The White-Haired Recluse (7)
"Hii, hiii. It's so cooold...."
Si-ho trembled violently, draped in her threadbare rags that barely covered her. When the embers in the brazier before her began to die down, she panicked and hurriedly shoved in some scraps of wood. Who knew all the junk piled up in the abandoned house would come in handy at a time like this? Si-ho leaned in closer, squirming to soak up every bit of warmth she could.
When will this snow finally stop?
Si-ho gazed vacantly out the window. An enormous blizzard still raged from the sky. As she stared blankly at the white landscape, a feeble rumble escaped her empty stomach.
...Huh. Come to think of it.
The sound of her belly clock felt strangely unfamiliar. Lately, she'd been feeding her gut regularly with clockwork precision. She hadn't heard it once in at least half a month.
...And the reason? Well, that tofu hotpot boy had been leaving her lunchboxes every single day.
He won't come today, though. Obviously.
The snow poured down without mercy. In this weather, worse than a major snow alert, wandering outside was a surefire way to freeze to death. The mountain paths around here were treacherous enough on a good day—bad weather turned them into minefields. Si-ho could sniff out danger by the scent of blood, so she was fine. But anyone else who came looking would slip, fall to their death, or get lost and freeze solid.
No idiot would risk that on purpose.
......
Crackle, crack.
The dry firewood burned warmly. Si-ho stared blankly at the flickering flames, unconsciously cradling her chilled hands against her chest.
...Even sitting by the fire, I'm still freezing. No way.
Si-ho's pupils wavered like heat haze. The blizzard showed no signs of letting up. The sharp howl of wind buzzed in her ears. Her hunched shoulders quivered, and the white-haired girl finally dragged her shaking legs to stand.
Her vision flickered hazily. Izuki struggled to lift his heavy eyelids. A unfamiliar ceiling swam into view—or rather, the rotten beams of the abandoned house, ready to collapse at any moment, which felt more accurate than any poetic description.
"...This place."
Izuki slowly sat up. Shaking off his lingering daze, he scanned his surroundings. A kettle sputtered steam over the nearby brazier, boiling away. In the far corner, a white-haired girl shivered uncontrollably.
"...! Master?"
Izuki shot to his feet. No way—she'd found him passed out in the snow and carried him here? Overwhelmed with guilt, he started toward Si-ho, but—
"St-stop... D-don't... d-d-da-dare come... cl-clo-ser...!"
Si-ho recoiled in terror, scrambling deeper into the corner. Izuki cursed himself inwardly and backed away. He dropped to his knees at a respectful distance.
"I have no words. Master."
The boy pressed his forehead to the floor in apology and gratitude. If his master hadn't rescued him, he'd be buried under a snowdrift right now. To burden her frail body like this...
He berated himself bitterly. A long silence settled over the abandoned house.
"Th-that... um."
From the corner, where she'd hidden her face behind her hair, the white-haired girl peeked out furtively. Their eyes met, and she flinched, ducking back. After much fidgeting, she finally managed to string words together.
"Wh-why... in this... d-dangerous... w-weather... d-did you... come all the way... here...?"
What reason could anyone have for venturing into life-threatening conditions? It made no sense in Si-ho's worldview, so she asked in a shrinking whisper.
The boy, however, answered as if it were obvious.
"Because... it's dangerous weather."
Izuki unpacked the lunchboxes he'd brought and placed them by the brazier—one on the left edge, one on the right.
"You can't go out foraging for meals in this, Master."
And skipping meals indoors wasn't an option either. With that, the boy knelt formally on the left side.
......
The firelight danced in Si-ho's eyes. She parted her lips as if to speak, then clamped them shut again.
"...Idiot."
She whispered so softly no one could hear.
"Hm? What was that?"
"...?! N-nothing. Not a word."
"Haha. Shall we eat together, then? Lucky we have the brazier—we can warm the food."
Izuki picked up a lunchbox and chopsticks, smiling brightly. Si-ho stared at that smile with wavering eyes, then—hesitantly, shrinking, stealthily—settled by the one on the right edge.
Separated by the fire, at a safe distance, yet close enough to share its warmth. Across that far-yet-near gap, they sat facing each other and began to eat.
"...Ab-about... th-the... d-disciple... th-thing... um."
As the meal neared its end, Si-ho mumbled awkwardly. She agonized—say it? Don't? A dozen times over—before finally blurting,
"I-I'll... accept... you. As my d-disciple."
Izuki's eyes widened like saucers. He stared in disbelief, then bowed deeply with a radiant smile.
"Thank you, Master!"
The next morning, the sky had cleared as if the blizzard never happened. Si-ho bustled about, gathering scattered junk into piles.
Th-this should be enough... maybe.
She had no intention of deep-cleaning for a guest. But if he was here to learn, there needed to be space to move.
Si-ho roughly gauged the room's layout, lost in thought.
...But what does he even want to learn?
Swordsmanship? Iaijutsu? She had nothing to teach. Trauma from her past life had driven her to mad repetition of quick-draws until her hair turned white and her blade cracked the sound barrier.
...Not something she could explain.
Si-ho groaned, pacing the room in circles. Maybe daily "gratitude quick-draws"—ten thousand reps—with lots of effort talk...
As her tiny head spun furiously—
"Master. May I enter?"
