed with datenseki!" Akemura objected, peering into his brother’s face. Come on, listen to me. Listen to reason. "Of course, we’ll act carefully. I will act carefully. And if we bring Samura-san along, we’ll even be able to restore buildings destroyed during fights and heal the wounded. But we can’t just sit here doing nothing! Don’t you understand that?"

"No, Akemura."

He had expected Rokuhira’s reply to be stern, but his voice was tired.

"Enchanted swords have brought more trouble than salvation."

"What are you talking about?.." Akemura stepped toward Rokuhira and grabbed his t-shirt in his fists. He felt more desperate now than even when he had seen the horrors of war. "They saved our country. The six of us did that, and without the swords, we would have fallen!"

"And what did that weapon do to you?"

To us?

Akemura choked with indignation, but he knew what Rokuhira meant. Samura had blinded himself because he had seen too much. Ibuki had started drinking. And Rokuhira was certain that something had happened to Akemura as well, but he was wrong. Akemura was perfectly fine. He had simply finally seen the world as it truly was and made the right decision. He clenched his fists so tightly that the fabric creaked, but Rokuhira didn’t move an inch, and Akemura felt as though he were standing before a titan he, a lone, small human, could not defeat.

His sword could bring victory in any battle — except the attempt to change a heart.

"No. No!" he cried out desperately. "It didn’t do anything! Give me the sword, please! I just want—"

"Want what?" Rokuhira cut him off sharply. Akemura fell silent, caught off guard. When his brother stepped toward him, he instinctively stepped back, and when broad hands settled on his shoulders, he trembled. "What do you want?!" there was almost genuine despair in Rokuhira’s voice. "Look at what you’ve become!"

"I’m fine."

"You’ve gone mad! You’re like a broken record, talking about the same thing over and over! You think of nothing but that sword! You don’t hear yourself — you bring up that damned blade almost every other day!" when Rokuhira shook Akemura by the shoulders, he found no words, staring at him strangely. Fearfully. He had never felt like this before. Nonsense. All of it was nonsense. He wasn’t insane. "I know you want what’s best, but those blades bring nothing but trouble. The new government will handle everything now. They have enough resources — the entire old army. And bandits are weaker than the islanders; they’ll do it slowly. The country can’t rely on you forever. Enough! You’re only twenty!.. You just think you’re fine, but all those killings affected you, too! You just don’t realize it! All those decisions — you would never have made them in your right mind."

"I made them knowing exactly what would follow!"

He killed all those people knowing it was sinful, but necessary for the nation’s prosperity. There was no other way. It was right — morality simply couldn’t accept it. A trifling sacrifice: two hundred thousand in exchange for millions. Rokuhira looked at him again as if at a madman and whispered words that made Akemura’s heart drop.

"I should never have handed you that cursed blade."

Akemura wanted to argue, but he didn’t have time.

They both turned at the same moment when a child’s cry came from the room. Chihiro had woken up. Probably startled by their shouting. Akemura stepped aside to let him pass to his son and remained standing in the hallway, unsure what to do.

The country was in chaos. He had to act. It didn’t matter what Rokuhira said. If no one else was going to fix the situation, then all hope rested with him alone. I’m sorry, he thought as he headed quickly for the basement, but I have to do this.

He would have to take up the sword again.

Of course, neither Shiba nor Rokuhira had told him that the blades were in the basement. It was intuition — or perhaps Magatsumi itself had answered his call, sending a faint whisper: I’m here, take me, come on… And he had never been in the basement before, and there was nowhere else to hide the blades — Rokuhira would never have buried them in the ground in his life; that would ruin the metal. The master within him would never commit such a barbarity. When Akemura rushed down the stairs, the door before him was locked; breaking it was simplicity itself, and he found himself in darkness. He groped along the wall for a switch, and then his eyes were met with a neat room, where six blades hung on the opposite wall.

His heart began to beat with a strange joy. There they were. There was his Magatsumi.

That was why Samura had suffered. That was why Ibuki had started drinking. They had all lacked the sword… They yearned to carry justice, surely…

His gaze instantly locked onto the single chest wrapped in shimenawa. As if someone were trying to ward off evil. He knew which sword lay inside. There was no need to guess. Akemura took a wide step forward and reached out his hand.

His fingers touched the wood.

Don’t do it, a voice suddenly sounded in his head — his own — and Akemura thought, why?

And then his body was pierced as if by a thousand needles all at once.

It wasn’t real pain — he knew that. Just a phantom, a layered barrier. Yet he couldn’t even cry out, couldn’t even draw a breath — the blow was too strong and too sudden. It was as if his consciousness had abruptly separated from his body and he had lost all control over it; he simply collapsed onto the floor, feeling only the faint convulsions running through him. His nose began to itch, and then blood started to drip from it, drop by drop. Rokuhira thought of it, the realization flashed through his mind. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe, so all that remained was to think. Rokuhira knew you would come here someday. He did this… why? For what?

For Chihiro?

But wouldn’t it be better if Chihiro lived in a safe world? Or was he afraid that one day Chihiro’s soul would also be harvested, the way Akemura had taken two hundred thousand lives? Chihiro… Chihiro was the reason for everything… He was the cause, the source… But it wasn’t his fault — this was all…

Pull yourself together. Take the sword. Finish what you started.

Be the justice and the judge this country needs.

Gritting his teeth, Akemura raised his gaze to the sealed chest and then clenched his fist. When he dragged his arm beneath himself, marks from his fingernails were left on the floor.

This is my sword, and it will obey me. I know it.

Maybe only a few seconds passed. Maybe an eternity. Only his arm still obeyed him, and he tried to rise, feeling that the more he strained, the harder the blood flowed from his nose. He stretched his hand toward the chest, sensing how Magatsumi slept somewhere there. Just a little more… Just a bit more… He would be able to touch it, to clasp the hilt once again… Just a little longer, and he would save this country again, but this time from itself…

"Don’t, Akemura."

But instead of the hilt, his hand touched someone else’s palm.

Rokuhira was standing over him. His gaze was full of pity — that same irritating, insulting sorrow. He thinks you’re insane, the Voice whispered in his head, he doesn’t understand that you are perfectly sane. It’s because your morality differs from what society accepts. Because people like that, too kind at heart, are incapable of seeing the full picture, they are always stopped by artificially created rules. Pity. Mercy. No. That won’t work. You understood perfectly well that the enemies would take revenge. A new generation would grow up, and they would strike again. Wolf cubs can be tamed, but they will still bite.

Rokuhira doesn’t understand that…

But Akemura had expected this outcome.

From helplessness, his eyes began to sting. He only wanted to make everything better, to finish what he had started. And instead, he was forced to sit on a leash in this gilded cage. If only he could get out… just for a single day… take the sword and complete what he had begun… Then the country would be fine. Then… then…

"It’s because your heart is still at war. You never truly returned from it. You live by the same ideals."

Nonsense. I live by my own principles. The war has nothing to do with this anymore. It simply opened my eyes.

"The war ended a year ago. You are no longer obliged to fight."

