The year is roughly 1580, and Japan is split by factions battling it out for dominance. The strongest military power of this current time period is the Toyotomi, headed by Toyotomi Hideyoshi. It is by Toyotomi's orders that Matsunaga Gentaro was headed to Sigata Castle, along with a faction of his men, to cripple the supplies being sent to Miki Castle, which was currently under siege by Toyotomi's forces (and had been for almost two years now). The Matsunaga samurai had served Toyotomi almost exclusively for a handful of years, and Gentaro knew the utmost importance of this task. If completed properly, he'd bring honor to his name, and hopefully solidify their trusted bond. It seemed as though Hideyoshi would consolidate enough power to rule a unified nation, and Gentaro truly hoped that were the case, so that he and his family could rest easy in a world without war.

His family, which at the moment, only consisted of he and his wife, Okiku. They had been trying for children, but no seed bore fruit. While most men would have given up and found a concubine or another wife, Gentaro could not imagine laying with another woman that wasn't the fair and brilliant Okiku. She herself was astounded at his reluctance to sleep with another, urging him to pick one of the women she recommended, and even offered to honorably end her life so that he could re-marry without dishonoring either of them, but he had denied her. Such was fate, he had reassured her, and karma would re-balance in their favor eventually. 

The opportunity that lay before him now, for example. 

Sigata Castle soon was laid to waste. Those who attempted to fight back were slain; a necessary act. Once Miki Castle's food supplies were diminished, Bessho Nagaharu would have no choice but to surrender to the might of the Toyotomi. Gentaro was envisioning what his rewards would be, perhaps a better estate for he and his wife, when he hears giggling. It was odd enough to hear this on the battlefield surrounded by dead warriors and farmers alike, but it was also accompanied by shuffling and clucking. Gentaro redrew his blade and approached cautiously, peering over to find the curious sight of a child chasing after a chicken, laughing each time the poultry dodged his grasp. 

The chicken suddenly darts between his open legs and he jumps as the boy collides into him, barely as tall as his knee. The boy rubs his reddening nose furiously, seeming to have just taken notice of the other man. He cants his head upwards to look at the samurai in front of him, drenched in blood. There was an absence of fear, and Gentaro could not tell if it was due to mere innocence or apathy. Either way, there was no need for his weapon, so he sheathes it and sighs, crouching down to the boy's height.

"How old are you?"

The boy seems to be looking past him as he answers, where the hen was milling about without a care now that she was no longer being pursued. He gingerly holds up two fingers.

"Where are your parents?" He was hit with an immediate sense of regret for asking this, as the boy merely shrugs. That couldn't be a good sign.

The boy interrupts his next attempt at a question by tugging on his greaves and pointing with his other hand to the chicken. "Please help me catch Nini-san."

Nini-san? He follows the line drawn by the boy's finger, making brief eye contact with the chicken that eyed them with suspicion. Gentaro was taken aback by this. Here he was, a stranger in these lands, having slain numerous men with his own blade. One of his body count could very well be this child's father, and yet here the boy was requesting, or rather, demanding he lends his time and energy in the chasing of a chicken? 

Did the hen even originally belong to this kid and his family, or did he see the chaos of war as an opportunity to claim the hen for himself? He didn't seem to have any bad intentions, and this was a sure defeat for Sigata, so surely he could spare a few minutes and... no, no way. He couldn't possibly be considering offering to help?

When Matsunaga Gentaro returned back home to Okiku with news of his victory, he had also brought back with him a mischievous chicken named Nini, and a mysterious little boy, who he named Akimaru.

It did not take long at all for Gentaro and his wife to warm up to the boy. A very bright and curious child, he found joy in the little things, and spent a lot of time with Okiku in the garden, trying to catch butterflies. Endeared by the child's simple love of life, Okiku imparted with him the gift of nurturing it. She showed Akimaru how to tend to the flowers of their garden, taught him the cycle of life and death. When a lily wilted, they would allow it to return to the earth and become nourishment for the flowers that had survived it; to provide for the will of the strong.

Due to his young age, they were able to raise him entirely as their own, meaning he grew up none the wiser to the fact that they were not blood related. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, or so his parents thought. The rest of the Matsunaga clan remained wary concerning his legitimacy, however, and did not feel the same.

Not that any of that mattered. As seasons passed, fleeting as the cherry blossoms, Gentaro was given a multitude of reasons to boast his lineage. Akimaru was a fast learner, far exceeding others his age in any category one could name. Calligraphy, swordplay, poetry, tea ceremonies, horseback riding... If you could teach it to him, he'd take it and run with it, always surpassing his mentors. Soon enough, he was both skilled and old enough to participate in his first campaign.

