The watch wound around her wrist pointed to eleven twenty-seven in the evening. Kimura Hikaru pedaled her bicycle across the bridge, listening absently to the sound of the river. The early summer night breeze brushed against her neck. Her black short bob swayed slightly in the wind. I wonder if I wrote the exam properly today. She was mentally reviewing her Japanese history answers when a horn suddenly blared behind her. The moment she turned around, the headlights of a large truck flooded her vision. She jerked the handlebars reflexively. The tire struck the railing. Her body lifted. ——Ah. That was all she thought before Hikaru fell into the dark water. It was cold. The May river was far colder than she'd imagined. The weight of the water pressed down on her body. No matter how much she thrashed, she couldn't tell which way was up. Her skirt absorbed water and grew heavy. The air in her lungs slowly dissolved away. Dark. Dark and cold and unable to see anything——. 　　　＊ Something warm touched her cheek. The smell of mud. Then, the smell of burning wood. Hikaru slowly opened her eyes. The sky was blue. But something was wrong. The blue of the sky was strangely deep. There was no haze of exhaust fumes at all. She slowly pushed herself up, and sand and pebbles bit into her palms. She looked around. It was a riverbank. The river was quite wide. The current flowed gently, and reeds grew thick on the far shore. A single river boat drifted slowly in the distance. Hikaru froze when she saw it. It was a wooden boat with a roof. On the boat, a man with a headband wrapped around his head slowly manipulated a pole. His clothes——no matter how she looked at it, they were a kimono. She turned her gaze back to the riverbank. A little way off, two women were there. With their sleeves tied back, they were washing cloth in the river. Their feet were bare. Hikaru stood up. Her knees felt weak. She pulled her smartphone from her pocket. She pressed the screen. Nothing happened. She pressed again. No response. Water damage had done it in. The power wouldn't even turn on. ——There's nothing I can rely on. That fact seeped slowly into the depths of her body. Despite the warmth, goosebumps rose on her skin. The smell of the air was different. Not cigarette smoke, but the smell of a bonfire and mud. The sound of the river was too quiet. No car sounds, no train sounds, nothing. (It's the Sengoku period.) Hikaru, who majored in Japanese history at university, understood the "meaning" of the landscape before her eyes. That headband, that kimono, that pole boat. The world from photographs she'd seen countless times in textbooks was now right in front of her. But understanding it in her head didn't mean her body could follow. Her knees trembled. 　　　＊ When she climbed up the embankment from the riverbank, she immediately came out onto a street with foot traffic. Houses lined both sides of the road. Wooden plank walls, thatched roofs. The road was dirt, but the center of the street was paved with stone. People moved back and forth. Everyone wore either a kimono or rough work clothes. Hikaru was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. No matter how she looked at it, she stood out. Still, she moved forward. As she walked, she came out onto a larger street. It was a long street. Merchant houses lined both sides, their signs written in ink. A horse laden with rice bales walked past. The sound of metal being struck echoed from somewhere. In front of a tea shop, women stood holding dumplings. ——So this is Tategawa Castle Town. Hikaru murmured to herself. She knew a little about this region from her Japanese history classes. The Minakami region——a district in central Honshu made up of basins and mountainous terrain. A tense land where three powerful daimyo families competed for supremacy. This street——called the Omotesoji, the main thoroughfare——was about six hundred meters long. Rice merchants, blacksmiths, and tea shops lined it. It was the busiest place in the castle town. But the reality spread before her eyes was completely different from what she'd read in textbooks. There was smell. The smell of sweat, of horses, of charcoal. The ground was hard, and horse droppings lay scattered here and there. Everyone's faces looked tired. Children ran barefoot, the soles of their feet stained black with dirt. The "reality" stained with blood and sweat was right there. Hikaru stopped and took a deep breath. ——In any case, I should talk to someone. She spoke to a woman passing nearby. "[scared]Excuse me, where is this place?" The woman turned around. She looked Hikaru up and down, from head to toe. The next moment, she let out a shriek and ran away. Hikaru froze. This time she tried to speak to an old man. The old man glanced at Hikaru, muttered something in a low voice——and quickly shut his door. The words she barely heard were "monster." Hikaru stood alone in the middle of the street. People walked around her, avoiding her. Gazes pierced her. Whispers reached her ears. "What is that clothing?" "Is it a woman or a man?" "Where did it come from?" Two samurai with swords at their hips passed by. They looked at Hikaru intently with sharp eyes. Hikaru's feet began to slow. (I'm scared.) It was simple. That's what she thought. She was scared. She was speaking in modern Japanese, yet the woman had shrieked at her. The old man had called her a monster. It wasn't that they didn't understand the words——but the "atmosphere" of the language was so different that it only made her seem more suspicious. With each step she took, she felt the gazes multiplying. 　　　