Yatagarasu Series
Volume 4:
The Raven of the Empty Coffin
Author: Chisato Abe
Part 2: Akeru
“Good evening,” the boy said to me.
His eyes were as black and bright as ink drying on a page. His skin was whiter than camellia petals, paler even than the magnolia blossoms scattered at his feet. It was dusk. A wafer-thin jacket draped over his small frame. His hair was pinned behind his head where it fell straight down his back like a dark waterfall.
I thought he was beautiful. Not princely, not grand, not stately. Just beautiful.
I remember everything about my first meeting with His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince.
***
Back then, my mother was completely focused on my older brother, the family’s heir, and my older sister, who everyone expected to enter the Imperial Palace as a bride. I consoled my loneliness with acts of mischief. I only ever got attention from adults when I was in trouble.
One day, I decided to go to the main estate’s annex on my own—specifically because the maids had told me not to go there. My family had an important guest that day. I decided to sneak into the annex and spy on them.
I remember it all so vividly.
I slipped past the flowerless camellia hedges and peered through the windows of the annex. My plan was simple: if no one was there, I’d sneak inside and explore. If there was someone there, I’d retreat.
No plan survives contact with reality.
A boy was sitting on the veranda outside the annex. The red light of the setting sun shone over his shoulders. The sky bled crimson, softening the white flowers in the magnolia trees to a gentle pink. Petals drifted gently down.
The boy looked up at the sunset. He seemed lost. He noticed me almost as soon as I noticed him. He smiled, calm and unruffled.
“Good evening,” I stammered out, trying to remember my manners. I was nervous and out of breath from running.
“Are you all right?” the boy asked. “Do you have a message from Masuho no Susuki?”
I didn’t like that he was speaking so familiarly about my sister. He didn’t even call her a lady! He was talking about her like they were friends or something.
I shook my head.
“Do you play here?” the boy asked. “If so, I’m sorry for intruding.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Um, no, no one plays here or anything like that. I came because other people told me not to. Sorry.”
The boy smirked. “You ignored those people.”
“I did.”
This boy was the important guest that the servants had told me about. I worried about him calling the servants and getting in trouble, but he didn’t call anyone.
“I see,” the boy said. “Then I suppose we’ll have to keep your presence here a secret.”
I looked up in surprise.
The boy pressed a finger to his lips and then smiled. “Unless you like being yelled at?”
I shook my head.
“I thought not.”
I stood in front of him like a slack-jawed fool for a few moments. If my brother had caught me here, he would have yelled at me and then dragged me off to the adults for some more yelling and punishments. I was used to being in trouble and I thought I knew what to expect. No one had ever promised to keep my mischief a secret before.
I believe that was the moment when I learned that friends were a thing. Not people who turned on you or kept you from breaking rules, but people you could break rules with. People who were willing to get in trouble with you.
“All right,” I said. “It’s a secret.” I also raised a finger to my lips.
His smile was the kindest thing I’d ever seen.
***
“It’s finally happening,” Akeru said, watching the faces of the boys gathered in front of him.
They were in dormitory building three, room two of the Keisōin. Less than an hour had passed since Akeru had hauled his things through the door, and already every cadet tied to the Crown Prince’s faction had crowded into the space.
“The way Nanke’s been throwing their weight around these past few years? That’s fear talking. Pure fear. They know what’s coming.” Akeru grinned fiercely. “We’ve taken our share of beatings from them over the years, but that ends now.”
The cadets leaned forward. “You mean it?” he asked.
One of them couldn’t hold back. “You mean—!”
“Exactly what you’re thinking. His Imperial Highness is going to ascend as the next emperor soon.”
The Imperial Council had been meeting constantly over the past few days. More and more voices were calling for the Emperor to abdicate in favor of the Crown Prince. The Nanke family was fighting it, but they had no real arguments left. It was only a matter of time before the Imperial Council gave its approval.
“When His Imperial Highness takes the throne, he can’t have Yamauchishu like the corrupt incompetents we’ve been dealing with,” Akeru said. He looked each of them in the eye—Seeds, Saplings, and Trees. Every one of them stood at attention. “His Imperial Highness sent me here personally. I’m here to look after you all and make sure you’re ready to serve him.”
Akeru stood up straight. “We’re going to be the Crown Prince’s true allies when he becomes the emperor. No slacking off. No excuses. You’ll do your duty, and you’ll do it well. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!” The cadets bowed their heads in unison.
Someday, he’ll be your brother-in-law. Don’t you dare disrespect him.
That was what Akeru’s father had told him, years ago now. The old man’s voice still echoed in his head sometimes.
Afterwards, his father had introduced him to the boy who would become his first accomplice. The Crown Prince—his sister’s future husband.
The Crown Prince’s health had been poor when he first arrived at the main Saike estate. He’d spent some time recovering in the annex, so he and Akeru only met formally after he was well enough to move around. During their first official meeting, Akeru waited until his father wasn’t looking and pressed a finger to his lips. The Crown Prince kept his expression perfectly neutral, then returned the gesture briefly.
After that, Akeru and his sister were given plenty of chances to play with the Crown Prince. They were all children, after all—no one questioned them spending time together. Over time, Masuho no Susuki, Akeru’s kind and compassionate older sister, came to genuinely like the Crown Prince. They were friends, not just distant relatives.
Akeru wanted to do something—anything—for his beloved sister and his future brother-in-law. When he heard that the Crown Prince was returning from his studies abroad to choose his bride, Akeru volunteered to become one of his attendants.
It was early spring. They hadn’t seen each other in years. The meeting place was in front of the Sun Palace—the Crown Prince’s residence. The Sun Palace had been closed during the Crown Prince’s long absence, so the plan was to spend the day making it livable again. Akeru had been given the position of personal attendant. He was the face of the Sun Palace and had the Crown Prince’s authority backing his actions. He stood before the Sun Palace, fresh-faced and enthusiastic as he awaited the Crown Prince’s return.
He expected the Crown Prince to arrive from the bridge connecting the Sun Palace to the Imperial Court. Instead, he appeared riding a horse and landed right in front of Akeru.
Akeru would never forget that day.
Three sharp, taloned feet scraped the courtyard’s paving stones. The wind from the horse’s wings kicked up dust, forcing Akeru to shield his eyes. The horse kept flapping its wings, its black feathers swirling through the air. The Crown Prince’s straight black hair whipped in the wind. His eyes shone like polished amethysts.
“Oh, Akeru. It’s been a while,” the Crown Prince said. He swept the sleeves of his kimono—a luxurious robe embroidered with gold thread—out of the way and jumped down from the horse’s saddle with practiced ease. He was all grown up, but he was still the same beautiful person Akeru remembered from his boyhood.
“Welcome back, Your Imperial Highness. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Akeru would give everything he had for the Crown Prince’s sake.
Akeru and the other attendants finally opened the doors of the Sun Palace and started cleaning the disused rooms. The Crown Prince stopped them.
“There’s no need for that,” he said. “All of you can return to your previous posts.”
An attendant behind Akeru made a confused sound.
“One person is enough to look after Sun Palace. The rest of you can go home. Akeru, you’re coming with me.”
Without waiting for a response, the Crown Prince left the Sun Palace. He chose a small add-on to the Sun Palace as his private chamber, completely ignoring the opulent edifice he was supposed to live in. He checked his surroundings, inspected the dusty interior, and then gave Akeru his first order.
“The plants in the garden bother me. Prune them so I can see further from my room. And there’s too much clutter inside—I don’t like it. Leave a bookshelf and get rid of everything else. I have somewhere to go after this, but I’ll be back before sunset. Let’s see… Clean the room enough for me to sleep in before then. Can you do that?”
Akeru nodded. He was confident that he could do that. “Of course. Leave it to me.”
“Then I will.” The Crown Prince turned to leave. “Don’t let anyone inside while I’m away.”
“Understood. Safe travels, Your Imperial Highness.”
Akeru was overjoyed that the Crown Prince trusted him enough to give him these tasks. He wanted to exceed his expectations. After he’d seen him off, Akeru gave orders to the servants waiting outside the Sun Palace.
“Send a messenger to the Saike city estate,” Akeru said. The city estate was not the same as the main estate. Saike nobles who had business in the Imperial Court stayed in the capital. All of the Four Families had a main estate in the territories they governed and another estate in the city where the Imperial Court conducted its business.
Akeru worked until dusk. By the time the Crown Prince returned, the Sun Palace had been completely transformed. The setting sun painted everything gold as the Crown Prince entered the room he’d chosen.
The moment he stepped inside, he froze. “What’s all this?”
“I just followed your orders, Your Imperial Highness. The room was painful to look at, so I took the liberty of preparing some new furniture. All made by Saike craftsmen.” Akeru surveyed the room with satisfaction.
If he told anyone that this room had been a disorderly mess just hours ago, nobody would believe him. Luxurious, deep red curtains hung from the window overlooking the garden. They were held open by golden buckles adorned with butterfly wings. The desk was pitch black and decorated with mother-of-pearl inlays. A shelf with two levels sat in one corner; the first level could be concealed by an exquisitely wrought set of wooden doors. The other shelf was bare and waiting for the Crown Prince’s books. A rainbow crane was painted on the side of the shelf.
“I trust these items are of suitable quality for Your Imperial Highness, but if anything displeases you, please say so. Exchanging them should be no problem at all.”
“No, I have no complaints with the furniture as long as it’s functional. It’s all a bit… loud.”
Akeru could tell that the Crown Prince was surprised by the sudden transformation of his chamber. “You should take a look at the garden, too,” Akeru said. “I had one of the gardeners from the Saike city estate trim things back for you. I hope it meets your standards.”
The Crown Prince looked out the window. The garden had been carefully trimmed and replanted with all kinds of ornamental trees. He said nothing.
Akeru felt a surge of accomplishment as he watched the Crown Prince’s back. His hard day’s work had paid off.
It had been a lot of trouble to arrange everything before the Crown Prince’s return. Mobilizing all the servants at the city estate, calling for the gardener, checking Saike’s storage rooms and choosing from the available furniture… it had been a busy day! He hadn’t had time for a careful selection and wasn’t wholly satisfied with the results, but he’d managed to exceed the Crown Prince’s expectations. That should be enough for now.
“Is everything to your satisfaction, Your Imperial Highness?”
The Crown Prince stood there with a hand on his forehead, deep in thought. His expression was as blank as usual. “It’s certainly an impressive change from this morning, but I can’t believe you did all this alone.”
Akeru didn’t understand. “But I did do it all.”
“Are you telling me you carried furniture like that shelf and that vase in here by yourself?” The Crown Prince touched the furniture. Much of it was taller than Akeru.
“Oh!” Akeru understood what he meant. “I had guards from the Saike city estate carry those in for me, of course.”
“I told you not to let anyone inside.”
“And I didn’t. No Yatagarasu besides me entered the Sun Palace while Your Imperial Highness was away.”
“What about the gardener and the people who carried in the furniture?”
“Those are servants?” Akeru frowned slightly. Maybe he didn’t understand after all.
The Crown Prince stayed silent.
“Well, if you’ll allow me to explain… It’s true I let the servants in so I could fulfill your orders, but they didn’t stay for long. Your Imperial Highness will never see them. Please don’t concern yourself with them—just treat them like they don’t exist.”
“Are they here right now?”
“Yes, just behind the stables.” Servants always followed Akeru wherever he went. They performed any task he asked of them. If the Crown Prince would rather not see them, then he would keep them out of sight.
The Crown Prince opened his mouth, then closed it. He fell silent again, a complicated expression on his face. Akeru stood there, disconcerted and incapable of understanding why the Crown Prince was dissatisfied.
After a few moments of thought, the Crown Prince sat on the windowsill and fixed his eyes on Akeru. There was an air of formality to him now. “Akeru, do you truly wish to serve me?” he asked.
Akeru hadn’t expected that question so soon. He knelt at the Crown Prince’s feet and looked up at him with determination in his eyes.
“Yes. I wish to serve you. I would lay down my life for you.”
“Is that so?” The Crown Prince was quiet for a moment. Then he added, “If that’s true, go to the Keisōin.”
“To the Keisōin? Why?”
“You’ll understand when you go,” the Crown Prince said quietly.
“But who will be your personal attendant?”
“There are other candidates for the position—only a few, but still. If you really mean to serve me, then your experiences at the Keisōin will be invaluable.”
Akeru couldn’t argue with him. Complaining would be unbecoming. He had no idea what the Crown Prince told his father, but he was summoned back to the main Saike residence that same day. His father had invited a former Yamauchishu to the estate to train Akeru before he went to the Keisōin. The trainer ran a renowned dojo in Saike Territory. He taught Akeru everything he would need to know. His standards were rigorous and extremely demanding.
Even as he trained, Akeru often wondered why the Crown Prince had ordered him to go to the Keisōin. The question gnawed at him for half a year—until he received word that someone had tried to assassinate the Crown Prince.
Akeru’s father came to him with the news. Akeru was in shock for a few minutes after he heard it. “His Imperial Highness—is he all right? Will he live?” Akeru choked out.