To celebrate the occasion, on the eve of his 15th birthday, Gentaro invited neighboring clans, including the Toyotomi family, to attend his child's Genpuku, or coming of age ceremony. Akimaru shed his childhood name to proudly bear Hideyori — a name gifted to him by his father and Hideyoshi. He stood a little taller that day as Gentaro introduced him to daimyō of great importance from the surrounding area. Of particular interest was the Tatsuda clan, also allies of the Toyotomi, but not subservient to them. 

The head of the clan was Tatsuda Hisasuke, a close friend of Gentaro's, as they had shared many a battlefield — and gourds of sake — together. He was very excited to finally introduce Hideyori to his fourth son, Munechika, closest in age to him and only two years his elder. He's heard tales of Munechika, having already made his name out on the battlefield. Even his first battle, he had been solely responsible for the death of a legendary samurai. Valiant, brave, intelligent, handsome... It was strange how such a small difference in age still spelled out a league of difference between them. Finally seeing him up close, he feels overwhelmed, unsure what to say or do.

The two of them bow politely, but Hideyori, nerves lost, ends up colliding his head into the other's. Straightening up immediately, he fumbles out apology after apology, wanting nothing more than to disappear. To make such a fool of himself in front of all these important guests... They'd never let him live it down, least of all Munechika, who was bound to mock him. And yet, to his surprise, Munechika is chuckling, but not with derision. He compliments Hideyori on his "hard, strong head," then noticing the whispers around them at the show of uncharacteristic clumsiness of the Matsunaga heir, proposes that the two of them seek fresh air. Relief washes over him, and he hastily agrees, following after the older boy until they reach the courtyard.

When Munechika is satisfied, far from prying eyes and judgement, the two of them can finally talk. Munechika is a careful listener, inquiring about Hideyori's training and hobbies. He's surprised to learn of Hideyori's green thumb, making a joke about the gentle nature of gardening. It suits you. The more Hideyori is able to speak of the things he enjoys, the more relaxed he becomes, until finally he's lost any regard for the art of concealing information.

"So the flowers here, you are the one who tends to them?"

Hideyori responds with a nod, smile stretching from cheek to cheek. This is something he's proud to show off, in spite of the focus of battle placed upon him.

Munechika inspects the anemone, picking off one of the flowers. It comes off easily, dainty in his war-hardened hands. "Just like these flowers, your beauty will haunt me for ages to come."

A suffocating hush falls upon the boy, heart pounding as Munechika rises up from the flowerbed to gently place the anemone in his hair. His hand lingers, stray finger tracing the outline of his reddening cheek. This was nothing new, being complimented on his favorable looks, but not with such heavy implication. He is barely able to stutter out a "thank you, Tatsuda-dono," as he stares at the grass beneath their feet, unable to meet the other's intense gaze. "You flatter me."

"I'll come to visit you again, when I'm daimyō," he continues, lifting Hideyori by the chin to impose direct eye contact, "upon which I will have you swear your fealty to me. Just wait here patiently for me."

Stunned, Hideyori balks at the concept. Daimyō? That was too far away still. Hisasuke was still kicking, and Munechika's elder brothers held more of a claim to lordship than he did. Not to mention the outright disrespect, asking Hideyori to abandon his father and the Toyotomi, and to serve the Tatsuda clan instead. The very idea should evoke outrage. He should shut him down and expose his plans, which reek of treachery, to his father, to the Toyotomi, and yet... 

Hideyori flushes pink, the tickling sensation on his skin still remaining. This feeling of instant attraction was mutual; he feels desirable, powerful. The way Munechika peers down at him with an insatiable appetite makes him shiver and leer, and he has to fight the urge to buckle to his knees and show devotion to his "new lord" right here and now, in this very courtyard.

Pull yourself together, Hideyori. These shameful, forbidden thoughts are tucked away. There was no obligation on his end to fulfill any end of this bargain. "Don't keep me waiting too long, I wouldn't like to delay our next meeting."

"It will not be long at all," he promises, removing his hold from the other with some reluctance as they both catch wind of others making their way to join them in the courtyard.

Hideyori clears his throat and dips his head low in a bow, properly this time. "I hope to hear from you soon, Tatsuda-dono."

The inconspicuous conspirators part ways, each returning to their father's sides. Had Hideyori any clue as to what he just signed himself up for, he would come to regret this moment a lot sooner.

It took no time at all for Hideyori to gain recognition for his skills, until he had earned the favor of Hideyoshi himself. It felt like only days ago when he had first prostrated himself before his lordship, and now he stood as a pseudo-adviser, able to plot out battle strategies alongside him. This was starting to garner attention from other feudal lords, who awaited Hideyori's next moves with anticipation. It was clear he'd be the perfect successor to the Matsunaga, and a weapon of great threat for the Toyotomi to utilize. In short, everything was proceeding smoothly.

