Rough rope dug into her wrists. 　It hurt. 　That was the first thing she felt. Next came the smell of earth. Damp, heavy—like rotting leaf mold. Several cedar trees towered around her, and the sky was visible only through narrow gaps between them. 　Kirijima Riko stood motionless for several seconds. 　(…What?) 　Just moments ago, she'd been in a university lecture hall. In the most tedious afternoon class, she'd fallen asleep to the professor's voice as background noise—and then she'd woken up here. 　Her hands wouldn't move. They were bound behind her back. 　Looking down at her body, she was wearing a kimono. A mud-caked, faded indigo kimono. Her hands weren't her hands. The nails were slightly longer, the fingers more delicate than Riko's own. Pale skin, with small scars on the palms. 　(…These aren't my hands.) 　Her breathing quickened. Calm down, calm down, she repeated to herself. A senior from her university club always said it. Deep breaths when panicking. But this was beyond deep breaths. 　"Stand." 　A low voice fell from above her head. Looking up, two armored men loomed over Riko. They carried spears. Their eyes weren't smiling. 　(Armor…spears…the Sengoku period?) 　Riko's mind began spinning rapidly. Kimono. Rope. Armored soldiers. Cedar forest. This was—this absolutely wasn't the modern era. 　"[angry]Hurry up." 　Her arm was grabbed and she was yanked to her feet. 　 　Dragged along, Riko was forced to walk a mountain path. 　Trees lined both sides of the road. She couldn't tell if it was morning or evening. The sky was white and hazy, mist drifting low. Autumn mist, Riko thought vaguely. The air was cold, carrying the dampness of grass. 　Eventually the trees opened up and a town came into view. 　Surrounded by mountains. Mountains everywhere she looked. A settlement sprawled across the bottom of a basin, with no visible exit. If she ran, the mountains would block her, Riko realized immediately. This was terrain with no escape. 　Entering the town's streets, she heard the sound of metal being struck. Clang, clang—rhythmic sounds. Blacksmith shops lined both sides of the road. Shop names were written in ink on signs, furnace fires burning red. The smell of smoke mixed with the burnt smell of iron. Kajiya Street—that must be what this street was called, Riko thought. People passing by glanced at her briefly, then looked away. Everyone pretended not to see a bound woman being escorted by soldiers. 　(Is this…Hibika Domain?) 　The word "domain" surfaced in her mind. She'd learned about it in Sengoku period history class. But actually being here was completely different from what she'd learned in class. The air was different. The smells were different. The sensation of stone pavement transmitted through the soles of her feet was too real. 　The mist was thick. The entire town was wrapped in it, the distant mountains barely visible. Riko wondered vaguely if autumn in Hibika was always like this. But she didn't have much room to think. 　The castle gate came into view. The stone walls were high. 　Just before passing through the gate, one of the soldiers walking beside her muttered something to the other. 　"[cold]The last concubine was banished after fourteen days." 　Riko's feet stopped for a moment. 　"[cold]How long will this one last?" 　The other soldier laughed through his nose, and that was all. They were talking about Riko as if she wasn't there, speaking of her like they would a tool—just stating facts. They didn't care that she could hear. 　Fourteen days. 　That number stuck in her mind. 　 　She was taken to a section called the inner quarters. 　The north side of the castle's main keep. The hallway was dark, the windows small. Several candles were lit, but it was still dim. The mist from outside seemed to seep in here too—the air was damp and heavy. 　When she was pushed into a room, the rope was cut. 　Marks from the rope remained on her wrists. They were red. Riko stared at them for a while. 　"How are you feeling?" 　A voice. She looked up and saw a woman. 　Around fifty years old, perhaps. Gray-tinged white hair pulled back firmly, wearing a plain gray kimono. Her posture was perfectly straight, her bearing composed. Clear green eyes looked directly at Riko. Beautiful eyes, Riko thought. But something heavy lay in their depths. The eyes of someone who had seen much. 　"I am called Toki. I oversee the inner quarters." 　Her voice was quiet. Calm, without showing emotion. 　"[serious]There are several things I must tell you." 　Toki continued without waiting for Riko's response. 　Leaving the inner quarters without permission was forbidden. Speaking privately with male servants was forbidden. Being alone with any man except the lord was forbidden. Violations would result in banishment at best, execution at worst. 　As Riko listened, she felt her body growing colder. 　Execution. 　Toki had said it so casually. But Riko understood it was true. 　"…Um." 　"[scared]Why was I brought here?" 　"To serve as a concubine." 　