Silence.
Absolute silence swallowed the courtyard as one man laughed with abandon.
The sound echoed across the grounds, deep and unrestrained, cutting through the tension like a blade. Every samurai standing within the Fourth Division instinctively straightened, their bodies snapping to attention without conscious thought. It was not an order that compelled them—it was presence.
Even without knowing his name, Sentarō, Tadatoshi, and Reiko could feel it.
This man was no ordinary samurai.
"HAHAHAHAHA!!"
The figure continued to laugh heartily, clutching his sides as though the situation amused him to no end. When the laughter finally subsided, he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and flashed a massive grin, sharp and overflowing with confidence.
"There's nothing better," he declared loudly, "than a generation filled with THE FIRE. Am I right?"
"SIR! YES, SIR!!"
The samurai responded in perfect unison, voices resounding across the courtyard.
"Alright, at ease."
The moment the words were spoken, the rigid formation dissolved. Samurai returned to their positions, though many continued to cast curious glances toward the trio at the center. The entire sequence left Sentarō, Tadatoshi, and Reiko momentarily stunned.
They stared at the man in front of them, confusion plain on their faces.
"Well then," the man said cheerfully, stepping closer. "You three must be the last Ashigaru. Nice to meet you. The name's Kinoshita Tōkichirō."
He stopped before Sentarō and Tadatoshi, towering slightly over them, his grin never fading.
"I get it," Tōkichirō continued. "You're fired up. Brimming with ambition. But fighting on your first day?" He chuckled. "That doesn't look good now, does it?"
"Hahahaha!"
Tadatoshi burst out laughing, his earlier fury instantly transforming into amusement.
"I don't think you know who you're talking to," Tadatoshi said arrogantly, thumbing his chest. "The name's Hosokawa Tadatoshi. But people call me The Lord of Festivals."
He struck a flashy pose, confidence radiating from every movement.
"No one calls you that."
Reiko stepped forward, her tone flat and merciless, wearing a teasing smile that only made Tadatoshi's face twitch.
"Shut up, bitch!!" Tadatoshi snapped, his irritation returning full force.
"Alright, enough," Tōkichirō interrupted, though his grin remained firmly in place. "If this keeps up, we won't be able to proceed with your ceremony."
That got their attention.
"Now," Tōkichirō said, turning on his heel, "follow me."
He led them into the main Fourth Division building. The structure was impressive—constructed from finely polished wood and reinforced beams, its craftsmanship evident in every detail. As they walked, they passed rooms serving various purposes: meeting halls, training chambers, records offices.
"Soon enough," Tōkichirō said casually, "you'll know every inch of this place."
They moved down a long hallway before stopping at a large room. The moment Sentarō stepped inside, he felt the air change.
Opposite the entrance, carved into the wooden wall, was a massive kanji:
Justice.
Beneath it sat a dignified wooden chair. Seated upon it was a bald, elderly man whose body appeared frail and shriveled, yet his presence was immense. He wore the official police uniform, topped with a pristine white haori bearing the kanji of justice in bold strokes.
Beside him stood another man—also old, though his age showed only in his white hair and beard. Unlike the first, his body remained sturdy. He wore the standard uniform, with a badge tied neatly to his left arm.
Tadatoshi squinted.
"Huh? Who are these old bags?"
"Tadatoshi," Tōkichirō said sharply, his grin unchanged but his tone subtly colder. "Those 'old bags' are Captain Ueda Tadayoshi and Vice Captain Takayama Ukon. Show some respect."
The room froze.
Sentarō, Reiko, and Tadatoshi stiffened instantly. These were the men who commanded the Fourth Division.
"Thank you, Tōkichirō," Ueda spoke at last, his voice calm yet heavy. "You are dismissed."
"Yes, Captain."
Tōkichirō bowed and turned to leave. For just a brief moment, his grin vanished.
Only Reiko noticed.
"So," Ueda said, his gaze sweeping over the trio. "You are among the four who survived."
His voice carried an invisible weight—one that sent chills down Sentarō's spine and made Tadatoshi unconsciously tense.
"You have our commendation," Ueda continued.
"And our welcome," Ukon added blandly, stepping forward.
Ukon held a brown cloth-wrapped bundle. As he approached, he carefully unfolded it, revealing three pentagonal badges made of polished bronze. Each bore the kanji Ashigaru, painted in black.
Sentarō's breath caught.
Ukon extended the badges. "Take one."
They did.
"You are to tie it to your left arm."
Without hesitation, they obeyed.
The moment Sentarō fastened the badge, a surge of emotion rushed through him. Pride. Joy. Fulfillment.
He was finally a samurai.
Yet… something felt wrong.
"You are now officially part of our ranks," Ueda said. "Congratulations."
Ukon stepped back.
"You are dismissed."
The trio turned to leave—
"Oh… hold on."
Ueda's voice stopped them cold.
"You will obey all commands from higher-ranking officers and superiors," Ueda said, his tone eerily calm. "Failure to do so will result in severe punishment."
"And remember," Ukon added, "your duty is to support us in making Japan a better place."
Sentarō felt it then.
Not power.
Not suppression.
Something else.
Something unsettling.
Tadatoshi frowned, unable to put his finger on it. But Sentarō recognized the sensation. He had felt it before—standing amidst the carnage of allies and enemies alike during The Night of Blood.
The same hollow unease.
They left the room.
To their surprise, Tōkichirō stood waiting outside.
"Ahh, done already?" he laughed. "Great! HAHAHA!"
But Sentarō and Tadatoshi barely reacted, their minds still reeling.
"Tōkichirō," Reiko said thoughtfully, "I honestly thought you'd be the vice captain."
"Huh? Nah," Tōkichirō waved dismissively. "I'm just a Jōshi. Only Gokenin and Hatamoto qualify for those roles."
He chuckled lightly. "Besides, I'd make a terrible captain."
For just an instant, his smile faded.
Then it returned.
"Anyway," he continued, "let's get you settled."
They exited the main building and followed a narrow path. A few hundred paces later, they reached the barracks.
Rows of modest houses stretched neatly across the grounds.
"Here we are," Tōkichirō announced. "Fourth Division barracks."
"It looks amazing," Sentarō said, eyes sparkling.
Tadatoshi nodded, clearly pleased.
"Each house is shared between two people," Tōkichirō added, turning slowly toward Sentarō and Tadatoshi with a mischievous grin.
Both froze.
"No. Absolutely not," Tadatoshi snapped.
"Huh?! I'm not sharing with him!" Sentarō shouted back.
"Why not?" Reiko asked innocently.
"He's arrogant and loud!"
"You're the weak one!"
"Ahem," Tōkichirō interrupted, straightening. "By my authority as your superior, you will share a room."
Silence.
"Tch."
They both looked away, grumbling.
"That's not fair."
Tōkichirō escorted them to their assigned house, then turned back.
"Alright, Reiko—your place is this way."
"Wait," Sentarō called out. "Tōkichirō… senpai."
All three blinked.
"Senpai?"
"The captain and vice captain," Sentarō said seriously. "Something's off. I felt it."
Tōkichirō studied him carefully.
"Hehehe…" He smiled—this one different. Focused. "Funny. I'm trying to figure that out myself."
As he walked Reiko away, a thought crossed his mind.
"So they can sense it too…"
His grin widened.
This generation really does have THE FIRE.
As night fell, Sentarō lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
It had only been one day.
And already, the weight of justice felt heavier than steel.