But Hideyori was hiding an affliction behind his perfections. He struggled coming to terms with the strange sights he could see, but those around him could not. Comrades who were slain in battle, standing over their limp bodies, weeping. One of their servants who had fallen ill, chained to the Matsunaga castle, whom would wish the young master safe travels every time he stepped out the door. Hideyori learned very quickly that this was a form of life he could not cherish like the flowers he tended to, for the passing whispers he'd receive from any on-lookers for attempting to interact with them told him that he was appearing delusional.

So he ignored the spirits, refusing to dishonor his family name. He'd ignore their calls for help and pleading for his counsel, returning nary a glance back at their direction. And when the harmless apparitions would stop appearing, he certainly did not question where they had went. Even when his accursed gift gave him the ability to see masked demons feasting on these souls, creeping about in the shadows, he'd keep his gaze focused ahead of him. It's the cycle of life, he tells himself, drowning out their terrified screams with the aid of sake and rest.

In the meantime, he had something else to look forward to; something that could also make his troubles dissipate. Messengers would arrive bearing the beautiful words of his admirer from the Tatsuda clan, line after line of poems and praise. Hidden away in his quarters was a wooden box he would store the letters, and he would frequently look upon them before sleep. They would warm his heart, flood his body full of life, and he'd envision Munechika whispering the words in his ear with the sweetest of melodies. How he longed to see him in person again, and he'd share these sentiments in his responses, wishing that he hadn't allowed the man to make such a foolish promise.

Then one day, they receive a message from the Tatsuda that wasn't for Hideyori. Gentaro is pale as he reads out the news that Hisasuke has fallen gravely ill, and immediately prepares to set out to the Tatsuda castle, a day's ride out. Hideyori insists on accompanying him, concerned for how Munechika must be handling it. He couldn't imagine the despair he'd feel at possibly losing his own father, and decides this is important enough to do away with their conditional promise to meet again when he's become daimyō. 

Their arrival is received by the five children of Hisasuke, and Hideyori slides off his steed to stand behind his father as they bowed. His gaze locks with Munechika's, noting the dark rings around his eyes. It took a special amount of self-restraint to not rush into his arms and comfort him. Instead, he takes note of his siblings; an elder brother and sister, and two younger brothers, doe-eyed and teary. That was enough to confirm that this was worse than he thought. He follows his father's lead into the castle, waiting for Munechika to address him or at least acknowledge his presence, but he did no such thing. Gentaro is taken into Hisasuke's chambers, where he requests a personal audience, leaving Hideyori to linger outside the door, unsure of where he's supposed to go, and what he should be saying, doing.

Hisasuke's lone daughter touches the shoulders of the youngest two, suggesting they take their leave. Munechika and Hideyori are left alone staring straight ahead in silence as the eldest also departs. He calls to mind all of their exchanges over written word and wishes his tongue would flow as easily as ink. It felt like an apology or any form of condolences would already be condemning his father to death, and discussing any other matter would be comparatively trivial. Luckily, he does not have to fret for too long, as Munechika breaks the heavy silence.

"So you came."

Was that... disappointment he was hearing? Hideyori fidgets with his sleeves, a sense of dread pooling in his gut. Coming here really was a mistake; he tread all over Munechika's pride in the process. "I'm sorry, I know you wanted to wait until you were daimyō until we saw each other again."

Munechika's response is a shake of the head. "No, you came at a perfect time."

Clasping his hands over his, Munechika bundles up Hideyori's hands into a bouquet of fragile flowers, lifting them up to gently press his lips against each petal. This shameless act, out in the open for anyone to see, has his pulse quickening. Although he wishes to not have his gaze stray away from the other's intense eyes at this moment, he looks around them in a rising panic. Left, right, over the shoulder. Only when it appears they truly are alone, he relaxes.

Obviously, this did not go noticed. Munechika's lips twist upwards against skin, and his soft kisses are interrupted by a chuckle. "Could you be any less inconspicuous? You look like a criminal caught red-handed."

Well, that statement wouldn't be wrong. His hands were flushed pink thanks to the man's ministrations, and one could argue that their behavior was criminal in nature. The realization that this man's father was dying, their only separation from the stench of oncoming death a paper door, hits full force. His hand curls up, and he reluctantly retracts it.

"We should say a prayer for Tatsuda-sama."

The other man's expression falls, and his brilliant blue eyes grow foggy, cold. It lasts only for a heartbeat, before he's agreeing, and decides to take Hideyori to the family shrine. They meditate together in silence, but they are praying for different outcomes.

The Matsunaga pair spend the night in the Tatsuda residence. As Hideyori prepares for sleep, rolling out his futon, his father sits next to him, solemn. Never before has his age looked so evident. Wishing to help him find comfort, Hideyori places a hand over his father's and gives a gentle squeeze. Reassuring.

Gentaro sighs, jaw working. "If Tatsuda dies, the clan will be in turmoil over the next leader." He is very grateful that he has only one heir to his name.