“Fortunately, yes. He is unharmed.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“A palace raven from Nanke was the ringleader. He was one of Lord Natsuka’s attendants.”
“Prince Natsuka’s attendant?” Akeru’s voice cracked. A shiver ran down his spine.
“Prince Natsuka denies any involvement and seems quite furious with the man.” The Lord of Saike’s face twisted in a frown. His voice carried an undercurrent of bitterness. “Only Prince Natsuka himself knows what his attendant was thinking. He’s pledged his loyalty to the Crown Prince again because of this incident, but we can’t be certain that pledge is honest.”
Prince Natsuka played the part of the Crown Prince’s faithful supporter in public, but his true feelings remained a mystery.
“On top of that—and this wasn’t made public—there were Yamauchishu among those who drew their blades against the Crown Prince. They’d sworn their loyalty to Prince Natsuka.”
“That can’t be!”
The Yamauchishu were supposed to protect the imperial family above all else and to follow their orders without fail. And they’d tried to kill the Crown Prince?!
Akeru finally understood his lord’s intentions. He was in constant danger. Akeru would need a warrior’s skills to remain by his side and keep him safe. Gathering power at the Imperial Court through the Shadow Rank system was one option, but he’d also need strength and status to keep a close eye on the Yamauchishu. That had to be why the Crown Prince had commanded him to go to the Keisōin.
Masuho no Susuki would become the Crown Prince’s wife. Akeru would become his trusted vassal. Saike would suppress Nanke and gain power in the Imperial Court. The Crown Prince wouldn’t have to worry about his safety anymore.
But things didn’t progress as Akeru expected.
About a year after Akeru started preparing to enter the Keisōin, the family received bad news. Masuho no Susuki had failed to become the Crown Prince’s bride. She’d chosen to remain in Sakura Palace as the lady-in-waiting to the future empress instead. The Duchess of Nanke was chosen to be the next empress, subverting everyone’s expectations.
The Lord of Saike gathered all his allies together at his main estate after the Nanke duchess was chosen in the Rite of Ascension.
“Nanke clearly interfered somehow.”
“It’s an insult! How dare they! Must they grasp for power everywhere?”
Akeru listened to their arguments and could only pity his sister. He was so proud of her. She was the kindest person he knew. He knew that she loved the Crown Prince dearly. If the Rite of Ascension had been fair, then that Nanke duchess wouldn’t have stood a chance against Masuho no Susuki.
Nanke women only knew how to think in terms of politics. His sister’s marriage had been ruined by Nanke’s schemes. There was no doubt about it.
“Damn Nanke,” Akeru muttered to himself. “My sister must be heartbroken…”
One of the young nobles who’d just arrived heard him. “It’s a shame she wasn’t chosen, but she’s in Sakura Palace. There’s still a chance.”
“What do you mean?”
“There have been cases where duchesses temporarily remained as ladies-in-waiting in Sakura Palace and ultimately became concubines even after they weren’t chosen as legal wives. The Hokke and Touke duchesses were sent home. Only Duchess Masuho no Susuki was allowed to stay.”
That meant that neither the Hokke duchess nor the Touke duchess had any chance of entering the Imperial Court, not even as concubines. Masuho no Susuki was still in an advantageous position.
“His Imperial Highness doesn’t have any children yet, fortunately. If Duchess Masuho no Susuki becomes a concubine and bears a son before that Nanke girl gets pregnant, it would be the same as becoming the legal wife in practice.”
“So that’s how it works!”
Akeru’s sister would need his help more than ever. Someone had to protect her once she became a concubine. From that day forward, Akeru dedicated himself fully to his training. He was admitted into the Keisōin and became the top student in his cohort.
***
Akeru attended the Seed gathering in the dining hall after he finished giving orders to the Saike supporters in his dormitory. He watched his fellow Seeds introduce themselves with a cold, analytical eye. This gathering reminded him of why he’d come here.
The Yamauchishu was corrupt.
His swordsmanship teacher—the former Yamauchishu his father had hired to prepare him for the Keisōin—had taught him a great deal about the current state of affairs in the Imperial Court. The real reason for the Yamauchishu’s current corruption was His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor, the man who held the position of Substitute Golden Raven. He was the father of the Crown Prince and Prince Natsuka.
“Traditionally, the Golden Raven visits the Keisōin frequently to build close relationships with the cadets who will become his personal guards. The previous Emperor performed this duty diligently.”
The current emperor’s father rewarded instructors he liked and became involved in the academy’s administration and curriculum. He’d had a keen interest in guaranteeing the proper growth and development of Yamauchi’s Imperial Guards. The Yamauchishu entrusted with protecting him had been steadfastly loyal and capable in all their endeavors.
“Our current emperor is different. He loathes warriors. He hasn’t come to the Keisōin or a Yamauchishu guard post even once since he ascended to the throne.”
Abandoned by their master, the Yamauchishu gradually lost sight of their purpose. Ever since the Emperor’s reign began, the number of candidates for the Yamauchishu had declined year over year. There was also a dramatic increase in Keisōin graduates who didn’t even attempt to join the Yamauchishu, or who resigned almost immediately after starting their service. The Yamauchishu who joined up willingly and stayed were mostly desperate commoners and rogues with ulterior motives.
The source of the rot within the Yamauchishu was in the Keisōin. It needed to be cut off at the root. Akeru guessed that the Crown Prince intended to send people who wanted to serve him to the Keisōin to test their loyalty as well as their mettle. If he was right, then there were probably more Seeds here like him—cadets hand-picked by the Crown Prince to be his personal guards.
Akeru had been the Crown Prince’s first attendant after his return from abroad, but he’d been ordered to go to the Keisōin almost immediately. He hadn’t spent much time as the Crown Prince’s attendant. After he left, none of the attendants who came after him lasted very long, either. They were kicked out or they resigned after a few days. Akeru’s fury raged whenever he heard about these failed attendants. They had no grit.
Only one attendant had remained with the Crown Prince for an entire year. Not only that: he’d been granted the position of personal attendant—a rank that more or less guaranteed that he would be recognized as one of the Crown Prince’s most trusted vassals in the future.
Akeru wanted to know about this attendant. No, that wasn’t right: he burned with curiosity; he had to know absolutely everything about this attendant. He researched him, and once he learned his status, Akeru felt a lot more settled in his mind.
The attendant was a scion of Hokke with a suitable rank. Hokke had the best disposition towards the Crown Prince out of the Four Families after Saike. Akeru represented Saike, and this personal attendant was surely expected to perform a similar role for Hokke.
He was strange. His rank was roughly equivalent to Akeru’s and he’d served the Crown Prince for a year, but he’d still come to the Keisōin to train. Given their similar circumstances, Akeru had been hoping to get along with him. At the same time, he felt a need to compete. He waited eagerly to meet him and take his measure.
“I’ve been assigned to the tenth room, second dormitory building. I’m Yukiya from Taruhi Village in Hokke Territory.”
Akeru had learned all about Yukiya long before he ever saw his face. He was much shorter than Akeru had pictured. He was also very plain; neither his clothes nor his face were much to look at.
The Crown Prince’s former personal attendant smiled cheerfully. “It’s nice to meet you all.”
Yukiya was a complete disappointment.
Akeru sighed dejectedly as he walked alone to the lecture hall where their next class would be held. Yukiya’s appearance was utterly lacking. He talked like an idiot. He couldn’t be described as intelligent by any standard. And to top things off, he kept acting like any insults toward the Crown Prince had nothing to do with him.
His mother was the daughter of the Lord of Hokke, but he’d grown up as a country noble—the second son of a provincial governor. The Four Families were descendants of the first Golden Raven’s four children. Yukiya was a minor offshoot that had taken root in a foreign field. He hadn’t had a true noble upbringing, nor did he have the right disposition to support the Crown Prince’s faction. He’d even involved himself in a petty fight between a commoner and a noble.
The Crown Prince was probably hoping for either Akeru or Yukiya to lead his faction at the Keisōin. Akeru worked even harder than before. He had a general grasp on the curriculum by this point, but the same couldn’t be said of Yukiya. Yukiya was a middling student, fine at theory but bad at practical coursework. The only class that Akeru hadn’t seen him in was strategy’s practical unit.
Strategy had both practical and written coursework. The cadets had started their strategy classes by reading books and writing essays, but they’d be expected to apply that knowledge on a mock battlefield.
For Saplings and Trees, practical strategy lessons were a critical component of coursework. They even took part in combat simulations and reenacted historical battles. The Seeds’ training was a bit different. They played board games with increasingly complex rules in preparation for more advanced tactical simulations.
Akeru and Yukiya would play their first strategy game in the same class. Akeru’s teacher had told him about these games. The games used flat boards that represented battlefields. Movable pieces acted as soldiers—his mental image of them resembled the round black or white pieces used in shogi or go. They were called strategy games, but no cadet would ever describe them as fun.
Their instructor called the boards maps. They were painted to look like real places all over Yamauchi. There was plenty of variety. Everything was faithfully recreated—rivers, mountains, plains, all of it. Some boards depicted palaces and temples. The maps had been created to simulate hypothetical revolts in the chosen environment. They’d been crafted by referencing official maps maintained by the Imperial Court.
The pieces were diverse. The instructor pointed out simple soldiers, officers, horses, scouts, and spies.
Day and night dynamics were a headache and a half. Players had to decide which of their units would remain in raven form overnight and which would assume their human shapes before sunset. All of their opponent’s moves became invisible at night. It was necessary to use the scout and spy pieces in order to predict the other side’s actions.
The roll of a die determined the results and casualties of a battle on the map. The same method was used to assess the accuracy of information obtained from one’s spies and scouts. Strategy courses were shared among multiple instructors because setting up the games was so complex.
“Strategists need not be old or wise to be effective. The best tactician has absolute authority on the battlefield.” This was one of the most important principles of the Yamauchishu. Leadership split between multiple people usually led to problems down the road, and not just strategic ones.
The best tactician available taught all strategy coursework, aided by a small army of assistant instructors. In peacetime, this tactician was always present in the Keisōin to give the Commandant advice and assist with any conflict inside or outside the academy’s walls.
The instructor teaching strategy this year was an old man with white hair. Akeru heard that he was the youngest strategy instructor in the Keisōin’s history.
Strategy games were held in a hall that the Seeds hadn’t been to before. The place had already been prepared by assistant instructors when Akeru arrived. A map covered in grid lines was set up in the middle of the lecture hall’s stone floor. A variety of pieces were already in place on the map.
The players would position themselves on both sides of the map. An extra cushion was arranged near the top of the map for the person in charge of rolling dice and keeping score to sit on. A large diagram pasted on the wall made it easier to visualize the situation across the entire battlefield. There were also cushions for the cadets, but their setup was entirely different from other classes. The cushions hugged the room’s walls—except for the one with the diagram—forming a U shape around the map.
The cadets sat down and examined the strange room. Not long after, the bell rang to mark the start of class. Their instructor entered at the same time. He shoved the door open and crossed the hall with audible steps. He wasn’t in a good mood, that was for sure.
The cadets fell silent and took in their new instructor. He looked like a strict, mean old man. He wasn’t short, but he didn’t look strong. His feather robe covered his entire body, including his throat. Just looking at that feather robe made Akeru feel like choking. His mouth was as thin as a razor and his skin was colorless. His white eyebrows were like willow leaves. His eyes—covered by hidden double eyelids—were sharper than his mouth. He squinted constantly; perhaps his vision was poor. He wore green eyeglasses attached to a silver chain. His long white hair was immaculately straight; not a single hair was out of place. It was combed back, leaving his pale forehead bare and gleaming.
The strategy instructor didn’t say a word for a few minutes. His squinting, vaguely sinister eyes passed over every cadet in the room. When he finally spoke, his voice was as cutting as his appearance suggested.
“I’m Instructor Suikan. I’m currently considered the most skilled tactician in Yamauchi.” He sounded like he doubted himself. It was hard to tell if he saw his status as a source of pride or not. “It seems there were many new candidates accepted into the Keisōin this year. There’s one Seed who has shown truly exceptional talent both during the entrance exam and the theory lessons.”
Akeru’s heartbeat was loud in his ears. The cadets sitting near him gave him sidelong glances.
“I’ll have him as my opponent today.”
The assistant instructor at Suikan’s side cut in, clearly confused. “Wait a moment! We set up this map as an example. The idea was for you and me to play against each other.”
The assistant instructor had good reason to oppose a Seed playing such a complex game. It was cruel to ask a cadet who’d never played a strategy game like this one before to dive in head-first with no preparation or practice.
Instructor Suikan didn’t agree.
“There’ll be no problem. I’ve read his homework.” His gaze swept over the cadets again like a reaper’s scythe. “It is impressive. I couldn’t believe a Seed could reason like that. He already knows how every piece moves. I expect that he’ll be able to play without difficulty.” Suikan spoke without emotion, but in his eyes, there were stirrings of a cold enthusiasm.
“But—” the assistant instructor tried again.
“He has the skill. If he doesn’t have the self-confidence to go with it, I’ll reconsider. But we can’t know that without asking him to play first.”
Akeru took deep breaths, preparing himself to be called on at any moment.
