Chapter 29 Part 3: Kuroyama Minamoto's Past

  Kuroyama Minamoto sat at a low table, slowly placing mahjong tiles with a soft click. His movements were calm, his focus steady. A cup of matcha sat next to him, steam rising in gentle curls. He looked like a man at peace, but his eyes told a different story—sharp, calculating.

  Across from him, Namida sat with her legs tucked beneath her. She wore her kunoichi attire, blending elegance with danger. She pouted as she spun a mahjong tile between her fingers, her lips curled in a playful smirk.

  “You always win, my lord. It’s not fair.” Her voice was light, teasing, as she leaned into his arm.

  Kuroyama didn’t look at her. “Victory given is not worth having.” His tone was even, his focus on the tiles.

  Her smirk widened, and the innocence in her eyes faded. “Then again, losing isn’t so bad. I get to stay close to you.”

  She wrapped her arms around his, her nails tracing gentle lines on his sleeve. Kuroyama set another tile down, his actions precise and measured.

  “Tonight, Namida,” he said quietly, “you will kill Shogun Tokugawa.”

  Her playful look shifted to something darker. She slipped a thin needle from her sleeve, rolling it between her fingers. “And who will they blame, my lord?”

  “Kazuki,” he replied. “The Shogun’s guard.”

  Her laugh was soft, almost musical. “Consider it done.”

  Kuroyama continued his game, drawing a tile and placing it down. “Be quick. Be clean. Do not return until it is finished.”

  Namida stood, her movements smooth and graceful. She checked the kunai strapped to her side, her fingers brushing over them like a gentle touch. “Will I get a reward when I return, my lord?”

  “If you return.” His voice was calm, not giving away anything.

  She laughed again, a sound that faded as she moved into the shadows, disappearing into the night.

  The night air in Nijo Castle hung heavy with mist, the stone paths slick under the lantern light. Shadows seemed to move of their own accord, swaying with the breeze that carried the scent of wet earth and old stone.

  A pair of guards strolled past a garden, their spears resting on their shoulders. One yawned, his helmet slightly askew.

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  "I heard the Shogun’s been restless," the shorter guard murmured, his voice barely rising above the whisper of leaves. "Bad dreams, they say. A bad omen."

  The taller guard smirked. "Or maybe too much sake. You know how he is."

  Their laughter was quiet, the kind exchanged between men too tired to care. They passed, their figures swallowed by the shadows.

  Namida watched them go, crouched atop the roof with her silhouette melded into the dark. Her breathing was slow, a rhythm she matched with the sway of the bamboo beneath her feet. She slid down the eaves, landing softly in the garden, the damp grass silencing her steps.

  She moved through the corridors, a specter among the living. Servants drifted in and out of rooms, their faces downcast, their hands busy with trays and linens. She paused near an open shoji, catching fragments of conversation.

  "I heard Kazuki-sama hasn’t slept in days."

  "Can you blame him? The last assassin nearly reached the Shogun’s bed."

  Namida smirked, slipping away before their eyes could find her shape. She weaved through the maze of wooden halls, each step a whisper.

  Kazuki stood by the Shogun’s door, his hand on his sword, eyes unblinking. His armor caught the dim light, a dull sheen like old bones. He exhaled, his breath clouding in the cold air.

  Namida pressed her back to the wall, blending with the shadows. Her fingers wrapped around the needle in her sleeve. She exhaled slowly, her body a coiled spring.

  A servant approached Kazuki, bowing low. “Would you like some tea, Kazuki-sama? It will warm you. The night is cold.”

  Kazuki hesitated, his exhaustion cracking through the stoic mask. “Thank you. Just a small cup.”

  The servant nodded, hurrying off. Kazuki sighed, his shoulders sinking. His grip on his sword relaxed, the edge of his discipline dulling.

  Namida’s hand flicked. The needle glinted in the lantern light, a brief shimmer before it bit into Kazuki’s neck. His fingers found it, clumsy, the poison already working. His knees buckled, the world tilting around him.

  “No…” His voice was a ghost, drifting away. His body slumped, armor clinking softly against the floor.

  Namida stepped forward, her movements fluid. She knelt beside him, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Sleep well, samurai.”

  She took his sword, its weight balancing perfectly in her grip. She slipped into the Shogun’s quarters, the door sliding open with a quiet rasp. The room was warm, the air heavy with incense. The Shogun lay on his futon, his breathing deep and even.

  Her blade rose, the world holding its breath. She brought it down, a single motion, clean and final.

  Blood pooled, dark against the tatami. She wiped the blade, her hands steady. She returned to Kazuki, his chest rising and falling slowly, lost to the world. She curled his fingers around the bloodied sword, the metal biting into his skin.

  Her lips brushed his ear, a whisper softer than the night. “Blame is a heavy thing, isn’t it?”

  The servant returned, a small cup of tea cradled in her hands. She paused at the sight of Kazuki, his body slumped, the sword heavy in his grip. The porcelain cup slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor. Tea pooled around the shards, dark and spreading.

  “Kazuki-sama?” Her voice wavered, fragile in the quiet. She dropped to her knees, shaking his shoulder. His body swayed, the sword slipping against the floor.

  Her breath came in quick gasps as her eyes followed the trail of blood, a dark path leading to the Shogun’s quarters. She rose, each step dragging her deeper into the nightmare.

  The door slid open, and the world seemed to narrow to the sight before her. The Shogun’s head lay at an unnatural angle, severed cleanly, his eyes wide and glassy. His tongue hang from his mouth, a grotesque twist of flesh.

  The servants scream tore from her lips, raw and piercing, echoing through the silent halls.

  Kuroyama sat at his mahjong board in his room, the game pieces laid out perfectly. He placed the final tile, his fingers resting on it for a moment. He set it down gently and closed his eyes, a small smile on his lips.

  “Checkmate.”