Said heir looks up at him with a lopsided smile. "They will be okay, their father has already stated who's to succeed him, right?"

Oh if only it were that simple. His poor sweet son would never know the tribulations that come with multiple successors vying for the same throne. Gentaro rests his hand in Hideyori's hair, tousling locks of hair through his fingers. It's a gesture he could not grow out of, in spite of his son growing out of it. Not that he ever complained; it was a habit grown from love, something he was always seeking out.

"Anything could happen, Hideyori. A dying man's words are not always heeded once he's passed on." 

Hideyori nods at his father's wisdom, yearning to hear him speak more, but he blows out the lantern, insisting they get some shuteye for the possibilities that await them tomorrow. He lies awake, thinking about Munechika. Perfect timing, he had called it. It doesn't feel like good timing to Hideyori. He feels like he's intruding upon something private, and the general lack of concern the man has about losing his father has to be a front he's putting up to avoid worrying his admirer, right? The hand that Munechika had so gently graced with his lips tingles.

At the crack of dawn, they are awoken by pandemonium: Hisasuke has passed away in his sleep. Gentaro and Hideyori decide to stay a few extra days in order to comfort the mourning family and attend the burial rites. Standing over the grave, the boy wasn't sure where he should be looking, nor what he should be doing, so he fixates on an inconspicuous spot of dirt and fiddles with his sleeves. To his left stood Gentaro, whose head remained bowed the entire way through. If he tried not to look too hard, he'd hopefully forget the sight of his father's red-rimmed eyes.

Something brushes against his right shoulder, and he looks up to find Munechika, a soft smile among all the droopy faces. When he speaks, Hideyori feels a rush of nostalgia. "Let's get some fresh air."

They don't spare a single glance back as they leave the congregation of mourners, and although Hideyori is certain he'll get a stern chiding from his father afterwards — seeing as leaving a grave so soon must be disrespectful — he doesn't feel a sense of urgency or regret. Only childish wonder remains as Munechika's hand finds his. This is a far cry from when his parents would hold his hands. Lost in the sensation, he isn't paying attention to where he's being led.

Hideyori now finds himself in the Tatsuda courtyard, and he is unable to stop himself from the soft gasp that escapes. This wasn't like his mother's humble garden. The vegetation here grew thick, and diverse curtains of flowers and leaves hung from every direction. It felt wrong just stepping through the blades of grass that bent with the breeze, flushed full of color. He thinks to himself that this court was well taken care of, and wonders if Munechika ever fiddled with the plants, if he too had a green thumb.

Then Munechika stops in front of a colorful bundle of flowers that Hideyori recognizes immediately. His free hand reaches out to gently caress the hearts that bled, hoping that he had brought them just a little bit of comfort. Comfort... He looks up to find Munechika peering down at him, gaze something fierce, intense. Munechika, the man who has just buried his father. How careless of him to not be comforting him right now. 

Hideyori opens his mouth to offer condolences but the words of comfort never make it out, for Munechika swallows them with his own lips, greedily devouring not only Hideyori's manner of speech but his brain too. His jaw hangs slack with the shock of it all, vaguely registering that yes, he was being kissed by a daimyō's son. His admirer, his friend, his lover. The man that professed only the sweetest of intentions to him. His bleeding heart. 

Hideyori's eyes flutter shut, allowing himself to melt into the moment. His lips are just as soft as they were yesterday, and a blooming warmth takes hold, infecting his body. The heat spreads from his lips to his cheeks, then spreads to his chest and stomach. But just as he permits himself to relax, to get lost in the pleasant feeling, the other has drawn back. Munechika has taken pause, gently running his thumb over the other man's jawline. He chuckles gently at the look of disappointment this earns him, then ensnares Hideyori in an embrace, tucking his face against his chest.

"Tatsuda-dono, I can't breathe." Now he laughs too, a muffled sound. He thinks to himself that there couldn't be a moment happier than this.

"Don't leave my side, Hideyori." Munechika's face is obscured, resting against his shoulder, so Hideyori cannot see what expression he wore. "Leave your home and come serve me."

His entire body screams yes. It felt so good to be needed, desired. To have someone recognize his skills, to admire his perfection. To be understood without judgement. He wonders what it would be like, to be a retainer for a vassal. Surely his standing would improve. He'd be respected even more, seen as an equal, standing by Munechika's side. And what of the consequences? How unimportant they seemed now, outshone by the other's brilliance. There was just one problem though, one doubt that needed to get sorted out.

"Did your father name you as his successor?"

Munechika does not withdraw. His hold on Hideyori tightens. "No, this was planned from before I had even met you, so there's nothing to worry about."

Planned? Hideyori shifts uncomfortably in the suffocating grip. Death was not planned. It would come in the form of war, unpredictable, or in sickness, unexpected. It arrives without warning, reaping souls with no regard for those left behind. Death couldn't be planned, unless...

