The White-Haired Shut-In (2)
Marie Antoinette syndrome. A phenomenon where hair turns completely white in an extremely short time. The name derives from the legend that Marie Antoinette's hair went white from terror just before her execution. In other words, it's a symptom that manifests in people who experience extreme stress or trauma.
"Uh, uhh. What if another thug attacks ag-gain…."
Was there ever a case that fit the description as perfectly as Si-ho's right now?
Si-ho walked down the road, utterly terrified.
"I-I wanna go home…."
Just like in her previous life, she wanted to hole up in her room and never come out.
But that was impossible.
Logistics in this era weren't as advanced as the modern world. She couldn't procure all her daily necessities with a single click from her room corner.
Even surviving on mushrooms sprouting from floorboard cracks and rainwater had its limits.
In the end, Si-ho had to crawl out of the abandoned house just before starving to death.
The problem was that every time, tsujigiri enthusiasts like Genzaburo came slinking up, licking their chops.
"A mere vagrant old man like you should feel honored to die by this famed blade of mine."
"If you have any last words, I'll at least li—."
——BOOM!!
Their heads all exploded from her reflexive slashes.
"O-oh. This time, I think I controlled the power a b-bit better…."
One might wonder if she really needed to hold back against trash like them.
But Si-ho's excessively powerful iaijutsu took a toll on her own body too.
Especially her initial hypersonic draw—the recoil was as immense as its devastating power.
When she came to, blood was streaming from her eyes and ears.
Keep using it like that, and she'd go blind and deaf in no time.
Plus, the swords often shattered from the shock.
Si-ho grimaced at Genzaburo's pitifully wrecked blade.
No way. The bond we promised to share forever…?
With no choice, she parted ways with it and picked up a new ronin's sword.
"M-maybe this time there's something edible to scavenge…."
Si-ho squinted and rummaged through the corpse.
She used to flee in horror and disgust before.
But ever since a grilled rice ball rolled out of one ronin's pouch, Si-ho had awakened to the true joys of corpse farming.
After a month of gnawing nameless weeds, that first taste of refined carbs….
The surge of blood sugar and dopamine brought tears to her eyes.
Heart pounding with excitement, Si-ho dug through the bundle.
Some crumpled papers. A few books. A brush. And a tiny Buddha statue?
No sign of food anywhere. Just as her face fell—
A heavy pouch thudded into her hand.
"…?"
Peeking inside cautiously, it glittered with stacks of silver coins matching the weight.
"……Ugh, euugh."
Any normal person would leap for joy.
But to Si-ho right now, it wasn't so simple.
What was money, really? Fundamentally, just scraps of paper or metal chunks.
Useless things you couldn't even eat.
Their value only emerged through trade with others.
Meaning, to use it, she'd have to head to a village or city.
"…N-no. I h-hate that."
Past memories flashed unbidden.
Si-ho unwittingly staggered backward.
She could barely roam the hills around the abandoned house now.
Even in these deserted spots, murderers popped up like random encounters.
How much worse would the teeming city streets be?
Si-ho recoiled in horror, ready to toss the pouch away.
But the silver coins sparkled alluringly in the sunlight.
"……."
Sparkle, sparkle again.
"…Uh, uhh."
Wait. Let's think this through.
This many silver coins had to be a huge sum.
She could buy mountains of food.
Enough to hole up in her room for… at least a few months.
Wouldn't that be way safer than crawling out daily just to eat weeds?
Beneath her tangled white hair, her meager brain whirred furiously.
"J-just once. If I go carefully…."
After much whimpering, Si-ho finally steeled herself.
This was the rational choice—just dash in and out!
Si-ho clutched the silver pouch with resolve.
The Warring States era. An age of chaos where warlords vied endlessly for the land.
The hundred years of turmoil finally ended when the first Shogun crushed all rivals.
He established a powerful central government to rule the realm, calling it the Shogunate.
The world then enjoyed 300 years of peace under the Shogunate's new order.
300 years. An eternity—even unyielding rock crumbles before time's erosion.
The Shogunate, once commanding the heavens, gradually decayed in prolonged peace.
Meanwhile, provincial powers grew in the shadows, evading oversight.