Akemura didn’t — couldn’t — object. He simply relaxed his hand, and then Rokuhira bent down, lifted him into his arms as if he weighed nothing, and carried him away. Only at the very last moment did he manage to cast a quick glance at the chest bound in shimenawa and think — what a shame. What a shame…

I just want to save people.

Chihiro was looking at him seriously with his little red eyes, and sitting in front of him, Akemura reached his hands forward. Come on, come on, he thought, beckoning him with his fingers. The little boy took a few hesitant steps toward him before wobbling and falling straight into his arms. He approached everything very seriously: Chihiro had started showing his character at just over a year old, and Akemura realized he was a rather serious and frowning child, much like his sister.

It was interesting to wonder which would win out: Rokuhira’s genes or his sister’s? Akemura wasn’t entirely convinced dad’s side had a chance…

Offended by his own failure, Chihiro stubbornly pursed his lips and looked at Akemura with a judging expression, as if asking whether it had been that bad. Of course, Akemura didn’t know it for sure — he simply understood. The boy was upset because he had tried so very hard, and Akemura could relate. He, too, liked to approach things thoroughly. But Chihiro was barely over a year old… that could be forgiven.

The two of them sat on the engawa of the house while Rokuhira was busy in the forge. Rokuhira’s soul couldn’t take it — he went back inside and resumed smithing, saying that he couldn’t let his skills rust. Akemura thought — you haven’t returned from the war either, and yet you keep forging as if another one is coming tomorrow. But at least I’ve given you peaceful times, free from external enemies… He didn’t voice this thought, of course. Instead, he placed Chihiro on his lap, and when the boy looked him in the eyes, he said wearily:

"You’re doing so well. Soon you’ll be running around the house, getting under dad’s feet."

"Really?"

He asked so seriously that Akemura couldn’t help laughing.

"Of course."

"Mura-mura…"

Shiba, that idiot, of course, used this silly nickname in front of Chihiro, and the boy liked it so much that now, apparently, Akemura would have to go along with it, because Chihiro called him that exclusively. Akemura had threatened Shiba with swift retribution, and Shiba had replied with a serene little smirk, saying he could find worse nicknames — and he probably could! But well, revenge could wait. Akemura rested his hand on Chihiro’s head and ruffled his soft hair, and the boy immediately forced a small smile. Not a wide smile, but one in his eyes…

Still, it suited him perfectly. God, Akemura thought, I sound like the most doting uncle in the world. If Shiba saw this, he would instantly come up with a million more ridiculous nicknames.

He picked Chihiro up and decided it was time to head back home to feed him lunch, but then he heard footsteps and the rustling of grass. Turning around, he frowned. Oh no — there he was, the source of all the ridiculous nicknames. Shiba, in his Kamunabi uniform, walked toward him with such an untroubled expression that Akemura felt like kicking him sharply in the knee, but restrained himself to avoid giving Chihiro a bad example. When Shiba smiled at Akemura, he frowned.

"Look, Chihiro, this is a naughty big doggy. He bites."

"What did you call me, Mura-mura?"

"Mura-mura," Chihiro repeated enthusiastically, and Akemura had to accept that this battle was lost.

Shiba didn’t stay offended for long. He glanced around the yard.

"Rokuhira in the forge?"

"Yes. Should I call him?"

"Nah, I’ll wait in the kitchen," he followed into the house. Akemura made sure he took off his shoes properly, and when he saw a hole in the toe, he clicked his tongue. "Don’t be mad, I came straight from work."

"So busy?"

"You can't imagine…"

"And what’s going on in the world?" Akemura asked flatly.

It was a simple trick, pure psychology, but Shiba saw through it instantly.

"No-no-no," he wagged his finger. "I’m not falling for that. Rokuhira said not to give you any news."

"Maybe I’m asking about cultural events."

"Uh-huh, sure. And those are related to my work. Don’t lie to me," he took Chihiro into his arms and immediately began smiling, and Akemura thought — no, really, like a big dog. "Oh, and who’s this big guy now? Chihiro, you’ve gotten so heavy! Soon, Uncle Shiba won’t be able to carry you, we’ll have to swap. Oh, what a good boy, eating well, aren’t you?.."

After Chihiro got used to vegetable porridge, he began eating without fuss, and the usual lunch battles with the most stubborn child in the world became routine because he would eat everything. Cooking wasn’t Akemura’s greatest skill, but he was better at it than Rokuhira, so he mainly took care of it. Sometimes, Shiba helped. The three of them managed somehow, and sometimes Akemura thought about sneaking away with Chihiro to Samura and asking for his wife’s help. Though Chihiro was a very obedient child. He even ate all the purees himself — just set a plate in front of him, and you could forget about him for a moment.

Shiba didn’t hide everything, though. He mentioned that Inori and Samura hadn’t gotten divorced, that Uruha had started performing in the theater, about Subaru’s restaurant… all sorts of everyday things. Complained about the paperwork at work, that the bosses made him use his transport to move instantly to distant locations. But Akemura understood that this wasn’t all. He didn’t need to read minds or predict the future: he could feel it from the fact that Shiba was still in uniform — signs of no rest, the smell of sweat and cigarettes meant he hadn’t been home in a long time. His hair was tied in a ponytail because it was poorly combed, and there were shadows under his eyes. Yet he was clean-shaven… Something about Shiba was too weird.

"And how are you holding up here, Mura-mura?"

"Rusting," he replied curtly, then took a cloth and wiped Chihiro’s face. "I should be out there, not sitting here. Just wasting time and skills."

"Oh, come on, I’m sure you train at night."

It was true. Akemura couldn’t allow himself to sit idle, so he often practiced with a training sword in the yard at night. Rokuhira had probably seen him a couple of times but said nothing. Maybe he still thought — your heart is still at war, that’s all…

He quickly glanced at Chihiro, still eating his puree, and then looked seriously at Shiba.

"How long does Brother plan to keep me here?"

"No idea," Shiba answered sincerely. "He hasn’t shared those plans with me."

"And you think that’s normal?"

"I think," Shiba said, "that you and Uruha, being the youngest, jumped into this shit too early, and it messed with your head. Only Uruha was a little weirdo before that, which is why he got along with Shirakai. But you… You really seem to have lost it."

Akemura didn’t bother hiding the threat in his voice.

"So you think I’m crazy."

Maybe he said it too loudly, because a spoon fell onto the floor nearby. He and Shiba turned; Chihiro glanced distractedly at it, then at Akemura. When Akemura apologized and picked it up, giving the little nephew a new one, Chihiro looked into his eyes, as if asking — are you angry? But what could Akemura say? He didn’t like lying, especially to his nephew — a pure, innocent being. So he simply kissed him on the temple and returned to the table.

Shiba watched him without blinking. No pity, but there was something unpleasant in his gaze. Hard to describe.

"I don’t think you’re insane," he suddenly said, leaning back in his chair. "I believe you’re quite a sane person."

"Then why keep me here?"

"Because your value system shifted after the war."