＊ When she passed in front of a sign that read "Kawabe-ya," Hikaru's feet stumbled. It was a large merchant house. Carts piled high with rice bales were lined up in front of the shop. Hikaru put her hand on a cart to keep from falling. "Who are you?" A low voice flew at her. When she looked up, three men were standing there. Swords hung at their waists. Their appearance——with belly wraps and hand towels tied as headbands——Hikaru immediately recognized as ashigaru, foot soldiers. The three men exchanged glances with each other. "That's strange clothing." "Odd way of speaking." "Could be a spy." "[scared]No! I'm just lost!" The three men's gazes converged on her. Hikaru was speaking Japanese. But the way she said "just lost" might not have existed in this era. The foot soldiers' expressions grew even more rigid. "Take her to the castle." "[scared]Wait, let me explain——" Her arm was grabbed. No matter how much a modern university student struggled, the arm strength of a Sengoku warrior was overwhelming. In an instant, both her arms were restrained, and Hikaru was dragged along. She desperately planted her feet. She twisted her body, trying to wrench free. But they wouldn't budge. (I can't escape.) As she was pulled down the street, Hikaru trembled violently. The people around her were watching. But no one helped her. Of course not. This was the Sengoku period, and there was no way anyone would lend a hand to a suspicious woman being escorted by foot soldiers. As she was dragged, she could see the faces of the foot soldiers. They bore sword scars. One on the cheek, one on the jaw, one on the neck——the scars remained white. Real scars. Scars from blades. These people truly fought with swords. The meaning of the phrase "violence is everyday" seeped into her entire being. 　　　＊ As they climbed the stone-paved road, a large castle came into view ahead. Inaba Castle. A mountain fortress built on a hill on the east bank of the Hayase River. Stone walls were stacked upon each other, and at their highest point, they were tall enough for several people to stand on each other's shoulders. Sentries could be seen moving along the castle walls. There was a sense of oppression. As she was dragged along, Hikaru looked up at the castle. It's huge, she thought. But more than that——it felt heavy. As if the weight of stone and wood and long stretches of time had accumulated and piled up. That kind of feeling. As she walked, her father's voice surfaced in her mind. ——Study Japanese history and learn how people of the past lived. It was something her father had said when she was deciding on her university major. Hikaru had liked those words and chosen Japanese history. Researching how people lived during the Sengoku period had been enjoyable. She never imagined she'd be thrown into that era herself. (How ironic.) Laughter began to well up. But fear immediately swallowed it. Her name, Tokyo, university, her water-damaged smartphone——none of it meant anything in this era. There was nothing to prove that Kimura Hikaru existed as a real person. Her student ID was in her wallet. But showing it to people in this era would just be a scrap of paper. It felt as though her identity had been torn out by the roots. Who she was, where she came from, what she was——she couldn't prove any of it in this place. (But.) Her feet wanted to stop. But they couldn't. The foot soldiers were pulling her. (But I can't die.) She didn't know how. She might be able to return, or she might not. But if she died, it would be over. As long as she was alive, she could do something. That's what Hikaru thought. Not logic. Just that. Her trembling knees kept moving, sustained by nothing but that thought. 　　　＊ The castle gate drew near. It was a large gate made of stone. Soldiers stood on both sides of the gate, and they turned their gaze toward the foot soldiers. For a moment they looked at Hikaru. They said nothing in particular and opened the way. The moment she passed through the gate, the sunlight was cut off. She felt as though she'd entered a cold shadow. Stone paving continued inside, surrounded by stone walls. The bustle of the castle town outside vanished, and in its place——a voice was heard. A low, male voice. A command voice, she understood instinctively. He was giving orders. Short, clear speech, with a weight that left no room for objection. One of the foot soldiers murmured softly, "My lord……" A terrible sensation ran through Hikaru's entire body. (The lord of the castle.) The head of the Inaba clan——the warlord called the Demon General. The person who ruled this castle was right there. Hikaru knew nothing about who that voice belonged to. What his face looked like, what he was thinking, what he intended to do with her——she knew nothing at all. All she knew was——that she had been brought to a place with no escape. Hikaru bit her lip. She quietly clenched her trembling hands into fists. (I'll survive and return. No matter what.) She repeated those words over and over in her heart.