"I had to secure my future, our future. You understand, don't you?"

Unless there was conspiracy.

Hideyori feels ill, but not because of the other's admittance to what could only be less than savory actions. No, he feels ill because he doesn't care. He feels ill with himself for not having any instinctual repulsion that would push him away. Instead, he only feels empathy and understanding. This was for their future. He was willing to do this for them. 

Then he is filled with a sense of dread as a blade is wedged betwixt their joined bodies, forcing them apart. Panic replaces the bubbly warmth from earlier as he registers the blade's master. It was Gentaro, and he wore an expression that could hardly contain his anger. How long had he been there? Was he listening in? Did he... Did he see their embrace? Hear what was said? Munechika on the other hand looked entirely unbothered despite the katana at his neck.

"Now now, Matsunaga-sama, pointing a blade at the Tatsuda clan's new leader? This won't bode well for your clan's image."

"Patricide isn't a good look either. I suggest you stay far away from me and my son. Do not send any of your messengers to our territory, or I'll have them killed." 

With obvious reluctance, Gentaro draws back and spares the schemer's life, beckoning for Hideyori to follow. This wasn't open for discussion, so Hideyori can only apologize quietly and bow his head before following in his father's shadow. He casts one glance back towards Munechika, who for the first time since they've met, showed the faintest signs of a crack in his composure. His jaw is clenched tight, and he seems to be looking right past Hideyori, staring daggers at Gentaro's back. It's a shame he couldn't grab his attention for a final longing look and farewell. Hideyori wonders if he'll ever be able to see Munechika again.

True to Gentaro's word, Hideyori truly was banned from interacting with the Tatsuda clan in its entirety. He had apologized for having to resort to such measures but insisted that this was safer for the clan in the long run. Munechika was not to be trusted. Gentaro had gone so far as to send a parcel to the Toyotomi, warning of the likelihood that the Tatsuda clan may be planning to betray them. With relations being severed, he had no choice but to embrace a fate that had torn his kindred spirit away from him.

To soften the blow of the loss, Hideyori did not give himself time to be alone with his thoughts nor the spirits around him. He tried to return to fulfilling his duties as a samurai but found himself distracted by lingering thoughts. Munechika's smile, the way he sounded when he'd laugh. How charming he had looked the day he had declared it was time for Hideyori to fulfill his promise. Time and time again, his sword wavered in his once steady hands. He was dismissed as in need of a break after his long travels and so to his quarters he returned. There, he could nestle into the safety of the letters he had tucked away. Munechika's words of praise and comfort. How he longed to hear him speak once more, to bask in his presence.

An uneventful evening. Hideyori had served his mother and father tea before heading to sleep. His father had made a comment about him finally being able to return to battle; Hideyori no longer was ailed by heartache, at least not apparently so. Excited at the prospect, he prepares for bed as usual. His blade is carefully placed next to his futon, within arm's reach. Troubled sleep, fear of the unknown. Then he allows the darkness to carry him away to slumber. 

In the morning he stretches before leaving his room. An early riser, he was often awake before his parents. He is on his way to wake them, but freezes in his tracks when he sees that the shoji was left open. Perhaps they had awoken before him, he reasons. He smiles to himself, wondering if Okiku was in the garden. With a "good morning" on the tip of his tongue, he invites himself in, but chokes on his words when he glimpses the pool of blood beneath his feet. Lying on the tatami mat is Gentaro's motionless body, Hideyori's blade protruding from his torso and pinning him to the floor. Hideyori falls to his knees in disbelief, shaking his father's shoulders. No response. He keels over, holding his father's body close to his chest. Of all the times he had cursed his ability to see apparitions, he now begged for his father to appear before him again.

Caught up in his despair, he hardly notices the movement before him. He hears them before he sees them, the tatami's telltale scratchy noise alerting him. Hand rushing to the hilt of his blade, still wedged in his father, his guard only relaxes when he sees it's his father's retainer. Hideyori's voice wavers. "I just stumbled upon him. The perpetrator might still be here."

When the retainer responds by drawing his blade and calling for backup, Hideyori realizes with startling clarity that they thought he was the perpetrator. The blood on his clothes from holding his father's corpse, his blade lodged through the man's chest... He jolts upright, shaking his head. "I didn't do this, please, you have to believe me."

His pleas fall on deaf ears. Men entered the room, blades drawned. His father's retainer scoffs as they are surrounded. "This is what happens when you bring in a peasant and raise them like your own. They'll always betray you to gain more power. Kill him to avenge Matsunaga-sama's soul!"