Instructor Suikan took a good, hard look at the nervous cadets. “Is Yukiya from building two, room ten here?”
The question caught Akeru off-guard. Several of the cadets sitting near him were equally surprised. Their eyes went back and forth between Yukiya and Akeru.
Yukiya himself didn’t appear surprised at all. He stood up and raised his hand. “That would be me.”
“I won’t force you to play. What do you say?”
“It would be my honor to play against you, sir.”
“Very well. Come to the front, then. You’ll be my opponent today.” Instructor Suikan walked toward one of the cushions by the map. During the Keisōin’s classes, the orders of the main instructor were absolute. Yukiya moved quickly to the opposing cushion. He looked a little nervous.
Akeru watched Yukiya in stunned silence. How had this happened? How did Yukiya have better grades in strategy class than he did?
“The setting is a territory revolt’s suppression. I’ll be the leader of the rebel forces. You’ll take the role of the general sent by the Imperial Court.” Suikan explained the scenario to Yukiya in a genial tone. The details all felt distant to Akeru, like things that didn’t matter.
“The rebel base of operations is the temple. The suppression forces total thirty men. One General, two Officers, and the rest Soldiers. One-third of the Soldiers have Horses. Scouts are available, but no Spies. Meanwhile, the rebel forces consist of one General, no Officers, and forty Peasants with no weapons. Scouts are available, but no Spies.”
It was quite a complicated setup for a novice. Yukiya listened attentively as Suikan explained the map.
“The time limit will be three hours—until the end of class. If the time limit is reached, the number of forces remaining will determine the victor. The only other win condition is to take the enemy General’s head or to inflict losses heavy enough that retreat becomes your opponent’s only option.”
“The day and night changes—how will those work?” Yukiya asked.
“They’ll change every thirty minutes. This campaign is three days long. Any other questions?”
“None, sir,” Yukiya said.
“Very well. Let’s begin. Everyone else, pay attention to the game.”
***
Instructor Suikan’s assistant stood by the side of the map as the referee. “The map is Tōdō, Ayukuni Province, Touke Territory. Ocean Song Temple has been occupied. The events take place during the sixth month of the year, and the Emperor orders you to suppress the revolt. You move first, Yukiya from building two, room ten.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Keisōin Instructor Suikan will go second.”
“Thank you for agreeing to this match, cadet Yukiya.”
These were the typical polite phrases that opponents exchanged before games like this one.
The referee gave the signal to start the game. Another assistant instructor sat on a cushion close to a pair of dice and a low table with an incense burner. This assistant instructor lit a stick of incense to help keep track of time.
“Cadet Yukiya moves first,” the referee said.
Yukiya took command of his pieces immediately. “Cavalry Unit 1 is promoted to Scout 1, move to D6. Cavalry Units 2 through 6 move to H3. All other units, hold position.”
As Yukiya spoke, the referee moved the pieces to the indicated spots. The scorekeeper wrote it all down both on the diagram at his back and the paper in his hands. After that was finished, Instructor Suikan responded.
“Peasants 1 through 7 move to D12. Peasants 8 through 20, disperse in the temple’s grounds.”
The referee moved the pieces just like before. The score was recorded. It was Yukiya’s turn again.
“Scout 1, advance to D8. Cavalry 2 is promoted to Scout 2 and moves to H8. Cavalry Units 3 through 6 advance to H6. All other units, hold position.”
“Peasants 1 through 7 advance to D8.” The pieces moved as Suikan instructed, ending up in the same square as Yukiya’s.
“Combat starts,” the referee announced. The scorekeeper rolled the dice and read the results. “Instructor Suikan is victorious. Scout 1 is wounded and retreats to camp. From here on, they will be only capable of moving as infantry. Instructor Suikan’s side suffers some minor wounds but keeps the square.”
Yukiya’s piece was forced to retreat, and Suikan took over the D8 square. “Instructor Suikan, will you chase the retreating Scout?”
“No,” Instructor Suikan said. “All Peasants in D8 move to D12.”
Yukiya glanced at the instructor from time to time, but all of Suikan’s attention was on the map.
The game continued like that for a while, with both sides battling and retreating. With repetition, the situation on the map clarified for Akeru. Yukiya’s Soldiers steadily advanced toward Suikan’s forces, which had formed up to tighten their defenses.
Just as Yukiya’s troops were at a loss as to how to maintain their offensive position, nighttime fell on the map.
“It’s sunset. Please determine the number of people and horses your armies will have,” the referee announced. At the same time, screens were placed between the players and the map.
Players couldn’t see the pieces move during nighttime. They had to rely on a topographical map to predict their opponent’s movements and move their own forces. The only way to get reliable information on their opponent’s actions was through the Scouts they’d sent out during daytime.
The scorekeeper went from one person to the other, listening to their orders and moving the pieces on the blocked-off map. The players couldn’t see it, but the referee could still observe the map and make announcements as necessary.
“Combat starts in F8. Instructor Suikan, your units are seriously wounded and have to retreat. Yukiya, your units only received light wounds and keep the square.”
“Combat starts in D11. Instructor Suikan, retreat. Some of your units died. Yukiya, no changes to your units.”
All the information from the referee’s announcements pointed to Yukiya’s successful advance. Despite the repeated news of victory, Yukiya didn’t seem particularly happy. He kept giving orders, calm but not confident.
Akeru had a perfect view of what was happening on the map. It was a surreal sight. The pieces’ abnormal movements kept catching his attention. At first, he wondered what he would do in Yukiya’s situation, but he soon gave up. This game was more complex than any he’d played before.
The sun rose and the screens were moved away. Yukiya finally got a clear view of the map. He winced.
Yukiya’s troops had successfully cut through his opponent’s forces, but there was no enemy General in the camp he’d invaded. Suikan’s forces had abandoned the temple during the night. Without Yukiya noticing, they’d closed the distance to his camp and were already positioned to invade. Yukiya’s forces were outnumbered and could be easily overrun.
Everyone could tell that Yukiya’s army was stuck. He’d sent most of his cavalry units to the enemy camp, so he wouldn’t be able to fight his way out of Suikan’s trap without heavy losses.
What came after was a one-sided assault. The campaign ended two turns after the shift to daytime. Yukiya had lost.
“Had this been a real battle, you would have died.” Suikan stepped down from his cushion and picked up the General he’d just defeated. He dropped the piece unceremoniously onto the map. It hit the floor with a light clack and rolled to Yukiya’s feet.
Suikan had dominated the game at night. He’d spent the daytime turns preparing, not moving or doing very much. He’d been getting ready to move at night. The arrangement of his pieces was perfect. The commands he’d given his troops had been clear enough for Akeru to follow. The moment the sun set, Suikan instantly went on the offensive. His army had dispersed and started moving independently. Lone Scouts were scattered all over the map. The pieces Yukiya had battled with all night had actually been these scattered Scouts. Using the information gained from such skirmishes, Suikan’s main forces had avoided the enemy army and moved quickly across the map.
The speed and precision on display were enough to leave an onlooker like Akeru dumbfounded. He’d watched Yukiya move his pieces, completely unaware of what was happening to him. It was clear that Instructor Suikan had Yukiya at his mercy for the entire game.
Suikan went to the scorekeeper’s desk and removed a pile of paper from it. He walked back to stand in front of a frozen Yukiya.
“I’ve read all your tactical plans, as I said before. Not only your homework, but everything, including your answers on the entrance exam.” Suikan sounded pleased. “With that knowledge in mind, let me tell you this. You’re brilliant—there’s no doubt about that. But you’re also arrogant. I could sense that in every move you made. Quite a marvel, to think up such nonsensical, preposterous plans before even coming here to study. These don’t deserve to be called plans. They’re just a waste of paper. You’re not worthy to be called a cadet at the Keisōin.”
Suikan threw the pile of papers at Yukiya. They made a soft thump as they fell on his undefended head. The sheets of paper dispersed and fluttered to the ground.
“Don’t get the wrong idea, kid—not everything is going to work the way you want. If you go through life assuming it will, you’ll end up disgracing yourself just like you did today. Respect for elders and superiors isn’t always arbitrary. If you can’t understand the minds that came before you, you’ll never surpass them. Are you listening to me?” Suikan scowled at Yukiya, who hadn’t said a single word. “Last night, you picked a fight with a Sapling, didn’t you?”
The Kimichika incident. Akeru heard whispers all over the hall.
Shigemaru was agitated. He raised his voice, saying, “Please wait a moment, Instructor Suikan! That was—”
“If you want to say something, raise your hand and introduce yourself first,” Instructor Suikan said.
Shigemaru did. “I’m Shigemaru. I’m also in dormitory building two, room ten. About last night—”
“Shigemaru.” The instructor interrupted the poor cadet again. “Your theory scores are abysmal. You don’t even know how the pieces move on this game board. Close your beak and observe until you understand the rules of the game.”
Akeru heard snickers among the cadets.
Shigemaru remained silent. He clearly wanted to help Yukiya, but he didn’t know how.
“Yukiya, Shigemaru… and where is Chihaya?”
Chihaya reluctantly stood up, urged by the people around him. Suikan scowled at the three of them. “Chihaya, Shigemaru, and Yukiya, you should learn how to behave according to your station. You will be punished for looking down on your superiors, disregarding rank, and breaking rules.”
“I thought the Keisōin was all about skill, not social status,” Shigemaru gritted out. “Yesterday, Kimichika was throwing his weight around by leveraging his family’s status. Isn’t that the real problem?”
“Skill is indeed the priority. You aren’t wrong in that regard.” Instructor Suikan nodded. “Consider this: isn’t a Sapling—any Sapling—more skilled than a Seed in almost every way? Did you think it would be acceptable to throw miso soup at a superior just because you didn’t like what he said?”
Shigemaru looked at his feet.
“Deplorable louts,” Suikan spat. He never raised his voice, but the venom in it could strip paint at ten paces. “Chihaya and Shigemaru, you’ll be in charge of cleaning up the dining hall every morning for a month from tomorrow onward. Yukiya, you’ll be organizing the fourth library every night from dinner to lights out until you finish registering every unclassified book in it.”
“Shouldn’t Kimichika also be punished?” Shigemaru complained.
“I’m giving you instructions right now. Kimichika has nothing to do with this. The weak have no right to speak. If you believe yourself to be right and don’t want people to look down on you, then don’t speak from a place of weakness. Know your place, Seed of the Keisōin.”
Instructor Suikan shifted his attention to Yukiya. “Do you understand me as well?”
“I thought I had no right to speak because I’m weak,” Yukiya said.
“Indeed.” Suikan gave Yukiya a contemptuous smile. “If you have any problems with my methods, complain after you beat me. I’ll be your opponent every single time you participate in strategy games. Maybe that way, you’ll humble yourself.”
Suikan didn’t bother waiting for Yukiya’s reaction. He gestured expansively at the rest of the cadets. “I trust you’ve all learned the kind of tragic ending that awaits a badly led organization—one where the rules are broken for no reason. I want all of you to examine today’s results individually and present your conclusions in writing for the next class. Base them on the fundamental principles of military strategy. Summarize what was wrong with Yukiya’s moves and consider why he and his compatriots were in the wrong in the dining hall last night. Class dismissed.”
The cadets stood up in a hurry. “Thank you for the lesson, instructor,” they all said. They hadn’t moved in such a clumsy way since classes first started.
Lunch was next. Everyone avoided Yukiya like the plague—aside from Shigemaru and Chihaya, of course.
“What’s wrong with that instructor? He’s bullying Yukiya!” Akeru fumed as he stomped over.
Yukiya looked like he was scared of Akeru.
“Instructor Suikan has ties to Nanke,” Akeru said. “I guess he decided that he couldn’t leave you alone after what happened last night.”
Yukiya and Shigemaru came closer to Akeru.
“Wait, so he’s in Nanke’s faction?” Yukiya asked.
“I’m not completely sure. I don’t know the details, but I know he’s connected to the Minami Tachibana family somehow.”
“So he’s the instructor that Ichiryū mentioned—the one giving Kimichika preferential treatment.” Shigemaru nodded to himself.
Yukiya’s gaze was heavy with doubt and distrust. “What do you want?”
Akeru paid Yukiya’s guardedness no mind. “I have something to tell you,” he said, deadly serious.
“To me?”
“Yes. I’ve reconsidered my opinion of you after what just happened.” Akeru had felt humiliated by the idea of losing to Yukiya before. But now that he’d thought about it more—if he had to lose to someone, wasn’t it a relief for that person to be Yukiya, of all people? “I underestimated you, but I see that you are a true scion of Hokke. You may have lost to that instructor, but your talent as a tactician shone through all the same. Your skill fills me with pride as a fellow member of the Crown Prince’s faction.”
“Huh. Thanks, I guess.”
“That’s why I’ve come to warn you. I don’t like Suikan’s way of doing things and I hate Kimichika as much as any of you. But I do agree with the instructor on one thing.”
Akeru had noticed several flaws in Yukiya’s overall behavior. This was the perfect opportunity to bring them up. “There’s a problem with your attitude, you see. You should pick your friends better.”
Yukiya’s expression went blank. “What do you mean by that?”
