The situation was tense—so tense that the air itself felt heavy. What unfolded before Sentarō, Tadatoshi, and Reiko left them with no real choice but to act, even if doing so meant defying direct orders from their superior.
An elderly man, frail and clearly malnourished, stood helplessly behind his fruit stall as several men surrounded him. His body trembled as they overturned baskets and crushed produce beneath their feet. He was far too weak to defend himself, and the desperation in his eyes made it painfully clear that this was not the first time he had endured something like this.
The attackers were foreigners—four of them—average in build but hardened by life. Their faces were marked with scars, each one telling a silent story of violence. They wore faded, worn-out clothing, and their weapons were displayed openly: crude clubs, chipped swords, and iron rods. From the way they moved and laughed, it was obvious they would not hesitate to hurt the old man if he resisted.
Sentarō, Tadatoshi, and Reiko had already reached their limit. Rage twisted their expressions as they prepared to step forward. Their bodies tensed, instincts screaming at them to act.
Before any of them could move, Muneshige stepped in front of them.
"It seems the three of you didn't hear me," Muneshige said, his face contorted with disgust, his voice sharp with irritation. "I said do not engage."
Sentarō's jaw clenched. He did not look away from the scene ahead. "Move, Muneshige-san," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
Tadatoshi and Reiko stood beside him, silent but resolute. They were already prepared to disobey if it meant saving a life.
Muneshige scoffed. "Who do you think you are?" he snapped, glaring at Sentarō with open disdain. "You damn ashigaru."
Before Sentarō could respond, Oyuki spoke up. "I think you three should stop and listen to your superior."
The words struck like a slap.
"Yes," Okabe added calmly. "That is enough. Just listen… and obey."
That single word—obey—made Sentarō, Tadatoshi, and Reiko turn slowly toward them.
That was when they noticed it.
Okabe, Oyuki, and Sadayoshi all wore the same expression. Fear.
Not caution. Not authority. Fear—raw and unmistakable.
Sentarō's thoughts began racing. Something was wrong. He scanned the market, his eyes sweeping across the villagers who stood frozen in place. Every single one of them had seen what was happening. Yet none stepped forward. None shouted. None even whispered.
They were afraid.
Afraid of the men attacking the old man.
Afraid of what would happen if anyone intervened.
This isn't just harassment, Sentarō realized. This is control.
Muneshige clicked his tongue. "Enough of this foolishness," he said coldly. "I will be reporting this insubordination to the higher-ups."
"What makes you think we care?" Tadatoshi shot back as he stepped forward, placing himself directly in Muneshige's path.
Muneshige froze.
For the first time, he hesitated.
"Why…" Muneshige thought, staring at Tadatoshi. "Why aren't they afraid?"
A desperate scream tore through the air.
"NO! PLEASE! ANYTHING BUT THAT!"
Everyone turned.
The old man struggled against one of the attackers, clutching a wooden carving tightly to his chest. It depicted a young man—carefully carved, lovingly detailed.
"Let go, you old bag," the man snarled, towering over him.
The old man refused, his grip shaking but unyielding.
The attacker's patience snapped. "Hey, dead man," he growled as he unsheathed his blade. "I said let it go."
Steel glinted in the sunlight.
"Consider this your punishment for defying us," the man said, raising his sword high as his companions laughed.
In that instant, Sentarō and Tadatoshi moved.
They crossed nearly two hundred paces in the blink of an eye.
Before anyone could even register what had happened, Sentarō was already beside the old man, pulling him safely out of harm's way. At the same time, Tadatoshi's blade flashed, effortlessly parrying the descending strike with a sharp clang.
The shock was immediate.
Gasps rippled through the market.
Sentarō steadied the old man, his voice calm and gentle. "Are you alright, sir?"
The old man stared at him, too stunned to respond.
"Huh?" the attacker staggered backward. "Who the hell are these kids?"
Another man squinted. "Wait… those clothes. They're samurai—police force samurai!"
"What?!" one of them shouted. "Then what are you doing here?!"
"You idiot," another hissed. "You're breaching the agreement!"
At those words, Reiko's expression changed.
Sentarō was focused entirely on the old man, and Tadatoshi had already shifted into a fighting stance. Neither of them noticed—but Reiko did.
Tadatoshi drew both swords, a wide grin spreading across his face. "I'll be honest," he said casually. "I was actually hoping criminals would show up during this patrol."
He lowered his stance, eyes burning with excitement. "So I could finally have some fun."
The men hesitated.
That was their mistake.
Tadatoshi vanished.
In an instant, he reappeared in front of one of them and delivered a devastating slash across the man's chest, sending him crashing into the ground.
"Hahaha!" Tadatoshi laughed. "Relax—I didn't kill him. My job is to uphold peace, not slaughter idiots."
Despite his words, the thrill in his grin made it clear how much restraint he was exercising.
The remaining men reacted quickly, drawing their weapons. One charged with a club.
Tadatoshi sliced it clean in half, then slammed the hilt of his Wakizashi into the man's head. The impact smashed him into the ground, leaving a small crater behind.
"Next?"
The last two rushed him together.
Tadatoshi disappeared again, reappearing behind them in a blur of motion. One was sent flying with a powerful kick, crashing into a nearby stall with a thunderous THUD, scattering clothes and dust into the air.
Using the dust as cover, the remaining attacker lunged, blade flashing.
CLANG!!
The strike was parried instantly.
Sentarō stood between them, his expression calm as he countered, knocking the man backward before smashing him unconscious with the hilt of his sword.
Silence followed.
As the dust settled, the market stood frozen in shock.
"HEY, SENTARŌ!" Tadatoshi shouted. "I DIDN'T ASK FOR DAMN HELP!"
Sentarō ignored him.
His attention was solely on the old man.
With care, he guided him to a nearby stone and helped him sit. "Sir, are you alright?"
Suddenly, the old man began to cry.
Sentarō panicked. "Are you hurt?!"
"No," the man said, clutching the wooden carving as tears streamed down his face. "I'm just… grateful."
He smiled at the figure in his hands.
Tadatoshi looked around, frowning. "Where'd Muneshige and the others go?"
Reiko approached the fallen men—and froze.
On one of their shoulders was a tattoo.
A lotus flower.
Her breath caught.
The Black Circle.
Memories of blood and screams flooded back.
Are these all connected?