What was he talking about? Peasant? Betrayal? He would never betray his father! Hideyori has no choice, no time to mull over what was said. With a swift movement, he pulls his sword free just in time to block another's blade. He tries to focus on disarming rather than murdering the men he considered comrades, and once an opening is apparent he makes a break for it. They chase after him, their yelling grabbing the attention of others in the area. While confident in his capabilities, having always surpassed the clan's best swordsmen, he knew he couldn't risk taking them all on at once. He'd have to hide somewhere and sneak away without alerting any more men. There really is only one place he could think of that would never be disturbed, and that was his mother's garden. His mother... was she okay? He hadn't even had the chance to search their home, to make sure his father's assassin did not also take her too.

Having gained enough distance from his pursuers, he ducks into the shrubbery in the courtyard garden. He stills himself and strains to listen, waiting for their shouts and footsteps to fade further away. There is stirring, and then finally, silence. An exhale passes through his lips and slowly crawls out. When he stands up and prepares to take his leave, he comes face-to-face with his mother. This was to be expected as the garden was Okiku's domain, but it still came as a shock. An attempt is made to speak, his mouth working, but all he can muster is the shedding of tears. Tears he wasn't able to shed over his father due to the situation. It hits him all at once, childish sobbing and hiccups. He was certain that this was the end of everything he had cherished. If his mother were to condemn him too, perhaps he would just end it there.

But Okiku does not treat him like a criminal. Although the confusion on her face is evident through the way her brows curl, she closes the gap between them, gently resting her soft hand over his cheek. "My son, whose blood are you covered in? What has happened?"

She had no idea her husband was dead. Hideyori had been right: she had likely risen early to sunbathe in the company of her greens. This means that Gentaro was still alive when she had left his side. His own hand clasps over hers, finding strength to finally talk. "Father is dead, mother. They think I've killed him."

Okiku breaks eye contact only for a moment, parsing the news. Always composed, always rational, she does not allow herself to waver for long. "Those bloodline-obsessed fools just wish to prevent you from taking over in your father's stead. They do not truly care who did it."

There it was again, the allusion to bloodline. Hideyori's vision begins to swim as his thoughts run wild with varying theories. Peasant bloodline, being raised "as Gentaro's own." He recalls the wary glances he'd get as he'd outperform every challenger within the clan. "I'm not actually your son, am I?"

"You have always been our son, Hideyori. Nothing changes that."

He squeezes his eyes shut. There was too much to grapple with all at once. What could he do and where could he go if his own clan would reject him? His mother's words do not provide any comfort as much as he tried to hold onto the sentiment behind them. "I should just let them capture and execute me."

"No, not for something you didn't do. Gentaro would never be able to rest peacefully." Okiku pulls away from him with a smile. Where she found such hidden strength in such a frail body, he would never understand. "Stay hidden here until I come back for you. I'll prepare a horse and some supplies."

"To where? I have nowhere-" he pauses, thinking of his old friend, his old promise, then nods. "Thank you."

When Hideyori rides out, he does not look back at his childhood home.

The Tatsuda castle is an imposing figure in its own right. Even at a sizeable distance, it can be seen looming on the horizon, a reminder of whose lands you are presently trespassing. Hideyori had never felt like a trespasser, as Gentaro and Hisasuke behaved as two peas in a pod. Whatever they owned, they shared as though they were brothers. And now they were both joined in death, both assassinated in a bid for power. Though Hideyori could not think of who would stand to benefit from his father's death other than the clan members who were so quick to ostracize him, who wanted the clan to be succeeded by one with worthy blood. He finds himself cursing this mentality, the ancient belief in bloodline rather than merit. Had Hideyori not surpassed them all? Would it not be fair to have the most capable man lead?

Dwelling on this would not resurrect the dead nor change his destiny. Even now, as he rides on without break, he cannot foresee where he is headed. What had become of Munechika during their time apart? Because of Gentaro's messenger ban, he was left in the dark concerning all Tatsuda manners. For all he was aware, his friend had been figured out and murdered, and he would be seen as a co-conspirator and buried along with him. Perhaps he would be handed over to Toyotomi as an act of good faith to restore their fractured relationship. But what if Munechika lives, and he no longer wished to honor their childish promise? Such an ending would be the one that stings the most, an utter betrayal. This, Hideyori decides, is his ultimate fear: betrayal.

He has been riding non-stop, and the sun has fallen and risen more than once before he is able to see that familiar gate. Atop the gate rests the Tatsuda family name, as well as the characters for strength, vitality, and courage. Hideyori prays that he will be blessed with all three as his horse slows to a trot and he is approached by a guard yelling at him to halt. He tries to retain the dignity of a clan representative, sitting upright, but he is exhausted and sleep-deprived from his long journey. Blood still clings to his clothing, and as the guard approaches, he appears to notice it too.

"I am Matsunaga Hideyori." Even in this weakened state, his voice projects with genuine authority. "I need to speak to Tatsuda Munechika."

Yet, it appears that is all the strength he has left. His grip on the reins slackens as his body slumps over his mount, vision darkening. He can hear the guards speaking, but he cannot make heads or tails out of it. He cannot tell if he is being lifted away or if he has simply fallen off, and then he cannot feel or think at all.