“If you still don’t understand, I’ll speak plainly.” Akeru glanced at Shigemaru and then faced Yukiya squarely. “You should stop spending so much time with mountain ravens. Associating with them harms your image in the eyes of others.”
Shigemaru and Yukiya were known as “Bear” and “Cub” among their fellow cadets because of their massive height difference. They were always together and they both spent their breaks in feather robes. They never bothered to wear kimono. The nicknames seemed harmless, but they were designed to ridicule them both for not ever wearing proper clothing. Akeru couldn’t stand to see Yukiya being insulted like that.
Yukiya gave Akeru a thousand-yard stare. “Are you suggesting that I should have sided with Kimichika last night?”
“No, not at all.” Akeru opposed Kimichika on political grounds. He wasn’t telling Yukiya to change his politics. He was critiquing something more fundamental—something that Yukiya should already understand. Opposing factions didn’t even factor into this discussion.
There were clear boundaries between mountain ravens and palace ravens for good reasons. Yamauchi’s order couldn’t be maintained if the class structure wasn’t rigidly observed. This was especially true for members of the Four Families and the imperial family. They required special dignity to govern Yamauchi well. Akeru wanted to be as fair as possible to everyone. He couldn’t see Chihaya at the moment, but he took offense at the mountain raven’s refusal to listen to Kimichika’s orders.
“Kimichika was wrong, too, for ignoring the rules and giving those idiotic orders. But Chihaya should have obeyed him. Defending him after he refused to follow orders is uncouth behavior coming from a palace raven like you. You can’t do things like that.” Akeru shook his head. “His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince will soon ascend to the throne, but he has barely any allies. As fellow palace ravens, it’s our duty to join hands and strengthen his faction from within the Keisōin.”
Yukiya made a thinking sound.
“I’ve heard room ten is quite cramped at the moment. You can come to mine instead, if you want. We’ve both sworn our loyalty to His Imperial Highness. We should get along just fine.”
Akeru felt like he’d said everything he wanted to say. He waited patiently for Yukiya’s reply.
Yukiya’s blue eyes were like chips of ice. He spoke with real anger. “I get that you think I’m wrong, but I’m a country noble, not a palace raven. You think I should know my place and toe the line so that I look like a proper noble for the sake of the Crown Prince’s faction or something? I’ll do things my way or not at all. So leave me the fuck alone, Akeru.”
That was a flat rejection. Yukiya continued to surprise him.
Akeru’s Saike followers were insulted on his behalf.
“Do you truly not care how your behavior looks? Hokke supports the Crown Prince, doesn’t it?” a Saike-supporting Seed asked.
“Saike will gain a lot more power in the Imperial Court soon,” another Seed said. “You should really reflect on your actions and fix your mistakes while you still can.”
Yukiya’s answer to them was a simple, carefree smile. “The future of Hokke and Saike has nothing to do with me or my friends. Leave them out of this. My friendship with the Seeds you call mountain ravens means more to me than stupid politics.”
It was hard for Akeru to believe that Yukiya had been raised a nobleman’s son. Yukiya looked at Shigemaru and the other commoner cadets surrounding him and grinned. He seemed happy to be among them. How was that possible?
“I see,” Akeru said, not understanding Yukiya at all. “That’s a shame.” He spun on his heel and left, not bothering to say goodbye. He peeled away from his supporters, who called after him. He wanted some time alone to think.
Akeru returned to his dorm room, deciding to skip dinner. His self-restraint met its limit the moment the door closed. Furious beyond belief, Akeru violently threw his ceremonial sword to the ground.
“Damn it all!”
What was Yukiya thinking? Did he think about anything at all? Just as intolerable was the fact that Akeru was lagging behind Yukiya in strategy class.
“Lord Akeru!” One of his supporters pounded on his door. He heard loud footsteps as more of his supporters ran toward his room.
“I need a minute,” Akeru said through the door.
“This is an emergency!” his supporter called back to him. “We just got a message from the main Saike estate.”
“What are we going to do!?” another supporter wailed.
“What’s wrong?” Akeru asked. He still didn’t open his door.
The news was this: Hakū, the White Raven, had issued commands that would delay the Crown Prince’s ascension to the throne.
***
“What do you mean, he opposed the Emperor’s abdication!?” Prince Natsuka roared in fury.
The guard who’d brought him the news didn’t even blink. “He did. Getting angry at the news doesn’t make it false. The Ministry of Divinity just proclaimed that they won’t recognize His Imperial Majesty’s abdication. People believe it to be the White Raven’s decision. His Imperial Majesty the Emperor has said nothing on the matter. He remains in seclusion.”
“The Imperial Court must be in complete chaos right now,” Rokon said lightly. If he was concerned about his lord’s foul mood, he didn’t show it.
Hakū, the White Raven, was the High Priest and arbiter of the Imperial Code of Law in Yamauchi. He had declared Nazukihiko the Emperor’s heir more than ten years ago now. He’d asked Natsuka to abdicate in person. He’d done nothing but support Nazukihiko over the years—what had changed his mind now?
“His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince is in the city at the moment. We’ve already sent a messenger for him. What’s the plan, Prince Natsuka?”
“I’m going to the Imperial Court, of course.” There was no point in staying here and worrying himself sick. Natsuka stood up and put on the coat his attendants offered him. “We’ll meet His Imperial Highness and go to see Hakū together. Send a message to Hakū so that he is prepared to receive us. Don’t let anyone else establish contact with him until we’re done.”
“Understood.”
“You, come with me,” he said to Rokon.
On his way to the Imperial Court, the messenger who’d gone to search for the Crown Prince returned. Both brothers had acted on the same idea; Nazukihiko was already on his way to see Hakū. Just moments after Natsuka’s carriage arrived at the Grand Gate—the Imperial Court’s front entrance—Natsuka caught sight of the Crown Prince and his bodyguard’s horses landing there as well.
“Nazukihiko!”
“Natsuka, what’s the situation?” The Crown Prince leaped out of his saddle.
A few palace officials noticed them and started making a racket. Natsuka moved to stand between them and the Crown Prince, protecting his younger brother from glares and gossip if nothing else. “The door to the Ministry of Divinity is locked. They just made the announcement on Hakū’s behalf. I already commanded them to bring him out to talk.”
“What about the other Ministry leaders? How are they reacting?”
“No reaction so far that I’ve heard about, but there are emissaries from the Four Families already crowding the entrance to the Ministry of Divinity. That door will open. It’s only a matter of time.”
The Crown Prince stood there in silence for a moment. Then he sighed deeply, resigning himself to what had to happen next. “We don’t have time to talk through intermediaries. Let’s go to the Imperial Temple and head directly to the Forbidden Gate.”
“As you wish.” The Crown Prince’s personal guard, Sumio, took the lead as they advanced.
The Crown Prince and Natsuka followed behind Sumio, surrounded by Rokon and his fellow guards for protection. They pushed forward through the Imperial Court’s hallways, encountering no resistance.
Beyond the Hall of the Rising Sun, deep within the Imperial Court, was the Golden Raven’s Palace. Entering the Golden Raven’s Palace without permission was beyond rude, but Nazukihiko and Natsuka didn’t have time to care about formalities. Their destination wasn’t their father’s residence, but the Forbidden Gate beyond it.
The Imperial Temple was built near the peak of the mountain that the Imperial Court was built within. This temple, like others like it, had been built there to prevent Yatagarasu from accidentally stepping through tears in reality and entering other worlds. Temples created forbidden zones within them, sectioning off these tears in reality. The Crown Prince had traveled through these tears as part of his education, but only a true Golden Raven could go through them and come back safely.
Gates were a bit different. Theoretically, anyone could go through a Gate and back without trouble. The Forbidden Gate in the Golden Raven’s Palace had spent years locked tight and had only unlocked when the Crown Prince was born. The White Raven, Hakū, heard the mountain god’s will through the Forbidden Gate. He was always close to the Forbidden Gate to ensure its protection.
The Crown Prince forced the doors of the Golden Raven’s Palace open. It had been completely locked down. A few of the Emperor’s secretaries and servants hurried to the door upon hearing the commotion, shrieking at the intrusion.
Even considering the present circumstances, setting foot in the Emperor’s residence with a full contingent of guards was a grave transgression. Nazukihiko and his brother exchanged grim looks. They’d be leaving all of their guards here aside from Sumio and Rokon.
If they’d been following protocol, they would have contacted the Ministry of Divinity to arrange a formal meeting with the White Raven. But they weren’t. They rushed through the Golden Raven’s Palace to the Imperial Temple like madmen.
“Crown Prince! Prince Natsuka! I can’t believe it—why have you come here like robbers in the night?”
A court official stood before them in white robes. This wasn’t the White Raven, but one of his subordinates.
“I’m sorry, but nobody besides the Golden and White Ravens and their chosen priests can go any further,” the official said.
“A true Golden Raven has the right to be here. Besides, it’s an emergency and we’ve already sent a message to the White Raven,” Natsuka said before Sumio and Rokon had a chance to open their mouths.
It was possible that they’d arrived before the messenger did, but Natsuka decided to ignore that possibility.
The white-robed priest was at a loss. A few of his fellows approached him from behind and whispered in his ear. The shock on his face was plain to see.
The priests talked among themselves for a considerable while. Natsuka felt hostile gazes on him and his brother. He was about to speak again when the white-robed priest beckoned them forward.
“My apologies for being rude. I was not made aware of your coming until just now. The White Raven shall meet with you at the Forbidden Gate. I’ll guide you there,” the priest said. He led them through the Imperial Temple at a sedate pace.
They walked down hallway after hallway until they came to a part of the temple that appeared disused. The floor here was stone, not the usual polished wood. Artificial pools marked either side of the hallway; these flowed into stone pipes that extended in a variety of different directions. The water in the pools came from another source—perhaps one higher up the mountain.
Natsuka and Nazukihiko followed the water like fish swimming upstream. Their destination was straight ahead.
The White Raven’s Hall was cavernous and excessively large. It was roughly circular in shape with a high ceiling that curved up into a rounded point. Just opposite the entrance stood a gigantic door—so tall that Natsuka had to look up to see all of it. The inner side of the hall’s arched stone walls had been carved through in multiple places, each gash roughly large enough to allow one person to pass through. The same water they’d seen in the hallway gushed from these gaps in the stone.
Natsuka had never come so close to the Forbidden Gate before. He stood still, taking in his surroundings. The man standing in the middle of the room was not the White Raven, but he was familiar.
“Archpriest,” Natsuka said quietly.
The White Raven had taken ill some years before and had never quite recovered. The Archpriest had acted as his representative since that time, conducting all of the religious services held in the Imperial Court. He was a ponderous man, not quite old, but no longer young.
“Why are you here?” Natsuka asked. “Where’s the White Raven?”
“The White Raven is in poor health. I have come to greet you and answer your questions in his place.” The Archpriest bowed to Natsuka and his brother.
Natsuka and the Crown Prince glanced at each other. Nazukihiko nodded shallowly.
“Fine, we’ll speak to you,” Natsuka said. “Why does the White Raven oppose our father’s abdication? The White Raven told me to give up the throne in favor of Nazukihiko over ten years ago. Why tell us to wait now? I don’t understand.”
The Archpriest nodded. “Your confusion is understandable.” He bowed his head again. “Please forgive us. The White Raven deliberated for many days before making this decision. He did not make it alone, but after consulting with many temple priests. He would not have made his proclamation known if there was resistance to it in the Ministry of Divinity.”
“Why make this proclamation? Tell me the reason,” the Crown Prince commanded.
The Archpriest gave him a pitying look that was simultaneously full of curiosity. “Before I answer—and I will—may I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead,” the Crown Prince said.
“Could Your Imperial Highness open the Forbidden Gate?”
Natsuka was taken aback by such an unexpected request, but the Crown Prince himself didn’t hesitate to try. The Forbidden Gate had once been locked with a key bigger than the Crown Prince’s head, but the gate was already unlocked. Anyone should be able to open the Forbidden Gate now, provided they could reach it.
The Crown Prince pushed the Forbidden Gate as he would any other door. It didn’t budge.
Natsuka helped, pushing the Forbidden Gate on one side while Nazukihiko pushed on the other. No change.
The Archpriest’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “It is as the White Raven feared.”
“What does this mean?” Natsuka reined in his anger with difficulty. He was baffled by the Archpriest’s request and his attitude.
The Crown Prince raised an eyebrow.
“I will explain,” the Archpriest said. “Nineteen years ago, when His Imperial Highness was born, the bells in the Imperial Hall rang and the Forbidden Gate unlocked. We all thought that you were a true Golden Raven, Crown Prince Nazukihiko.”
So much was common knowledge. Natsuka had abdicated in favor of his brother because the White Raven had declared Nazukihiko a true Golden Raven. News of his birth spread throughout all Yamauchi. The current Emperor was never supposed to ascend the throne—he was still the Crown Prince when Nazukihiko was born. By Yamauchi’s laws, Nazukihiko should have been the next reigning emperor after his grandfather.
Then the Forbidden Gate didn’t open, and all of Hakū’s predictions proved, if not wrong, then severely flawed.
