.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
The room had already settled into stillness by the time Seijiro returned. For the first time in what felt like days, he was clean and with hair still damp at the loose ends, falling messily over his shoulders. The stink of swamp and rain had been replaced by medicinal, and his kosode's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows like he'd been doing this his whole life: walking into someone else's space and acting as if it belonged to him.
And he was in a damn good mood. Kaoru, however, was not.
She sat near the window, composed and freshly bathed; her hair had regained sense, combed through and tucked behind her ears, even as a few strands had slipped loose anyway, curling at the ends the way it always did when damp. She'd shed the heavier layers of grime and borrowed something lighter offered by Payo with that same unsettling warmth she had used when suggesting a genocide.
But Seijiro had long learned not to confuse Kaoru's stillness with peace. She was thinking. Deeply. Brooding in that distant way of hers, and that was never a good sign.
He exhaled in exaggerated relief, stepping inside, stretching his arms overhead. "Payo knows so much about the Gojo Clan," he mused. "Honestly, I could've spent the entire night talking to her. Probably would've, if I didn't think you'd start sulking about being left alone."
Kaoru didn't react.
Seijiro, because he was incapable of leaving a silence untouched, kept going. He leaned against the wooden frame, arms crossed, watching her with a mix of smugness and fondness. "Apparently, my mother had this habit. Every morning, she used to sneak out of the Gojo estate just to feed the nearby temple cats. It drove my father insane." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Imagine that. Akiteru Gojo, feared and respected, arguing over cats. She even had a favorite. Black, missing half an ear. Named it Shiro."
Kaoru glanced at him at last, arching a brow.
Seijiro brightened, encouraged. "I know, right? Terrible name. Payo says she was awful at naming things. When annoyed, she called one of her attendants 'Shorty' for years, even when he shot up taller than her."
A pause. Then Kaoru hummed, tilting her head slightly. "You do that too."
Seijiro blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You give people ridiculous names," she clarified.
He scoffed, offended on principle. "That's different, Pretty Boy. Mine are clever. You are pretty, and I thought you were a boy."
"What about eunuch?"
Seijiro wisely chose to ignore that one.
Kaoru exhaled through her nose, almost a laugh. Her gaze dipped. "You...never talked like this about her," she murmured carefully.
Seijiro's expression stalled for a fraction of a second. "Never had much to say," he admitted. His smirk stayed, even as a shadow that dragged beneath it. "I didn't know her. Not really." He rolled his shoulders like it didn't matter. "Maybe I'm indulging myself a little. Could you blame me? Payo had years of stories, and let's be honest, I'm a selfish bastard when it comes to things I want. I think she would've liked me."
Kaoru almost smiled at that. Then she spoke, against her better judgment. "She sounds…" Seijiro tilted his head, waiting. Kaoru exhaled. "She sounds like she was a warm person. I can see the resemblance."
Seijiro didn't like how that admission from her made him feel. Too close to the trugh he tried to dismiss. So, naturally, he changed the subject. "Anyway," he said, pushing off the wall, "it's a good thing we came here."
That caught Kaoru's attention. "Why?"
"Because," he went on, smugly dragging a hand through his damp hair, "Payo isn't just a kind old lady who makes excellent tea. She has medical knowledge. And," he savored the suspense he created, "she can use Reverse Cursed Technique on others."
Kaoru blinked. "…She what?"
"Right? Surprised me too," he drawled, grinning, like it was his personal victory. "She used to assist the Gojo healers before my father dismissed them all after my birth. Come on, she's wasted out here." His voice regained that infuriating certainty, the one that assumed the world would simply rearrange itself to accommodate him. "I intend to reinstate her in the clan. My mother would benefit from having someone she actually trusted years ago around."
Something in Kaoru went rigid; she didn't realize she wasn't even breathing anymore, as her palm pressed in the tatami beneath her.
"And Shima," Seijiro continued, doubling down and crouching before her, "she deserves to see her parents again. Once the war front in Iga is resolved, I can arrange a searching team for her to be reunited with them—"
"Seijiro."
His name came out like a slap before she could contain it. Kaoru lifted her eyes to meet his fully. "Do you remember," she said, voice trembling, "that I will be on the other side of said war front?"
The room went utterly still.
Seijiro's lips parted, but no sound came; for a moment, he just looked at her, uncertain, as the weight of her words settled in. He didn't falter visibly, but the confusion was there, as if he probably had known, of course, but never actually gave the thought enough weight before. Then, she saw the way he discarded the thought the moment it formed. He decided it couldn't matter, but his smile dimmed
"Of course I know," he muttered, like she'd accused him of forgetting his own name.