When he awakens he jolts up, immediately seeking out his blade as if on instinct. It had been lain beside him, and much to his relief it has been cleaned, his father's blood no longer lingering heavily upon the cold steel. In fact, there is no blood anywhere, not on his skin nor his clothing, which he recognizes is no longer the clothing he had arrived in. These developments should be worrying him, urging him to seek answers, but he is drained and no longer wishes to think himself into heartache. Slowly, he lowers himself back down, resting his eyes. There is a scent he knows is familiar, but he cannot place a name to it. It washes over him, makes him feel safe.

"You call for me by name, yet the first thing you do is sleep in my presence. Do I bore you, Hideyori?"

The intimacy and soft chiding is as familar as the scent, and Hideyori finally has a name ringing in his head. He reaches out and his hand is taken, a gentle kiss placed upon it. This draws a hum out of his lips, curved like the crescent moon. "Tatsuda-san. You live."

"Is that a surprise?"

"Yes, a pleasant one."

There is a pause. Hideyori finally opens his eyes, faces a reality that feels like a dream. The young master is kneeling next to him, fixing a drink for him. All at once, he is assaulted by several needs: thirst, hunger, and Munechika. He tries to prop himself up on his elbows but Munechika intervenes, offering his lap for him to rest on as he holds out a dish of water to his lips. He drinks eagerly.

"We have a lot to catch up on."

And in due time, they spoke. They spoke of Munechika's ascension to power, now officially daimyō, as his siblings and uncles had all ceded to him. They spoke of Gentaro's untimely demise, and Hideyori's forced exile. They spoke of any possible enemies Gentaro may have had, and whether or not Okiku would be safe, to which Munechika assured Hideyori that she would be unharmed. It only took the one day of bedrest for Hideyori to recover, and he was back on his feet, pacing the room he was given leave to stay in. They had spent so much time speaking of the events that had befallen that they had yet to speak of what was to come.

"Am I to serve you now, Tatsuda-sama?"

"That is my wish, yes. Unless you intend to return to your home and claim your birthright."

Hideyori hesitates, mulling this over. There was no going back on the decision he makes here and now. "It... is not my birthright, and should I act out as such, it would merely confirm their suspicions of me. I did not murder my father, so I should not stand to benefit from it."

"Then," he approaches slowly, lifting his chin to unite their gazes, "that means you are mine."

"I am."

And he was. Hideyori would dedicate himself to becoming the perfect loyal retainer for the man who graciously took him in, honored his vow. The lead tactician, yet also the one who would join his men at the frontlines, his face became commonplace among those who served under the Tatsuda banner. Nights were spent by Munechika's side, warming his bed with the sweetest kind of pillow-talk, and days were spent wandering the castle, their joint territory.

On one such day, Hideyori stops to stare at the courtyard wistfully, remembering the first time he and his lord had stolen away, their first kiss. Munechika turns to him, then stirs seeing an unreadable expression upon the retainer's countenance. Hideyori's gaze does not tear away even when he asks, "what is it that troubles you, Hideyori?"

"This garden... is overgrown. Who tends to it?" He had once been naive enough to hope that Munechika had shared in this passion of his, but after living with him for an extended period of time, realized the splendor of this castle and how many hands worked to upkeep the grounds. Come to think of it, he had never seen Munechika have the time for any extraneous hobby, let alone gardening.

Munechika blinks in surprise, having not noticed it at all. To the uninitiated, all the green hadn't appeared out of place. He chuckles softly. "My apologies, the man who used to tend to the garden left to tend to his ill father. I will rectify that immediately. It should be easy enough to find a replacement."

Hideyori continues to stare into the courtyard, past the tall grass and the weeping trees, beyond the mix-and-match flowers that have overtaken the field, ruining the balance of the garden. He is staring at a man, who stares back at him, a man with a black hole in his chest. A chain dangled out of the hole, but it was not tethered to anything. His expression is bewildered, fearful even.

"Hideyori?"

Right, nobody else can see. He must compose himself. He turns to Munechika with a polite smile. "Actually, there's no need for a replacement. Having a garden of my own reminds me of home. Would that be alright, Tatsuda-sama?"

Munechika agreed, albeit with some hesitation. Such menial work was beyond him, but Hideyori was insistent, so he acquiesced. The garden was now his — his to escape to post-haste in the night, drawn to the mystery of the spirit. Never before had he the opportunity to sneak away somewhere private to confront these apparitions. As he steps out into the night, the chilly air caresses his face, prompting him to sheathe his hands into his sleeves. Even in the dark, with only the faint glow from his lantern, he is able to see the bleeding hearts that dot the garden. It is here he had given his own heart to another, and here where the ghost stands, watching at a distance. Wary.

"You can see me?" he asks.

