Morning came, but Hina had not slept. She lay on the thin tatami of the four-and-a-half mat room, staring at the ceiling the entire night. Through the latticed window, pale light filtered in as thin threads. A bird called. The sound of the river drifted distantly. These were the sounds of morning in this world. Last night, she had wept. Silently, as though pouring out everything within her. But morning had come anyway. (I'm alive. At least I know that much.) Hina slowly pushed herself upright. Her jet-black short bob clung to her cheeks. Deep brown eyes reflected the corner of the room. Her white blazer was wrinkled, creased from the tatami where she'd slept in it without changing. The marks would not fade. (I have no other clothes. This is all I have.) Footsteps approached down the corridor. "[serious]Are you awake? The lord summons you" The door slid open. Two spear-bearing soldiers stood in the hallway. --- They brought her to the great hall of the main keep. The moment Hina stepped inside, her feet nearly stopped. Thirty mats. The scale of it became something her body understood. The floorboards were polished to a shine. The ceiling soared high. The pillars were thick. There was little decoration, but that only intensified the oppressive weight of the space. Four samurai stood in the corners of the room, three more along the walls. All of them watched Hina. And at the upper seat, there was a man. Dark navy hair bound behind him. A black kimono stripped of all ornament. A single sword scar running down his left cheek. Two eyes, yet each a different color—the left a sharp silver, the right black. Both equally cold. Minamoto Yoshihayate. The Demon General, someone had called him in the corridor last night. Hina saw this man for the first time, facing him directly. Terrifying. That was all her instinct told her. "[serious]My lord! This woman is a spy. A ninja from foreign lands, or perhaps sent by Nagashino from the south—either way, execution is warranted!" A samurai seated to the right stood abruptly. The others raised their voices in agreement. "[serious]What manner of garment is that? We know not what country she hails from" "[serious]Her speech is strange as well. If her identity cannot be determined, she should be cut down" Voices overlapped, echoing through the great hall. Hina felt her knees trembling slightly. This was real fear. Not the fear of a dream. She bit her lip, holding the trembling inside. But she did not run. She had a certainty: if she ran, she would die. So she kept her face forward and planted her feet firmly. Yoshihayate remained silent. He raised one hand slightly, and the samurai's voices ceased. That was all it took. The hall fell silent. Yoshihayate's eyes looked at Hina. From top to bottom. Face, clothes, hands, feet. It was an observation without emotion. The gaze of someone appraising an object. While he looked, Hina did not flee. She trembled, but her eyes did not waver. The silence stretched on. It was long. Hina could not measure how long. Yoshihayate spoke, his voice sparse. "[cold]Keep her in custody. Place her in the inner quarters" That was all. He stood and left the hall. His footsteps faded. The door closed. The remaining samurai exchanged glances. For a moment, Hina felt the strength drain from her knees. She had survived. She did not know why. She could not fathom what that man was thinking. But the morning sun was still there. --- The inner quarters—where the concubines lived—lay beyond a covered corridor that extended from the rear of the main keep. The moment Hina entered the corridor, she sensed a presence. The rustle of silk. Soft, but certain footsteps. The woman approaching from the other direction was beautiful. Sharp, narrow eyes. Refined features. A pale wisteria-colored kimono. Her hair was arranged high, a hairpin gleaming. Three attendants stood in line behind her. This was Sakura, the First Concubine, the highest-ranking concubine in the castle—though Hina would not learn this until later. But before she knew who this woman was, their eyes met. Sakura's gaze traveled slowly from the top of Hina's head to the tips of her feet. White blazer. Black slacks. Wrinkled, still bearing the marks of the tatami. "[cold]...How dare some unknown, filthy woman take residence in the lord's castle" She said it in a clear voice, before her attendants. She was smiling. That smile frightened Hina more than anything else. "Is this the woman in question?" one attendant whispered. "How shabby, without even a proper kimono or sash," another voice said. It was deliberately audible. Sakura said nothing. She passed by Hina's side. Her hem brushed against Hina's ankle. It was deliberate. Hina knew it. Hina's hands clenched into fists. Anger came. But she could say nothing now. —In custody. It was only at this moment that Hina truly understood, in her bones, what that status meant. A measure to keep someone of unknown identity confined to the castle. Neither a formal concubine nor a servant. No voice, no standing. Only food, shelter, and three months' grace. In this castle, Hina was at the very bottom. The room assigned to her was four-and-a-half mats—the same room she had slept in the night before, but now formally designated as her place. Meals came after the other concubines had finished: cold grain rice and thin miso soup. From the next day, the laundry began. Hina did not understand at first what "for everyone in the inner quarters" meant, but when she saw the mountain of garments piled in the tub, she understood. More than ten people's worth. (I have no choice but to do it.) Hina did it all alone. Attendants bumped her shoulder as they passed in the corridor. She was laughed at for her strange way of speaking. She worked on in her uniform. She did not know the way home. No one helped her. But the sense that if she did not move, she would simply fade away and disappear—that kept her standing. So