Kaoru took a slow breath. No. No, he didn't, not fully, not in the way that mattered. "Do you really?"
He tilted his head to the side, challenging her. "Stopping the war doesn't mean we have to annihilate each other's side."
"That's not what I'm saying," she bit out.
"Then what are you saying?"
Kaoru inhaled sharply, stood with a stomp, putting distance between them to calm her nerves. Seijiro stood too and followed, instinctively matching her energy like he always did, drawn into her orbit whether he wanted to be or not.
When she stopped and turned to him, she didn't ask a question. "You intend to take them with us," she stated flatly.
Seijiro stopped short of her, frowning. "Yes."
Her fingers curled at her sides. "Even if that puts me at risk?"
His jaw tensed, humor finally drained from his face. He hesitated just long enough for Kaoru to see that he was actually doing the math; then he squared his shoulders. "Yes," he said again.
She knew—knew—it was the only answer he could give, but it still stung. She'd hoped, stupidly, shamefully, for a second, that he might say something different. And Seijiro hated it, hated the way she looked at him like he'd confirmed something she'd already feared.
The room suddenly felt too small. Seijiro realized it the moment Kaoru stepped forward, closing the space between them too quickly, aiming for intimidation, but Seijiro didn't step back. His spine straightened, chin tilting down, looking down at her from his vantage point. If she thought she could intimidate him, she was wrong.
But oh, did he like it when she tried, and that was its own kind of problem.
"You heard her," Kaoru hissed. "You heard how eager she was to spit 'Zenin.' The moment she realizes who I am—"
"She won't," Seijiro interjected.
"—if she realizes she won't keep it to herself! She'll alert the nearest patrols at the first occasion because she'll think she's helping—!"
"Oh, now you're being paranoid—"
"And if word spreads before I reach Iga, I'll have to fight my way through—"
"And what happens if I leave an old woman and a child here when the war advances?" Seijiro's voice dropped tight, and Kaoru stilled. They didn't need to dress it up; they both knew what happened to women and children on roads like these when armies got desperate and bored. "So tell me, Kaoru. What exactly do you think I should do?"
Kaoru wanted to step back; by any means, she should've stepped back. She hadn't truly considered it before—not like this—that they weren't just family names with legs on opposite sides of a map. They were people, and people had people. People who came with obligations that didn't fit into strategies. She had Harunobu, Tatsuhiro, and Hajime. He had Rensuke, Payo, Shima, and his mother. And neither of them could afford to count the other as collateral openly and safely.
And yet, somewhere along the road, they had begun to forget that truth.
Seijiro's hands twitched at his sides; the urge to grab her by the collar and shake sense into her was almost unbearable. But she lifted her head, eyes locking with his.
"You don't get it." Kaoru despised how thin her voice sounded for a second. "Neither of us can—" The words felt wrong coming out of her mouth, but she forced those words out anyway. "We can't have both."
His eyes narrowed, silver brows drawing together. Deep down, he knew she was right; that was what made him angry. "That's a load of bullshit—"
Kaoru swallowed. "Don't be naive, you can't keep making promises to children like you're a god."
Seijiro scoffed. "Oh, that's rich." He stepped closer, unbothered by her glare. Kaoru never let anyone look down on her, but he did it anyway because he wanted her to look back up at him. "You're the one who's been chasing this fantasy of peace for a year," he snapped, "you're the one who started this whole damned thing, and now you want to lecture me on responsibility?"
Kaoru's pulse jumped against her ribs.
He seemed to realize he was stepping too far, probably, so he did what he always did when he was cornered: he kept talking unfazed over her. "You think you're the only one who carries lives in your hands?" He didn't let her answer. The words slipped before he could stop them. "If you think I haven't bled for my people just as much as you have, then you're a hypocrite."
Kaoru flinched slightly, but enough for him to see it. Seijiro swallowed immediately any retort, but the words had already formed. Idiot. That was the worst kind of argument. His jaw clenched. He knew he was right just as much as he was also wrong.
Wasn't it he, the hypocrite? Wasn't it his actions—his lies—that had put her here in the first place? She hadn't asked to lead her clan like that, but she had been forced to because of him. And he had the gall to call her a hypocrite?
Kaoru's throat tightened. She wasn't one for self-delusion, but damn him for landing the hit. She had spent a year telling him peace was the only solution, that it was for the people caught between both factions, and now she was trying to deny him the same hope, the same belief, because it inconvenienced her?