The fragile balance shattered catastrophically with….
The Tairo—chief advisor to the Shogun and the Shogunate's highest official. A man of unparalleled power, second only to the Shogun himself.
Yet he was slain in the Shogunate's heartland.
In broad daylight, at 9 a.m., under the blazing sun.
Despite dozens of guards.
The Tairo and his entire entourage were massacred by a single swordsman.
"…Good work again."
A voice spoke from behind the blood-soaked swordsman.
He glanced around the scene and shuddered involuntarily.
Fingers scattered here and there. Arms and legs. Ears and noses. Corpses clutching spilling entrails or desperately holding severed body parts.
A hellscape recreated in the mortal world.
Amid it, the blood-drenched swordsman silently wiped his blade.
"Now, no warriors loyal to the Shogunate remain in Satsuma."
The man murmured, gazing at the dozens of mutilated corpses.
The swordsman sheathed his cleaned blade and nodded quietly.
"Anything more you've learned about that matter?"
Splash, splash.
The man approached through the blood pools and asked casually.
"Our funds stolen mid-transport."
The swordsman halted at the words, then slowly crushed a fallen warrior's finger.
"Aaaagh!! I-I don't know! We have no idea! I swear!!"
The man looked down at the writhing warrior with pity.
"We lost 100 mon in silver coins. Not a huge sum, but the real issue is our funding route's been exposed."
He continued questioning, hands clasped behind his back.
"The headless corpse found outside Kyoto five days ago. That was our transporter. Still claim ignorance?"
"I don't know. Really, I don't. I'm just a low-rank grunt with no info. Please believe—guh, gaaah!!"
The man wore a genuinely regretful expression.
"I see. Then you know nothing of the other headless corpses turning up one after another."
"Y-yeah. We thought it was weird too. Ronin dropping dead one by one. We figured… maybe the Shogunate secretly hired some hidden master."
"Hmm. A hidden master."
He pondered deeply, then shot the swordsman a strange glance.
"Perhaps… it ties to that 'sound' we heard a few months back."
The swordsman's face flickered at the words.
Three months ago—precisely when Si-ho first unleashed her hypersonic iaijutsu.
Reports flooded in from Kyoto and the entire Kansai region: top-tier warriors hearing some 'sound'.
A cannon blast. Thunder. A colossal beast's roar.
Descriptions varied, but all agreed it stemmed from an overwhelming presence.
"What did you sense from that sound?"
The swordsman fell silent at the question, then spoke lowly.
"…A power that could end an era."
The man burst into hearty laughter.
"Hahaha. That's trouble. That's a power we should claim. No… one only we can have, right?"
He shook his head feigned regret.
"We could ally if our goals aligned. But two such beings in the realm…."
That alone made it a threat, he smirked wryly.
"Sorry to rely on you every time."
The man bowed apologetically.
The swordsman merely stared silently.
"I'll leave it to you, then."
The swordsman nodded wordlessly and slipped from the bloodied room like a shadow.
'I… I survived.'
The fallen warrior sighed in relief.
He groaned, hauling his battered body up.
'The grunt lie worked.'
The Satsuma warrior fumbled at his waist—habit of checking his weapon.
'…First, seek refuge with Shogunate-friendly warriors. Report what I heard.'
The one who cut off anti-Shogunate funding.
Who eliminated disruptive ronin.
Who unleashed eerie 'sounds' across Kansai.
They saw all as one person's doing.
'…The key is, even that monster fears 'that one person.'
A pinnacle swordsman who stepped into godhood, dubbed Kenshin.
If even the anti-Shogunate's top assassin felt threatened….
'The Shogunate still has a future.'
A glimmer of hope lit the warrior's eyes.
If they could contact 'that person' first and recruit them….
He swallowed hard at the tantalizing possibility.
'…?'
But his waist search yielded nothing.
Puzzled, he looked down—empty scabbard.
His panicked gaze drifted to the bloodied swordsman.
In the swordsman's hand: his missing blade.
"……Huh?"
With a dazed gasp, red lines slashed his vision.
Soon, the warrior crumpled in nine mangled pieces.
Clang.
The swordsman casually dropped the traitorous blade and melted into the shadows.