It was a surprisingly straightforward and honest answer, one Akemura hadn’t expected. He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Explain, please?"

"Let me give you an example. When the population of that island suddenly died all at once, everyone else was in shock. Terrified. There were plenty of children. When Rokuhira told you about it, you barely reacted, only gave a slight surprise."

"So the problem is in morality."

"You could say that."

"And you’re trying to retrain me?"

"I don’t think that’s possible," Shiba snorted. "Things like that change you forever."

A useless conversation. Akemura rubbed his nose with his fingers.

"And what do you think yourself? Would it be better if I returned, if I took up the sword again? Would I help you with the work?"

"Better for whom?" Shiba chuckled, and Akemura didn’t even have time to answer — didn’t even have time to think — because Rokuhira entered the kitchen.

They didn’t touch the topic again that day.

But after all, his confinement wasn’t real — well, not exactly confinement, of course. He had managed to beg for at least a short walk outside. Sitting with the same people within four walls was exhausting, and while Akemura knew he could endure it, he couldn’t stop worrying about the world behind those walls. Of course, everyone understood why he asked. Rokuhira was displeased, Shiba tried to dissuade him, but he insisted — and in the end, he finally stepped outside with the latter. Rokuhira still naively believed there was something wrong with Akemura’s mind, but Akemura had long since accepted it. Differences in morality were always easier to explain with something like that. He simply nodded at every warning: don’t start a fight, don’t do this or that… It was all a waste of time, but if others felt safer telling him what to do, so be it. A small price to pay.

When they teleported to the city center, Akemura quickly looked around. To be honest, little had changed since the pre-war days. Lots of cars, crowds of people, advertising banners. It really resembled the idyll he had once hoped for. As he scanned the streets, Shiba lightly tapped him on the shoulder and nodded ahead, and Akemura saw…

His eyebrows involuntarily rose.

"That’s… so absurd."

It was a statue of himself.

It didn’t look like him at all. Broader shoulders, a more imposing figure. More like what people usually imagined heroes to look like. The more Akemura stared at it, the more he wanted to approach it and chop its head off — it was a nightmarish sight. He didn’t look like that! He groaned and hid his face in his hands, then turned to Shiba. Judging by the little smug smile, he had expected exactly this reaction.

"Well? Like it?"

"Do the others have ones like this, too?"

"Oh, sure. You’re heroes now, aren’t you?"

"Heroes…" Akemura echoed, then frowned even more. "What kind of heroes are we if we do nothing? Never mind, don’t answer — that would start another endless debate, and then you’d lock me in Rokuhira’s house for another year while I fully turn into Chihiro’s nanny."

Shiba merely snorted but said nothing.

Books were written about a later history, but not the whole truth. The streets were quiet, but alleys between buildings still held memories of destruction. Countless street kids. Illusory peace and lies mingled together, creating a new society. A pity, Akemura thought. A real pity. He could have brought ideals and order to this world, but ridiculous fear prevented him from even picking up a sword. They were afraid for no reason. He could have ended it all quickly. And then… then…

No, he had to keep everyone under the boot a little longer… Otherwise, the bugs would crawl out again.

After finishing one of the new history books, Akemura closed it shut and returned it to the shelf. He and Shiba left the bookstore. Rain began to drizzle. He thought abstractly that he hadn’t even brought an umbrella, but when something opened above him, he looked at Shiba in surprise, and the man smiled.

"Don’t want to go see chicks in New Yoshiwara? To relax a bit and all that shit."

"You mean, the brothel?" Shiba nodded enthusiastically. Akemura was taken aback. "That’s… a very interesting proposal."

"I just think you need a little break from being such a good boy. Heard the truth about cinema? People react best to two things: violence and sex. You’ve been focused on the first; maybe the second will make it better."

"That’s silly."

"Maybe," Shiba didn’t argue, then squeezed Akemura’s shoulder and pulled him closer. A hot whisper brushed against his ear. "But it’s worth trying. Sex, my friend, is one of life’s fundamental truths… Come on, if nothing else, we’ll have fun drinking. You can’t babysit Chihiro forever! Want me to call someone? Azami, for example. Or Uruha. At least he doesn’t have a kid or alcohol problems!"

He could have asked Azami, Rokuhira’s most serious friend — are you okay with me, the best solution to your problems, sitting idle? He could have asked Uruha — why are you doing nothing? The country is still in danger, and you chose to go to the theater. But he knew such questions would only offend them, so he shook his head. Still… just meeting a pretty girl… that was possible. Not necessarily having sex, just talking.

Passion and blood. Humanity’s two pleasures.

I did everything right for this country, but I can’t keep protecting people if they’ve taken away my weapons and chained me from them. Can I even call myself a hero? Books and statues lie. I just did what was necessary, but didn’t finish… A useless hero. These thoughts ran through his mind repeatedly; when he and Shiba entered the teahouse, when they were surrounded by beautiful women and started drinking, when one of them fell onto the mattress, her black hair spilling like night… He leaned over her, studying the doll-like face, thinking — I don’t understand. I don’t understand why my brother won’t give me the weapons to make this world better for everyone, including children like Chihiro and Samura’s daughter.

Why is he afraid?

By evening, despite doing nothing essentially, Akemura felt drained, like a squeezed lemon. He let Shiba teleport him to the doorstep and said goodbye, then turned as Rokuhira stepped onto the porch. They looked at each other, and this time Akemura couldn’t read his brother’s thoughts. Absolute emptiness.

Do you judge me? What will you do when I reveal the truth?

What if… What if you were right, morality dictates the truth, and I…

No. Complete nonsense.

He leaned forward, then, as if suddenly drained, collapsed against Rokuhira; Rokuhira caught him and held him in a loose embrace, unsure what to do. His sister used to do this… Sometimes, for some reason, Akemura missed the blissful ignorance of those times. But he had to bear the burden of knowledge — if not him, then who?

For the nation. For family. For…

"I’m tired," he whispered, closing his eyes.

A broad, warm hand stroked his back.

"This is a bird, Chihiro. A long-tailed tit. See it?"

A tiny white ball with wings and bead-like eyes perched on a branch, gently swaying.

They had wandered a little further from the yard, deeper into the forest. Winter had come; the snow was finally deep, and he had to carry the child through it. Chihiro, bundled so warmly that only part of his face was visible, stared wide-eyed at the bird, then repeated:

"Birdie."

"Yes."

"Can it fly?"

"Yes, almost all birds can fly."

"Not all?"

"Penguins. Or ostriches. Very big birds," Akemura squatted next to him when Chihiro looked at him as if he were speaking nonsense — like, a bird that doesn’t fly? He added, "They’re in your big book. We’ll take a walk, and I’ll show you. Okay?"

Chihiro was a very smart and curious child, and even just taking care of him was easy. Once he had learned to speak a little and walk, the sleepless nights ended, and an idyll began. It only took a year and a half. He often followed behind Akemura or Rokuhira like a little shadow. It was amusing… Very different from the usual lifestyle. Even Rokuhira had started smiling more often. Life with his son clearly brightened his life. Akemura, perhaps, was even a little glad. Rokuhira deserved it.