She didn't want to fight him, but she still couldn't let him take Payo and Shima without acknowledging what it might force her to do if Payo recognized her.
Kaoru heard herself say, harsher than she meant: "You're not listening. If she figures it out, then you'll have to choose."
He didn't argue that he'd find a third option, because he wasn't stupid. "You're assuming the worst."
"I'm assuming—" Kaoru snapped, then caught herself and exhaled hard. The sting from earlier still sat heavy on her mind. She looked at him and pointed. "The things she said about the Zenin. Do you really believe it?"
Seijiro's gaze wobbled.
Kaoru pressed anyway, because she needed to know. "Do you?"
His expression went blank in that infuriating way he used when he wanted to be untouchable. "There was never proof," he replied smoothly.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one that matters."
Kaoru's jaw clenched. "So you do."
Seijiro clicked his tongue, annoyed at her, at himself, at the fact that she was right to ask. "I believe someone did it," he muttered, clearly wanting to end the subject right there. "I believe my father believes it was the Zenin. I believe the Gojos have been swallowing that story for twenty years because it makes everything simple." His eyes slid to hers. "And I believe you aren't your father."
Kaoru's breath caught. A verdict and a pardon granted by a man who still kept the sentence for everyone else.
They stood there, locked together in a silent war, two opposing forces with the weight of clans older than either of them pressing against their backs. And then, because neither of them were idiots, they both realized at the same time that this argument could go on forever and still end in the same place: no clean solution.
Seijiro's eyes slid over her, close enough that he could see the breath she shallowed, close enough that, for a single, traitorous second, he forgot what they were even fighting about. His hand lifted before he decided to move it; almost reaching, almost touching—
He willed his hand to stop. He wanted to, and given the moment, it was suicidal and stupid, and Kaoru would probably summon something big that would chew his head off. So he dragged that very hand through his hair, forcing himself to breathe and step back.
Kaoru's gaze rested on his retreating hand; she exhaled, and the room let go of its tension. They had both gone too far. She took one step back, too, not a real apology but something close.
Seijiro turned his face away and closed his eyes for a beat. "We should sleep," he said, scowling at her over his shoulder. "We'll think about it again in the morning. You tend to overthink when you're exhausted."
Kaoru returned the scowl. "And you tend to be insufferable." She walked toward the pile of their belongings in the corner, putting distance between them because she needed it.
Seijiro watched her as she reached for her katana. "What are you doing?"
Kaoru slid the katana onto her lap as she sat by the shoji. "Keeping watch," she said simply. "Safe places are where people get stupid. It's better not to let our guard down."
"I can take first watch," Seijiro offered, expecting praise for it.
Kaoru shook her head. "I'll do it."
A long moment passed.
Seijiro's lips parted, then he decided to say nothing, because he didn't know how to fix whatever had shifted tonight, and he didn't know if saying sorry would make it better. Either way, it hurt. He huffed a quiet laugh and settled against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest. Still watching her.
"Fine," he murmured. "You insufferable human being."
"You're worse. Shut up and sleep."
Seijiro smiled under his breath, shaking his head, frustrated.
Kaoru glanced at him—once, twice—as he let himself relax, eyes slowly sliding shut, body loosening the way it only did when he'd decided the world could wait. Is he really going to sleep? Just like that? The heir of the Gojo clan, in the same room as the head of the Zenin. Completely trusting her. She could have killed him in his sleep. She wouldn't, of course, but the fact remained: she could.
She shouldn't have been surprised; Seijiro had never been careful with her. From the moment they met, he'd walked lines he should've known better than to approach. He had made a habit of testing fate.
Fool. Kaoru wasn't sure who she meant, and that uncertainty made her angrier. Seijiro was too easy to believe in and too easy to follow. That, and whatever had started forming between them, was a problem. She exhaled slowly, pressing her knuckles against her thigh until it grounded her. Ground yourself. Think.
If their roles had been reversed, if it had been Harunobu and Hajime stranded in a warzone, trapped between factions... She wouldn't have even considered it; she would've taken them with her and dared the world to punish her for it.
Of course he wants to take Payo and Shima with him.
Seijiro wasn't his father. He was infuriating and arrogant but not merciless. He cared too much, too easily. Why had she thought, even for a second, that he would not fight for his own? She had been selfish, asking him to leave behind an old woman and a child, demanding he see the war for what it was.
... But hadn't she gave up something for him?
After all, she had left her home, her people behind for a chance of peace between their clans.
Enough.
