Some issues in the existence of fictional characters

PLAYER: Events must play themselves out to aesthetic, moral and logical conclusion.

GUIL: And what's that, in this case?

PLAYER: It never varies — we aim at the point where everyone who is marked for death dies.

— Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

  L snatched up the pages in an instant — Makishima, at that moment, was too busy spitting out his own blood. Unlike Svartulf the Cruel, L had no taste for threats or grand speeches. So he didn’t say, "You know what’s about to happen?" or "I tried to do this the easy way." Or even, "You absolute bastard." He just got to his feet and strode toward the shelf where, as Makishima well remembered, lay a very important book bound in dark leather. "W-wait—" Makishima choked, panic creeping into his voice. "If you send me back to Psycho-Pass right now, you’ll be alone again. No one will be there to help you get out." "As if you were ever much help." "I could have been — if we’d actually worked together! This whole mess happened because we didn’t trust each other. Use your head, detective. If you’d told me everything you knew about Alvstein, I would’ve taken care of the Dark Lord in the blink of an eye!" "And after everything you’ve done, how exactly was I supposed to trust you?" L countered, not unreasonably. "For the record, I did everything right! I killed the Dark Lord! I saved you! Do you think it was easy for me, either? I could have just — just run an experiment. See what happens if you die in someone else’s story." "That would’ve been exactly the kind of thing a bastard like you’d do," L muttered. "But I didn’t!" Makishima announced triumphantly, still trying (and failing) to lick the blood off his upper lip. L shook his head, as if baffled that the earth still deigned to carry such an abomination in human form. "I won’t send you back to Psycho-Pass. Not yet," he finally declared. "Because I might still have some use for you. And because I’m not as much of an asshole as you are. But I am pissed off. I want to find a story where I can get my revenge. A fair revenge." "You’re seriously thinking about jumping into another book? What, did those three months in a dungeon knock the last bit of sense out of you?" Makishima gawked. "It was... interesting, in its own way. Or it would’ve been, if not for a certain someone getting me thrown into a dungeon." L walked past the shelves, eventually selecting a book of considerable weight and gravitas. The cover depicted samurai. "This one. Something historical, something about war. No elves, no enchanted stones. Just what I need." Makishima clutched his head. "You idiot! That’s not just some war novel — it’s a bloody samurai epic. Do you know how those end? With everyonedying!" "Even if that’s the case, there’s a fifty-percent chance that if we die there, we won’t actually die — we’ll just return here," L said, in what he probably thought was a reassuring tone. "And what, exactly, makes you think that?" Makishima asked, attempting to stand up (and failing). L let out a long-suffering sigh. "Sometimes I think you only pretend to be intelligent. Fifty-fifty chance: either yes, or no." And with that, he slid the pages into the book.   …This tale recounts a bloody war, waged by two noblemen lost to their own cruelty and pride. Let their fates serve as a lesson to those who come after! Nothing remains of them now but a handful of dust, scattered on the wind. Nothing remains of their once-mighty armies, for there is no permanence in this fleeting world — decay comes for all, whether humble beggar or mighty ruler alike. This story begins with the death of Emperor Akihiko. He had been no masterful ruler. But in life, he was known as a great poet, a lover of beauty, a connoisseur of painting and music. He devoted himself to spiritual pursuits, entrusting the matters of state entirely to his ministers — and to his younger brother. That brother, Akimitsu, cared deeply for the people and the fate of the land. He was so kind at heart, so beloved by his subjects, that even the most revered emperors of antiquity could scarcely have surpassed him. His mind was as keen as a sword’s edge, fit to bear the burden of an imperial crown— And for a long time now, in secret, he had prayed that it would be his. The unfortunate Emperor Akihiko had not yet reached his thirtieth year when he passed away. In his final years, he suffered from a mysterious ailment, the nature of which the court physicians could not comprehend. As time went on, his condition worsened, and, seeing little hope for recovery, he named his brother Akimitsu as his successor, for the emperor had no sons to lay claim to the throne. And so, on the twenty-second day of the fourth month in the tenth year of Ten’an, the breath of Emperor Akihiko ceased forever—for every life must, in the end, reach its limit, and no man may taste the elixir of eternal youth and immortality. The throne was to pass to his brother Akimitsu. Yet the court was thrown into turmoil when Empress Ageha, daughter of Lord Yoshifusa Morinaga, who at the time served as the Grand Minister, announced that she was with child. Once her condition was confirmed beyond doubt, Lady Ageha declared with absolute conviction that the throne should rightfully belong to her unborn heir. All the high-ranking priests, renowned for the power of their prayers, were urgently summoned