A week had passed since word of the soap spread through the castle. For Minase Hina, that week was a succession of days where familiarity and unease took turns visiting her. The work in the kitchen continued. The laundry continued. Her ear was growing accustomed to the language, bit by bit, but she had never managed a proper conversation with the handmaidens. Only Gombei would give her a small nod each time they passed. That was the only "normal" thing Hina had now. On such a morning, one of the lord's retainers came to the inner quarters. "[serious]Minase Hina—the lord has a word for you. Come to the administrative chamber," Hina froze, bucket still in hand. The administrative chamber. Where Minamoto Yoshihayate was. A room separate from the great hall, where the castle lord handled his actual duties—she had learned this much from the handmaidens' talk. She couldn't fathom why she was being summoned. Had something gone wrong with the soap? Or—had some decision been made regarding the term of her stay? What should I do, Hina thought. But her feet moved anyway. Don't run. Running won't change anything. --- The administrative chamber lay beyond the great hall, on the north side of the inner palace. With each step down the corridor, her footsteps echoed softly. Outside, the autumn sky hung high and clear, and thin light filled the space beyond the paper screens. The retainer guiding her came to a stop, said only "This way," and bowed. Hina stood alone before the screen door. She realized there was no custom of knocking in this era, so she called out softly. "[scared]Forgive my intrusion...," She slid the screen open. In the center of the room, Minamoto Yoshihayate sat alone. He was cross-legged before a large writing desk, a ledger spread open before him. Counting rods lay at his side—thin bamboo-like sticks arranged to perform calculations, she had learned from kitchen conversations. His long dark indigo hair was bound at the back, and his black robe seemed to dissolve into the room's dimness. The sword scar on his left cheek caught the morning light. Yoshihayate glanced at Hina. "[cold]Sit," A single, emotionless word. Hina knelt and sat diagonally before the writing desk. "[cold]Rice yield is eight hundred koku, soldiers number two hundred fifty. Can you calculate the monthly provisions?" Hina took a moment to process the meaning. Provisions—the amount of food needed for soldiers. Per soldier per day, a samurai of this era consumed roughly six sho—in modern terms, just under one kilogram. One month being thirty days. "[serious]For two hundred fifty people over one month... at six sho per person per day, that would be approximately seventy-five koku," Yoshihayate's hand stopped. "[serious]Continue," Hina began counting on her fingers. "[serious]If you use seventy-five koku of the eight hundred for provisions, that leaves seven hundred twenty-five koku. Subtract the reserves for winter... if winter lasts four months in this region, you'd want to keep another three hundred koku set aside. That leaves roughly four hundred koku to work with," Silence fell. Yoshihayate reached for the counting rods. He arranged them, then rearranged them. His eyes narrowed. His gaze traced the numbers in the ledger as if comparing them to her answer. For just an instant—his eyes wavered. Not quite surprise. Not quite interest. Something else. She felt the faintest warmth beneath the ice. It might have been her imagination. But to Hina, it was unmistakably there. Something in her chest beat faster. Yoshihayate quickly returned his gaze to the ledger and pointed to the next figure. "Check this one too," he said. His voice was cold again. But it felt subtly different from before—a faint shift that only Hina seemed to perceive. --- For the next half hour or so, the two of them continued their work in silence. Yoshihayate pointed to a number in the ledger. Hina answered. Yoshihayate verified with the counting rods. Nothing but repetition. There was no real conversation. Only quiet time. Autumn sunlight filtered through the paper screens, creating thin lines of light across the floor. Somewhere, wind blew, and a single leaf drifted past the window. Yoshihayate suddenly lifted his eyes from the ledger. He was looking out the window. The autumn sky hung high and clear. "[serious]...My father died when I was twelve," Hina's hands stopped. There was no context. It was abrupt. But the tone of his voice was different from before. Not a command, not a confirmation—like a soliloquy. "[serious]After that, there was no one who understood numbers," He said only that, then returned his gaze to the ledger. He pointed to the next figure. As if nothing had happened. Hina gave her answer. Her voice was slightly hoarse. He had inherited the domain at twelve. She had known this as background knowledge. But now it was no longer just a fact. Fifteen years of solitude seeped through that brief statement. No one who understood numbers—that meant he had done it all alone. All this time, with those cold eyes, guarding the castle by himself, with no one to rely on. Hina said nothing. She didn't know what words to offer. Comfort felt wrong. Sympathy felt misplaced. All she could do was answer the next number correctly. That was all she could do now. She left the administrative chamber before noon. Out in the corridor, Hina couldn't move for a while. She leaned her back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. There was a feeling in her chest—a desire to protect this person. The moment she realized it, Hina was startled by her own heart. Protect? Me? How? But the feeling was undeniably there. That momentary change in Yoshihayate's eyes, the one he had shown only to her, had shifted something inside Hina. What should I do, she thought. But it was a feeling beyond doing anything about. --- Before evening fell, word had reached the inner quarters. "[whispers]The lord called