If they kept going like this, bound by a temporary alliance and half-spoken compromises, they would ruin each other. They were already doing it, probably. She couldn't allow him to make that mistake, and she couldn't make it, either.
Kaoru's grip tightened on the hilt of her katana. He has to choose his people. And I have to choose mine.
She watched him for a long moment, studying his features with the attention she usually reserved for maps and enemies. Memorizing the way his silver hair fell messily over his face, or the way his arms were loosely crossed over his chest as if he'd fallen asleep mid-argument, half-prepared to wake up and be insufferable again. He looked younger when sleeping.
Damn the way he made her feel like she was making the wrong choice, even when she knew it was the only choice she had.
Seijiro would go west. Kaoru would go east.
She didn't realize when she'd moved. At some point, she rose to her feet, silent on the tatami as she stepped closer and lowered herself, kneeling before him. Seijiro didn't stir, didn't react. What is he, stupid? He should've noticed her movement the way he felt everything.
Too easy, she thought, with a bitter, humorless smile. She lifted a hand, hesitated, then let her fingers brush the strands of silver hair that had fallen across his face. Soft. Warm from his skin. Her fingers lingered a breath too long.
Still nothing.
Maybe he had never considered her a threat.
Kaoru pulled back instantly, fingers curling into her palm, furious at herself, furious at him. She straightened, stepping back, forcing the weight of reality onto her shoulders again. One last glance, one final, careful memorization.
And as Seijiro drifted deeper into sleep, slipping away was easier than she expected.
.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
October, 1599 - The Iga war front
War never looked heroic up close.
The Iga front had stayed miserable in Seijiro's absence, exactly as he'd asked and expected. The same rot, the same mud, the same stench of smoke and sweat and latrines. But it had emptied out. The Maeda sorcerers, most of them, had retreated to deal with the chaos in their own clan, leaving behind only regular soldiers. That meant Keiji Maeda was gone too, along with the noise he brought. Without him to fill the gap, the front had done what frontlines always did when leadership vanished: it had managed. Poorly and with the kind of improvisation that kept bodies breathing but nothing else working.
Which was why, when Seijiro showed up again without explanation for his absence and dumped an old woman and a mute child into everyone's lives like it was normal, no one knew whether to laugh or start praying to the kami. Rensuke would have liked to ask about ten questions and punch him for all of them, but had chosen neither. He'd simply been grateful Seijiro was back to take responsibility for this whole pigsty.
At least, while Seijiro had been gone, no new skirmishes had happened, no sudden raids from the Hattori side. Both factions had stayed in position, present and refusing to engage, holding their breath. The Gojo and Kōga in their camp behind the ridge. The Hattori and the Date in the forest opposite, swallowed by the trees.
But Seijiro hadn't mistaken it for peace. He'd just recognized it for what it was: an ugly pause that felt like the calm before the real storm. Because his father always waited for the right moment to give an order that would ruin everything, and the order Rensuke had brought down from Kyoto had been clear. Mitsunari was reorganizing. And when he was ready, the border was to collapse. Correction: Seijiro had to collapse it, and Iga had to be secured for the capital so that the Tōkaidō could be fully strangled to protect Kansai.
Seijiro had come back to a front that hadn't moved and to a war that was about to.
And now, after a month from his return, Seijiro, seated cross-legged on the muddy floor of his tent.
When Rensuke entered without ceremony, without preamble, without a single ounce of patience left in his body, Seijiro barely acknowledged him. His attention was otherwise occupied by the tiny, silent creature perched behind him, her small fingers tangled in his long hair, all of them focused. Her lips were pursed, brows drawn together as she twisted and twisted white strands into something that was probably supposed to be a braid.
Shima. Payo's granddaughter. Seijiro had grown fond of her expression. Shima had a way of looking at people—at adults mostly—as if she were assessing their entire existence and finding them lacking, and Seijiro respected that.
Rensuke ignored the absurd sight entirely. "Not in the northern encampment either," he reported. "I checked every division. The two sorcerers you wanted found... nothing. No trace of them."
The fingers in Seijiro's hair stilled for a moment. A beat of silence. Then, just like that, Shima went back to work, twisting his hair again.
Seijiro sighed, lifting his head to glance at Rensuke. "So what? Try the southern front, then."
Rensuke didn't answer immediately. He looked at the girl instead, at the small, mute creature who'd attached herself to Seijiro in the past weeks as if she had decided he was his older brother and that was it. She never spoke, never made a sound. He hesitated, opened his mouth, closed it again.
"Don't." Seijiro finally looked up properly, blue eyes flashing in a silent message. Don't you dare say it in front of her.
