Returning to the scene before him, Gyutaro watched the frozen tableau with great interest, eager to see the man suddenly cover his mouth and flee in panic, just as those people had when they saw Gyutaro's mother's corpse.
He waited and waited. The boy seemed unaware of the true face of the man wearing the straw raincoat, and sobbed hoarsely, "Sir, please help us..."
The young child knew his mother was about to give birth, but taking her to a doctor cost money. In this empty home, the only thing worth anything, the only person who could earn money, was the woman lying on the floor, her fate uncertain.
The Swordsman fell silent for a few seconds, then asked, "Do you know where the nearest doctor who delivers babies is?"
"The Medicine Hall! There's a Medicine Hall not far from here-but sir!" the boy cried helplessly. "Sir, we don't have any money..."
The Swordsman felt the soaking-wet straw raincoat on his body and took it off, revealing the fabric of his clothes beneath, which looked expensive at a glance.
"Put this over your mother. It's raining hard."
The boy froze.
Stunned by the Swordsman's appearance and expensive clothing, he timidly drew his hands back.
Gyutaro understood what he was thinking. Among these rich people, compassion for the poor was a quality the gods seemed to have forgotten, something that could never possibly exist. The boy feared the Swordsman's words and actions were only a cruel prank, that the moment he reached out, the man would draw his sword and cut off both his hands.
Born in Rashōmon, Gyutaro had seen far too much of such ugliness, and endured far too much himself.
Seeing the boy standing in a daze, Sōma bent down, shooed away the little insects gathered around the