“According to our ancient legends, anyone should be capable of opening the Forbidden Gate once it’s unlocked. And yet, the gate has remained sealed shut. Do you remember the last time you were here, Your Imperial Highness?” the Archpriest asked gloomily. “When you were very young, we brought you here once. We thought that maybe, if you tried to open it, it would work. But the Forbidden Gate didn’t even budge at your attempts. That was the first time anyone ever doubted that you were a true Golden Raven.”
Natsuka’s mind went white from shock. Doubt? How could anyone doubt that Nazukihiko was a true Golden Raven?
“Wait a minute. Why are you speaking as if His Imperial Highness isn’t a true Golden Raven?” Sumio asked the Archpriest.
The Archpriest looked away.
Natsuka couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you truly implying that Nazukihiko isn’t a true Golden Raven? Speak plainly.”
Natsuka had heard concerns about the Forbidden Gate not opening before, but he’d never heard rumors of his brother not being a true Golden Raven. The priests had never questioned his brother’s legitimacy to rule. Natsuka had suffered a lot since his abdication, but not because he’d lost his place as his father’s heir. His brother had almost died countless times—and he’d watched it happen, because he couldn’t always protect him. He’d tried. He and his brother had both been used by various factions in the Imperial Court for their petty schemes. Other people didn’t care how badly they were hurt by political maneuvering. Natsuka was sick of it all. Having the priests turn against them now was like a slap in the face.
“Speak,” Natsuka said in a voice like cut glass. He was shaking—vibrating with the effort of keeping himself still. Lashing out violently wouldn’t help here. “And don’t say that it was all a mistake. Don’t make excuses. Tell us the truth.”
“Natsuka.” Nazukihiko looked at him. “You’re scaring him. Let’s listen to what the Archpriest has to say, all right?”
“But—”
“Let’s clarify the most important matter first,” Nazukihiko said, interrupting smoothly. “Archpriest, am I a true Golden Raven?”
Natsuka waited for the Archpriest’s answer with bated breath. Sumio and Rokon tensed and moved in.
The Archpriest shook his head slowly. “I… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“We can’t tell,” the Archpriest said, despair written on every line of his face. “The Forbidden Gate is unlocked, yet it cannot be opened. If it were only that, we could still make do—but there are other reasons to question the validity of Prince Nazukihiko’s status as a true Golden Raven.”
“What reasons? Tell me,” Natsuka demanded.
“I can’t tell you. What if someone tried to pretend to be a true Golden Raven? Only priests know all of the qualifications and conditions that determine the validity of a true Golden Raven. His Imperial Highness doesn’t fulfill the most important of these conditions.”
The Crown Prince blinked, perplexed. “I’m not an impostor. At least, I don’t think I am.”
“Nazukihiko was declared a true Golden Raven when he was an infant,” Natsuka snapped.
“We do not believe that His Imperial Highness is a liar,” the Archpriest said soothingly. “He possesses many of the qualities of a true Golden Raven. And yet…” He bit his lip.
“Enough, Archpriest.” An exhausted old man flanked by priests in white robes stood in the doorway. “I’ll explain it to them.”
Both Sumio and Rokon shifted to the side to allow the old man and his escort to come closer. The old man was thin and withered, his back hunched by age. His fellow priests supported him as he walked. His eyes were nearly lost in wrinkles. He had a thick white beard, but that only made him look older, not more dignified.
Natsuka briefly forgot his rage. “You… are you the White Raven?”
He looked so different from their last meeting that Natsuka didn’t recognize him. He knew that Hakū’s health had taken a turn for the worse a few years ago. Nearly five years had passed since the Archpriest first took his place in religious ceremonies. In Natsuka’s memory, the White Raven was frozen as he’d been on the day he came to recommend abdication. Natsuka had believed that the man was robust and healthy despite his advanced age.
While Natsuka stood there in shock, Nazukihiko rushed to the White Raven’s side. “Someone bring in a chair. Let the White Raven sit down.”
“No. I cannot sit down when I am in the presence of Your Imperial Highness and Prince Natsuka.”
“I command you to sit,” Nazukihiko said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were so unwell.”
“There’s no need to apologize to me,” the White Raven said wearily. “I should apologize to you both for making you rush here.” He gave Nazukihiko a feeble bow before sitting down on a bench that one of the priests had just carried in. He sighed deeply. “I understand why Prince Natsuka is angry, but I had no choice.”
“Why?” Nazukihiko asked. “What is this secret requirement to be a true Golden Raven that I don’t have?”
The White Raven grimaced. “Memories.” He coughed and then cleared his throat.
“Memories?” Nazukihiko asked.
The White Raven nodded. “Your Imperial Highness, you lack the memories of the first true Golden Raven.”
“Should I have them?”
“You should. Every Golden Raven has shared memories from all of their predecessors. But you lack them. No one knows why. Why do you not remember anything at all?”
The true Golden Raven was the progenitor of all Yatagarasu. To the Yatagarasu, the true Golden Raven was their perfect, infallible ruler. Nazukihiko was supposed to be uniquely suited to govern the Yatagarasu because he was the true Golden Raven.
Natsuka knew his brother was different from him—different from all other Yatagarasu. He could mend the tears in reality, transform at night, and see through people’s deceptive facades to their deepest motivations. Natsuka had always believed that these differences came from Nazukihiko’s unique soul. Being the true Golden Raven was an isolating experience; there could only be one alive in Yamauchi at any given time. He was entirely selfless in his actions and motivations because he had to be; he didn’t know how to live in any other way. He also couldn’t harm a Yatagarasu—any Yatagarasu. Not even in self-defense.
And now the White Raven and the Archpriest were saying that Nazukihiko was a flawed Golden Raven at best. It was possible that he wasn’t a true Golden Raven at all.
“A true Golden Raven is the literal ancestor of all Yatagarasu.” The White Raven extended a trembling hand in Nazukihiko’s direction. “His Imperial Excellency, the first Golden Raven, came to this land thanks to the mountain god’s guidance. He was the father of the princes who founded the Four Families and the ancestor of all Yatagarasu living in Yamauchi. A true Golden Raven is his reincarnated self. That is his true nature.”
If Nazukihiko were a true Golden Raven, there should have been no need to explain any of this to him. Quite the opposite. The moment his memories returned, all priests excluding the White Raven were supposed to follow the Golden Raven’s direct commands.
“Our roles are more different than you think,” the White Raven said. He was already wheezing. He leaned heavily on the bench he sat on. “When a true Golden Raven is absent, the White Raven takes care of all religious matters and the Substitute Golden Raven takes care of governance. That’s how the division of responsibilities is supposed to work. We all wait for the true Golden Raven’s return, because he always returns. We never expected to be in a position where we had to determine whether a prince was a true Golden Raven or not.”
When the Forbidden Gate unlocked, the White Raven had acted on the belief that Nazukihiko was a true Golden Raven. They’d all believed that he would soon recover his memories of his past lives. He was just an infant back then, incapable of speech. Surely his memories would return when he grew up.
Time passed. Even when Nazukihiko returned from abroad, he remembered nothing. He came of age and had only his own memories to draw upon. He showed no signs of remembering anything about his past lives.
The White Raven hadn’t anticipated this development. He couldn’t agree to Nazukihiko’s rule when he lacked the wisdom of previous generations of true Golden Ravens. He’d waited as long as he could for Nazukihiko’s memories to return.
Then the White Raven heard rumors about the Emperor’s impending abdication and felt the need to act. He’d issued his proclamation shortly after.
“So I’m not a true Golden Raven?” Nazukihiko asked.
“We cannot say with certainty,” the Archpriest explained.
The White Raven was breathing so hard that he could hardly speak.
“There is no question that Your Imperial Highness is like every true Golden Raven that we have records of. The power you possess is the same kind of power that true Golden Ravens of the past wielded. It’s clear that you are not a normal Yatagarasu.”
But he wasn’t a true Golden Raven, either.
“What am I?” Nazukihiko asked.
Natsuka would have asked the same question of Nazukihiko hadn’t asked it first.
“We might know.” The White Raven looked to the Archpriest, who raised his head.
“Prince Natsuka, do you know what these are?” The Archpriest pointed to a number of evenly spaced stone boxes lined up in the center of the room. Water flowed from them. Both Natsuka and Nazukihiko shook their heads.
The Archpriest nodded. “These are the coffins of past true Golden Ravens.”
Natsuka’s eyes widened. The boxes did look like coffins. How morbid. Cremation was much more common than burial in Yamauchi. He hadn’t known that previous true Golden Ravens were buried. He’d seen a body in a wooden coffin only once before. He’d never seen a coffin made of stone until today.
“They may look like stone, but these coffins are actually made of wood,” the Archpriest said.
“Wood?” Natsuka looked more closely at the coffins. No wood he’d ever seen gleamed like white stone. He saw no whorls, no knots, no clear grain. It was difficult to examine the coffins too closely because of the water flowing from them.
The Archpriest urged him to touch one of them. It felt like cool stone.
“More accurately, every true Golden Raven is buried in a coffin made of wood. Over time, the water flowing from them transmutes the wood into stone. True Golden Ravens are never cremated because their duty to protect Yamauchi does not end, not even in death. They are all enshrined here, just outside the Forbidden Gate, as you see them.
“We don’t know why water without a source flows from coffins made of wood or why that same wood doesn’t rot but instead changes into stone. We do know that these coffins hold previous true Golden Ravens. There is a problem with one of them.”
The Archpriest pointed at the coffin positioned at the farthest side of the room. It was obviously made of wood. No water flowed from it. After they’d observed it for a while, the Archpriest walked over to it. “Please take a closer look.”
The Archpriest lifted off the coffin lid.
“Wait,” Natsuka said. He had no desire to defile a grave.
Then the Archpriest stepped away from the coffin, revealing… nothing.
“It’s empty?” Sumio asked softly. He hadn’t left Nazukihiko’s side for a moment.
“This is the coffin where the previous true Golden Raven was supposed to be buried,” the White Raven said sadly. “We think this may be the reason why His Imperial Highness’s memories won’t return.”
“Where are the remains of the previous true Golden Raven? Was it impossible to bury him properly?”
The Archpriest rested his hand on the coffin’s edge. “We don’t know. The problem isn’t just how his remains were handled… that is to say, it’s unclear how the previous true Golden Raven died, or if he even died at all.”
Natsuka wanted to scoff at that. The previous true Golden Raven had lived a century ago. He’d certainly be dead by now. At that time, the Forbidden Gate been open and the Golden Raven had visited temples and other worlds in service to Yamauchi. Yamauchi had been truly peaceful then.
But one day, the true Golden Raven had gone to another world… and he’d never come back. The Yatagarasu waited years for his return. The Forbidden Gate had closed and locked itself and had never opened since.
Only the empty coffin remained here to mark the previous true Golden Raven’s uncertain end.
“That’s all that’s written within the records of the White Ravens,” the Archpriest said. “We never recovered the last true Golden Raven’s remains, so this coffin remains here as his memorial. We suspect that the burial process of a true Golden Raven may be intrinsically related to the inheritance of memories. Their funeral rites in no way resemble those of other nobles, not even nobles who are part of the imperial family.”
An incomplete ritual conducted a hundred years ago might be responsible for Nazukihiko’s missing memories.
“A true Golden Raven is supposed to reincarnate when he’s needed,” the Archpriest said. “Throughout our history, whenever a true Golden Raven has died, another has been born within the next twenty years. Crown Prince Nazukihiko is an aberration in more than one way. The time gap between him and his predecessor is nearly a century.”
Natsuka put a hand on his frozen brother’s shoulder in an attempt to steady him. Encouragement had to come from somewhere. Natsuka could use some good news for once.
“What do we need to do?” Natsuka asked. He understood the White Raven’s proclamation now, but the matter of the succession was still unsettled. Who would rule Yamauchi if not Nazukihiko? “If Nazukihiko doesn’t take the throne, our father will be stuck as the substitute Golden Raven. The Imperial Court will be left dancing to the tune of the Four Families and we will be unable to face the disaster that Nazukihiko was born to counter.”
Neither the White Raven nor the Archpriest had any answers.
“The White Raven isn’t wrong,” Nazukihiko murmured. “Even if I were to ascend the throne like this, we don’t know how much a failed Golden Raven can achieve against the coming disaster.”
“Nazukihiko,” Natsuka said quietly.
“My imperfection is in the true Golden Raven’s consciousness—the part most concerned with decision-making. Right now, I have a very sharp sword with no knowledge of how to use it. If I make a mistake, it could easily make the disaster worse, not better.”
“Nazukihiko!” Natsuka said again, much louder this time. He needed his brother to stop talking. More than that, he needed him to stop doubting himself.
“If your memories do return, Your Imperial Highness, we will gladly celebrate your immediate coronation,” the Archpriest said.
“Forgive us,” the White Raven said. He threw himself off the bench and prostrated himself on the floor. “We cannot legitimize you as a true Golden Raven as you are right now. We are sorry.”
***
After that, Natsuka returned to his residence to change clothes and think about what he’d learned. He dressed himself in his purple priest’s robes, his mind racing. What could he say to the other Ministers? There was no way to quell the chaos that the Ministry of Divinity had unleashed.
