Chapter 17
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Mori Yoshinari (5)
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Chirp. Chirp chirp―.
“Uuum...”
Warm sunlight gently blanketing her eyes, the chirping of birds ringing in her ears, and the firm chest grasped in her hand...
'Huh? Firm chest?'
The moment Yoshinari realized the last part felt off and tried to squint her eyes open, a throbbing headache got in the way.
“Ugh...”
Only then did she recall drinking all night the previous evening.
She could barely hold her liquor to begin with, so she'd clearly overdone it... Wait.
'Who... who did I drink with?'
A foreboding premonition slithered down her spine.
And as sensation finally returned to her body, her lower abdomen tingled...
“Hic, hiik!”
She remembered. It all came flooding back.
She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes, nor did she dare remove her hand—instead, she squeezed them shut even tighter.
And small wonder. As her mind cleared bit by bit, the memories of their dawn tryst were more than enough to shatter the mentality of a girl who, until just yesterday, had been a pure virgin.
She couldn't utter a single word.
'I... I must've lost my mind...!'
How could she have done such a thing?
No, she shouldn't have been drinking with Il-yeong in the first place. If she'd known a momentary impulse would lead to this, she never would've touched a drop.
But she couldn't blame Il-yeong for it, either.
'I'd planned to apologize for misunderstanding him that morning at dawn and suggested we drink together... but instead of apologizing, I...'
She'd tossed the apology to the dogs, muttered rudely for ages before spilling her true feelings, and even been the one to kiss him first.
She was the one who'd suggested the drinks.
She was the one who'd kissed him.
No way out, no way in. To anyone looking, it was as good as her deliberately seducing Il-yeong.
'No... it has to be a dream. It must be!'
It had to be. No other option.
Yes, she'd seen an unwelcome scene and had a nightmare because of it.
She had been feeling lonely lately, after all. Of course she had...
“Uuum...”
But when Il-yeong's firm pectorals twitched beneath her hand, she could only resign herself with a mutter.
“No way that's true...”
If it were a dream, there'd be no reason for a naked Il-yeong to be lying beside her, nor for her lower abdomen and that place to be tingling. In the end, fully aware of reality, Yoshinari had no choice but to stop denying it.
That was when it happened.
“Uum... Yoshinari?”
Il-yeong's cracked baritone, low and husky from the morning hour, rang in her ears. Yoshinari flushed crimson and kept her eyes shut.
His pleasant voice was one thing, but only now did she realize she was pillowed not on a wooden headrest, but on his arm.
Such a situation was utterly unfamiliar to her to begin with. And at dawn, she'd uttered lewd words and moans too indecent to repeat—so for her, this was perhaps the natural choice.
“...Mm.”
Unfortunately for Yoshinari, Il-yeong noticed her quickened breath the moment he saw it and smirked, realizing she was awake.
'Well, we'd gone at it until morning light.'
Though it'd only been two months since he'd suddenly possessed this world, Il-yeong had plenty of pent-up frustration by that point, so they'd had no choice but to go all night.
And how could he hold back when his partner was a beauty with gray ponytail and massive breasts?
'Still, time to tidy up.'
The low table had already been pushed to the window side, and the fine tatami mats were soiled with Il-yeong's semen, Yoshinari's love juices, and the uneaten snacks they'd spilled everywhere.
He didn't care how he looked, but Yoshinari was the head of the Mori family. If samurai dropped by later and saw the room like this, it'd be quite the embarrassment.
Especially after the charisma she'd shown the day before.
“Nghcha.”
Il-yeong carefully lifted the head of Yoshinari—who was still pretending to sleep as best she could—slipped his arm free, placed a wooden headrest from the closet under her, and pulled out a spare futon to fully cover her body.
“...Man. They really are huge.”
Even shrouded in a thick futon, the curves of her breasts were plainly visible, stoking Il-yeong's lust anew—but he shook his head and simply tidied up the surroundings.
'Huge...? S-so embarrassing...!'
Of course, Yoshinari—who was listening with eyes closed—curled her uncovered toes in mortification, but to Il-yeong, it was nothing but cute.
He teased her in his own way, then loosely draped his clothes over his naked form, opened the door, and rang the bell to summon a maid. Soon, a waiting maid from downstairs ascended and bowed her head.