He pulled his scarf over his nose and then gestured for Chihiro to come. Chihiro kept staring at the bird with keen curiosity, then trudged toward him, sinking into the snow. Akemura picked him up, and Chihiro clutched at his clothing. He squeezed his eyes shut when Akemura kissed him on the forehead. Unlike other children, he expressed affection differently. He didn’t smile as often, didn’t say how much he loved his dad or uncle, but showed it with his gaze or actions — like now, gripping Akemura’s haori tightly.

The tit, as if sensing they were leaving, suddenly flitted from the branch and disappeared into the gray, snowy sky. Chihiro sighed in disappointment, then looked up at Akemura and pouted.

"Can people fly?"

"No," though sometimes, with sorcery, they can, but that would be too complicated for a little child. "But they can run fast. Not as fast as some animals."

"Boring…"

"But humans have brains," Akemura tapped his temple with a finger, "and strong arms," he tapped his bicep. "Together, no other animal has that."

He didn’t go into the details about certain types of highly intelligent monkeys or crows that could make tools — extra details a small child didn’t need. Chihiro thought for a moment, as if processing the information, then nodded with satisfaction.

"So, Dad is strong arms. And you are brains."

Oh, no. Don’t start thinking Dad is stupid. But Chihiro seemed very certain about this, so Akemura just smiled, then adjusted him comfortably in his arms. Holding onto clothing with mittens wasn’t very easy, but Akemura held him tightly — he wouldn’t fall.

"Who would you like to be more like, Dad or me?"

Chihiro immediately scrunched his face, as if unsure how to answer. He loved his father very much… Akemura treated his own family indifferently, just respectfully, but when Rokuhira wasn’t stuck in the forge, Chihiro always tried to stay close to him. Of course, he often sat with Akemura too and loved him almost as much, but his father was his world, his light. In its own way, it was impressive.

When it seemed like Chihiro was about to cry, Akemura smiled and headed toward the house.

"Well, Dad is still the most important person to you. You’ll probably choose him."

"But I love you too…"

"Choosing Dad doesn’t mean you’ll stop loving me."

Chihiro seemed skeptical again, but the choice clearly puzzled him — who did he love more? Still, for such a little child, he was very smart. He had started speaking and responding so quickly, though only briefly, and he was still so young. Maybe it was somehow connected to sorcery… accelerated development… Akemura didn’t fully understand those things and didn't really care.

He crossed the threshold of the house, then undressed Chihiro and removed his own shoes. Noise came from the kitchen. Had Rokuhira returned from the forge? But when Akemura turned, he saw none other than Shiba standing on the doorstep.

"Look, Chihiro-kun," he pointed at the uninvited guest. "Who’s this?"

"Bad doggy!"

"What have you taught the child, you bastard?" Shiba muttered and squinted threateningly, wagging a finger. "Be glad we have a witness, otherwise I’d throw your scrawny ass straight into the snowdrift."

"Bark?"

"Chihiro, dear, close your eyes for a second. Uncle Shiba needs to do something."

At first, Akemura genuinely believed this blond fool was joking, but he was wrong. Oh, how wrong he was. Shiba teleported right in front of him so suddenly that even Akemura’s instincts didn’t catch up. When Shiba grabbed him under the arms — he was slightly shorter than this bastard — and slung him over his shoulder, he tried to fight, but was held tight. Chihiro watched their scuffle in horror, but he didn’t see the finale, because Shiba suddenly teleported to the roof and, from there, singing as he waved goodbye, threw Akemura straight into the snowdrift under the window.

Fortunately, the house wasn’t only two floors high, and he himself was sturdy. When Akemura climbed out of the snowdrift and demanded Shiba come down — now it was a matter of pride — Rokuhira appeared from the forge, frowning at the two of them as if scolding their childishness, even though Akemura (and Shiba) knew he usually would have been the first to join this idiotic tussle.

"What are you two doing?"

"It’s a matter of honor," Akemura curled his bare toes, then pointed at the roof where Shiba continued grinning triumphantly. "Get down from there, you asshole. I’ll kill you."

"Catch me first, Mura-mura-chan!"

They exchanged ridiculous insults until something rustled inside, and Shiba teleported away, probably scared it was Chihiro. Well, thought Akemura as he cautiously stepped through the snow barefoot, I’ll shove snow down his collar when he least expects it. He took a few steps toward the house, then turned to Rokuhira, still standing at the forge’s threshold with a distant look.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice Akemura approach and look at his face — he flinched, then shook his head.

"You sure know how to walk quietly."

"Everything alright, Brother?"

When he nodded, Akemura didn’t believe him for a second. He hadn’t even joined in Shiba’s childish antics; if everything was alright, he surely would have. He stretched out his hand and touched his brother’s face. Rokuhira didn’t flinch, though Akemura expected him to.

"You feel hotter than usual."

"That’s from working in the forge. Happens sometimes."

"No, I mean…"

On the other hand, Akemura was speaking to the most stubborn person on the planet. The one who simply took the datenseki under his control when no one else could. Of course, he wouldn’t admit he wasn’t feeling well; Akemura felt a prick of irritation but dismissed it — he had to act as his sister would. He grabbed Rokuhira by the arm, ignored his protests, dragged him into the forge, and forced him to extinguish everything; then literally shoved him into the house. Rokuhira tried to resist, but Shiba helped Akemura, quickly understanding the situation, and together they convinced this reluctant father to rest.

In the end, to distract Chihiro, Akemura read him a book about birds, showing how ostriches and penguins looked, then fed him and sent him to bed. While washing dishes, Shiba quietly entered the kitchen and sat at the table. He still smelled of work cologne and exhaustion but looked slightly better. That alone told Akemura enough about the state of things outside. He leaned over the kitchen counter and took out a bottle of wine — supposedly for cooking, but drinking was always an option.

When he set the bottle in front of Shiba, he raised an eyebrow.

"Luxurious shit, eh? Where is it from?"

"There’s a guy in the village below who delivers goods from the city. A bottle of wine isn’t the trickiest thing to find."

"And Rokuhira let you go there?"

Akemura looked at Shiba with a grim glaze, then placed two glasses.

"I’m not crazy, Shiba. And he knows I won’t run off to the city. Without the sword, I can’t do much against truly dangerous criminals."

"I just asked, don't be such an ass," Shiba carefully poured the wine, then, as they sat across from each other, they clinked glasses. "That fool got sick. Came out of the forge all sweaty into the cold — no wonder he got too cold. He was never like this, and here stress finished him off… You take care of him, or if I help, I’ll soon be joining him myself. Although," a sly grin flickered across Shiba’s face, "if you feed me and let me sleep well, I’ll be all for it."

"Is the situation in the country really that bad?"

Akemura liked the joke about Shiba joining this little sick club, to be honest. It was genuinely amusing, and he knew Shiba was the kind of person who would risk himself for his friends' sake. But the truth behind the playful words was more important. He looked seriously at his friend, who hesitated, then shrugged ambiguously.