Some kind of explanation or excuse was required to calm the agitated officials.
Natsuka would go to the Hall of the Rising Sun and give them that explanation. The only problem was that he had no idea what he was going to say. He was more shaken than Nazukihiko was by the news that his brother was a failed Golden Raven.
Natsuka rubbed his forehead and frowned at the floor.
“So you’re still gonna support a failed Golden Raven, then? That’s the plan?” Rokon asked from behind him.
Natsuka turned around sharply. His eyes met Rokon’s.
Rokon was leaning against the wall. He smirked.
Natsuka moved toward Rokon at speed, his footsteps heavy and echoing. “Usually, I find your impudence amusing. Never say that again.” Then he grabbed Rokon by the throat and slammed him into the wall.
Rokon’s back met the wall with a dull thud.
Natsuka’s attendants, who’d been helping him change, gasped and stepped away from them both.
Rokon grinned from ear to ear, showing all his teeth. “I didn’t say anything wrong. I’ll say it again if I have to. Even your brother knows what he is.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to call him that,” Natsuka said. “I won’t let anyone disparage him in my presence. Not even you.”
Rude though it was, Rokon’s provocation had helped Natsuka somewhat. He was a son of Souke and a member of the imperial family. His duty was to Yamauchi, and that meant he owed everything he had, everything he was, to the true Golden Raven.
“Thank you, Rokon. I know what I have to say to the Ministers now.” He let Rokon go and took a step back. He kept glaring at him. “I’ve never desired the throne out of self-interest. I was born a Yatagarasu and a son of Souke. I know my duty to my family and my country. My brother and I each have our roles, and my role includes supporting him.”
True Golden Ravens were selfless by nature. Natsuka often struggled to match that selflessness. He believed in his brother’s fitness to rule. “No matter what anyone else says, my brother is a true Golden Raven. He is qualified to be our next emperor. If you tell me to give up on my brother now or sabotage our relationship, you’ll suffer for it.”
Rokon smiled. “I didn’t tell you to do anything, and I’m not planning anything. Do as you will, Prince Natsuka. I’ll obey any order you give me.” He talked like he was soothing an obstinate child having a tantrum.
Natsuka looked Rokon in the eye, trying to gauge his truthfulness and intentions. What he saw unsettled him. He gulped.
“I am loyal to you,” Rokon said, “in my own way.” He laughed. His eyes were like a wild beast’s, cunning and merciless.
***
The Commandant finished his explanation of the situation. Instructor Suikan watched him carefully.
“Then the coronation has been indefinitely postponed?” Instructor Seiken asked.
“That’s right.”
“Has the Imperial Court given any detailed explanations?”
The Commandant slowly shook his head. “No. We haven’t been informed of why the White Raven ordered the coronation to be postponed, or why His Imperial Highness accepted those orders.” There were rumors that Prince Natsuka had hidden the truth of the matter. There were certainly secrets and plotting in the Imperial Court, but the Keisōin had only messages and rumors to base their information on. “Regardless, this is going to be a problem.”
It had been ten days since the White Raven had made his proclamation.
The instructors sat in a large drawing room that was part of the Keisōin’s faculty living quarters. All of the main instructors were here, from those who taught new Seeds to those who prepared Trees for graduation. The light of the table lamps flickered. Those uncertain lights illuminated grim faces.
“Usually, the Commandant of the Keisōin changes with the ascension of a new Emperor. You might remember that we’d arranged to invite Priest Takubō of Heaven’s View Temple to start the proceedings of handing over the position. All those preparations were for nothing, it seems.”
None of them had any idea what the future held. The Commandant surveyed the instructors’ faces one by one. Most were frowning. Some soothed their agitation with gestures or fidgeting. The Commandant knew exactly how they felt.
“I know you must all be ill at ease, but our duty as instructors hasn’t changed. As long as there are no shakeups in the Imperial Court, the administrative structure here won’t change. Just keep performing your duties as before.”
The instructors agreed in unison.
Instructor Seiken scratched his cheek. “Still, this is a problem. Rumors about the situation are already circulating among the cadets. They’re already divided by the Crown Prince’s and Prince Natsuka’s factions as it is, which is driving wedges between them. We should expect the situation to worsen.”
“Who are you worried about specifically?”
“Kimichika of Minami Tachibana, I’d say,” an instructor in charge of Saplings courses answered sourly.
Instructor Kashin, who taught many of the practical courses, added, “There’s an unusual number of high-ranking and talented boys among the Seeds this year. Maybe he’s acting out because of that?”
“That’s true. Ever since Akeru of Saike arrived, Kimichika’s concerning behavior has become much more conspicuous. I often see those who identify with Prince Natsuka’s faction picking fights with Akeru. Kimichika is certainly egging them on,” a theory instructor who mostly taught Saplings said.
Instructor Seiken sighed. “Akeru has been leaning into his role as a faction leader as well. I’ve let them all be. Birds of a feather flock together, and all that. But after today, that may not be a viable approach. I ask all instructors to pay extra attention. We cannot allow a bunch of petty squabbles to turn into bullying.”
“Indeed.” Several instructors nodded at Instructor Seiken’s request.
The Commandant confirmed that if there were any new developments at the Imperial Court, they’d all be summoned again immediately. He insisted that they had to guide the cadets carefully to avoid any political conflicts. Then the meeting drew to a close.
The moment the meeting ended, Instructor Suikan left the room. He’d done his best to keep his head down during the meeting. He wasn’t looking for any attention.
The night was a bit cloudy and humid. Sometimes practical courses were changed to theory courses when it rained. His mood plummeted as he thought about the days to come.
As Instructor Suikan was on his way back to his chambers, an instructor called out to him from behind.
“Instructor Suikan, could I have a moment?” Instructor Suikan turned to find Instructor Seiken rushing toward him, his black feather robe fluttering as he moved.
“Is there a problem?”
“I’ve heard rumors that you’re giving certain cadets preferential treatment in your classes. Is that true?”
Instructor Suikan refused to answer.
Instructor Seiken’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll make my question more specific. Did you punish the cadets who got into a fight with Kimichika in the dining hall again?”
“Yes.”
“And do you choose Yukiya as your opponent in every strategy game just so that you can humiliate him by beating him over and over again? I’ve also heard that you’re making him organize the library or clean up the bamboo grove obstacle course so that he doesn’t have time to do his homework.”
Instructor Suikan knew he’d be reprimanded for his actions someday. He maintained his composure. “It was obvious that many cadets were copying his work. That’s his punishment.”
“If that’s the case, everyone who copied the homework should have been punished, too. You are not treating Yukiya as a cadet at this academy. Your behavior is unbecoming of an instructor.”
“I don’t recognize Yukiya as a cadet at this academy,” Suikan said simply.
Instructor Seiken’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”
“His presence here disturbs the peace of the Keisōin. He does nothing but harm. He’s nothing but poison to the rest of the cadets,” Instructor Suikan said.
“He passed the entrance exam and is a cadet just like everyone else, regardless of your personal prejudice. You’ve tipped your hand once too often by favoring Kimichika. I’m not the only one who’s noticed you breaking the rules.”
“I don’t care what you and others think,” Instructor Suikan said.
Instructor Seiken narrowed his eyes. “You should. It’s not just your reputation on the line—it’s the Keisōin’s. You should treat all cadets fairly. Those are the rules, and it’s also good pedagogy.”
Instructor Suikan shrugged. “As you say.” He’d rather not fight Instructor Seiken at the moment, so he lowered his head and made agreeable noises.
Instructor Seiken watched him for a while, then smiled. “You don’t have much teaching experience yet. Don’t give up before you’ve even started.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
Instructor Seiken nodded. “Have a good night.” He gave Instructor Suikan his usual genial smile before departing.
Suikan watched his back as he walked away. He sighed in disappointment.
With heavy steps, he returned to his room, where the focus of the earlier meeting was waiting for him.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home.”
Kimichika held up a cup of rice wine clumsily. Alcohol was generally forbidden to cadets, but Kimichika had raided Instructor Suikan’s stash of snacks and wine.
Instructor Suikan crossed his arms. “I told you that you could come visit whenever you wanted, but I never said I’d look the other way while you drink.”
“Don’t be so uptight, old man! How’d the meeting go?”
“There haven’t been any significant developments. I didn’t get any new information. You came up in conversation,” Suikan said coldly.
“Me?”
“The other instructors won’t overlook your boisterous behavior. How about ceasing your despotic antics?” Instructor Suikan asked. His own terrible mood seeped into his tone, making his question sound more like a threat. “Stop antagonizing the Crown Prince’s faction, especially that Akeru boy. You’re making yourself look like a fool. If you keep going as you are, I won’t be able to shield you from the consequences.”
“Look who’s talking. You’re treating Yukiya of Hokke like shit on your shoe, and you have the nerve to reprimand me? He’s from the Crown Prince’s faction too, right?” Kimichika asked. He puffed out his chest like a rooster about to squawk.
“Don’t lump me in with you!” Instructor Suikan snapped back. Here he was, arguing with a child. He knew that he shouldn’t bother, but he couldn’t help himself.
Kimichika must have realized just how furious he was. He snorted in exasperation. “Relax, dude. I’m not acting out more lately just because I feel like it. It’s on purpose—mostly.”
“What?”
“My brother told me to act that way.”
Instructor Suikan had no desire to hear another word about Kimichika’s older brother for the remainder of his lifetime. He groaned. “Rokon put you up to this?”
Rokon had been Suikan’s senior by a year when they’d trained in the Keisōin together.
“I’m just reining in the Crown Prince’s faction, is all.”
“Prince Natsuka himself has expressed his allegiance to the Crown Prince. There’s no meaning in what you’re doing.”
Kimichika’s expression twisted, making it clear he wanted to mock the instructor. “You clearly don’t understand my brother.”
“Why on earth would I want to?! He says things like ‘the path to true loyalty comes from knowing pleasure.’ The fewer ideas I have in common with him, the better.”
Rokon was insane, and that was putting it tactfully. The day that Instructor Suikan understood Rokon’s thought process would be the day he died, or—more likely—never.
Kimichika observed him with amusement and began playing with his cup of rice wine, making it fly from hand to hand.
“My brother hasn’t given up on making Prince Natsuka the next emperor,” Kimichika said cheerfully, as if he were talking about the weather and not complex imperial politics. “And you’re my brother’s favorite. When the time comes, there’s no doubt he’ll choose you as his tactician.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“The fact that you’ve covered for me so far means that you do.”
This damn brat. Instructor Suikan cursed Kimichika internally.
“Your current course of action won’t help you. I don’t give a shit about what your brother is planning, but be careful about what you do and say. Unless you’re looking to be outwitted by Hokke’s insolent brat.”
“That kid? I have nothing to fear from him.”
“You’re not your brother,” Instructor Suikan said. “You’ll never be him. Stop pretending and acknowledge your own fears and weaknesses. Otherwise, Yukiya will beat you. I guarantee it.”
Kimichika scowled like thunderclouds. “Shut up.”
As Kimichika sulked like a child, Suikan tried to bring the conversation around to the topics that mattered. “You should be proud that you’re not like him. You had the good fortune to be born sane. Stop wasting your potential and get to work.”
Kimichika ignored him and waved him away. “Fine, old man. I’ll behave. The end result won’t change no matter what I do.”
Suikan frowned.
“Akeru is already falling apart.” Kimichika’s lips curved upward. “He’ll self-destruct soon enough.” He smiled happily at his own words. His face looked enough like Rokon’s in that moment to unsettle Instructor Suikan.
***
Shigemaru and Yukiya were taking a break on a hilltop during riding class. They’d finished their assigned exercises and were waiting for everyone else to catch up with them.
Today, they were practicing switching. Switching was one part of the training required to become capable of flying long distances without taking breaks. To switch, partners needed to transform from rider to horse in midair—and back. In this class, partners were only required to fly around the mountain once and then switch places. Shigemaru had heard rumors that they’d have to go all the way from the Imperial Palace to Yamauchi’s frontier and back during their tests before graduation.
In theory, it was better to do such an exercise with someone of similar build. Yukiya had managed just fine with Shigemaru as his partner, though.
“It feels like you wouldn’t have any problems no matter who you partnered with.”
“Well, everyone becomes significantly bigger in raven form compared to their human form. I don’t think someone’s human build actually matters that much.”
“True. There are people way bigger and stronger than you in human form who are struggling with these exercises.”
“Yeah—like Akeru and his friends, right?”
Akeru’s followers had never been particularly high achievers, and Akeru himself didn’t do well in riding classes despite his brilliance elsewhere. As the practical courses ramped up in difficulty, Akeru’s initial lead in grades and competence wore away.
“Is it just me, or is Akeru kinda tense lately?” Yukiya asked.
“His grades are slipping,” Shigemaru said.
Yukiya gave him a bitter smile. “That could be part of the reason, but I doubt that’s all of it.”
Akeru’s grades were falling even in theory classes these days.
“Well, you barely have a chance to study lately, yet your grades are still virtually the same as his,” Shigemaru said. “I can’t blame Akeru for getting anxious about that.”
