As Muneshige made his way out of the Fourth Division compound, Sentarō finally released his grip on Tadatoshi. What surprised him was not the sudden freedom, but the absence of retaliation.
Tadatoshi did not bark an insult. He did not shove Sentarō's hand away or explode in outrage as he usually would. Instead, he remained silent, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed forward with an intensity that spoke of restraint rather than submission.
Sentarō noticed—and oddly enough, he was not surprised.
The air between them was heavy with unspoken tension as they followed behind Muneshige, Reiko walking beside them in the same wordless agreement. Their gazes lingered on the squad leader's back, suspicious and sharp. Whatever unease had taken root the night before had not faded with the morning light. If anything, it had grown more defined.
Outside the Fourth Division grounds, three samurai stood waiting.
One of them was a woman.
"These three are your fellow squad members," Muneshige said, stopping before them. He gestured to each in turn. "Okabe. Sadayoshi. Oyuki."
"Nice to meet you," the female samurai said warmly, bowing her head just slightly. "I'm Oyuki."
A calm, almost weary voice followed immediately. "You idiot. The squad leader already introduced us."
Oyuki stiffened, then laughed awkwardly. "Oh… yeah."
She rubbed the back of her head with a sheepish smile, clearly embarrassed.
"Don't mind her," Okabe added, folding his arms with a confident grin. "She's a bit clueless."
Tadatoshi clicked his tongue, looking the trio over with open disappointment. "Unbelievable. I'm stuck in a squad with no pretty girls—and they're not even packed."
Reiko's head snapped toward him. "What's that supposed to mean?!"
"It means you're ugly," Tadatoshi replied without hesitation.
Reiko's expression darkened instantly.
Sentarō, however, barely registered the exchange.
His attention was fixed on Muneshige.
The squad leader stood apart, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. His expression betrayed nothing, yet something about him set Sentarō on edge. It was subtle, difficult to define, but unmistakable. The same oppressive wrongness he had sensed from the captain and vice captain clung faintly to Muneshige as well.
"Alright," Muneshige said, stepping forward. "Because of the new recruits, I'll explain this once."
He faced them squarely.
"Today, we are conducting routine patrols in Sakurahara."
He continued, his tone flat. "For those unfamiliar with the area, Sakurahara is a market village within this district. It is our fixed patrol location unless stated otherwise by higher command."
Tadatoshi's eyes lit up immediately. He gripped the hilt of his sheathed katana, a wide grin spreading across his face. "So we get to fight criminals?"
"Calm down, greenhorn," Muneshige replied coldly. "We won't. This is a survey patrol only."
Tadatoshi's grin vanished, replaced by visible disappointment.
"Now," Muneshige raised his voice, "Squad Twelve—move out!"
"SIR! YES! SIR!" Okabe, Oyuki, and Sadayoshi responded in perfect unison.
And just like that, the patrol began.
It took only a few minutes before Sakurahara came into view.
Sentarō slowed to a stop, eyes widening.
"What…?" His voice caught. "You said this was a market—but it's huge."
For a moment, everything else vanished from his mind.
Sakurahara was alive.
Stalls stretched endlessly in every direction, packed tightly together and overflowing with goods. Fruits of every color, bolts of cloth, weapons displayed with pride, charms, tools, and trinkets filled the streets. Merchants shouted to draw customers in, children darted through the crowd laughing, and the air buzzed with sound, color, and movement.
Compared to this, the markets of Kurogane felt small. Insignificant.
"What's wrong?" Tadatoshi scoffed. "Never seen a market village before?"
"Don't act like you have," Sentarō snapped back.
"The one in the Kitsune District is way more beautiful," Tadatoshi replied smugly.
Sentarō scowled. "What about you, Reiko—"
She did not answer.
"Reiko?" he tried again.
The noise of the market swallowed his voice.
As they continued walking, Reiko remained silent, her gaze distant, brows drawn together in thought. The change did not escape Sentarō's notice.
"Reiko!" he called louder.
"Huh?" She blinked, snapping back to attention.
"Are you alright?" Sentarō asked, concern evident on his face.
Reiko hesitated before speaking. "Am I the only one… disturbed by Tōkichirō?"
Both Sentarō and Tadatoshi froze.
"…Now that you mention it," Sentarō said slowly, "this 'Fire' he kept talking about was strange."
Tadatoshi nodded, his usual arrogance subdued. "He said it was madness—the willingness to kill for what you believe is right."
He clenched his fist. "But what's right isn't the same for everyone."
Sentarō's expression darkened. "By that logic… 'The Fire' is just an excuse to kill indiscriminately."
Reiko's eyes reflected unease. "But what about Tōkichirō himself?"
"What about him?" Sentarō and Tadatoshi asked together.
"When he talked about his father," Reiko said quietly, "he felt sad."
Sentarō frowned. "Sad?"
"Yes," she replied. "Isn't that strange?"
Silence fell between them as the pieces began to align.
Something was wrong.
"You three," Muneshige snapped suddenly, "stop the pointless chatter and continue the patrol."
"Tch," Tadatoshi muttered. "For a patrol, this is boring."
Then—
"AHHH! PLEASE—DON'T!"
A scream tore through the market.
Sentarō's head snapped toward the sound.
A short elderly man stood trembling beside his fruit stall as four men smashed crates and kicked baskets aside, laughing as produce spilled across the ground.
"Hahaha," Tadatoshi grinned, hands gripping the hilts of his katana and wakizashi. "Finally. A fight."
"They're attacking that old man," Reiko said sharply.
Sentarō stepped forward, hand already on his katana.
"You three—do not engage."
Muneshige's command was sharp. Absolute.
"What?!" Sentarō shouted. "That man needs help!"
"PLEASE! DON'T DESTROY MY STALL!" the old man cried again.
Confusion surged through Sentarō's chest.
"Why aren't we doing anything?" Reiko asked, turning to Okabe, Oyuki, and Sadayoshi.
They looked away.
Merchants turned their backs.
Villagers pretended not to see.
Even Squad Twelve stood still.
Sentarō felt something inside him snap.
Anger surged—hot, raw, unforgiving.
"Squad leader Muneshige," he said, his voice low but shaking, "move."
Muneshige stiffened.
"There is no way," Sentarō continued, stepping forward alongside Tadatoshi and Reiko, "that I'm standing by while someone begs for help."
Their glares locked onto Muneshige—so intense it forced him back a step.
Hands tightened on sword hilts.
Justice demanded an answer.
And this time—
They were done asking.