"The big sorcery families are clashing with the Kamunabi for spheres of influence. Before, they hid, and the government didn’t know about them. Now they think they can push their shitty opinion around. We made deals with a few, but some are stubborn."

"You made deals with the enemy?" Akemura whispered, and Shiba twisted his mouth.

"We don’t have the means to fight them all. Whole armies of sorcerers who have trained all their lives to tear throats. Kamunabi's recruits aren’t that skilled yet, some are just kids. It’s like sending them to slaughter."

"But you have options, Shiba."

"We’re not debating this again."

Akemura sighed deeply and shrugged.

"Great. So we cooperate with the enemy. With criminals, this scum. Wonderful."

"Hey, many former gangsters with some fancy abilities joined us and now serve the country. Maybe we can slowly tame them."

"How many people have to die while you're 'taming' them?" Akemura said coldly, gripping the base of his glass. He drained it in one gulp. His ears buzzed. "They act brazenly because they see you not using your deadliest weapon. Trust me, if one of our six just faced them — no need to draw the sword — they’d run away like scared rabbits. That’s their nature. Stop circling around. If you’re afraid to send me, convince Rokuhira to give the sword to Uruha — he’s good. Or better, to Ibuki, before he drinks himself to death. You don’t understand, but I know why he started to like booze more and more," Akemura said with full certainty. "It’s not trauma. Take a drug from an addict, he’ll howl. For a former bosozoku, this sword is the strongest drug."

"You think Azami and I haven’t already talked to Rokuhira about this?"

To be honest, Akemura hadn’t thought so. Considering how close they were as friends, he assumed they agreed to hide all the swords without any fights. When he shook his head, Shiba rolled his eyes.

"I understand both you and him. You’re right, these swords are like drugs. And they’ve ruined three already. You’ll say again that you’re fine, but you’ve changed too," Akemura thought, how exactly have I changed, why does no one answer that question. "I know it would be much easier with them, but using the swords means putting all six of you back into the fight. And you’ve already suffered more than anyone else in the war. Samura has a daughter now, and Uruha has a career. Subaru has that wretched little restaurant. The things they wanted to do, you understand? And dragging them into battle again… how long would you last?"

"Then we could make other swords."

"That’s nonsense. There were already too many of you six, and now you say, hey, let’s make a new army capable of destroying the entire world with a snap of the fingers. You were the people we trusted, but the newcomers? What if one of them snaps as Samura did? Only this time, it’ll hurt others, not just themselves. That’s the crux of it."

These were valid, understandable arguments. Akemura could agree with everything: that it wasn’t worth pulling people like Samura into it again, because he barely recovered from his trauma (did he ever fully recover?), that the weapons of war should have died with it… But the answer to all of it was always humanitarianism, and it wasn’t always the right solution. Yes, one should be kind to their neighbor, but if that neighbor was holding a knife over you, why try to retrain them? Wolves can’t be tamed; they’ll always look toward the forest. But Shiba was definitely right that they, the chosen six, at least knew they could trust each other, whereas the newcomers were an unknown, dangerous field…

He rubbed his temples, thinking. Fine, they wouldn’t give him a weapon. He couldn’t go into the field alone, even though a single use of Magatsumi would solve most of the problems. But he couldn’t just sit idly by. He had to find a way to push all those bureaucratic pests who hesitated and did nothing onto the path of action…

As night approached, he said goodbye to Shiba, who promised to drop by tomorrow with medicine. Then Akemura went upstairs. Chihiro was sleeping sweetly in his bed, unconcerned about anything beyond the walls of his tiny world. Akemura gave his nephew a quick, disinterested glance and then headed to the master bedroom. Rokuhira was also resting. In his sleep, his face had lost the grim facade. Akemura had seen during the day, as if he had become the very self Akemura had once met — the master whose radiance reminded one of the sun. He sat beside him, pondering what he could do.

The sword was out of reach. He couldn’t resolve the nation’s problems quickly. So he needed another way… another path. The very fact of his own inaction angered him more than anything else, because he could understand Rokuhira — he just thought differently. He turned away and clasped his hands, listening to the silence of the house. Somewhere down there, his blade slept, too. If only… if only he could touch it…

All those rats would have long been burned in flames.

"…mura."

Akemura spun sharply at the sound of the voice. Rokuhira was looking him in the eyes. He rarely appeared tired; Akemura couldn’t recall seeing him so during the war. Perhaps only when someone close to them suffered greatly. Even Shiba hadn’t left the war unscarred. But now, he didn’t have to bear the weight of the nation like a colossus. Rokuhira could relax. Take care of his son.

Everything else rested with the new government. Meaning, everything was idle. Useless dogs.

"You… when it happened on the island… you…"

Rokuhira’s voice sounded drowsy, as if he hadn’t fully woken. Akemura’s heart seemed to freeze over.

He knows?.. He does know? He must have guessed. Rokuhira had brilliant intuition. He probably understood what Akemura had done. Yes, Akemura knew it was the right course, but Rokuhira’s morality was different; he wouldn’t accept such a decision… Well, it couldn’t be avoided. He stared at his brother, waiting, but Rokuhira muttered half-asleep:

"You felt it, didn’t you?.. That’s why you lost consciousness… Damn, it’s all the datenseki… I shouldn’t have forged such a sword, shouldn’t have made you the central link…"

…no, Akemura was wrong. Brother didn’t know. His gaze darkened, but he said nothing, just shook his head, then took Rokuhira’s hand. Warm. It was all… stress. He was just very tired, constantly worried for him and Chihiro. Akemura had to leave this cozy little cage to stop causing Brother trouble. It would be sad to leave Chihiro alone, but… perhaps it was for the best. Besides, nothing prevented Akemura from visiting his nephew and his sister's husband.

He glanced at Rokuhira again, then squeezed his hand tighter. His sister did it far better. He wanted to say — no, it wasn’t the datenseki; it wasn’t their resonance that reached me at the moment the enemy nation ceased to exist. I alone did this. For this country. For you, for our sister, and for Chihiro. Because it’s the work of a hero — to maintain peace, sometimes at such a cost.

Two hundred thousand souls for the well-being of millions.

But people struggle to accept this, because moral norms taught everyone such useless compassion.

"Don’t overstrain yourself," he said gently. "I’ll do what needs to be done."

The central headquarters of the Kamunabi, to be honest, slightly disappointed Akemura — he had expected the place to be prominent, as if to signal to the criminal world that a new inquisitor had arrived, ready to eliminate all threats. Instead, he saw a fortress underground. Of course, it was somewhat reasonable… hard to access from the outside, which made the HQ safer, but still, shouldn’t they have shown the scum where their place was? A little flair wouldn’t have hurt. But he wasn’t exactly an expert in such matters, so he wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

Following Azami, he glanced around absentmindedly. So far, he hadn’t run into a single former member of the six, though he had hoped to. It seemed they really had been retired, put on the shelf like useless weapons, if one could put it that way. On one hand, Akemura understood why; on the other, Samura could have taught people the Shirakai Itsuo style. And although Shirakai himself evoked extremely mixed feelings in Akemura (somewhere between hatred and irritation), his style was effective, as they had proven during the war. Samura could have earned well here as an instructor. His pension was, of course, generous, but still…

Maybe Akemura overthought things in ideals.

