7
He was nearly forty, his skills honed to their peak; the man opposite him was not even twenty.
Whose side time was on could not have been clearer.
That realization brought a complicated trace of bitterness to his chest-just where had he spent all those years?
"I heard you often wandered the pleasure district in your youth, fighting with street ruffians."
The young man sheathing his blade glanced at him and gave a slight shrug.
"I was different.
Ever since I could hold a weapon, I had to fight for every bite of food.
For over a decade, most of the enemies I faced were stronger than me.
If I hadn't been strong enough, I would have become a pile of unclaimed bones long ago."
Laughter rang through the courtyard.
"As expected of you. Both your swordsmanship and your spirit command respect."
The older samurai sheathed both swords and turned first toward the rooms to the side.
Food and wine had already been prepared inside.
He raised a hand, and the attendants withdrew silently.
The young leader nodded slightly. His companion understood and headed out of the courtyard.
The wooden door closed, shutting out the world outside.
"Please, what is it?"
Silence lingered in the room for a moment.
The samurai seated opposite him drew a deep breath, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the rim of his wine cup.
"I don't intend to inherit the position of shogun."
He raised his eyes. His usual hearty smile was gone, leaving only heavy solemnity.
"This match made me see clearly... I'm not a qualified leader.
I don't regret what I've done, but some things are missing, and there's no changing that."
"You've finally realized it."
The young leader nodded, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather.
"I've looked