Ever since the incident with Kimichika, Instructor Suikan had kept a constant eye on Yukiya. It had been a month since then. Instructor Suikan showed no signs of forgiving Yukiya. He was Yukiya’s opponent in every strategy game and found any reason—no matter how small—to punish him and take away all his free time. Every so often, Instructor Suikan would lash out at him, telling Yukiya that he should drop out of the Keisōin.
The instructor’s bullying was so bad that the other cadets had started trying to shield Yukiya from his wrath. If Yukiya needed help with something, they’d direct Instructor Seiken his way and hide him from Instructor Suikan’s view.
Yukiya never uttered a word of complaint. He would always blame himself for being punished. “I made him angry again; it’s my fault. If my grades slip because I’m getting punished again, then that’s my problem to deal with.” He laughed off every confrontation with Instructor Suikan and didn’t pay much mind to the concern of the other cadets.
Yukiya was losing sleep to finish his homework, though. He took tests without being given time to study. Despite that, his grades were improving. He was closing the gap between himself and Akeru day by day. He might wind up being first-in-class among the Seeds—or, at worst, second.
Shigemaru had heard that Akeru was spending all his free time doing independent study. He’d seen Akeru tense and look away every time Yukiya managed to ace another test.
“He made such a big deal of being part of the Crown Prince’s faction… maybe the postponed coronation is stressing him out?” Yukiya asked. “This is a stressful environment, and I imagine his news from home hasn’t been good lately, either.”
“Yeah. I feel sorry for him sometimes,” Shigemaru said.
“I don’t. He made his own bed; now he gets to lie in it. He had good grades at the start, so that shows he was prepared to come here. He’s humiliating himself now. If he falls on his face, that’s his problem, not mine.”
Yukiya didn’t usually hurl invective at the other cadets, but Akeru was one of a handful of exceptions. Shigemaru had never seen someone smile so wide while insulting people before.
While he chatted with Yukiya, Shigemaru entertained himself by watching the other cadets fly around. Partners ascended and exchanged places in a matter of seconds. It looked like they were somersaulting in the air. Transforming made the partners lose altitude, of course, so the transformed raven would need to be exceptionally careful in how they rescued their human-shaped partner.
It was interesting to watch these maneuvers from afar, but actually doing it was terrifying. The partner transforming into their human shape had to trust the other partner completely. It wasn’t any easier for the person transforming into a horse—carrying a rider in the middle of interrupted flight felt like being weighed down by heavy stones. Finishing the lesson with both partners in raven form meant disqualification from the rest of the day’s lesson, though it still happened sometimes. Transforming was a better option than breaking every bone.
Shigemaru felt it was easier to complete the exercise with someone you trusted. A similar build might help, but it couldn’t replace real trust.
Shigemaru suddenly noticed a set of partners flying exceptionally slowly. “Yukiya, look!”
Yukiya had already noticed. “That looks dangerous… they need to be flying higher. And faster. Something’s not right—”
Yukiya didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. At that precise moment, the rider and horse tried to switch.
Shigemaru saw two horses for a second. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach.
The partners plummeted even after the human transformation was complete and the rider was on the horse. The horse kept falling, crashing through the tree canopy.
“A fall! Someone’s hurt!” a cadet cried out.
“Call the doctor! We need to get them to the infirmary!”
Cadets swarmed over to the injured cadets like bees protecting their hive. Instructors flew straight towards the injured partners. From the looks of it, the rider had managed to transform into his raven shape at the very last second. He’d suffered only minor injuries.
The horse wasn’t so lucky.
“Who fell?” Shigemaru asked.
“Shige, that was Akeru.”
“What? Really!?”
“I’m sure. I saw the rider’s red hair just before they swapped.”
Shigemaru felt awful, like he’d cursed Akeru somehow. They’d just been talking about his grades falling, and here was a literal fall.
Yatagarasu in raven form swooped in on Akeru and his partner. Help had arrived.
***
Akeru opened his eyes to a world of pain. His mind was hazy, possibly because of the medicine. He thought he remembered medicine. His body felt like it was burning. The sky, visible through the gaps in the infirmary’s window shutters, was completely dark. A doctor had checked on him the first time he’d woken up, so he’d been told how he’d gotten into this sorry state.
There were scratches all over his body and he had some nasty bruises, but fortunately none of his wounds were life-threatening. He’d hit his head during the fall, though, so the doctor had instructed him to remain in the infirmary for the day.
Akeru had a vivid memory of the moment he fell.
His partner that day was Chihaya. Since he’d watched everyone during the marching drills and obstacle course, Akeru already knew that Chihaya was the fastest flier among the Seeds.
Chihaya had been flying at an awfully low speed when it had happened, though. Akeru was convinced that flying slowly was Chihaya’s attempt at harassing him. Akeru couldn’t afford to waste time like that—he had to become the horse and catch up with the rest. Distracted by his growing panic, he started to transform before Chihaya was ready…
And then, the sound of the wind in his ears.
And there, Chihaya. The expression on his face the moment he took human form.
Akeru’s transformation took too long.
It was a terrible blunder, one that would be a massive problem for his grades going forward. If Akeru didn’t become a better rider—and horse—then he might not ever become the Crown Prince’s vassal.
This isn’t how things were supposed to go, Akeru thought. Where did I go wrong?
***
The next day, Akeru’s two roommates came to visit. They’d accompanied him to the Keisōin and had gone to great lengths to attend to Akeru’s every need. They appeared reluctant to visit him today, though. They both appeared stoic, like they were suffering for Akeru’s sake.
“We’ve already informed everyone at the main Saike estate,” a roommate said.
“I see. Thank you for that.” Akeru looked from that roommate to the other, taking in their pained expressions. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Nothing at all.”
Akeru felt irritation rising up within him. “You’ve been avoiding me lately. If you have something to tell me, just say it.”
“Then I will,” one roommate said.
“You shouldn’t,” the other said.
“I will! We’re all thinking the same thing.” The boy’s face went bright red. “Lord Akeru, you told us that you came here of your own volition after receiving His Imperial Highness’s order to do so. But I heard you only served His Imperial Highness for one single day. Is that true?”
Akeru was confused. Why was that strange detail of his past coming up now? “It’s true,” he said. “What about it?”
“I thought you came to the Keisōin specifically so that you could become His Imperial Highness’ trusted vassal. You were a brilliant student at first.” The roommate shook his head, disheartened and embittered. “We were almost fooled by that, but then—what did His Imperial Highness see in you, when you’d barely spent a day with him? You didn’t even know how to wield a sword then, did you? Why would His Imperial Highness order you to become a Yamauchishu?”
“You know that already,” Akeru said. “The Yamauchishu is corrupt, and I’m here to fix that. The Crown Prince’s faction needs their own vanguard, and he chose me for that.”
“But Yukiya of Hokke is already here! He’s the perfect fit to obstruct Prince Natsuka’s faction. He’s General Genya’s grandson and the most talented strategist out of all our peers.”
“And Yukiya served as the Crown Prince’s personal attendant for a year. If he graduates, there’s no doubt that he’ll have a place at the Crown Prince’s side.”
“Everyone knows that the Hokke family are warriors. There was no need for a Saike son to come to the Keisōin. You were originally supposed to stay close to His Imperial Highness, right? If His Imperial Highness expects Yukiya to fulfill his duty as a vassal by becoming a warrior, shouldn’t the same apply to you? But you could be a palace raven instead! And you never thought about why you only lasted one day as the Crown Prince’s attendant.”
“What are you trying to say?” Akeru asked.
As the Lord of Saike’s second son, Akeru could take his pick of positions in the Imperial Court. Why even bother coming to the Keisōin? These days, the only nobles who went to the Keisōin were the incompetents—sons lacking family support in the Imperial Court. Everyone else—everyone competent—used the Shadow Rank system.
“I’m saying that His Imperial Highness disliked you and sent you here to get rid of you.”
Akeru was speechless.
“We heard that you had His Imperial Highness’s trust, Lord Akeru. That’s why we went through the trouble of coming here with you instead of taking positions in the Imperial Court as we originally intended. But what’s the point if His Imperial Highness has forsaken you? You wasted our time and effort,” the boy spat. “We shouldn’t have come to this damn place.”
The other boy shook his head and sighed. “I don’t think it’s all your fault. But right now, the Saike-affiliated palace ravens are disappointed in you.”
Akeru tried and failed to process this information. He’d believed that these two were his friends and loyal supporters. He’d been wrong this whole time.
“We’re going to drop out.”
“What?” Akeru’s voice cracked.
“Could you keep your distance from us until we do?”
Akeru couldn’t think of a way to persuade them to stay.
Just as his roommates were about to leave the room, Akeru caught sight of someone at the door.
It turned out to be the last person he wanted to see right now.
***
“Is this a bad time?” Yukiya asked as he poked his head through the doorway. He smiled slightly.
Akeru’s roommates skittered away without saying anything.
Yukiya shrugged. “I guess you’re not doing too bad. I’m glad you’re okay.”
Akeru gave him a flat look. “Why are you here?”
“Such manners. That’s hardly a proper noble greeting, is it? I came here to give you a present because you’re hurt. Here.” Yukiya passed a paper package into Akeru’s hands.
There were sugared kumquats inside the package.
“I don’t want these.”
“Oh, really? How wasteful. Can I have them?” Yukiya didn’t even wait for Akeru’s answer. He sat by the window and started stuffing his mouth with kumquats.
The only sound in the room was Yukiya’s chewing for a few minutes.
Akeru had nothing to say to Yukiya. He felt like he finally understood why Yukiya had rejected his advice and his friendship as a fellow member of the Crown Prince’s faction. Unlike Akeru, Yukiya had served the Crown Prince for an entire year. If the Crown Prince had sent Akeru here to be rid of him, then Yukiya almost certainly knew about that. There were so many questions that he wanted to ask the Crown Prince—but he also wasn’t sure if he really wanted the answers to those questions.
“If that’s everything, can’t you leave me alone?” he asked. He knew he was being rude. He didn’t care right now.
Yukiya laughed. “Well, I came for a reason. You can’t go on like this or you’ll have to leave.”
Akeru’s face reddened. “My grades are still better than yours on average.”
“I’m not talking about grades,” Yukiya said. “You don’t understand the position you’re in, do you?”
Akeru flinched.
Yukiya gave him a cold, analytical stare. Like he was trying to figure him out, and succeeding.
“And what position am I in?” Akeru asked.
“Think about it. You’ll figure it out.” Yukiya tossed a kumquat from hand to hand. “The Keisōin currently has forty-four Seeds, twenty-one Saplings, and fourteen Trees—seventy-nine cadets total. You and I are the highest-ranked noble cadets here; everyone else is fifth-ranked in their family or below. Only six nobles in the entire Keisōin could use the Shadow Rank system to take a position in the Imperial Court, and all of them are Seeds or Saplings. Do you understand what that means?” Yukiya looked at Akeru as if he were testing him.
“That most noble cadets fail before reaching their third year?”
“Exactly.”
Akeru and Yukiya both had noble peers now, but by the time they became Trees, most of their fellow cadets would be commoners.
“There are others here who are linked to the Four Families, of course, but they aren’t highly ranked. It’s obvious what will happen to you if you keep ridiculing commoners. You’ll end up surrounded by enemies. Is that what you want?” Yukiya asked. He sounded bored. He tossed the kumquat in his hands back and forth again.
“Trying to reform the Keisōin from within as a Seed is also pointless,” Yukiya said. “Any issues within the Keisōin are resolved by the Commandant or the Emperor, not us. The Crown Prince would never ask you to do something like that; it would be too cruel a task. I don’t think he’s ever expected that from you.”
Akeru was appalled. “But if that’s true, His Imperial Highness sent me to the Keisōin for no reason at all!”
Were his roommates right? Was he here solely because the Crown Prince had wanted to be rid of him?
Akeru felt his soul leave his body at the mere thought.
He came back to himself as Yukiya shoved a sugared kumquat in his mouth.
“W-what are you doing?” Akeru almost choked on the kumquat. A coughing fit cleared his airway.
Yukiya looked at him, unimpressed. “You’re supposed to be smart, but you’re an idiot. His Imperial Highness has high hopes for you, but you’re completely blind to them.”
“What?” Akeru raised his head.
Yukiya gave him a wry grin.
“I mean, he told you to come to the Keisōin, didn’t he? So you could become his vassal in the future.” Yukiya rolled yet another kumquat into the palm of his hand. “It’s easy to tell why. Take your roommates as an example. They fold easily under pressure. They said all that shit to you because they’re scared about the delay of His Imperial Highness’s ascension to the throne. Fair-weather friends aren’t loyal. If you want trustworthy allies, using your family status and influence is the worst way to connect people to you. They talked to you like that because you deserve it. Plain and simple.”
Akeru’s mind skipped over thoughts; he was confused and couldn’t focus. His allies had abandoned him, not because of who he was as a person, but because of what he represented politically? That made a certain kind of sense. “I didn’t ever consider that.” He hung his head, embarrassed by his own naivete.