He walked behind Azami, who briefly explained where everything was.

"…and over there is the cafeteria. If you plan to eat here, you can sign a contract, and the meal fee will be automatically deducted from your salary. It’s not much. The portions aren't that great… yet. We’re still working on it."

"Where are the training halls?"

"On the minus third floor. Several elevators lead there."

They stopped in front of one. In uniform, Azami looked good — he was well-built, and it emphasized his position. He looked intimidating. Akemura had refused the uniform — he came solely as an instructor; he didn’t need it. Unfortunately, this was the most he could persuade Rokuhira and Shiba to allow, but at least they were satisfied with the plan.

For a week, he would live in a designated apartment, returning on weekends with Shiba’s help. That was the arrangement. Ostensibly, it was so Chihiro wouldn’t forget him, though Akemura knew they were really just keeping an eye on him. Still, even this arrangement was better — maybe during training, he could instill into his students not only skills but also an understanding of what to do. Set the right mindset, loosen up the impenetrable shell of morality a bit.

Azami looked at him inquisitively.

"It’s good that you decided to help us."

"I knew you were short on hands. Shiba-san kept saying otherwise."

"Shiba talks a lot," Azami muttered, and Akemura rolled his eyes silently. Those two were always like cats and dogs. "Well, we’re slowly sorting everything out. It’s not as bad as it seems. We even managed to recruit a few former gangs that used to operate in the northwest."

"Really?.. And they just agreed?"

Akemura didn’t trust such turncoats, but Azami seemed unconcerned.

"They needed money, so we promised them a good salary and a roof over their heads. Believe me, for many such bandits, that’s all they want. Guarantees."

Indeed, it was true. But someone who had once committed a crime could return to it again — a simple truth. Akemura, however, decided to keep that opinion to himself. Time would judge.

They entered the elevator, which hummed softly as it descended. Azami looked at Akemura.

"Will it be a problem that you’re left-handed?"

"I can switch hands for demonstrations. It’s not that hard."

"I hope so. The faster you teach these kids some sense, the more hands we’ll have, and the faster we’ll get everything done," they said as they left the elevator and walked down the corridor. "Of course, I’d like to see you in the field, but…"

"But Rokuhira forbade you."

Azami didn’t answer, and Akemura snorted to himself. Of course.

"We have to keep several medics here in case someone has… a situation. A whole damn staff of psychologists. You think this is a joke?" Akemura looked Azami in the eyes impassively, and Azami clicked his tongue loudly. Probably the closest of their little friend group to understanding his point of view. "I know, sometimes it doesn’t seem that way. You think you’re fine, and then something small can remind you — and that's it, you’re whining and trembling like a leaf in the wind. Akemura, I trust that you’re fine, but Rokuhira lived alongside you for a year and a half. His observations also need to be considered."

"I already understand I won’t be given a sword. At least let me help with training. I can’t just sit still."

"That’s why you’re here."

Why not hire Ibuki, too, Akemura wanted to ask. He knew that Natsuki, the younger brother, had also joined the Kamunabi. It would be better with the two of them — they always operated as a pair. If you’re so afraid of the swords’ power, make Ibuki an instructor too. Simple training wouldn’t awaken memories, but it would help distract from bad thoughts. But he knew Azami had probably already thought of it. Perhaps Ibuki himself didn’t want to.

It was all very complicated. Ibuki’s life would have been easier if he had a sword in his hand. But Akemura didn’t say anything.

When they reached the large hall, Azami gestured toward it. Yes, this was a good place. Plenty of mats, so falling wouldn’t hurt. Akemura preferred more rigorous training — like Shirakai Itsuo’s style, to fight for real, like it was a serious battle — but he understood not everyone could endure that. He walked around, inspected the equipment, then nodded. He didn’t have a teaching license, but the Kamunabi turned a blind eye. They truly needed people. And Akemura would finally have a chance to do something better for his country.

Maybe Rokuhira would see his results and reconsider. Would give him the sword.

"By the way, I wanted to thank you for looking after Rokuhira," Azami said ambiguously when Akemura gave him a surprised look. "When he collapsed, catching a cold. I heard you were holding down the household."

He had to not only manage the house, cook for three, clean, and teach Chihiro, but also ensure his brother took his medicine on time — remarkable, considering a man who had mastered six legendary weapons could be so careless. After a week of being sick, when Rokuhira slightly recovered, Akemura himself collapsed — not from illness, but from near-total sleep deprivation. He appreciated Azami’s gratitude, though he would never repeat such exertion.

No way!

"So, your verdict?"

Akemura picked up a bokken, twirled it, then gave Azami a sly look.

"Ready to scare the fresh meat. Who do you suggest I kick up first?"

"Oh, I have a suggestion," Azami’s eyes darkened like the night. He was thinking of something nasty. "Natsuki. Knows nothing of discipline. What else to expect from a former bosozoku? But he badly needs a disciplinary spanking, and no one here will do it better than you."

Work isn’t about racing on a bike or fighting in alleys, Akemura wanted to say. Natsuki was young; he just didn't understand yet, and they’re peers… Strange to say that, isn’t it? But Natsuki needed a teacher, that was true; he was sometimes impulsive and aggressive. Not the kind of behavior to show in such an organization.

"If you want him to really learn, threaten to call his best friend, Uruha Yoji. He’ll behave like obedient sheep instantly."

"Wow," Azami laughed. "You hate him that much? What are you, a villain?"

“…there was a clash between a criminal organization and the authorities; during the fighting, civilians were harmed…”

Depressing.

Akemura didn’t like drinking, but sometimes even he could down a small glass to clear his head. He watched the news on the small television perched in the corner of the bar counter with little interest; noticing his focused gaze, the bartender apologized and switched the channel to a music program. Akemura didn’t protest, merely giving a faint, almost imperceptible smile before turning away. Honestly, he didn’t care. He already knew everything happening in the world.

The country never quieted, like an eternal fire.

He did his duty, but his heart demanded more. Something else was needed — he couldn’t just be an instructor; he needed to go into battle like the others… help the guys, destroy all evil. But he was being watched. Observed. Someday it would end… someday either they would grow tired, or Akemura himself would snap, take a normal sword in his hands, and start killing villains with nothing but his skill. An enchanted sword wasn’t always necessary to restore order, but it would make things much easier. Yet he held back. For Rokuhira. For… but really, for what?

He wasn’t alone at the counter. Beside him, resting his head on the bar, lay a young man — maybe slightly older than him. Akemura couldn’t see his face, but he looked as inconspicuous as possible — black hair, white shirt, only the violet earrings stood out as a bright spot in the monochrome. Nearby were a few empty beer glasses, and by the man’s hand lay a silver ring. Akemura felt sympathy for the poor guy — he didn’t look like a happy drunk; perhaps, the ring carried a more sorrowful meaning than a joyful one. Or maybe he’d been dumped. That was possible too.

