Time felt as if it were moving in slow motion. Akira surrendered himself to whatever would happen. His eyes remained closed.
Suddenly—
The sharp whistle of a blade slicing through the air rang out loudly.
"Who are you?" shouted a Hojo soldier.
"A ghost of this forest."
"This is none of your business!"
Akira opened his eyes. A middle-aged man stood before him, his katana raised, blocking the strike of a Hojo soldier's sword.
"Are you part of the Kageyori?" the soldier demanded.
"What are you talking about? You're the ones destroying my forest. This forest is my home."
Six more soldiers advanced together and attacked the man. His movements were swift, his strikes precise, his blade dancing through the air. He fought all seven Hojo soldiers alone. It took him no more than a minute to bring them all down. None were left standing.
The man turned around and asked, "Can you stand?"
"Y-Yes… I can. My ankle is just slightly twisted," Akira replied.
The man helped Akira to his feet.
"Thank you, Uncle."
"Hm. I don't know who you are. They were chasing you like hunters chasing a wild boar. Are you a Kageyori?"
"Yes. My name is Akira Kageyori. Do you know what happened to my clan?" Akira asked heavily, holding back the pain.
"YOU'RE THE DAIMYO'S SON?" The old man was shocked; cold sweat formed on his forehead.
Akira simply nodded slowly.
"It's not safe to talk in the middle of the forest like this. Follow me," the man said.
Akira followed him, leading his horse. His heart was still in turmoil—grief, shock, confusion. Questions flooded his mind as they walked through the forest. He didn't know where to begin, and his tongue felt unable to voice the chaos in his thoughts.
Soon, a wooden hut came into view—old but sturdy and neatly kept—at the edge of the forest. Beside it flowed a shallow, clear stream. The sound of running water filled the emptiness of the dark night.
"Come in. This is my home," the man said, opening the door and tidying a few items on a small table where he usually relaxed.
"Rest. When you're ready to talk, I'll listen," he added, offering a cup of water from a clay jug.
"Thank you again, Uncle. I'm fine. You saved my life."
The man sat across from Akira and folded his arms.
"How did you survive? After the Jokyu Rebellion, the Hojo troops roamed for three days hunting down the remaining members of the Kageyori clan," he asked, causing Akira to straighten his posture.
"I just arrived from Kamakura. I've been studying law and aristocracy at the academy," Akira replied.
"When I reached Kyoto, I saw villages burned to nothing. Uji too… my home," Akira continued, his tears nearly falling.
Hearing this, the old man looked slightly puzzled.
"You're the Daimyo Kageyori's son. You didn't fight?"
"No. Since I was young, I never wanted to become a samurai."
The old man stroked his white beard.
"Interesting. A daimyo's son who doesn't want to be a samurai," he murmured, trying to understand.
"So you truly don't know what happened?" he asked again.
Akira shook his head. This was what he desperately wanted to know.
"Your father rebelled," the man said quietly.
"My father? A rebel?"
"Yes. He sided with Emperor Go-Toba, who sought to overthrow the military government of the Kamakura Shogunate."
"And then?"
"Of course Kamakura would not remain silent. Hojo Yoshitoki sent 190,000 troops of his clan to Kyoto."
"The Shikken moved personally?" Akira asked, growing more curious.
"Yes. He acted before the people could rally behind Emperor Go-Toba."
Akira clenched his fists as tears streamed down his face. He was now utterly alone. No clan. No family.
Morning came. The sun rose relentlessly, even though Akira wished it wouldn't. To him, life felt finished. There was no longer any purpose in proving to his parents that he could succeed without becoming a samurai.
He walked out of the hut, following the Uji River toward the former gate of the Kageyori clan. Memories surfaced—his mother's face, the villagers, the moment he left for Kamakura to study. He remembered clearly how his father had opposed the idea but could not forbid him. The memories seemed to dissolve into the flowing river.
"I was looking for you in the forest, and here you are daydreaming," the old man approached, slightly out of breath.
"Sorry, Uncle. You were still asleep. I didn't want to wake you."
"It's still dangerous for you to wander alone. You could be hunted again because of your name."
Akira lowered his head.
"If you want to eat and stay alive, help me now." The old man tossed five bundles of dried straw toward him.
"What for?" Akira caught them and slung them over his shoulder.
"We'll weave them into goods to sell. Then we'll buy food and supplies," the man replied with a faint smile.
They returned to the hut. Akira watched carefully as the old man demonstrated how to weave the straw—hats, sandals, small bags. Akira followed along, occasionally glancing at the man's hands.
"I didn't expect a ronin like you to be skilled at making things like this," Akira said while focusing on his weaving.
"Ronin is my past. Now I'm just a lonely old man. Hey, not like that!" the old man scolded as Akira tied the weave incorrectly.
"Uncle, what's your name? Why did you introduce yourself as a ghost yesterday?" Akira asked innocently.
"Oh, right. I even forgot to introduce myself. My name is Ryuma Odawara."
"Where's the 'ghost' in that? There's nothing ghostly about your name."
"You foolish boy, it was just a metaphor to make me sound cool in front of my enemies!"
Akira smiled. It was the first time he had smiled since yesterday.
By midday, several woven goods were finished—enough to sell at the large market in the city.
"Let's go to central Kyoto."
They arrived at the city square. Much had changed. Soldiers of the Kamakura Shogunate were everywhere, bearing different crests—Hojo, Minamoto, Fujiwara. After the imperial court had been exiled to the Oki Islands, the Kamakura Shogunate established a headquarters in the city. The Rokuhara Tandai fortress was built to oversee the newly appointed emperor, Go-Horikawa, nephew of Emperor Go-Toba, installed by Shogun Minamoto no Sanetomo himself. It was clear proof that Kamakura's dominance was tightening.
Akira and Ryuma walked, leading their horse pulling a cart filled with woven goods. Ahead of them, a line of merchants waited to enter the city while guards inspected them—something new since Kamakura had taken control of Kyoto.
"We'll pass a checkpoint. Don't look suspicious," Ryuma said, glancing at Akira, who looked nervous.
"Yes, Uncle. I'm nervous."
"Stop. We need a moment to inspect you," a guard said firmly. Several guards examined their horse and cart.
"Name?" he asked.
"I am Ryuma. Ryuma Odawara," he replied calmly.
"And you, young man?" The guard glanced at Akira, holding a ledger.
"M-My name is Akira."
"Family name?" the guard asked, his sharp eyes fixed on Akira's face.
"M-My family name is…"