and commanded to beseech the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas that the child in Lady Ageha’s womb be not a daughter, but a prince. The Morinaga family rejoiced as if the boy had already been born. It must be said that, in life, there had been little warmth between the emperor and Empress Ageha. Though they had been wed for more than five years, the gods had yet to bless them with children. Both Akihiko and, after him, his brother Akimitsu bore no great affection for the Morinaga clan, resenting their constant interference in court affairs. Yet the Morinaga were a family of immense wealth and influence, their noble lineage intertwined with the governance of the realm for generations. The current head of the house, Lord Yoshifusa, ruled the land with an iron grip, exiling and executing those who opposed him without fear — even of the emperor himself. All the Morinaga vassals swore fealty to Empress Ageha and deemed her future son worthy of the throne. Many other noble families followed suit, for none wished to stand against the Morinaga, least of all against the formidable Minister Yoshifusa and Lady Ageha’s cousin, the nobleman Makishima Shougo. At the time, Makishima held the position of Minister of War. Since childhood, he had been devoted to Lady Ageha, cherishing her as one might a beloved younger sister, and he was the first to pledge his unwavering loyalty to both her and her son-to-be. Yet Prince Akimitsu, too, was indisputably worthy of the throne — he was a pure-blooded descendant of the great Sun Goddess, and, moreover, had been entrusted with the imperial seat by the will of the late sovereign, whose soul had been taken to the heavens far too soon. Akimitsu commanded the loyalty of many powerful vassals who could support his claim and aid him in ruling the empire with wisdom. His most devoted ally among them was his sworn brother, the young yet already renowned nobleman Kuro Ryuzaki of the Raven’s Rest estate, a man whose brilliant intellect had won him fame throughout the land. Recently appointed as the head of the Bureau of Investigations, Ryuzaki was a man of keen insight and unfailing resolve. Thus, neither Akimitsu nor the Morinaga family could be easily denied in their ambitions. The court was paralyzed with indecision, uncertain where their allegiance should lie. "A difficult choice indeed," the courtiers whispered among themselves. Following the emperor’s passing, the nobles convened for council. It was then that Ryuzaki, as head of the Bureau of Investigations, declared his intention to examine the circumstances of the late emperor’s death. He summoned from the Empire of Song the most esteemed physician of the time. After questioning the court attendants about Akihiko’s symptoms — chronic fatigue, severe headaches, restless sleep, irrational fears, and waking hallucinations — the physician made his pronouncement: these signs were consistent with chronic mercury poisoning, the result of prolonged exposure to minute doses over several years. "I suspected as much," Kuro Ryuzaki said grimly. "What do you mean?" the courtiers asked in astonishment. "I have long believed that the emperor’s illness was unnatural in origin," he replied. And though Ryudzaki did not speak the accusation aloud, all in attendance understood his meaning. He was pointing, unmistakably, toward the Morinaga clan. Minister Yoshifusa Morinaga and his nephew Makishima Shougo wasted no time in accusing Prince Akimitsu of murdering the emperor. At this, Ryuzaki’s anger flared, his voice ringing with fury: "Do not dare to slander my lord and friend, lest your tongues wither in your mouths. Why would Prince Akimitsu poison his own brother when the emperor had already entrusted him with the reins of power in life and, on his deathbed, willingly bequeathed the throne to him? "If you have something to say, speak plainly!" Yoshifusa’s voice was cold as steel. "Then I shall. I believe it was your family that fed poison to the late Emperor Akihiko over the years! "How dare you defame the mother’s kin of the imperial heir!" Makishima seethed with outrage. "Your claim to the throne is illegitimate," Kuro Ryuzaki declared coolly. "First, because the unborn child may yet be a girl, despite all your prayers. And second, because in the emperor’s final months, he was so frail that it is doubtful he could have sired an heir at all." "What is he implying? Such insolence!" Some courtiers gasped in shock, while others exchanged uneasy glances, murmuring among themselves: "Could it be true?" Then Makishima Shougo, aflame with indignation, turned to his uncle. This insult cannot go unanswered!" he insisted. Taking his nephew’s counsel to heart, Yoshifusa began mustering his forces, determined to secure the throne for his daughter and grandchild. Prince Akimitsu, too, gathered his allies. Thus, the dispute over succession escalated into war. For though it is said that two suns cannot shine in the sky, nor can two emperors rule one land, the empire now had two claimants: the emperor’s brother and the unborn child of Lady Ageha. Most noble families in the land were bound to either the imperial house or the Morinaga clan by vows of fealty or ties of blood, and so they were compelled to take sides. Some, though sworn to neither house, saw opportunity in the coming war and chose to enter the fray. Almost no one remained neutral. On the fifteenth day of