He drained his glass and winced at the taste of the sake. Not the best brand here.

“Excuse my impertinence,” said the bartender nearby, and Akemura looked at him in surprise. The man lowered his eyes. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before. Though I doubt you’d answer, of course…”

“In history books,” Akemura winked, pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell anyone. Let’s keep it our secret.”

Judging by the bartender’s face, he understood immediately who he meant. How quickly. Could it be that history books really contained their photos? Well, he had seen such photos, but that someone would actually remember them… Alright, Uruha was an easy answer — at least he did public work, or Samura, whose facial scars were quite prominent. But Akemura couldn’t exactly boast of standing out.

When the bartender placed a bottle of sake in front of him — a good sake, not the swill Akemura had just drunk — he was surprised.

“On the house,” the owner proudly announced.

“Oh, you don’t have to. It’s expensive.”

“Nah-nah, it's fine. You are our savior. Without you…”

“Sword… Saint.”

When the man with the ring stirred beside him, Akemura looked at him with sympathy, though he felt no smile. That he was recognized so easily… And this man… drowning sorrow in alcohol. Ibuki did the same, and it was a poor path. But he couldn’t condemn those who mourned. Sometimes, people just wanted to forget.

He asked the bartender to pour the sake into three small cups: one for himself, one for the owner, and one for the spontaneous companion.

When the man lifted his head from the counter, his eyes looked like murky gold. Tomorrow, someone would have a terrible hangover. He didn’t refuse the drink and drained his cup in one gulp. His shirt was wrinkled; he looked generally shitty.

“You are very observant,” Akemura noted, swirling his cup. “Though you weren't really looking at me all this time.”

“I’ve been… watching you. Since you… first came.”

Despite slurred speech, his thoughts were clear.

“You don’t mind sitting next to me?”

“No… I mean, I don’t know. I don’t care.”

“What are you grieving for?” Akemura asked politely.

He knew the answer well enough. The stranger’s hand clenched the ring so tightly he flinched, then his voice, clearer than before, spoke:

“The anniversary of my fiancée’s death.”

“I’m sorry. She died in an accident?”

“Yes… she… was killed.”

“Was it during the war?”

“No… after… bandits…”

Akemura’s face darkened immediately, and he said nothing. This was what he feared. That civilians would continue to suffer even after the war, though it had ended two years ago. A young couple, ruined by villains… An innocent girl was killed. Her fiancé was destroyed by grief… It was Akemura’s duty to ensure this didn’t happen. Yet he sat there like a chained dog, because his weapon — the one that could have solved everything — had been taken.

He glanced again at the young man beside him. He was quite drunk and only stayed upright through sheer willpower; when he swayed, Akemura steadied him by the shoulder. He jerked his head up.

His eyes shone like two lanterns in the dark. For a moment, Akemura was taken aback.

“Why did you abandon us?..”

Why didn't the Sword Saint protect ordinary people? If only he himself knew! He had no answer. It was a fair grievance. This man had suffered because Akemura had remained idle. If only he had destroyed all the villains… if only right after the war… Civilians like this man could have lived peacefully. But reality refused to follow reason and preferred the path of morality and difficult choices. Damn it. He clenched his teeth tighter involuntarily.

When the stranger finally gave in, collapsing into his arms, too drunk to sit in the chair, Akemura caught him and nodded to the bartender — he would pay for this man. But he would give him no more alcohol. He felt so sorry for the poor fiancé. Barely older than him, and already he had lost his beloved lover. And not in war, where it might be explainable, but later.

A modern tragedy.

I won’t bring your fiancée back, but I can promise something. Something that might bring you a bit of comfort. Akemura narrowed his eyes, feeling warm breath at his neck, then spoke in an icy voice:

“Don’t worry. I’ll fix this mistake. The country will sleep peacefully.”

Overall, everything was going well. Much better than the exhausting idleness at Rokuhira’s house. It helped him stay in shape and guide people in the right direction, while also demonstrating that he was fine. On weekends, of course, and whenever he had the chance, he returned to Chihiro, who at first was upset that his uncle had run off, but then reconciled and rejoiced at every arrival; the fact that no breakdowns occurred (why would there be any at all) clearly pleased Rokuhira himself, and he had visibly become calmer than during the first days.

And finally, Natsuki had begun to behave less boldly. In general, everyone was happy.

But still, it wasn’t enough. Akemura still didn’t feel in his place. He should be out there, in the field, with the others. Helping Azami and Shiba clean the country of crime. If only he had access to the enchanted blade… if only…

“Preparations are going well.”

The clink of porcelain and Kasen’s voice pulled Akemura from his thoughts, and he lifted his head.

They were in his office. It was rather empty, to be honest. From anyone else, Akemura would have expected more elegance or at least bookshelves, but even here Kasen hadn’t strayed too far from asceticism. Remarkable for an old-school sorcerer. Usually, they all sought to resemble magicians and shamans from old myths, but Akemura couldn’t blame them — it was just a matter of habit. Plus, people already had a certain image of sorcerers — from the same folklore — which made modern sorcerers feel dissonant. All those ridiculous tattoos and ornaments… it came from that. Fortunately, the Kamunabi had rules about such things.

No doubt there were strange people here, but not too many.

A porcelain cup of tea stood before him, but Akemura didn’t touch it. He was too absorbed in his own thoughts.

“What do you think about all this?”

Kasen was probably asking out of politeness. Even his voice sounded bored. Akemura didn’t care. Small talk was never his favorite pastime, but he felt too distracted to return to the training hall, though surely someone there would have been eager for a lesson. Surprisingly, many wanted to train under him. Although… was it really surprising? It wasn’t without reason that they called him the Sword Saint.

The nickname sat bitterly on his tongue. He needed to be in the field. He needed…

“All of this wouldn’t be necessary if I could truly help,” he said in disappointment, then picked up the mug of tea. The hint of mint was pleasant. He drained it in one gulp.

Kasen watched him intently.

“Would you like to fight?”

“Would I like not to sit idle and help make the country better?” Akemura looked at Kasen challengingly. “Of course. But,” he spread his hands, “I understand why things happen the way they do. I’ve been explaining this so many times, I no longer want to hear it. What do you think? Do I really look insane? Have I really changed so much after the war?”

“You’ve become less naive than when we first met.”

It had been so long ago. Akemura had been a naive youth then, not understanding that morality and humanitarianism had little meaning if you were trying to destroy an enemy. In a normal society, sure, it might matter… but how far were they from that? So many years of purges. And he could have done it all in a couple of weeks.

“But others see me as abnormal. So I just try to teach people to act as I did. To fight as I did.”

“And you’re doing well at it.”

“But it takes too much time. Every wasted second here,” Akemura tapped the cup with his nail, “is a new lost life.”

