Chapter 150
Translator: penny
Chapter: 150
Chapter Title: Changing Things (2)
—Munch, munch.
The bridge of Shibata Katsuie's nose twitched as she chewed on a mouthful of properly seasoned namul and rice. The scar there, clearly quite old at a glance, wriggled faintly.
"Why are you doing that?"
"...No. It's nothing."
And so, Il-yeong and Mori Yoshinari could only stare at her in blank, newfound expressions.
It was only natural.
Shibata Katsuie. Though she continued her meal without any change in expression, as if trying to appear outwardly composed, how could the two of them not know it wasn't genuine?
Just as it proved she didn't wear her mask even in everyday life for no reason, few people had ever seen her bare face—let alone knew about the scar.
'I heard she didn't even show it to Oda Nobuyuki.'
No wonder rumors swirled that seeing her true face meant death, or that she was truly an ogre.
It was enough that even Il-yeong and Mori Yoshinari, who knew better, briefly—very briefly—wondered if she'd resolved to wipe them out.
'Not that she would.'
There was no need to seek evidence from afar.
Il-yeong gave a wry smile as he noted her ears flushed bright red, her pupils trembling ever so slightly despite appearances, and most tellingly, the tip of her chopsticks quivering faintly.
'Even if I'm fine with it, showing it to Yoshinari is still a burden for her.'
Even granting that Il-yeong had seen her scars a few times before, openly revealing them to Mori Yoshinari was surely still burdensome.
Yet why had she removed her mask?
Unable to fathom the answer, Il-yeong absentmindedly scratched his cheek with a finger—and at that exact moment, he froze as the gazes of the two women fixed on his face.
"Ah."
It was only natural. Their eyes weren't just on him—they lingered on the scar on his face, filled with all sorts of emotions.
Pity.
Guilt.
Regret.
Sadness.
Bitterness...
Confirming the gray and golden eyes swirling with their respective emotions, Il-yeong could only realize.
Why Shibata Katsuie had removed her mask.
'Because of me?'
The answer wasn't far off. And it wasn't just Il-yeong who sensed it—Mori Yoshinari mumbled a few times before clapping her hands.
—Clap!
Breaking the awkward atmosphere.
At the same time, as their eyes turned to her, she rolled hers briefly before crying out.
"Sh-should we have a drink?"
It was obvious this was a hasty attempt to lighten the mood with alcohol—nothing beat it for that. But knowing it stemmed from consideration for them both, Il-yeong and Shibata Katsuie could only offer faint smiles.
It was only natural.
Far from disliking her, they both rather liked the straightforward woman.
"Very well."
"I'm fine with that too."
Besides, there was no need to prepare drinks.
As it was dinnertime to begin with, enough sake for accompaniment was already on the table. Since it had been prepared to drink anyway, starting a bit early wouldn't be an issue.
'In fact, it's perfect.'
Il-yeong nodded as he poured sake into their cups from the flask he'd taken up, thinking Mori Yoshinari had deftly eased the mood.
...Yeah, that's what he thought.
A little time later.
—Gulp.
"Heueh—."
"M-Mori-dono."
"...Haha."
Mori Yoshinari had gotten far drunker far faster than expected, using Il-yeong's lap as a pillow before long.
"Il-yeonggg..."
"Yes, yes."
Il-yeong responded to her drunken, slurred murmur with words laced with bewilderment and affection. It wasn't so strange for a slightly tipsy Shibata Katsuie to watch them with flustered eyes.
She knew Il-yeong was closer to Mori Yoshinari than even Oda Nobunaga, but seeing it so openly right in front of her was another matter.
"...Ahem."
Especially after baring her scar, which had taken quite a mental toll, and now with the alcohol adding to it.
And then.
"Hehe... Sniff, haa. Il-yeong's scent."
Yoshinari turned her head from where it rested on his lap toward his abdomen, inhaling deeply.
"Ahem."
Naturally, from that angle, her ample... no, even more impressive bosom inevitably brushed his hand on the ground, prompting an involuntary cough—but it was lost on her, already drunk.
"Haa."
Usually, resting one's head on a lap felt fine at first but uncomfortable later, yet she closed her eyes as if it were the greatest haven, savoring it for a long while.
Of course, Il-yeong didn't mind at all, and before he knew it, he was toying with her bound hair in his hand.
"I don't remember her being this weak to alcohol before..."
Still, he couldn't help but wonder.
Even at their first meeting—no, their first night together after drinks—she hadn't been incapable of holding her liquor.
"Hm."