the fifth month — O, ill-fated summer of an ill-fated year! — two armies marched toward each other from the eastern and western quarters of the capital. At the head of the Morinaga forces stood Lord Yoshifusa and his nephew Makishima Shougo. Prince Akimitsu’s army, meanwhile, was commanded by famed strategists, and at his right hand was his steadfast friend Ryudzaki, renowned for his cunning. The two forces — Morinaga and Akimitsu — faced each other across the river that split the capital into its eastern and western halves. Not even a full moon had passed since Emperor Akihiko’s death, and now the people of one city prepared to slaughter one another like bitter enemies. It is said that in those dark days, Prince Akimitsu, shaken by the sight before him, cried out: "Though our cause is just, my heart is heavy — I fear for the capital, I fear for the realm!" And his words, as history would show, proved all too prophetic. At dawn the next day, in the Hour of the Tiger, the first arrows took flight. Morinaga’s warriors forded the river and, with fierce cries, stormed Prince Akimitsu’s camp. Battle was joined, raging on until the sun once more sank below the horizon. The same repeated itself the following day. The fighting swayed back and forth, neither side yielding, nor any end in sight. The capital became a perilous place. Those who could flee did so— officials and courtiers among the first to depart. Those without the means to leave sent their loved ones away, uncertain if they would ever see them again, hastily gathering what treasures and belongings they could carry. Among the departing was Lady Ageha, heavy with child. Her father, Yoshifusa, had resolved to send her far from the bloodstained capital to his native province of Yoshino — a distant northern land she knew only from old tales. Weeping, she composed a poem and inscribed it upon the pillars of the palace, unsure if she would ever return: O land of my birth, Would that you had never been! Then these sleeves, heavy with farewell’s sorrow, Would not be wet with tears. As her carriage bore her away, she turned again and again, casting sorrowful glances at the familiar landscapes she had known all her life — the rivers and gardens, the streets and palaces where she had spent so many years. There, in the distance, loomed the Southern Mountain, with the dark rooftops of the Temple of the Deer Garden nestled at its base. There stood the grand estates of her noble kin, and beyond them, the palace of the late Emperor Akihiko. There, the pavilion where one could gaze upon the cherry blossoms in spring… There, the little teahouse where she and her ladies-in-waiting would gather to tell ghost stories or play at poetry-shell games… And there, the Manor by the Pond, where she and her brother Shougo would marvel at the crimson autumn leaves year after year. How many cherished memories she had in this city — how could she have ever imagined she would leave it behind? Alas, though Yoshifusa and Makishima had sent a great escort to guard Lady Ageha on her journey, she never reached the distant province of Yoshino. It was only much later that her father and cousin would learn of her fate. Her heart had not deceived her — she had left the capital to her own misfortune. Meanwhile, both warring factions sought to summon every soldier they could from the outer provinces. Morinaga and Makishima gathered 160,000 men, while Akimitsu and Ryudzaki mustered around 120,000. On the twentieth day of that same moon, the governor of Sankoku province sent a mounted messenger to Makishima’s war camp with urgent news: "The eastern lords loyal to Prince Akimitsu are marching on the capital with thirty thousand men. Their intent is to sever all roads and encircle your army." Reinforcements for Morinaga and Makishima were expected to arrive soon, but Makishima saw an opportunity too valuable to ignore. He immediately detached a force of thirty thousand and devised a cunning plan. These men fashioned banners bearing the imperial chrysanthemum, and at nightfall, they slipped out of the capital through the western gate. Circling around, they approached the enemy lines from the east, banners raised high, posing as allies from the eastern provinces. "Rejoice! The promised reinforcements have arrived!" Prince Akimitsu cried out upon spotting the banners adorned with the imperial chrysanthemum. Yet while he exulted, the warriors bearing the false banners pressed closer. Then, all at once, a battle cry rang out, and up soared the true banners—those of the Morinaga clan. At that very moment, from the west, Makishima’s main force fell upon Akimitsu’s camp. Such was the cunning of Makishima’s plan. Assailed from two sides, Akimitsu’s warriors faltered, confusion spreading like wildfire, just as Makishima had intended. Panic took hold, and chaos reigned before Akimitsu and Ryuzaki managed to rally their forces and mount a counterattack. But the victory was indisputably Makishima’s — after the battle, his samurai presented him with more than three thousand enemy heads. Still, Prince Akimitsu had no thought of surrender. The war only escalated. Though his army was smaller than Morinaga’s, he possessed a weapon of his own — Kuro Ryuzaki, whose cunning was the equal of Makishima Shougo’s. At the start of the seventh moon, Ryuzaki discovered and poisoned the underground springs that supplied the city with water. Illness swept