“Well, you’re considering it now,” Yukiya said. “What if you became His Imperial Highness’ vassal and you made a mistake like that? We’re here to learn.” He paused. “Most nobles look down on commoners, but commoners make up more than ninety percent of all Yatagarasu. The Crown Prince is aware of who he rules over and who he’s responsible for protecting. He doesn’t discriminate against commoners like other nobles do.”
The Keisōin was a reflection of Yamauchi itself. Most Trees were commoners because most cadets were commoners.
Slowly but surely, Akeru grasped the meaning behind what Yukiya was saying. “So that’s why His Imperial Highness told me to come to the Keisōin…”
To learn how to socialize with commoners. So that he wouldn’t embarrass the Golden Raven in the future or prioritize the wrong things.
“The Crown Prince told you to come to the Keisōin, but he didn’t say you had to become a Yamauchishu. He was trying to make sure you had the knowledge you needed to be of service. And he didn’t send your older brother here—he sent you. That means something, too.”
Yukiya looked Akeru in the eye. “What would you do if His Imperial Highness loses his status as Crown Prince? Would you remain by His Imperial Highness’s side, even though he isn’t your brother-in-law? If Duchess Masuho no Susuki doesn’t ever become his concubine, will you still support him?”
Akeru gulped. What came back to him then was his first meeting with the Crown Prince, so many years ago now. He remembered how he’d felt that day. That was the beginning of everything. A shared secret and a gentle smile as the sun set.
“I—” Akeru’s voice shook. He tried again. “I want to serve His Imperial Highness. The man, not the title. If he values me and my service, then I owe it to him to value him for who he is.”
“I see,” Yukiya said. “Glad to hear it.” Yukiya gave him a bright smile. There didn’t seem to be any ulterior motives or sneakiness in that smile.
For the first time in a long time, Akeru felt like he was making a friend. He and Yukiya were both unshakably loyal to the Crown Prince, and that meant a lot in a place like this. He also thought he understood why the Crown Prince had chosen to make Yukiya a personal attendant. Yukiya was smart. Not brilliant at rote learning or memorization, perhaps, but he thought through problems and came up with solutions quickly. His type of intelligence cut ruthlessly toward practicality, discarding information that didn’t matter.
“You aren’t like me, Yukiya. You’ve gotten this far without relying on your family’s influence.”
That must be why Yukiya had spent so much time with commoners from the very start.
Yukiya laughed in his face. “You think so? I’ve had to use it on occasion, even if I don’t like to. I used to hate the fact that I was the Lord of Hokke’s grandson, but now I realize that I need every advantage I have.”
Akeru blinked. “But then, what’s the point of spending so much time with commoners?”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Akeru.” Yukiya’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Power and authority are troublesome things. They’re a weakness when they’re misapplied, but they’re a strength when they’re used correctly. What I’m trying to say is, everything around us is either an asset or a liability. I make the best possible use out of everyone and everything. I want as few liabilities as possible.”
“Commoners are… assets?”
“So are nobles. People are assets. Be useful to them, and they’ll be useful to you.” Yukiya smiled coldly.
Akeru was terrified of that smile. Yukiya’s eyes were like a snake’s and devoid of all emotion. He was going to ask what Yukiya was planning to do with his “assets” when a knock on the door disrupted his focus.
Shigemaru stepped over to the room’s window and looked in. “So,” he said nonchalantly. “Good talk, you two?”
His sudden appearance made Akeru sit up, which he instantly regretted. He lay back down again, willing his injuries to stop trying to break him apart.
“We came here with Yukiya, but it didn’t feel right to intrude, so we hid here to wait instead. We brought you a present, too.” Shigemaru bent himself through the window and dropped a basket full of plums on the floor.
“Oh, I love plums! Can I have one?” Yukiya asked.
Akeru was in a state of complete confusion. How long had Shigemaru been standing there?
“That looked like a bad fall, but you seem to be okay now. How are you feeling?” Shigemaru asked him.
Akeru didn’t say anything for a few moments. He was surprised to see that Shigemaru’s concern for him seemed genuine. It was strangely moving. “Your visit is much appreciated,” Akeru said, injecting some artificial cheer into his voice. “But did you say ‘we?’”
“I did. Actually, he’s way, way more worried about you than me.” Shigemaru’s face vanished from the window and then quickly returned. He picked up Chihaya by the collar and thrust him toward the window.
Chihaya’s frown and sidelong glance toward Shigemaru expressed more irritation than worry, but he had come to visit Akeru, too, and he hadn’t needed to.
“Chihaya,” Akeru said softly.
“I didn’t mean it,” Chihaya said after a short pause.
Akeru gasped. He hadn’t thought about the rumors that would be circulating around the academy now. Everyone probably suspected that Chihaya had intentionally hurt Akeru. Chihaya had originally been associated with Kimichika, who was known for his attempts to bully Akeru.
“I know. It was my own fault I fell,” Akeru said. He understood why other cadets might think that Chihaya had sabotaged him intentionally, but he remembered the fall and he knew what he’d done.
When Chihaya had seen him falling fast—too fast—he’d looked absolutely terrified. He’d even dived after him to try to prevent him from falling too far down. He’d done everything he could as a partner to prevent Akeru from getting hurt.
There was one thing he couldn’t understand about the incident, though.
“Hey, Chihaya. You should be able to fly a lot faster, right? Why were you going so slow then?”
Chihaya answered his question in a dispassionate tone. “You were struggling to keep your balance. I thought you’d roll off my back if I flew any faster.”
“I see.” Akeru sighed heavily. He sat up much more carefully this time and gave Chihaya a deep bow. “I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble. I’ll explain what happened to everyone else.”
“No. There’s no need.”
Chihaya was a boy of few words, but those words were music to Akeru’s ears. He was forgiven. Just like that. His heart felt so much lighter.
“I never thought I’d see you apologizing to a commoner,” Shigemaru said. “You’ve really grown as a person.”
Akeru wasn’t sure what to say to that, and Shigemaru appeared to be struggling with some mixed emotions himself.
“Look, Akeru.” Shigemaru smoothed his expression. “You had your own reasons to come to the Keisōin. We all have ours, too. Nobody has the exact same circumstances, so it’s a given that we all think differently.”
Akeru listened and didn’t interrupt.
“I think this place is amazing. Where else can people from all parts of Yamauchi gather to share their views and opinions? If we weren’t here at the Keisōin, neither of us would have had the chance to speak to each other normally like this, right?”
“Yes.”
“We have a rare opportunity here. So just think of things this way: getting along with other people is a skill in and of itself, and it’s in everyone’s best interests to learn it.” Shigemaru laughed. “Breaks aside, we study together almost every day in dormitory building two. Want to come? Everyone will be glad to welcome you.”
Akeru was touched by Shigemaru’s invitation to the study group. He nodded.
***
By the time Akeru was allowed to return to his dorm room, one of his roommates had already dropped out. Akeru hadn’t given the boy much thought before, but he knew that the boy’s grades were much worse than Akeru’s. His desire to drop out had been genuine; he was probably burned out and exhausted.
Akeru fretted about his missing roommate for a while. His surroundings made him keep remembering the boy’s absence. Eventually, he decided to go to dormitory building two. He found Yukiya’s study group without too much trouble; the door to room ten was wide open. He heard animated shouts coming from inside.
“I can’t do this anymore! I don’t understand it at all.”
“Get it together! Now that glasses guy found out about it, we can’t just copy Yukiya’s homework anymore!”
“All you need to do is memorize the game rules. After that, it’s just recall and application,” Yukiya said, exasperated.
Other cadets shouted him down, drowning out his voice.
“Like that’s easy, you insane bastard!”
“There’s no way we can memorize all of those rules!”
“How did you even do it to begin with?”
“I just read through them? That was it, really.”
“I can’t stand smartasses!”
The rules they were talking about were for playing their strategy games. Rules defined what moves were available to each piece. Examples of real games were included to show the rules in practice. The cadets were trying to complete their strategy homework.
Akeru took a deep breath, steeling his resolve before he stepped forward into the doorway.
“The most important rules regard the Officers,” Akeru said. “Infantry pieces follow their commands and movements.”
Several cadets had their textbooks raised overhead, preparing to throw them at Yukiya. They looked at Akeru, their mouths agape.
“Akeru?”
“What are you doing here?”
Shigemaru and Yukiya smirked. Neither said anything to support what he’d said, though. Chihaya sat in a corner, doing his own homework in silence. He didn’t look up at Akeru even once.
Akeru licked his dry lips and surveyed the faces of the cadets. “I was wondering if it would be possible for me to join the study group as well. I should be able to help a little bit with theory, I think. I won’t impose, though, if I’m not welcome…”
Reflecting on his past behavior made Akeru wince. He cast his eyes downward in fear of their reaction.
One of the boys sitting on the floor jumped up and seized him by the shoulders. “Welcome, professor.”
“Eh?”
“We might actually be able to understand what you’re saying. You should make more sense than Yukiya, at least,” he added.
“Mean,” Yukiya muttered.
“We can’t figure out any of it! At this rate, we’ll all end up dropping out.”
“Yukiya’s explanations don’t make sense to us. You’re our only hope.”
Akeru looked around at all the cadets, surprised by their easy acceptance of him here. This wasn’t at all what he’d expected. “You forgive me?”
“For what?” One of the cadets sighed. “We all feel some way about you, Akeru, but we need your help. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“If you help us so we don’t drop out, we’ll consider all accounts settled.”
“Less grumbling, more teaching! These are due tomorrow and none of us are done yet.”
Shigemaru grinned widely. “No hard feelings, Akeru.”
Akeru wasn’t sure if he should be glad of their honesty or sad that they only wanted to use him for his knowledge. For now, he had a place here. He spent the rest of the evening teaching theory to his peers. Yukiya’s explanations really were awful, even though he was usually right.
Most of the cadets managed to finish their homework in their own words. Several cadets wept in gratitude and begged him to return the next day. Shigemaru offered to walk Akeru back to his dorm room.
“Tired?” Shigemaru asked him as they walked.
Akeru shook his head. “No. Thank you for inviting me. It was fun.” He’d never been thanked so effusively before. Some of his fellow cadets were also much better at riding lessons than he was and gave him useful, practical advice. They also agreed to help him practice. Akeru hadn’t joined the study group to benefit himself, but he was grateful for the assistance.
Before they passed out of sight of dormitory building two, Akeru searched for Chihaya. The cadet had been quiet all night; he hadn’t asked anyone for help even once.
“Chihaya, do you have a moment?” Akeru asked.
Chihaya gave him a suspicious stare, but he came over to Akeru and Shigemaru.
“I made a lot of trouble for you. Allow me to apologize again.” Akeru bowed.
“You don’t have to,” Chihaya said.
“But I do. You could have been gravely injured if anything else had gone wrong, and now there are all those terrible rumors going around. I’ve been thinking a lot about how I can get the truth out there and pay you back for helping me. I would have been hurt a lot worse if not for your quick thinking.”
Chihaya appeared troubled.
Akeru kept talking, ignoring Chihaya’s growing unease. “You came to the Keisōin thanks to the Minami Tachibana family’s recommendation, right?”
“You investigated me?”
“Yeah. Sorry. When I lost to you in that duel, my followers checked your family registry in the census and your general background. I found out that your little sister was sick. You were hardly in a position to refuse assistance from the Minami Tachibana family. When Kimichika intimidated you during that fight in the dining hall, he was threatening your sister, right?”
Chihaya’s face went blank.
“Forgive my presumption,” Akeru said. “But, with your permission, I might be able to assist you with that situation.”
Chihaya said nothing.
“You must hate what’s happening—your sister is a hostage to Kimichika’s family,” Akeru said. “I just want to help you as my way of apologizing. I don’t have any ulterior motives or anything.”
Akeru was used to leveraging his family status and position to get what he wanted. He’d acted arrogantly in front Chihaya and Shigemaru before. He had no plans to make the same mistakes and misuse his power anymore, though. He wanted to follow Yukiya’s advice. This would be a good first attempt at using his family’s influence in a positive way.
“Saike will support you, if you wish, and we’ll take good care of your sister. You don’t want to work for Kimichika, right?”
“That much is true,” Chihaya said. “I don’t like relying on the Minami Tachibana family’s charity.”
“Then…” Akeru said, prompting him to go on and accept his offer of help.
“Then nothing. You’re just like Kimichika. I don’t need your help.”
Chihaya turned his back on him and walked away.
Frozen in place, Akeru watched Chihaya leave him behind. “But why?” Why was Chihaya so angry? Was it something he’d said?
Translator's Notes
The bookshelf in the Sun Palace is a nikaizushi. They have two levels, with at least part of the first level enclosed by doors. The remaining shelves are left completely open in the front and back.
Go and shogi are both ancient strategy board games, but go focuses on territorial control with simple stones, while shogi (Japanese chess) involves capturing an opponent’s king.
On use of the f-bomb: Yukiya usually uses normal polite speech when talking to peers and modified keigo (extremely polite speech) when speaking to the Crown Prince or the Empress. He briefly slips into the hyper-masculine, vaguely threatening mode of speech that typifies yakuza gangster movies and criminals terrorizing victims while talking to Akeru. He’s really angry, in other words—enough to break his usual speech pattern.
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