At that, Shibata Katsuie, as if grasping something, lightly swirled her cup before speaking up.
"She probably won't show it, but she's quite worn out. She was at the front, cutting down every enemy in sight during the pursuit."
"Pardon?"
At her words, Il-yeong glanced down at Mori Yoshinari's sleeping profile beside him. Even as one of the Oda Clan's fiercest generals, her duty was strictly to mop up stragglers who hadn't rejoined Imagawa forces. There was no reason for her to lead the charge—why?
As if reading his doubt.
Shibata Katsuie sipped lightly from the cup she'd been swirling, swallowed, and added.
"It's not so strange, is it?"
"Ah."
Given her affectionate nature, she had no reason to forgive the Imagawa army that caused Il-yeong's wound. Realizing that far, Il-yeong smiled bitterly, gently placing his hand on the sleeping Yoshinari's cheek as he spoke.
"She's wearing everyone out. I'm really fine."
He meant it, truly.
"It's not about being tired—it's only natural."
But Shibata Katsuie shook her head at his words.
"You've left the greatest mark in Owari right now, with ties to more people than anyone, all connected to Lord Hikage. The ignorant still mutter about your Joseon origins when they see you..."
Having cast aside the mask that hid her face, Shibata Katsuie spoke to him with a calm mixed with tipsiness, more relaxed than before.
"But you've become someone Owari can't ignore anymore. Publicly or privately."
"Is that so."
Faced with her openly earnest expression, Il-yeong simply nodded without false humility.
"...Mmm."
"..."
"Haha."
Mori Yoshinari's murmurs drifted from her sleep-tossed pillow. The two silently watched her before turning to each other. Confirming each other's mild intoxication, Il-yeong glanced toward the garden beyond the courtyard and said.
"Shall we step out for some air?"
*
Il-yeong called nearby maids to drape a light blanket over her before crossing the courtyard toward the Hirate Family's inner garden, with Shibata Katsuie following behind.
Was it because the days were warming?
Tall trees sprouted fresh leaves, and in the pond at the garden's edge, fish wriggled, lazily circling under the moonlight reflected on the surface.
How long had they walked like that?
"We probably won't see each other for a few months."
Il-yeong spoke first.
Shibata Katsuie nodded silently. She'd already heard during the handover of prisoners to the clan that Il-yeong would head to Kyoto first.
"I won't be going to Kyoto, so yes."
Even without mishaps on the road to Kyoto, Il-yeong's role wasn't just to go and return—he had to repair the Shiba residence there, convert it to an Oda Clan estate, link up with Nobunaga on her arrival, and come back together.
The clan couldn't be left empty for long, but round trip alone would easily take months.
—Step.
Their conversation paused there.
And soon reaching the garden's end, Il-yeong turned to the woman silently following him.
"So, say whatever you want now."
"Was it obvious?"
"I've known you long enough."
She let out an involuntary smile at his sly reply, though it didn't show. She'd put her mask back on the moment they stepped outside.
She knew it was obvious already.
No need to beat around the bush, then. She asked directly.
"How can you remain so composed?"
How could he be so unshaken?
"I didn't hide it from the start. But most who saw it reacted the same: contempt, fear, mockery, pity, sympathy."
It was laughably real.
Even knowing it was an age of war, that scars meant little to warriors—humans instinctively reject the different, expressing it by wounding others.
"It might seem trivial. I was never openly insulted. But..."
She might have brushed it off.
Some call it overreacting, others attention-seeking.
However.
More vexing, uncomfortable—repulsive—was having her impression defined not by her achievements, but a single facial scar.
"You feel it too, don't you."
Her golden eyes took in Il-yeong's face as he listened quietly. Proof was that his initial sly smile had turned expressionless.
"Pity from allies, mockery and insults from foes. Fear from some, cheap charity miscalled sympathy from others. I don't think you don't know."
She knew from watching him: emotional at times, but more rational than anyone when needed.
So she had to ask.
Why could he stay so calm?
Just because he hadn't experienced it yet? Or some other mindset...?
"Is that so."
After a wait, Il-yeong spoke.
And he slowly stepped forward, stopping right before her as she gazed at him with trembling eyes.
"That... is your..."
His hand gently touched her mask, untying the loose strings and slowly lifting it.
"No."
Her features on skin neither pale nor dark—perfectly ordinary—were more than enough to call her a beauty.
"Shibata Katsuie."
Yes, even the long scar across her nose bridge.
Il-yeong murmured her name, caressing the face beneath the mask.
"Was that your fear?"
"Ah..."
At that moment, a soft sigh escaped her lips as their eyes met.