Sentarō and Reiko froze where they sat, their bodies stiffening as though bound by invisible chains. The revelation struck them with a force far heavier than any blade. The air inside the small house grew dense, so thick with tension it felt as though a katana could cleave straight through it.
Sadatsune's expression changed in an instant. The gentle, almost clueless look he had worn moments before vanished, replaced by something grave and resolute. His shoulders straightened, and though his hands trembled faintly, his eyes carried a quiet determination—as though he had long prepared himself for the pain of recalling what came next.
"A while back…" Sadatsune began slowly, his voice steady despite the weight behind it. "I had a son. His name was Jūshirō."
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he lowered his gaze to the tatami. "When he came of age, he married a kind and beautiful woman named Otsuru. They were good people—hardworking, honest. And about a year later…"
His voice softened. "They were blessed with a child. Oharu."
The room remained silent, save for the faint creak of the wooden beams. Sentarō and Reiko listened without interrupting, their attention fixed entirely on the old man before them.
"They were happy," Sadatsune continued. "Even in an era like this—where happiness is fleeting at best—they were truly happy."
He paused, the smile lingering just a moment longer than it should have. "Oharu grew up to be a troublesome little girl," he said with a quiet chuckle. "Always running around, getting into mischief, exhausting her parents day and night. But no matter how much trouble she caused…"
His smile deepened. "She laughed often. And so did they."
Sentarō's gaze drifted toward the futon where Oharu lay. Though her breathing was calm now, the image of her earlier rage still burned in his mind. It was hard to imagine that the girl who had radiated such hatred had once been so carefree.
"Oh, yes…" Sadatsune added, as though recalling something distant. "Oharu even had a friend back then. One from the police force."
The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Sentarō and Reiko stiffened at once. "A… friend?" Sentarō asked, unable to hide the confusion on his face.
"Yes," Sadatsune replied, nodding. "Before you three arrived, a different group of samurai handled patrols in Sakurahara. Among them was the one Oharu grew close to."
A nostalgic smile crossed his face. "My memory is not what it once was, but I remember him clearly enough—bright orange hair, and a smile far too big for his face."
"Orange hair…" Reiko murmured under her breath, her brows knitting together. Something about the description stirred an uneasy feeling in her chest.
Sentarō paid it no mind, his attention fixed on Sadatsune's words.
"He used to play with Oharu often," the old man continued. "I would watch from the doorway with my son and his wife, seeing them laugh together. Those days…"
His voice wavered slightly. "Those days were peaceful. My son was happy. Otsuru was happy. I was happy."
Then his tone changed. The warmth drained from it, replaced by something cold and heavy.
"But then… an incident occurred."
The silence deepened.
"An incident so horrific that it claimed many lives in this village," Sadatsune said, his eyes darkening. "It became known as… the Red Sun Incident."
"The Red Sun Incident?" Reiko echoed softly, unease creeping into her voice.
"Yes," Sadatsune replied. "It happened three years ago. Oharu was only seven."
Sentarō's chest tightened.
"That was the day her parents died."
The words echoed through the room like a death knell.
"Bandits and rogue samurai attacked Sakurahara in broad daylight," Sadatsune continued. "They destroyed stalls, burned homes, and slaughtered anyone who stood in their way."
His fists clenched at his sides. "The village guards tried to fight back while the villagers fled, but it was hopeless. They were overwhelmed almost immediately."
Sentarō and Reiko leaned forward unconsciously, their expressions growing grim.
"Otsuru, Jūshirō, and I tried to escape," Sadatsune said. "Jūshirō carried Oharu in his arms as we ran. But before we could leave the village…"
His voice dropped to a whisper. "We were surrounded."
Sentarō felt his jaw tighten. He glanced once more at Oharu, imagining the terror that must have seized her that day.
"But we were saved—if only for a moment," Sadatsune said quietly. "Oharu's friend from the police force appeared. He cut down the bandits before us and led us away from the chaos."
Relief flickered briefly in Sentarō's chest.
"He told us to follow him," Sadatsune continued. "His comrades stayed behind to hold off the attackers. We thought… we thought we would all escape."
"Thought?" Sentarō asked carefully.
Sadatsune exhaled deeply and reached for the wooden carving of the young man resting nearby. His fingers traced its surface with reverence.
"We were so close," he said. "But then… another samurai arrived. One of his allies. He whispered something to him."
Sadatsune shook his head. "I could not hear their words. But what happened next…"
His grip tightened around the carving.
"Was unforgivable."
"He abandoned us."
The voice did not belong to Sadatsune.
Sentarō and Reiko turned sharply. Oharu had risen into a sitting position, her fists clenched, her entire body trembling.
"Oharu—!" Sadatsune began.
"He turned around and looked at us," Oharu said, ignoring them both. Tears streamed down her face, yet her eyes burned with fury. "He looked at us like we were filth. Like we were dead weight."
Sadatsune's voice cracked. "Oharu… I'm sorry. I know you don't wish to—"
"I'M NOT A CHILD!" Oharu screamed, cutting him off. "I SAW IT!"
Her gaze snapped to Sentarō and Reiko, sharp enough to pierce steel.
"He chose himself," she continued. "He left us to save his own skin."
Her voice trembled. "My parents told Grandpa and me to run. They stayed behind to fight."
Her hands covered her face as sobs wracked her small frame.
"They wouldn't have had to fight…" she cried. "They were just fruit merchants. HOW WERE THEY SUPPOSED TO WIN?!"
The room was silent once more.
Sentarō could not move. He could not speak.
In that moment, he understood. The hatred Oharu carried was not born from the bandits alone—but also from betrayal. From abandonment. From those sworn to protect who chose convenience over duty.
"What of the bandits?" Sentarō asked at last, rising to his feet. His voice was low, controlled. "Are they still here?"
"Yes," Sadatsune replied without thinking. "They settled in the eastern sector of the village. No one goes there. The police force never—"
He stopped. His eyes widened as realization dawned.
"Reiko," Sentarō said, already turning. "Let's go."
She rose instantly, without question.
Sadatsune grabbed Sentarō's haori. "Don't do this, young man. You'll be killed."
Sentarō turned back slowly. His expression was terrifyingly calm—anger and resolve fused into something unshakable.
"killed? It's strange," he said quietly. "The thought never crossed my mind."
Sadatsune released him.
The sliding door burst open with a thunderous THUD!!.
Tadatoshi sat casually on the porch, grinning.
"Hehehe," he said. "So it's time to fight, huh?"
Sentarō stepped past him. Reiko followed.
As they left, Sentarō paused and looked back at Oharu.
"This will be the last time," he said firmly, "that you and your grandfather ever fix your stall."
Tadatoshi laughed, excitement blazing in his eyes.
"Guess it's time for a show."