“Select a few tight-lipped maids to clean the room, and bring some clothes suitable for Yoshinari and me. Prepare a simple breakfast, too.”
“...Yes.”
The maid bowed at Il-yeong's command and vanished with quick steps. Seeing her obvious tension, Il-yeong couldn't help but give a wry smile.
“Well, can't blame her for not seeing me in a good light.”
From their perspective, he and Yoshinari were the enemy generals who'd slaughtered their lords—yet here they were, throwing a drunken party and leaving behind a room reeking of sticky sex to clean up.
But Il-yeong didn't mind much.
Not because he was unbothered, but because now wasn't the time to wallow in guilt. Plenty of time for self-loathing later, anyway.
“Alright, then.”
With that mutter, Il-yeong bundled the still-pretending Yoshinari like a caterpillar, scooped her up princess-style, and whispered softly.
“Let's head to the next room until the cleaning's done. Yoshinari.”
Of course, he pretended not to notice her ears turning red and her toes curling in.
**
Before long, the maids arrived with basins of water, cloths, and wooden tubs for food scraps, cleaning the room spotless.
About thirty minutes passed like that.
The maid Il-yeong had summoned earlier cautiously opened the door and bowed.
“The cleaning is complete. Breakfast has been prepared simply, as ordered.”
“Good work.”
“...Not at all. If you'll excuse me.”
The maid departed with the same brisk steps as before. With the entire upper floor emptied once more, Il-yeong looked down at Yoshinari—still feigning sleep—and chuckled.
“They're all gone now. Time to get up.”
It was getting too late to keep pretending. Aware of that, Yoshinari hesitated before squinting at him reproachfully.
“Wh-where are the clothes?”
For her first words upon rising, it was suspiciously rational. Il-yeong just smiled, pointing to the clothes laid out beside her and a cloth dampened with warmed water.
“Wipe down with that for now. We'll bathe after breakfast. We need to depart by noon at the latest.”
“Ah, got it...”
Yoshinari felt inexplicably vexed by his utter nonchalance. And with Il-yeong clad only in a draped overcoat over his bare body, the kiss marks on his subtly exposed chest made her even more embarrassed.
As she tried to rise, she remembered her own nakedness and glanced at Il-yeong, hesitating.
“Y-you're not leaving?”
Was he planning a second round right here?
Yoshinari trembled slightly, eyeing him warily. But contrary to her fears, Il-yeong made an "oh" face, stood, and said,
“Sorry. I'll head out first.”
Unable to suppress his smile at her innocently cute reaction, Il-yeong left the room. Only then did Yoshinari clutch her burning cheeks with both hands and mutter softly.
“...What do I do...”
She decided against covering up with the futon for a while. The moment she did, she'd probably kick it off.
*
Unlike the departure, the return from Kiyosu Castle to Nagoya Castle felt far lighter. The two castles were so close—even by modern standards, just a few bus rides away—that they could reach it in a day.
Plus, they'd left samurai and some troops to temporarily govern the now-leaderless Kiyosu Castle, speeding things up even more.
Thanks to that, they arrived at Nagoya Castle before sunset and soon encountered a long line of people stretching along the road.
“Waaaaah!”
The victory news had already reached Nagoya Castle and been publicized, so the crowd roared in cheers at the sight of samurai riding in on horseback and ashigaru bearing the banners of the Mori and Oda clans.
“Long live Lady Mori! Hooray!”
“Waaaaah!”
They cheered, publicly championing the name of Mori Yoshinari, who had led the battle.
But Il-yeong wasn't thrilled by the excessive attention, so he donned a mengu mask—shaped like a Hannya with a long scar across the mouth—and trailed behind.
“Ahem!”
Turning at the sound of Yoshinari's fake cough near his ear, he saw her trying to project dignity: back straight, reins pulled as imposingly as possible.
“Pfft...”
It looked just like a puppy unused to praise desperately hiding its wagging tail, and Il-yeong barely stifled his laughter.
'She's just so damn cute.'
As if reading his mind, Yoshinari suddenly glanced back at Il-yeong—then whipped her gaze forward the instant their eyes met.
A stranger might think, "Huh, does she hate him?" But Il-yeong just gazed at the back of her head without a care.
'Well, she's a virgin, after all. Can't blame her for being flustered.'
In truth, after breakfast, they hadn't exchanged a single word the entire ride from Kiyosu to Nagoya. He wouldn't say it didn't sting at all, but it was understandable.