she worked. --- The kitchen where she came to do laundry was the most lively place in the castle. Three large hearths stood in a row, something always simmering. The smoke of firewood and the scent of broth mingled, and her eyes stung slightly each time she entered. Nearly ten servants moved about, and none of them paid Hina any mind. Being ignored was the only relief she had found since arriving at this castle. The head cook, Gombei, was a stout man in his fifties. He wore a headband and always had sweat on his brow, and his voice was loud. "Stoke the fire!" "We need more water!" he shouted at someone all day long. He seemed barely aware of Hina's existence, saying nothing as she set down her tub and carried away the laundry. But that day, Hina saw Gombei washing a pot. He was washing it with water alone. Scrubbing a pot with grease caked on it, using only water. No matter how many times he tried, the slickness remained. Gombei clicked his tongue and poured more water. An image from a science class flashed through Hina's mind. The principle of soap. When the alkali from wood ash mixed with animal fat, it created a surfactant that dissolved in water and broke down oils. She had learned this in middle school. In the modern world, it was so obvious that no one thought about it—but in this era, it did not exist. (Should I say something? I might be laughed at again.) Hina hesitated for a while. But if she said nothing, nothing would change. All she had in this castle was the knowledge she had accumulated in the modern world. Even if it was seen as the "sorcery of a foreign land," if she stayed silent, she would simply disappear after three months. "[serious]Um... Gombei" Gombei turned around. His expression was annoyed. "[serious]If you wash that pot with a mixture of ash and fat, the grease will come off. In the... land where I was born, that's how we do it" "[sarcastic]Ash and fat? Don't be ridiculous, that'll only make it dirtier" Gombei laughed through his nose. One of the servants glanced over and smirked. Hina did not back down. "[serious]Just try it once. You don't have to believe me, just one time" Gombei studied Hina for a while. Still annoyed, he sighed. "Fine, go ahead," he said, pointing to the cold ash from the hearth and the cooking lard. Hina scooped up white ash from the hearth. She added a little lard and worked it together with her fingers. A sticky, gray mass formed. She spread it inside the pot, poured water over it, and scrubbed. Foam rose. White, fine bubbles. Gombei's eyes widened. As Hina scrubbed harder, the grease slickness fell away without a sound. When she rinsed it with water, the inside of the pot was clearly a different color. Gombei reached out and touched the pot. His fingers traced the inside. Silence fell. "[surprised]...It really does come off" His face was one of genuine astonishment. The servants gathered around. When Hina demonstrated once more, they all watched in silence. Gombei looked at her. With eyes different from before. "[gentle]...Thank you" Those words pierced Hina's chest. It was the first gratitude she had received since coming to this castle. Just two words. But those two words seeped slowly into the center of her chest. The back of her eyes grew warm. Holding back tears, Hina bowed her head slightly. (There is something I can be useful for here.) That small certainty took root within her. --- Word of the soap spread through the kitchen in no time. By the next day, servants were competing to try it. Grease came off dishes. Oil came off hands. Someone told someone else, and rumors in the castle moved faster than Hina had imagined. Three days later, in the afternoon, as Hina was putting away her tub in the kitchen, the air changed. All the servants stopped moving at once. They all turned in the same direction. Hina turned as well. Yoshihayate stood in the kitchen entrance. Dressed in his formal black kimono, without attendants. Gombei cried out "My lord!" and bowed his head. The servants knelt as one. Hina was a beat late. Yoshihayate's eyes found her. "[cold]You made this from ash and fat" His voice was low. Without emotion. It was less a question than a confirmation. Hina tried to nod, but found her voice would not come. Yoshihayate took one step closer. Just one step, yet the distance shrank dramatically. His 182-centimeter frame was before her. At this distance, the sword scar on his left cheek revealed itself to be far deeper than it appeared from afar. His silver left eye looked directly at her. Something in her chest pulsed violently. Fear and something else mingled together. "[scared]Y-yes. In the... land where I was born, we use it this way" Her voice trembled slightly. But Hina continued. "[scared]The alkali in the ash... um, the components in the ash bind with the oil and become soluble in water. That's why the dirt comes off" Yoshihayate looked at her face. Then at the lump of soap remaining on the rim of the tub. Then back at her face. His eyes changed for a moment. Not ice anymore. Something else—surprise, perhaps, or interest, or simply a "wavering"—flickered there for just one beat. The next instant, it was gone. Yoshihayate said nothing. He left the kitchen. His footsteps faded down the corridor. No one moved. Gombei slowly raised his head. The servants exchanged glances. "The lord himself came in person..." someone whispered. Hina stood holding the tub. (What was that?) Those eyes. That flicker for just one beat. The cold, emotionless silver eyes had—for just one moment—become something else. That fact would not leave Hina's mind. Her chest felt unsettled. It was not fear. (Why am I feeling this way, when I'm so afraid?) Hina shook her head. This was not something she should be thinking about now. But she could not stop thinking about it. --- That night, when Hina returned to the inner quarters, she heard voices of Sakura's attendants around a corner in the