Rensuke's eyes narrowed. "I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
He didn't need to spell it out.
The Iga war front was a graveyard. Bodies piled faster than names could be recorded, the war wasn't even close to done, and the dead were already too many to count properly. The chances of finding her parents alive were shrinking by the day.
Seijiro knew that. Rensuke knew that. And Shima... damn it, the girl knew it too. And yet with her stubborn spine, she kept braiding. Kept pretending she didn't understand what Rensuke's report meant. Probably, she had expected the outcome of Seijiro's search ing for her parents from the very beginning.
You can't keep making promises to children like you're a god. Turns out Kaoru was right again. He should really stop making promises he couldn't keep. Look at where it brought me. Unable to keep my promise to a child. Unable to keep my promise to Kaoru.
That last one stung.
As if dragging him out of the spiral, one of her small hands tugged in Seijiro's hair just enough to make a point. A small act of violence.
Seijiro scowled, craning his neck to shoot her a glare. "Oy. That was on purpose."
Shima ignored him; she always did.
Rensuke, watching the ridiculous exchange, dragged a hand down his face. "You really think you've made progress with her?"
Seijiro smiled brightly. "Look at us. We're practically family."
"Send her to Kyoto," Rensuke cut in, unamused. "The war is coming; she shouldn't be here."
A groan, dramatic, and a little drawn out. Seijiro let his head fall back. "Not this again—Come on, without Payo? I'm reckless, not heartless."
"You could have sent them both."
"And lose the only skilled healer we have on the field? Brilliant. Who's gonna amputate feet then?" Seijiro stretched his arms overhead as if the conversation bored him beyond reason. It did. "What next? Shall I send you to Kyoto as well? Even better, I'll stay on the front alone, huh? Deal?"
"If it gets me away from you," Rensuke muttered.
"Anyway, it's only a matter of time. If we're lucky," Seijiro went on, running a hand through his half-braided hair, "this stalemate will hold for some more weeks. If we're not…" His voice trailed off; he didn't have to finish.
A month of not moving was a miracle, but it was only a matter of time before someone received the order that mattered. Only a matter of time before Seijiro was told to do what he'd been bred for.
But now, on the other side of the ridge, among the ranks of the Hattori, standing on the other side of the slow-burning warfront—
She was there.
His father was going to have a very bad surprise when he sent orders to collapse the front.
Seijiro's fingers tapped idly against his knee. "Any strange movements from the enemy lines? Anything unusual? Any rumors?"
Rensuke sighed. The sigh of a man who had answered this question ten times a day for the last two weeks and was prepared to answer it ten more. "Seijiro-sama, if there were any significant movements in enemy territory, I assure you—you would be the first to know."A pause. Then his gaze focused. "You expect there to be movement, don't you?"
"No," Seijiro said immediately, too quickly.
Liar.
Rensuke's lips pressed into a thin line. "Does this have to do with Zenin-dono—"
Seijiro snapped. "No." The word was delivered like a warning. His fingers flexed once, then he forced them still. He rubbed the back of his neck as if he could erase tension by brute force. "What Zenin-dono's doing behind his fancy new walls in Edo," he said, mockingly, "is none of my concern."
Shima finished her braid and tied it off before she let go.
Seijiro exhaled through his nose, trying to blow the subject out. "Enough of this," he muttered, pointedly ignoring Rensuke's glare. "More importantly, who the hell thought it was a good idea to try assassinating Tokugawa Ieyasu at Fushimi, of all places? They've complicated this mess more than it already was. Now we have lost half the Maeda."
Rensuke huffed. He agreed, he just didn't have the energy to waste words on men whose egos were bigger than the damn country they were trying to rule.
"How's Hideyori-dono?" Seijiro asked instead.
"Safe," Rensuke said. Neutral. "For now."
Seijiro caught the hesitation. "But?"
"But he's nothing more than a puppet," Rensuke replied. "More than ever, now that Tokugawa-dono gained the Kuroda's support."
A scoff. "No surprise there."
"He asked for you," Rensuke added, watching. "Over and over again."
Seijiro didn't even blink. He did try to will himself to Fushimk right away, but no such luck.
"And Gojo-dono is furious with you," Rensuke said after a beat.
That got something. Seijiro's smirk curled, bitter. "When is he not?"
"Seijiro-sama," Rensuke added flatly. "You are making a terrible impression, as the general of the Western Army."
Seijiro turned his head just enough to scowl at him, mind already elsewhere. Already with the forest. Already with her. "Go take Shima to Payo," he said.