through the capital. Even among the common folk — those few who, for whatever reason, had not fled — men and women fell sick and perished. Makishima soon discerned the cause and ordered his forces to bring in water from beyond the city, forbidding them from drinking the poisoned supply until the wells ran clean. But the damage was already done—the dead were beyond counting. Both armies were nearing their limits, but time was Makishima Shougo’s ally. His superior numbers gradually wore the enemy down, and one by one, he took control of the city’s gates. Both sides depended on provisions from distant provinces, and with the roads under his control, Makishima sought to cut Akimitsu’s army off from all supplies, forcing their capitulation. One by one, the gates fell. Only a single one remained. By then, nearly the entire northern quarter of the city lay in ruins. No words could capture the capital’s former beauty! Now, its roads were torn asunder, its dwellings collapsed or devoured by fire. Before the people's very eyes, their flourishing city had, in the span of three moons, become a wasteland. "Is this the end of the capital, which has stood through three turnings of the century?" they murmured in dread. Even the cold-hearted Makishima Shougo found it painful to witness his beloved city in such a state — what, then, must Prince Akimitsu have felt, with his sensitive soul? His heart ached with sorrow; he grieved for the past and long regretted the day he had staked his claim to the throne, setting in motion a war that had brought nothing but devastation to the land and suffering to its people. On the twentieth day of the eighth moon, he formally renounced his claim and took monastic vows, forsaking the transient world. Clad in rough black robes, he cast aside all earthly ties, hoping to put an end to the fratricidal war. But alas, it was too late. By now, the wounds inflicted by both sides ran too deep. Not even a prince’s retreat into the clergy could quell the turmoil. Shortly after taking his vows, Prince Akimitsu — now called Saigyo, He Who Walks West — sent a messenger to Kuro Ryuzaki, his dearest friend and milk-brother. Upon a single leaf of paper, he had inscribed a poem: The cold mountain wind... Here, in the halls of Buddha, I shiver just as I did In the Palace of Spring. Is there any place in this world Where sorrow’s tidings do not reach? When Ryuzaki read these lines, grief overcame him. He saw that renouncing the world had brought the prince no peace. That melancholy verse was the last message he ever received from him. Now, the only heir to the throne was the unborn child of Lady Ageha. Morinaga rejoiced. Yet cautious as ever, Makishima was already plotting Akimitsu’s death. "Are you certain this is necessary?" Yoshifusa Morinaga asked. "Can a prince who has taken monastic vows truly claim the throne?" "Better to be rid of him once and for all!" Makishima replied. "History has seen emperors who shed their worldly robes and took the tonsure, not out of piety, but out of fear of their enemies — only to return to the world once those enemies had been vanquished. And Akimitsu, who has long yearned for the throne, is all the more likely to do the same!" After his ordination, Akimitsu retreated to the Monastery of Pure Waters, nestled upon the sacred Mountain of the Sun’s Radiance, for his own estate had long since burned in the fires that ravaged the capital. Makishima first considered sending a detachment to storm the monastery but decided against it. Attacking monks would stain his family’s name. Instead, he turned to deception. He arranged a secret meeting with the abbot, offering him a generous reward in exchange for one small favor — simply to turn a blind eye when Makishima’s assassins came. The abbot hesitated, troubled by the weight of such a sin. Yet he feared the power of the Morinaga clan. He knew that if he refused, his monastery would suffer the consequences. At last, he relented. And so, ignobly, at the hands of masked killers, Prince Akimitsu met his end. At first, the world did not even know he had died. Truly, is it not always the purest of heart who are first to be claimed by war? It seemed that fortune favored the Morinaga family, yet Yoshifusa Morinaga had not received a single letter from his daughter in the past three moons. Had something happened to her? Was she well? Would she safely bring her child into the world? — These thoughts tormented him. Driven by worry, the lord sent messengers to his home province of Yoshino, but none returned. At the start of the ninth moon, a chilling rumor spread: Lady Ageha, following in Prince Akimitsu’s footsteps, had renounced her claim to the throne, having fallen gravely ill and lost her child. Dismay and fear swept through the land—only recently, there had been two heirs, and now there were none. What was to be done? Then came an even greater shock: Lady Ageha publicly confessed that it was by her own hand that her husband, Emperor Akihiko, had perished. She was immediately taken into custody. It was soon learned that Lady Ageha was being held just outside the capital, in the Willow Manor, under the watch of Samurai Isinori Kano — a high-ranking officer of the Investigative Bureau, a loyal vassal of Akimitsu, and a staunch supporter of Kuro Ryuzaki. Makishima set out for the manor at once. Upon reaching its gates, he addressed the samurai guards standing watch: "I come not as an enemy, but as a humble petitioner—a kinsman who cares for his cousin more than for his own flesh and blood. I have heard that Lady Ageha, my dear relative, is imprisoned here, awaiting trial, and that she is gravely ill. I beg you, grant me a kindness! I wish to see her once more, to exchange even a few words—for who knows if we shall ever meet again?" The warriors, armed to the teeth yet not made of stone, were moved to tears by his plea. "There is no law forbidding it," they replied and, taking pity on him, allowed him inside. Lady Ageha sat in the corner of the room, her head bowed, struggling to stifle her sobs. She did not notice his entrance at first, but when she did—ah, the way her face lit up! It was the expression of a lost soul glimpsing the Buddha’s golden thread descending into the depths of hell. Not long ago, there had been no woman in the capital fairer than Ageha — delicate and graceful, her skin white as snow, her hair long and thick, her beauty famed throughout the land. But now, before Makishima stood a woman hollowed by suffering, wasted and frail, as though thirty years had passed, not three moons. For a long while, he could not bring himself to speak. At last, he murmured: "Is it truly you, Ageha? Where is your hair, dark and lustrous as a kingfisher’s wing?" "Know this — it was not of my own will that I lost it..." She pulled back the folds of her robe, revealing her shoulders and chest, covered in dreadful bruises and welts. "And what use have I for my hair now?" she continued bitterly. "I regret only that I could not leave you even a single lock as a keepsake..." And then Makishima saw it — beyond the bruises, beyond the wounds—something irreparable. Her belly was hollow and empty, like a beggar’s sack. Darkness clouded his vision. His heart clenched in his chest, and he trembled as he asked: "What has been done to you?" "As you know," Ageha whispered, "I set out for Yoshino, as my father commanded. But no sooner had I left the capital than my carriage was ambushed. My servants were slaughtered, and I was taken captive by that wretched Kuro Ryuzaki. He tormented me without end, demanding that I confess, before witnesses, that it was I who poisoned my husband with mercury. Oh, the horror of it — I did not know such tortures existed! When demons punish sinners in the depths of hell, their agonies cannot be greater than those I endured! But I bore it all, day after day... "...until the day I realized my child no longer stirred within me. "That day, I could bear it no longer. And so, through my tears, I told my tormentor everything." As she spoke, her weeping poured forth like a river, endless and unrelenting. "So it is true, then — you have lost the child, the heir to the throne?" Makishima asked, though he had already understood it all. Yet speaking the words aloud only made the sorrow cut deeper. "Yes. No doubt it is punishment for the sins I have committed in this life. Just as a loyal vassal does not serve two masters, an honest woman cannot belong to one man and love another. And to wish for one’s husband's death — what a dreadful crime... Ah, Brother Shougo, all I wished for was to see you once more! Locked away here, knowing nothing of the war’s course, I wondered — are you and Father still alive, or have you already perished? I dreamt only of meeting you again! That hope alone kept me alive, through all the torment of body and soul, until this very day. But now, I have no regrets left in this world. I can die in peace..." "Sister, how can you speak this way? No matter how terrible your crime, there can be no question of execution! My father and I will go before Kuro Ryuzaki, however repugnant it may be to abase ourselves before that dishonorable man, and we will beg him to show you mercy — to allow you to live in peace, far from the capital." "No, Brother Shougo, I have thought it through. There is no path left for me but death. Even if I were granted exile to some remote corner of the land, I would still bear the stain of disgrace for the rest of my days. And worse still — each time I close my eyes, I see Kuro Ryudzaki again, and in my dreams, I relive the agony of his merciless tortures. No, I would rather die than endure such suffering, such despair! My only fear is that even in the lives to come, my tormented soul will find no peace — that I will never be free of these horrors..." "You are not the only one who grieves and weeps." Makishima’s voice grew heavy. "Think of what lies on my heart. Your confession has brought our family to the brink of ruin! I was but a step away from victory, and now I am the brother of a traitor. I do not even know if I will be able to keep my own head on my shoulders..." He turned to leave, but the wretched Lady Ageha clung to his sleeves, pleading, "How can you be so cold to me? At least stay a little longer!" She would not let him go. At last, Makishima spoke, his tone gentler: "Be strong, Sister. We must part now — we cannot keep the guards waiting too long. Even if this is our last meeting in this life, we are destined to meet again in the next, though we are not bound by vows of marriage." And with that, he left. Yet even as he stepped beyond the gates, Lady Ageha’s sobs still echoed behind him. Indeed, a human life is no more than a frail boat tossed upon the whim of the waves. Only days ago, the Morinaga rejoiced, believing the throne within their grasp. And now, the crime of Lady Ageha, revealed before the world, had cast their name into disgrace. So true are the words of the great poet: ‘Joy passes, and sorrow follows in its wake.’ Makishima went at once to Lord Yoshifusa Morinaga, recounting all he had seen and heard. He urged his uncle not to despair, arguing that Ageha’s confession, wrung from her under torture, could not be considered truth, and that there was still time to set things right. But upon hearing of his daughter’s fate, Lord Yoshifusa was consumed by grief. He resolved to surrender himself, humbly pleading with Ryuzaki for Ageha’s life, despite Makishima’s furious objections. Clad in white robes, carrying neither bow nor arrows, accompanied only by a handful of riders, Lord Yoshifusa rode to Ryuzaki’s encampment. At that very moment, troubling whispers had reached Kuro Ryuzaki’s ears — rumors of Prince Akimitsu’s death. The monks of the Pure Water Monastery, too ashamed and terrified to speak of it, had tried to suppress the news, and so the truth had not yet spread widely. Even before this, Ryuzaki had been bitter that he had failed to extract Ageha’s confession before Akimitsu withdrew from the world. And now, learning that his master, his friend, his brother had perished — so dishonorably, so wretchedly — he was left asking himself: What was it all for? Overcome by grief and rage, he looked up and saw Yoshifusa approaching. Without a word, he seized his bow, drew an arrow as long as fifteen handspans, and pulled back the string with all his might. But just then, his page spoke up: "My lord, such an act would not be just! Though the Morinaga have done much wrong, look — Lord Yoshifusa comes unarmed, unarmored. He does not seek battle, but surrenders himself, no doubt to beg for his daughter’s life. I implore you, hear him out! You are known far and wide for your wisdom and impartial judgment as the head of the Investigative Bureau."  Recognizing the truth in the young man’s words, Ryuzaki suppressed his fury and lowered his bow. When Yoshifusa rode up to him, he listened carefully to his plea and at last gave his solemn word that he would judge Lady Ageha fairly. The defeated lord was taken into custody to await his fate. That night, Ryuzaki sat long in thought. Had he not been cruel enough? No matter what he decided, he could not change fate — he could not bring back the late emperor, nor the prince so treacherously slain. Would it truly serve justice to behead this wretched girl, who, in truth, was no criminal at heart? Was she not, like so many daughters of noble houses, merely a pawn in the hands of her ambitious kin? Perhaps, then, the wiser course was to spare her — against all custom, to grant her life. The people would see his mercy, and perhaps, in time, even they would judge it the right thing to do. But such is the way of this fleeting world — nothing here unfolds by our will alone. Just as cloth dyed with “moon herb” changes color with ease, so too does life lack constancy: all is transient, and no one can tell who will descend into the grave first — the aged or the young maiden. On the second night of Lord Yoshifusa’s imprisonment, Lady Ageha, knowing nothing of her father’s capture, resolved firmly to take her own life by throwing herself into the well within the courtyard where she was held. When the maid assigned to watch over her briefly succumbed to sleep, Lady Ageha rose quietly from her bedding and stepped outside. Turning her face westward, she whispered a prayer, asking only that the Buddha grant peace to her tormented soul in the next life. Then, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she cast herself into the depths. The samurai guarding the Willow Manor heard the splash of her body hitting the water, and they soon pulled her out. But alas, their efforts to revive her were in vain. Her skin was pale and cold, water dripped from her white robes, and her head — shorn of its once-flowing hair — drooped lifelessly, resembling a wilted chrysanthemum. Meanwhile, her father, Lord Yoshifusa, waited with quiet resignation for his execution. Day after day passed, yet he bore his imprisonment with unshaken resolve, praying only that his daughter was safe. But such hopes were in vain. When Ryuzaki came to see him for their final conversation, Lord Yoshifusa asked but one question: “How fares my Ageha?” Ryuzaki’s heart wavered. Struggling to maintain his composure, he replied, “I have decided to release Lady Ageha.” He did not speak of how, three days prior, she had drowned herself in the well. “You have my deepest gratitude, Kuro Ryuzaki!” Yoshifusa exclaimed. “They say you are severe, yet just — and now I see it is true! Let my head fall from my shoulders, but I shall die content, knowing my daughter yet lives. For the gods gave me no children but her. If ever I have committed evil in this life, I shall suffer punishment in the next, yet the heavens know — I did it all for her sake.” And as he spoke, he wept. The following day, the execution took place. Lord Yoshifusa knelt, facing west, and began to recite his prayers. The executioner stepped behind him, raising his blade. Yet as Yoshifusa murmured the sacred sutras, a thought pierced his mind like an arrow: “Was I a fool to place my trust in this ruthless man? He has brought endless suffering upon my daughter — was it not Ryuzaki’s doing that robbed her of her