Not just because she clearly had zero experience with men at first glance—in modern times, far more casual hookups existed.
A drunken impulse leading to one night of passion, followed by parting in the hollow dawn air without a word. That kind of fleeting thing.
'Though in this case, it's more like the naive boss lady who devoured her subordinate at night gets all blushy when they meet again.'
The analogy got a bit muddled, but the point was he wasn't hurt by her clumsy handling born of complicated emotions.
“Oops.”
Lost in thought longer than expected, he snapped to and realized they'd nearly reached the inner castle gate as the crowd thinned.
“Hyah.”
Worried about falling behind Yoshinari, Il-yeong urged his horse a bit faster through the gate.
Then, a soft murmur in his ear.
“...Joseon-jing.”
“Hm?”
He hadn't caught it clearly, but it sounded like she was addressing him, so he turned. All he saw were the trailing samurai and sentries guarding the gate.
'Misheard, I guess.'
Having fought two intense battles recently, his body must be worn out. One of them hadn't been a fight, technically, but still.
As Il-yeong slowly vanished through the gate, a man hidden in the crowd peeked out.
“...Joseon-jing.”
The reason Il-yeong hadn't spotted him was simple: he'd ducked into the throng the moment he turned.
Grind―.
His teeth ground as if to shatter, and the six-fingered right hand gripping his katana trembled violently.
Who, seeing Il-yeong just now, would believe this Joseon ronin had been a low-rank samurai mere days ago?
Hideyoshi stared with bloodshot eyes in the direction Il-yeong had disappeared, then melted smoothly back into the crowd.
It was the calm before the storm.
**
Once inside the inner castle, the crowds naturally couldn't follow. Instead, Yoshinari and Il-yeong dismounted and bowed upon seeing the welcoming group of retainers ahead.
“We bring the heads of the traitors who rebelled against the clan lord.”
“Well done, Lady Mori.”
They were none other than the Oda clan's senior retainers, led predictably by Hirate Masahide.
“Hmm...”
“Mm.”
But Il-yeong soon eyed the retainers with puzzlement. Unlike the cheering crowds outside, they wore complicated, even bitter expressions rather than joy.
'Why... oh.'
He understood soon enough.
This battle was, simply put, a family feud. Not that far off—many of Nobutomo's retainers killed at Kiyosu had attended Nobuhide's funeral.
'No wonder they're not thrilled.'
Only now did Il-yeong grasp their somber looks, his fingers absently tracing the groove in his now-habitual mask.
This was the reality of the era.
No matter how modern folk romanticized the Warring States as an "age of upheaval" or "era of killers," those living it were driven by countless circumstances and tangled interests.
“...Indeed. Word is your achievements were great this time.”
Masahide's deep voice reached his ears. As eyes turned to him, Il-yeong lowered his mask slightly and bowed.
“You overpraise me.”
“Overpraise...”
For a moment, Masahide's eyes glinted subtly.
The old man's restrained gaze—silver-white hair mingled with black—held layers of meaning as it fixed on Il-yeong's face.
'He must have questions.'
How he'd sensed the intent to commit seppuku, his ties to Saito Dosan, his true identity...
Il-yeong met Masahide's steady stare, lifting his head slightly with a calm smile.
“...Is that so.”
It was as good as a signal that answers would come soon. Masahide muttered softly and averted his gaze. Then—
Step―step―.
A lively yet dignified footfall echoed through the grounds. Soon, a familiar yet eternally unsettling voice pierced his ears.
“You two really stirred up trouble, Yoshinari. And Il-yeong.”
Clad in the same black overcoat embroidered with a red dragon as at the funeral—her cheeks flushed as if from drink—Nobunaga approached, shaking her silky black bob.
“We see the clan lord!”
“We see the clan lord!”
The retainers bowed in reverence at her appearance. Yoshinari bowed swiftly too, her breastplate-clad chest jiggling faintly.
“We see the clan lord.”
Il-yeong bowed belatedly as well.
“Joseon monkey.”
But soon, scarlet-tinged bare feet entered his lowered view.
She gently lifted his chin with one hand, her golden eyes flashing from whiskey-breath distance as she whispered,
“You're more useful than I thought.”
Il-yeong's sole thought in that moment:
'...If I kiss her, she'll lop off my head, right?'