"Why the hell am I the one taking her back?" Rensuke asked flatly.
"Because I trust you for this." Seijiro smiled sweetly. "Be glad I still trust you with something and go."
Rensuke gritted his teeth, and Seijiro could practically see the list of insults forming behind his eyes. Good. Let him remember that Seijiro knew damn well he was a spy.
The shinobi studied him for a moment longer, then finally, with an irritated sigh, he turned toward the tent entrance and gestured for Shima to follow. "Come."
Shima, utterly unfazed by the entire exchange, got to her feet without a sound. She looked at Rensuke. Then at Seijiro. Then back to Rensuke.
Rensuke squinted at her, meeting only silence and dead eyes.
Seijiro's grin widened. "Oh no. She wants you to carry her on your back."
Rensuke's head snapped toward him. "...Why?"
"I might have spoiled her."
A pause. Then, flatly: "No."
Shima stared. Rensuke scowled. "Absolutely not," he repeated.
Shima still said nothing, but there was always something unnerving in the way she stared that made it obvious she'd learned persistence from the worst possible role model: him.
The battle of wills dragged on until Rensuke cursed the heavens, crouched, and grabbed the kid by the back of her kimono, hoisting her up over his shoulder like a sack of rice. Shima didn't react. Not a flinch, not even when she lost a sandal from her dangling foot, and nobody bothered to pick it up. Just acceptance, because she'd known she'd win.
With that, Rensuke scowled at Seijiro one last time before disappearing out of the tent, muttering threats that, frankly, Seijiro didn't take seriously.
The tent finally, blessedly, settled into quiet. Alone, at last. It did nothing for him. Damn it. Seijiro pressed his fingers to his temple and shut his eyes to shut with them the thoughts from crawling up his spine.
What Zenin-dono does is none of my concern. He repeated it until it sounded like an order. Not my concern. Not my concern. Not—
…Yeah. Bullshit.
A rough sound tore out of him; he slumped forward, elbows braced on his knees, head dropping into his hands. His fingers snagged in his hair and ruined Shima's lopsided braiding attempt.
He should fix it. Oh, if only fixing were that simple.
Two weeks ago, he'd woken up to an empty room and known it before he even opened his eyes properly, before he could pretend. The blessing of the Six Eyes, he supposed, knowing immediately when someone was not where you had left them.
"We'll take turns keeping watch," she'd said.
"I'll take the first shift," she'd said.
And he—like the idiot he was—had believed her, because that's what he always did with her. He trusted her, blindly and stupidly.
Damn it, Kaoru.
Even after the argument and the words he'd thrown at her that he regretted the moment they left his mouth, he'd still believed she wouldn't do anything reckless. Kaoru was calculated; Kaoru was strategic; Kaoru also... did not wait for permission and he should have really know better than sleeping. She'd practically spelled it out for him; the second she'd told him that it would put her at risk, he should have known.
So she left.
She'd slipped away in the dead night, vanishing into the Kasagi woods without leaving him so much as a footprint to follow, and now Payo looked at him with pity, probably thinking he had been dumped in the middle of a forest and was now pathetic about it.
That wasn't fair. Seijiro wanted to be angry with her. Truly. He did. But what was there to be angry about? Kaoru didn't owe him anything, and they'd always known this was coming. If he were him? If he were the one far from home, in enemy territory, hearing a granny talk about the genocide of his clan?
Yeah. See you never.
It made sense. It still made him want to punch a hole through a wall.
...I should've really killed the damn conversation before it started.
With a bitter laugh, he ran a hand through his hair and caught on the uneven braid. He tugged too hard. Pain. Pain was good. At least it meant he was still human.
The tent felt too small.
Seijiro shoved himself to his feet and walked out into the open, letting the wind slap him as punishment. The camp stretched in uneven rows, with lanterns swaying from poles and the constant murmur of men counting days. And beyond the camp—
The front. The border. Their battlefield.
They were finally where they were supposed to be: opposite ends of the same war. It was one thing to understand that in theory, another was to stand on the line.
Seijiro's gaze snapped toward the distant tree line that marked the region of Iga. The sun was setting over the strip of open ground between their ridge and the enemy's position. It wasn't rational, but the only place they could meet now was there.
So, where are you, Kaoru?
His Six Eyes focused as he stretched his senses out over the field, over the forest, over the layered signatures of sorcerers clustered like on both sides. He couldn't pinpoint a single person at this distance, not with so many gathered, and with that forest that was a barrier of its own.
But he would know if something had gone wrong.