child? Perhaps she still languishes in confinement, waiting for me to rescue her, unaware that my final hour is upon me…” The thought unsettled him so deeply that he broke off his prayer and, with sudden urgency, asked, “Tell me the truth — is Ageha truly safe?” In the next instant, the sword fell, and his head rolled to the ground. A tragic sight indeed. Though Lord Yoshifusa had committed countless misdeeds, his love for his daughter had been sincere, and even Ryuzaki himself, along with all who witnessed the execution, could not hold back their tears. On the twenty-third day of the Ninth Month, officials of the Bureau of Investigations paraded Yoshifusa’s severed head through the great avenues of the capital before displaying it upon a tree near the prison gates. Never before had a noble of such high rank suffered such disgrace. And only a few moons prior, who could have imagined that the head of the Morinaga clan itself would meet such an ignoble fate? As great as the dishonor visited upon Yoshifusa after death, so too was the shame borne by those who still dared to support the Morinaga name. The crime of Lady Ageha had become the talk of the entire land, and from the highest courtier to the humblest peasant, all spoke of the Morinaga as poisoners. Makishima Shougo’s heart was heavy with dread in these turbulent days. The war raged on, yet half of his vassals and former allies had abandoned him, while the other half had turned outright against him. Among his remaining forces was a certain Masahiro Iwata, who roused the soldiers with bitter words: “I look at the state of this country, and my heart burns with anger and grief! We all swore loyalty to the Morinaga, but they proved to be nothing but traitors and poisoners. Because of them, our beloved sovereign is dead, and the capital — nay, the entire land — lies in ruin! And tell me, for whose sake do we still fight? The woman and the child for whom this war began are both gone, and yet we continue to spill blood in their name. Is this not a wretched fate? “And if you still believe our loyalty will be rewarded with land and rank, cast aside such foolish hopes! Look at what became of poor Lord Yoshifusa — what reward did he receive for his service? “How much longer shall we obey Makishima Shogo, kinsman to the poisoner? How can we trust that he himself was not complicit in the plot against our emperor? Why does such a man still command this army? He, like the condemned Lord Yoshifusa, will offer us no reward for our service. He can barely afford to pay our wages as it is!” “This is nothing but the truth!” the samurai murmured in agreement. “But even if we turn to Kuro Ryuzaki’s side, will he ever trust us? After all, until this day, we have fought under the Morinaga banner…” “Let us prove our sincerity by striking down Makishima Shogo!” declared Masahiro Iwata. “We must seize him, take him prisoner, and deliver him to Kuro Ryuzaki!” Agreeing that this was the best course of action, the warriors turned against Makishima. Seeing his own vassals rise against him, Makishima shouted in fury: “So be it! If that is your wish, I shall ride to Ryuzaki of my own free will! And with my own hands, I will slay that wretched man — the one responsible for my uncle Yoshifusa’s death and for the loss of my beloved sister! And if I fail, then at least I shall die a glorious death!” With only a scant two thousand loyal warriors remaining at his side, Makishima galloped toward Ryuzaki’s camp. Meanwhile, the western army fared no better. Discontent had long simmered among the troops, for with the city gates blocked by Makishima’s forces, supplies had all but ceased, and the soldiers were starving. Now, however, their murmurs grew louder, fueled by troubling rumors. Those who had retrieved Lady Ageha’s body from the well and seen the wounds upon it, as well as those who later attended her burial, spread whispers of the terrible torment she had endured. Soon, many openly condemned Kuro Ryuzaki, head of the Bureau of Investigations, calling him a ruthless monster. Some even dared to claim that the Morinaga family had been falsely accused of poisoning the emperor, and that Lord Yoshifusa’s execution had been unjust. No one knew what to believe anymore. By then, word had also reached the capital that assassins had been sent to kill Prince Akimitsu in his monastery. Though it was clear to all that the Morinaga clan was behind the attack, the prince’s death cast yet another shadow upon Ryuzaki. People remembered that he had been Akimitsu’s foster brother and whispered among themselves: “The prince loved him dearly, yet he failed to protect his lord — or even die by his side!” And so, when news spread that Makishima was riding straight for the western camp with the intent to kill Ryuzaki, many samurai gave strict orders that their men should not interfere. Thus, despite the small size of his force, Makishima was able to break through and reach Ryuzaki’s headquarters. At that moment, Kuro Ryuzaki was clad in armor but unprepared for battle, seated on a small folding stool. Makishima struck at him with his long sword, delivering blow after blow. Though Ryuzaki’s personal guards formed a wall of spears around their lord, Makishima managed to land several grievous wounds upon him. One of Ryuzaki’s bodyguards lunged at Makishima with his spear, but the tip glanced off the armor and instead struck his horse. Maddened