A "legend" who pushed himself toward a dead end.
...Compared with the formidable figures on these seas who concealed their strength, planned before acting, and made ruthless, decisive choices, he seemed so out of place, so utterly incongruous.
"Any other news?"
Whenever he thought of that country, of that family, a dull ache stirred at his temples, and he could not help raising a hand to rub them.
Counting the days, that shogun should have reached the end of his rope and finally been ready to make one last stand-unfortunately, no one believed in him anymore.
In the entire country, only nine figures remained willing to follow him into a charge against the vicious dragon entrenched there and the raging tide beneath his command.
Rossi raised a hand and pressed his temple.
Light from the window slanted across the desk, stretching the quill's shadow long and thin.
The mingled smell of old paper and ink hung in the air, along with the faint ticking of a pendulum in the distance.
"So,"
he began, keeping his voice very level, "you just said Red-Haired had a child?"
The birdlike figure opposite him flapped his wings excitedly, his feathers rustling against the wooden chair's armrests.
"That's right! My informant aboard Red-Haired's ship just sent word-the child's hair is a strange color, red as fire on the left and white as snow on the right."
Rossi did not answer.
He turned his face, his gaze settling on the old newspapers piled in the corner.
Those yellowed pages recorded countless rumors from the seas, truth and falsehood all jumbled together.
Fragments of memory suddenly surged up: during some tavern conversation, someone had mentioned that the Red Hair Pirates had stayed on an island for three whole months.
At the time, it had merely seemed unusual,