“Unfortunately, it’s the harsh reality of the conditions we must exist in,” Kasen’s voice was measured, like that of an old teacher stating obvious truths. “Without enchanted blades, we cannot act on a large scale, so we must work precisely. Undoubtedly, this creates a chain of problems, for example, why we cannot immediately deal with major criminal clans like Sazanami. They’ve operated underground for two hundred years, and now they’ve emerged from the shadows… continuing their bloody march. Necessary sacrifices. Sazanami refuses to negotiate with us, so they buy off with money that goes to the treasury, and it certainly helps improve life… yet they continue to exist, creating a peculiar paradox.”

“I know you do not approve of this, Kasen-san.”

“How could I? Criminals tear our country apart from within, though they could help rebuild it. They profit from human suffering and refuse to heed reason. Who did you fight for back then? For such people? Yet our hands are tied. Such families are far more powerful than our organization. We have existed for only two years; they have been doing it for centuries. As soon as we try to eliminate one clan, others will attack us or join us, then start fighting each other. Our country cannot survive a second war immediately after the first. We need a buffer of a few years, a bit of calm.”

These were sound thoughts. Kasen never relied on the heart, always guided by logic. In this, Akemura could understand him most easily.

“I know it,” he agreed, then looked at his own hands. Memories of battles came to mind, skin almost unrecognizable under bloodstains. “So… you want to build strength in the organisation.”

“Exactly.”

“And then find a panacea against these families.”

Kasen nodded as if to say — well, isn’t that reasonable?

“And all these small sacrifices in slave trading and so on… this is the foundation for the good of the country.”

“If it were up to me, I would destroy such clans completely, as we did with our enemy. So that even small sacrifices wouldn’t matter.”

The last comment was sharp, and Kasen, apologizing, poured himself more tea. It was a slip of his truth, his sincere thought, and Akemura slowly turned to him, unable to believe what he had just heard. In an age of humanitarianism… to say that what happened to the enemy — the complete annihilation — was what he desired for criminal clans? His fingers grew cold.

Careful. Test the waters.

“And what about the children of such clans?” their eyes met, and Kasen frowned, as if he didn’t like the question. Akemura decided to press. “They received the same upbringing as their parents. Pups go feral if you kill the mother dog.”

“Pups, you say?”

“I’m saying it would not be humane. To kill children, too.”

They stared at each other again, and Kasen, after a moment’s thought, shook his head. He offered more tea, and Akemura did not refuse. It was better than the fizzy drinks Azami had offered in the hall.

“Children can become small sacrifices. And the very young can be recruited. You’re right — it’s not humane. Teenagers are hardly to blame for what their parents did. But they’ve already formed their view on the world. Keeping them on hand will be dangerous. Like a slowly ticking bomb. Yet, for the sake of the country… sometimes one must make deals with conscience. I’ll understand if such logic disgusts you. Fortunately, these are only theoretical considerations. Even among such families, I would minimize the casualties whenever possible.”

Anyone else would have said afterward, Kasen-san, you think so globally, so ruthlessly… it must be hard to lead such a powerful organization. And then Kasen would have said that it was not easy to speak of it. But Akemura saw deeper, and he didn’t need Samura’s Owl to notice the details, to sense every intonation… everything Kasen truly meant to say. Yes, others would have merely nodded and said, well, if it’s just theory, he’s probably talking about the worst-case scenario. But Akemura understood that Kasen wasn’t speaking hypothetically — he was talking about a concrete plan.

Eliminate the danger within the country entirely. If they wiped out a whole clan, including children and elders, the others would stay silent. In ancient times, this happened frequently — a single wrongdoer could doom all his relatives. Sinful blood. Yet even Kasen was more compassionate than Akemura. He spoke of saving the little children, of recruiting them. But if such children knew why the state raised them, they too might break.

Better to leave no one.

His lips twitched into a smile. When Kasen looked at him in surprise, Akemura burst into laughter.

He laughed so long and so loud it became almost indecent. But he found it hilarious. There it was! He had found someone who could understand him! He had feared that in an age of humanitarianism, his deeds would be condemned, but here sat the leader of an organization, where he expected to see an executioner, and he saw a comrade! That made him laugh even more. So he hadn’t gone mad! He was completely all right! Relying solely on morality in such times was a mistake!

When the hysteria subsided, he cleared his throat and wiped the tears from his eyes with a finger. Then he looked Kasen in the face and said firmly:

“Pardon. I am just suprised.”

Then, in a more strict tone, he finally said:

“I killed everyone on the island.”

The leader’s face didn’t change even slightly. He maintained his composure. Akemura was genuinely impressed. Had he told Rokuhira, Shiba, or Azami this, they would have been shocked.

“With the sword?”

“I simply drained their energy.”

“And that’s why you lost consciousness…”

“…because it required immense power from me.”

“And you did this to leave no chance for the enemy to return?”

“Yes. For this country, I set morality aside and committed this act. I am ready for punishment.”

Kasen squinted, but there was a warmth in his eyes. He understood everything. And a weight seemed to lift from Akemura’s shoulders. Punishment didn’t matter… he was ready to accept it and rot in a cell. He just didn’t want Rokuhira to be blamed in his stead, as the father of the enchanted blades. He had always relied on empathy, and the decision had been entirely his. But now he saw that the Kamunabi was not such a hopeless organization. At its head was a person who cared about the good of the country.

It meant a great deal.

“You don’t consider me a villain?” he asked, and Kasen shook his head disapprovingly.

“Soga-kun. Undoubtedly, what you did was a grave sin. However… we’ve already discussed necessary sacrifices. The enemy might have planned to strike again. They could have created a weapon to destroy you, the swordsmen. Beaten dogs always bite back. And humans are inherently vengeful. I won’t whitewash your actions and say you acted entirely correctly. Did the children deserve to die? Did the civilians, who might have opposed the war? Certainly not. But I understand your logic and see no reason to punish you for acting for the nation’s welfare, not out of spite.”

Akemura thought he must have misheard. He still couldn’t believe he had found someone who shared his viewpoint — and in leadership, no less. His heart filled with confidence — finally, together, they could accomplish something. They could turn this country into a paradise. They would get their hands dirty in blood and take on the role of villains, but all for the people.

So that children like Rokuhira Chihiro, or Samura Iori, could live in peace. And happiness.

Small sacrifices… for a great future.

“To be honest, I’m a bit surprised you did this voluntarily. Rokuhira… said that in the last days of the war, you were unstable. I assumed you were just tired during the ceremony. The adrenaline wore off, and you fainted.”

“No, Kasen-san, I did this with a clear mind, knowing what I wanted and what needed to be done. I killed all the villains. But let’s leave the bowing and scraping,” he leaned forward, resting on the table. A faint spark of hope in his heart flared into a bright flame. “Only you and I are ready to give everything for this country. To become the villains of this story, because we can set morality aside for the greater good. Let’s think,” Akemura’s eyes widened, and he imagined that somewhere far away, in a sealed box, Magatsumi was calling to him, as it did then when a single word from him had taken two hundred thousand lives at once, “how we can make this country better.”