the kept woman to the administrative chamber... is it true?" "[whispers]Not only that—I heard they were alone with the ledgers for nearly an hour," The whispered voices at the corner of the corridor stopped abruptly as Hina approached. The handmaidens looked at her and looked away. In the innermost room of the quarters, Sakura was waiting. The room of the First Concubine—the highest-ranking consort in the castle—was more than twice the size of Hina's four-and-a-half mat room. Her sharp eyes and refined features were as beautiful as ever, but there was something different in Sakura's gaze now. A smile with emotion suppressed. The kind Hina found most frightening. Sakura called two handmaidens to her side and gave them a quiet command. Hina couldn't hear it. The handmaidens nodded and left. Hina felt a bad premonition. But there was no way to confirm it. --- That night, when Hina returned from the kitchen after the evening meal, something was wrong the moment she opened the screen to her four-and-a-half mat room. The air in the room. The arrangement of things. Something was subtly off. Hina approached her bedding. She lifted the edge. —There were insects. Many of them. Hina screamed. Before she even realized it, her voice came out, and she fled the room. The moment she reached the corridor, she nearly fell. Her knees were shaking. "[laughing]My," A voice came. Sakura stood down the corridor. Three handmaidens with her. The other concubines had emerged from their rooms. Everyone was looking at Hina. Someone was covering their mouth, laughing. Sakura walked slowly toward Hina. The hem of her wisteria-colored robe slid across the floor. A cold smile played on her composed face. "[cold]Afraid of insects. How fitting that a filthy creature from who-knows-where should be so well-suited to them," One of the handmaidens mimicked Hina's scream with her mouth. The other handmaidens laughed. Suppressed laughter—kuku—spread through the corridor. Hina bit her lip. She wanted to say something. She wanted to talk back. But nothing she said would matter. She understood her position here. Kept—voiceless, a temporary three-month stay. Even if she complained to someone, no one would take her side. Tell Yoshihayate? She couldn't burden him with her grievances. Sakura and the others surrounded Hina. "[cold]How delighted you must have been to be called to the administrative chamber. But you see—if one only needs to count numbers, there are counting rods for that. There's no reason you need to exist," Hina didn't answer. Couldn't answer. She only fought desperately against the heat rising in her eyes. Don't cry. Crying felt like losing. Crying felt like surrendering everything to these people. Sakura looked at Hina once more, satisfied, then turned on her heel. The handmaidens followed. The concubines returned to their rooms. The corridor fell silent. Hina was alone. The bedding remained as it was. Hina clenched her teeth, went back into the room, and carried the bedding outside. She placed it at the end of the corridor and carefully shook out the contents. A few insects fell. Her stomach contracted. But she didn't stop. Anger and sadness and helplessness churned together inside her. One week in this castle. She had made soap, had been recognized by Yoshihayate—and the moment she thought that, this happened. She wanted to cry. But she didn't. --- Deep into the night, Hina couldn't sleep. She had shaken out the bedding and laid it down, but her eyes wouldn't close. The sound of autumn insects drifted from somewhere. The room was cold. She adjusted the overlap of her robe, but the chill remained. Eventually, Hina stood up. She had found a place to reach the top of the castle wall during her solo exploration last week. Up the stone steps, through a narrow passage, and she could reach the outside air. She had come to know, almost without thinking, the timing of the guards' shifts. At this hour, no one would come for a while. The wind atop the castle wall was cold. Hina hugged her knees and sat on the stone. Below, the lights of the castle town were visible—small flames scattered and flickering in the darkness. In the distance, the thin line of the Kawase River caught the light. Stars filled the sky. The desire to go home came in waves. Mom. Dad. Haruno. Breakfast. The glow of a smartphone screen. The brightness of a convenience store. Laughter on a bus. All of it came crashing down at once. Hina cried silently. She pressed her face against her knees so no sound would escape. Her shoulders shook. She knew crying wouldn't change anything, but she couldn't stop. Sakura's words, Yoshihayate's statement, the insects, all of it mixed together and came out as tears. She didn't know how long she cried. When she had cried herself out, she sat in a daze. Then the wind blew past her head. —There was a presence. Hina's head snapped up. She turned around. No one was there. The path atop the castle wall was dark, with night's shadows falling between the stones. No guards. Only wind. Hina thought she had imagined it. But then—she noticed something on the stone. It hadn't been there before. Hina reached out. Her fingertips touched something soft. A small flower. A single white flower, the kind that bloomed in fields. The stem was short, covered in dew. It couldn't have been carried here by chance—not to this place. The way it was placed in a hollow of the stone showed clear intent. Someone had deliberately left it here. Hina held the flower in her palm. Someone had been here. Someone had watched her cry. And as they left—they had left this. Deep in Hina's chest, something small and warm kindled. She didn't know their name or face. But someone had been here. Someone in this castle's night had seen Hina. Hina sat there holding the flower for a long time. The lights of the castle town flickered. The autumn wind was cold. But it felt less cold than before. When she returned t