"[surprised]A…concubine?" 　"Indeed." 　Toki's tone didn't change. She was stating the obvious as if it were obvious. Her eyes held the look of someone who had seen this confusion countless times before. 　"Your own wishes are not considered. That is how things are." 　There was a mirror in the corner of the room. An old metal mirror, warped. But the face reflected in it was clear. 　It was a stranger's face. 　Black hair, sharp eyes, pale cheeks. A beautiful face, Riko thought. But it wasn't her face. Riko's face was rounder, emotions showed immediately, and her friends often laughed saying "Riko is so easy to read." That kind of face. 　The face in the mirror was frightened. 　This is me now. 　The moment she thought that, tears came. 　She tried to hold them back, but couldn't. They fell, one after another. She kept her voice silent. She didn't want anyone to hear her crying. She didn't want to break down in front of Toki. But the tears wouldn't stop, and Riko just looked down, wiping them away with her fingertips. 　Toki said nothing. 　She simply stood there, quietly. Not adding to the pain, not offering comfort. Just present. 　(Fourteen days…) 　Even as she cried, her mind was working. It was her nature. She couldn't stop thinking, even while crying. 　The previous concubine was banished after fourteen days. So would she be the same. Fourteen days to be recognized by the lord, or else banishment—or worst case, execution. That was all. 　She was scared. Very scared. But crying here wouldn't change anything. 　Riko took a breath. Long and slow. 　Just survive. That's all I need to think about. 　 　That night, she couldn't sleep. 　It made sense. An unfamiliar room, an unfamiliar body, an unfamiliar era. The feel of the bedding, the height of the pillow—nothing was familiar. Footsteps occasionally echoed in the hallway, and each time her body went rigid. 　A single candle burned quietly in the corner of the room. Staring at its light, Riko gazed blankly at the ceiling. 　—Then she heard it. 　A sound from beyond the wall. Low, muffled. Not quite a sob, but something like stifled breathing. 　Riko sat up. 　The next room. She moved closer to the wall and found a small gap. A narrow space between wooden panels. She brought her eye to it. 　She hadn't meant to look. The sound had simply drawn her. 　—A candle flickered. 　The adjacent room was larger than hers, furnished with various items. In the center of that room sat a man, sitting formally in seiza, his back perfectly straight. 　He held something in his hands. 　A piece of silk—no, a painting on silk. 　The man held the painting gently in both hands, staring at it intently. Motionless. As the candle flame wavered, light and shadow fell alternately across the image. 　The man's finger moved. 　He traced something in the painting—someone's cheek perhaps—with the tip of his finger, so gently. 　That gesture was so quiet, so tender—Riko felt as if all the air in her lungs stopped. 　When she'd passed through the gate that afternoon, she'd overheard soldiers talking. The lord was called "Demon Souma." On the battlefield, he showed no mercy. He cut down enemies and traitors alike. That kind of man. 　But the man beyond the wall now. 　He just looked sad. 　Like someone who had lost the person in the painting, the way he gazed at it. In the candlelight, his profile looked younger than his years. Not frightening, not sharp. Just a face deeply wounded. 　Riko quietly stepped back from the wall. 　Something was lodged in her chest. Not fear—something smaller and quieter. 　(Whose painting is it?) 　That question remained in the corner of her mind. It wouldn't fade. 　Even after returning to her bedding, she thought about that profile for a while longer. 　 　Morning came. 　The window grew bright with white light, and Riko opened her eyes. She must have fallen asleep at some point. Her body felt heavy. 　She looked at her wrists absently. 　The rope marks were there. But that wasn't all—Riko tilted her head. 　When she'd first arrived, there had been something else. Around her wrists, a thin mark like something written in ink. She'd seen it for just a moment. 　But now there was nothing. It had disappeared completely. 　(Was it my imagination…?) 　But she'd definitely seen it. She thought she had. 　Riko stared at her wrists for a while. Outside the window, mist again. The mountain outlines were hazy, the roofs of the castle town floating like pale ghosts in the white mist. Cooking smoke rose from somewhere. 　Misty Hibika. A basin surrounded by mountains, with nowhere to escape. 　Riko wiped her eyes with trembling hands. The traces of last night's tears still remained. 　(Crying won't help.) 　She told herself. 　Just survive here. Fourteen days. That's all. Just think about that for now. 　But in the corner of her mind, she was still thinking about that profile. 　The quiet fingers tracing the painting in candlelight. 　The face of Demon Souma. 　It should have been frightening, but somehow—she couldn't stop thinking about it.