A polite voice from outside. Si-ho flinched, curling up reflexively.
Oh. Right...
She peeked out the window—the sun hung high. He'd said he'd come around this time.
Si-ho crept to the door and eased it open cautiously.
"Good morning, Master!"
"......??!"
A massive shadow loomed over her as the door swung wide. Si-ho stumbled back in panic.
"...? What's wrong, Master?"
"N-no... Wh-what's... th-that... behind you...?"
What her trembling eyes beheld: Izuki shouldering an enormous bundle of luggage.
"Oh? Household goods, cleaning supplies, daily necessities. Some food, extra clothes, blankets—got a bit carried away. It's a lot."
The boy grinned sheepishly. Si-ho paled, sweat beading on her brow.
"Wh-why... did you... bring... all that...?"
Wasn't he here for sword lessons? An hour or two, then gone. No need for moving-truck levels of gear...
"It's my moving stuff, right? I'll be living here from now on."
Izuki blinked innocently, as if it were obvious. An indescribable silence stretched between them.
"......???? N-no, why...?"
Just commute like to an academy. Why abandon his perfectly fine home for this ruin...?
"Ah. I got disowned. By the Hokushin Ittoryu... more precisely, the Chiba family."
Izuki gave a wry smile.
"It was inevitable. They adopted me to inherit the school, but I left on my own to serve another master. No reason to keep me as a son anymore."
It hadn't been too ugly, though. The Hokushin Ittoryu itself was founded by the founder Shusaku after his own disownment... etc., etc.
But Si-ho's frozen ears heard none of it.
"So, from today, I'm no longer Chiba Izuki—I'm Ishihara Izuki. Please take care of me, Master!"
"...Wh-wh-wh-what???"
Si-ho's scream echoed through the hills. It was late March in Kyoto, as cherry blossoms began to bud.
The Kyoto Shugoshoku—Protector of Kyoto, as the name implied—was the heavy post overseeing the capital's defense and public order. A capable warrior trusted deeply by the shogunate held the position.
"The Sword God is dead?"
Shocking news reached the ears of that very Protector.
"Yes. Killed in a single strike, instantly."
"Unbelievable."
Matsudaira Katamori, the Kyoto Shugoshoku, hurried along after receiving the report from his aide.
"Who could kill that monster? And how?"
"...We don't know yet."
"Didn't the autopsy finish? The wounds should reveal the killer's school or origin."
The Protector furrowed his brow.
"Satsuma's Jikishinkage-ryu? Or maybe Shindo Munen-ryu?"
"...Apologies. You should see it for yourself."
The crime scene was cordoned off tightly by warriors. As the Protector advanced to the center, they parted like the sea.
Arriving at last, he beheld the scene and fell speechless.
"...Hit by a cannonball or something?"
His quip sounded like a joke, but no one present took it as one.
The Sword God's corpse, head exploded. Shockwave traces radiated from the epicenter. Claiming he'd been killed by a sword would sound more absurd.
"Jikishinkage-ryu, my foot..."
The Protector let out a hollow laugh. No school in the world could leave such devastation. Hell, was it even human work?
"...Any other autopsy findings?"
One of the examiners stepped forward, bowing.
"Yes. It seems the Sword God was seated here with a companion and was attacked, dying instantly."
He pointed to the bullet-marked engawa.
"He tried to block the lethal strike with his own sword. But the result..."
The examiner presented a shattered blade. Its broken edge looked melted and refrozen.
"It was pulverized along with his sword."
......
Unbelievable—but he had to believe it. The Protector composed himself and pieced it together.
"So, an unknown ronin of unknown origin—one-shotted the shogunate's greatest feared assassin... the Sword God. And crushed his sword in the process."
He sank into deep thought. Kyoto had become a demon capital under anti-shogunate assassins. From day one, he'd desperately tried to stabilize order, but shogunate forces were woefully inadequate against them.
In this desperate situation, their top enemy asset—the Sword God—was assassinated. By an unidentified ronin, not an establishment warrior.
This could be...
Not all ronin were anti-shogunate. Surely some despised the assassins' rampage. If the mysterious killer who slew the Sword God was one of them...
"Aide."
"Yes, Lord Protector."
"...How about forming a new guardian unit from ronin?"
The aide blinked in confusion, then pondered and nodded slowly.
"The establishment lacks manpower for Kyoto's security. Ronin solve that. And moreover..."
His voice dropped.
"We might even recruit the unknown ronin who killed the Sword God. That's your aim, isn't it?"
The Protector affirmed silently with his eyes.
"Any witness descriptions of the killer's appearance?"
"Not precise, but some saw a white-haired old man in a sedge hat among the guests."
"Keep that classified. And that we're seeking the Sword God's killer."
The moment word spread, anti-shogunate forces would hunt the killer too.
This might be a race.
Whoever found and recruited the Sword God's slayer first could tip the scales.
"Any ideas for the new ronin unit's name?"
After a moment's thought, the Protector replied.
"A name's just a name. No need to overthink."
As he left the scene, he muttered,
"Call it the Shinsengumi. Since it's newly selected."
The aide nodded behind him. All the warriors bowed in his wake.
Shinsengumi. May this plan be the shogunate's counterstrike signal...
The aide prayed fervently, gazing at the Kyoto skyline he'd known all his life.