If Kaoru Zenin had been caught slipping through Toyotomi land, he would know. If she'd been intercepted before she reached the Hattori, he would know. If she'd fought her way through, if she had died—
The entire damn country would know.
Which meant she'd made it. Safe. That was good. So why did it still feel like someone had taken a blade and lodged it in his ribs?
His stare rested on the horizon for too long. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
Now that she was with them, if either side engaged fully on this field, there wouldn't be much left of the hill. Or the forest. Or the men, for the matter. Something about that truth made his pulse faster. He had no business feeling anticipation for a fight with her.
That wouldn't be ideal, would it, Kaoru?
Would she hesitate? No, Kaoru didn't hesitate. But maybe—
"Gojo-sama."
Seijiro turned as a young sorcerer from his clan approached, urgent but not panicked.
"Gojo-sama," the man said, bowing quickly, then stepping closer.
Seijiro's body reacted before his mind finished catching up, and his breath settled. This is it. Chichiue has finally sent the order. Collapse the front. Cut out Iga. His smirk returned. He was ready for it, already braced, actually. "Orders from Fushimi? Or, kami forbids, damn reinforcements and supplies?" he asked.
The young man shook his head. "No. Movement on the enemy's line. A full advance."
Seijiro stilled. Not an order from Kyoto?
…Huh. So the order arrived for them first. His thoughts rearranged themselves quickly. Tokugawa wants the opening move. Or maybe he needs a distraction. And apparently, Kaoru hadn't managed to talk sense into Masanari after all. Or maybe Masanari had listened then done it anyway because he was Masanari.
The easy part of him, the one that liked to laugh at how predictable everyone was, returned as he exhaled, settling in motion and already walking toward the camp.
"How long?" he asked.
"Just now. They're forming up behind the tree line."
Seijiro didn't let his face change. He didn't let his stomach twist. Was Kaoru there? Only one way to know. In an instant, he became the general everyone apparently needed him to be. "Then we do the usual," he said smoothly. "Reform the defensive line at the base of the hill. No one advances past that point toward the capital. We keep the front intact."
And then, quieter: If Kaoru is merciful and lets us.
.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.
The defensive line held at the base of the hill, where Gojo sorcerers stood shoulder to shoulder with Koga shinobi, and Maeda soldiers filled the gaps with spears and bows. Close enough to intercept an advance before it gained and far enough to keep the first clash from happening by accident.
Seijiro stood at the front, posture so casual it bordered on insulting.; boots planted, arms loose at his sides, stripped of his white flashy haori, no embroidery, no mon. The wind tugged at his ponytail, and he let it. Infinity was already up as it always was, these days; he would not give Masanari Hattori an easy target to aim at.
His Six Eyes combed the treeline; behind the canopy, signatures layered and layered over themselves, Hattori's shinobi and soldiers, Date's sorcerers. Still not enough to breach their line. He exhaled slowly; for now, they still held the advantage.
To his right, Rensuke watched the forest with his usual blank face, but Seijiro didn't buy it; he was probably already building the battlefield in his head.
"Strategy, Seijiro-sama?" Rensuke asked.
Seijiro didn't look away from the trees. "The usual. Keep them inside their damn forest," he smirked. "Don't let them out. Don't let them take a single step toward Kyoto. Don't advance inside the region either."
Rensuke let out a short, long-suffering breath. So that was it; no elegant maneuvering, or flanking, just overwhelming force, absolute confidence, and the audacity to call it a plan. "What if they try to force their way out?"
"They won't," Seijiro replied effortlessly. "I'm here."
And she's there, supplied a voice in his head. Kaoru won't collapse the front.
A long moment of quiet across the battlefield blessed them. Then, movement. A small unit slid out from the treeline and onto the open stretch between their armies. Not a charge but a polite approach. A white banner rose above their heads. A parley. A last attempt at diplomacy, performed before they started stacking bodies.
Rensuke lifted a hand to signal the archers on the ridge. He sideyed Seijiro. "A banner."
Maybe Kaoru, in the end, did talk some sense into Masanari. Of course she'd try a last attempt to avoid a fight, that's just how she was, but what was even the point? They could never talk themselves out of this.
Seijiro's smirk didn't leave his face. "Optimistic, aren't they?" He tilted his head, voice light. "Maybe Masanari wants to talk before he tries to put another arrow through my skull—"
It wasn't fair, how his voice died in his mouth the moment he actually rested his eyes on a single figure. His attention narrowed until the banners and soldiers and the whole expensive performance blurred at the edges. A flash of red among the muted earth tones, a silhouette he didn't have to find so much as his body simply recognized. Walking between a Date's general and the Hattori's Clan Head as if she had always belonged in war. Maybe she had; maybe she was better than him at the whole thing.