by pain, the beast reared violently, throwing its rider to the ground. A terrible fate befell him — Makishima’s spine snapped upon impact. Unable to rise, he writhed in agony, overwhelmed by unbearable pain. Though gravely wounded himself, Ryuzaki found the strength to approach his fallen foe. “How do you feel?” he asked. “I am dying…” Makishima whispered, his voice fading. “Do you have any last wishes?” “What is there left to wish for…?” Makishima sighed. “Only one thing grieves me — that I shall never see you die.” Ryuzaki remained composed. “Your strikes were not in vain,” he said. “Some of them found their mark. My own time will come soon enough. But I bear you no hatred. If you wish, I could end your suffering now — by taking your head.” The pain was too great for Makishima to refuse. At that moment, the mournful cry of a cuckoo echoed through the sky. A sudden thought struck Makishima — could it be that his beloved sister Ageha, after death, had become a cuckoo, like the soul of the legendary Emperor Shu-di, lamenting her earthly life? He recalled his last meeting with Lady Ageha and regretted how cold he had been toward her. But how could he have known that within days, she would truly take her own life? After all, the vows of women were seldom taken seriously… And so, he spoke his final poem — melancholy and beautiful: I hear your sorrow, from the heights where no one treads, forest cuckoo’s cry… Like me, do you also grieve for what is lost, gone forever? Such were his last words before death. Not every man can compose verse in his final moments. And Kuro Ryuzaki, in turn, offered his own reply: So you mourn, cuckoo, for the cherry blossoms shed before their time? Then let us count together who has wept more tears. And taking a sword from one of his vassals, he struck off Makishima’s head. Then he said: “It is time for me to end my own life.” He drew a treasured dagger with a sandalwood hilt — the very one gifted to him by Prince Akimitsu. Since childhood, Ryuzaki had never parted with it, always keeping it tucked into his sash. He placed the dagger’s tip against his stomach and lunged forward so swiftly that the blade pierced through his body and emerged from his back. With that, Kuro Ryuzaki breathed his last. Thus perished the instigators of this war, the leaders of the eastern and western armies. But by then, it was not only the capital that lay bleeding, torn in two by their struggle — the entire country was in turmoil. Battles raged far beyond the capital’s borders, and when word spread that the throne had been left without an heir, civil war did not subside; instead, it engulfed the land like wildfire. Lords and landowners seized the moment to settle old grudges. Bandits roamed unchecked, preying upon the weak. Peasants and low-born samurai rose in rebellion. The wealthiest nobles, fancying themselves sovereign rulers of their own domains, issued laws and edicts for their heirs — an audacity unheard of in times past! — and waged endless war against one another. There was not a single home untouched by the storm of suffering, whether it was a noble’s jade-adorned hall or a peasant’s hut woven from branches. And though all those who had set this war in motion had long since perished, the conflict continued, tearing lovers apart and stealing children from their parents. Oh, sorrow!.. …In his final moments, Makishima glimpsed a memory of his previous death — only to forget it the next instant. The recollection was sharp and searing, like a flash of lightning. Then the world faded into darkness. But as it turned out — not forever. ***   After the samurai epic, they didn’t speak for two days. Then Makishima swallowed his pride and baked pastries. For a while, he hesitated at the door to L’s room — it wasn’t fully closed, so knocking would have been strange. Finally, deciding that L was well aware of his presence, he asked: "Are you busy?" "Yes," L replied without looking up from his book. (Incredible, Makishima thought. Had that whole story actually sparked a love of reading in him?) "I want to talk. To apologize," he clarified. "Go ahead," L allowed. Makishima stepped inside and silently held out a plate. (His conclusion about the books had been premature and entirely incorrect — the one L was reading turned out to be the same old children's manga about Doraemon.) "Is this a bribe?" L asked shrewdly at the sight of the pastries. Still, unable to resist temptation, he picked up one of these multi-layered, colorful, cream-adorned masterpieces of Rococo-style architecture and took a careful bite. "These are real French choux pastries. Did you make them yourself?" he asked. "No, I ordered them from a food delivery service," Makishima snapped. "Wait, do we even have—" L started (sometimes sarcasm went right over his head). But, thank god, he caught on and shut up. Before Makishima managed to create anything edible, he had ruined two baking trays, gone through an entire bag of flour, two packs of butter, and a considerable length of his own nerves. But in the end, even Marie Antoinette herself would have approved. L was devouring the pastries with such shameless pleasure that Makishima reached for one himself — only to meet L’s outraged glare and promptly retract his hand: fine, fine, I won’t touch anything, stuff your face, you parasite. By the fourth pastry, L finally softened and said, "Alright, let’s have some tea, then."