"I can," he responds.

They stand there in the night, assessing the situation. Hideyori notes the callouses on the man's hands, whereas the man stares at the blade at his hip.

"Are you dead?"

The man nods.

"Why haven't you left?"

"I can't... The garden, I have to take care of it."

Not hard to put two-and-two together. This man must be the groundskeep, or rather, was one of them. Unable to move on because of his sense of duty towards his job. Hideyori admires such a work ethic, but cannot assuage the pit in his stomach. Wherever these souls were, those monsters would eventually follow, sometimes appearing seemingly out of nowhere. He decides he will try to protect the spirit in any way he can.

Hideyori befriends the ghost, who introduces himself as Ogano. Hideyori, feeling a sense of kinship to his new friend, also offers his given name, placing them on a first-name basis. Hideyori and Ogano meet constantly, as Ogano tells him tales involving the Tatsuda family, proud to boast that he has been serving the family for a long time. Many of the tales are hilarious, making their time together enjoyable, punctuated with learning moments such as gardening advice or general tips about living in the manor. Ogano, for example, warns about planting too much wisteria, as the young master, Munechika, gets an allergic reaction whenever he is near them. In turn, Hideyori jests about planting more specifically to ward him away, to have a single place of privacy that belongs to him and only him.

But as much as he enjoys the time spent here, he cannot play gardener forever. Hideyori will be gone for extended periods of time away at war, at times his absence lasting for months. The longer he leads Tatsuda's men in battle, the closer they become to him. Hideyori now knows most of them by both name and face, and his natural talent at giving invigorating speeches draws them in by the crowd. They admire him, adore him even, to the point of prioritizing his orders over their lord's.

This does not sit well with Munechika. Paranoia stirs deep within him, a projection of his own ambitions and insecurities. Not all was well within the Tatsuda clan, cracks beginning to show. His usurpation to power already made him an unpopular candidate; no one could prove that Hisasuke had died due to foul play, but there was generally a consensus of suspicion that Munechika would not have been the clan leader's first choice for a successor. Although talented at battle, he lacked the charisma his retainer held, and as such, his men did little to hide their favoritism. Munechika, a man who was willing to stab one in the back to cling desperately to the seat of power, was beginning to believe that Hideyori had plans to do the very thing he was accused of by the Matsunaga clan — slay the leader and take the helm for himself.

These festering beliefs, baseless, had begun to affect the way he treated his right-hand. Venom would seep into his tone, no longer tolerant of even the smallest of mistakes. There were little acts of physical affection that would cushion the blow, making Hideyori nervous about his position. Was he no longer needed?

One evening, Hideyori is laying next to his lord, unable to sleep. As of late, Munechika had little to say to him, giving him a cold shoulder on the better days and showing only his colder back on the worst of them. He turns to stare at his back: it's been a bad day. He calls out quietly to him, unable to ascertain whether he was awake. "Tatsuda-sama?"

Silence. Hideyori starts once again. "My lord, have I done something to upset you?"

With no response to assuage his growing concerns, Hideyori sits up, waiting to see if the other would stir. Then he leaves to go speak to his friend, certain that the man who knew so much about Tatsuda would be able to provide some counsel. He steps out into the garden and Ogano is already greeting him with a smile, but when he notices the young man's expression, his face drops.

"Is everything alright, Hideyori-san?"

"No, it is not." He sits at the base of a crooked trunk, wrapping his arms around his knees. "It seems that no matter what I do lately, Munechika is displeased with me."

Ogano hums and crosses his arms, nodding sagely. "Yes, the young master has always been a perfectionist."

"It feels deeper than that. My father, Gentaro, also expected me to do my best but he never treated me poorly—"

"Gentaro?" A hush falls between them, as the sudden urgency in the spirit's tone distracts Hideyori. "Do you mean Matsunaga Gentaro?"

"Yes. Matsunaga is my family name." Normally, he would swell at pride at this admittance, but now he is simply confused. Perhaps the gardener had known his father personally too, which shouldn't come as a surprise given the close relationship between Matsunaga and Tatsuda.

Ogano, however, looks as though he's seen a ghost — ironic. Hideyori braces himself against the wood behind him and slowly stands on his feet. "Ogano-san?"

"S-sorry, I was startled. You should leave, Matsunaga-san."

"Leave? Am I bothering you?"

"No! No, of course not. I didn't mean leave the garden. I meant you should leave these lands and never come back."

There is a chill in the air that is not caused by wind nor rain. "Why?"

"Did I ever tell you how I died, Matsunaga-san?"

Hideyori flinches at that. Although he knew that the existence of a spirit meant the person, their physical body, was no more, he never really stopped to consider the implications of death. It was like a noble who had been fed meat his entire life without ever having to see the livestock slaughtered: there was a disconnect between the end result and the gruesome actions that led there. He encouraged Ogano to speak freely.

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