"I'll be inconveniently immovable," she'd said. And well, what an impression she made.
Seijiro's mouth stayed curved as if nothing had happened, even as his breath caught before thought could catch up and do its job. Ah. So this is what this feeling is. And it made all the difference in the world to know, with absolute certainty, that the only person who could truly ruin you was now standing opposite you.
Rensuke took a half-step forward, spotting Kaoru at the same time with urgency. "Seijiro-sama—"
"I know," Seijiro cut in. "I have eyes."
Rensuke's gaze snapped to him, and in the silence that followed, he waited for an order, a decision, a reaction Seijiro wasn't about to give him. "Gojo-dono must be informed immediately," he said, tight. "If Zenin-dono is here, then this changes everything—"
"No," Seijiro spoke as if slamming a door in his.
A long, dangerous pause. Rensuke stared unimpressed. And, most of all, unconvinced.
"Let's hear them out first," Seijiro said, easy again, as if he hadn't just refused the obvious course of action from his second in command.
That earned him a look; the crease between Rensuke's brows deepened. The presence of the Zenin clan head on the warfront changed the board. A great clan had just entered the field, and a line that had held for weeks was about to be tested. Gojo-dono relied on the fact that Seijiro would be able to collapse the front in a day whenever it pleased him, but now that was not a possibility anymore. They had to reorganize their plans; they both knew the correct course of action.
And yet.
And yet.
Seijiro was—what? Waiting?
His jaw worked once, then, inevitably, he pushed."Seijiro-sama," he tried again, more a waning than a real protest, "did you know about this?"
With great effort, Seijiro tore his gaze off Kaoru in the distance and looked at Rensuke with cold and untouchable eyes. "No," he said. A clean lie delivered emotionlessly.
Rensuke didn't blink, not for a second.
Seijiro let the pause hang long enough to be uncomfortable before he added lightly. "What? If I knew the Zenin-dono were stepping onto this front, do you really believe I wouldn't have adjusted our formation? You think I'm hiding the Zenin-dono movement from you? You'd be the first to know, you know how much I trust you." He clicked his tongue. "Come on, Sunzi would haunt me personally. Know the enemy and know yourself, and all that. Now, get in line."
Rensuke's eyes narrowed. "So you're surprised that Zenin-dono's here."
"Surprised?" Seijiro asked, deadpan. He turned toward Rensuke with a confident smile and delivered another lie, because apparently that was all he was good for now. "Why should I be? This changes nothing. If you think Zenin'dono's presence can prevent the border from collapsing, then you don't know me nearly as well as you think."
Rensuke's frown deepened, a little too knowing for Seijiro's liking. "You're playing a dangerous game."
Seijiro crossed his arms and tapped his finger against his bicep. "Oh? And since when are you concerned for my well-being?"
Rensuke didn't answer, but the silence said the warning clearly: This is exactly the kind of mistake your father would punish you in blood for. That told Seijiro everything he needed to know; of course he knew this was a mistake. It was a mistake to let her get this close, and a mistake not to inform his father. But Seijiro was not thinking like a strategist.
He rolled his shoulders as if the conversation bored him, and his eyes returned to the figures crossing the field. "Prepare the men," he said. "And do not provoke. We won't strike first, but if things go sideways…" His lips curled as he glanced briefly at Rensuke again. "You lead the defense."
"And you?"
"I'll humor our guests."
Rensuke stiffened, but at last he dipped his head. He wasn't happy, and he wasn't fooled, but he understood orders, even when they were stupid. He turned as if to go, then paused just long enough to throw one last line over his shoulder. "I'll be ready to bury you, then, when Zenin-dono's done with you."
"Wow. You do care." Seijiro's smile widened, bright and infuriating. "Now, give me some credit. If anyone can take on Zenin-dono here, that's me."
Rensuke's hand twitched near his tanto, as if he were considering whether strangling a noble heir counted as treason.
Seijiro stepped forward. He walked with a lazy, unbothered gait, Infinity firmly up around him in case Masanari decided to start throwing arrows at him before the parley even started. Looking like this was entertaining. Like it wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had. Like his heart wasn't slamming hard behind his ribs enough to bruise.
"Shall we, Rensuke?" Seijiro's smirk held. "Let's hear what Hattori-dono and Zenin-dono have to say, before we kill each other."