The castle gate closed behind her, and the noise of the outside world vanished. It was like stepping into another realm entirely. The market voices that had filled her ears moments before, the clatter of horse hooves, the laughter of children—all of it had been left beyond the stone walls. In their place came only the soft scrape of footsteps from the foot soldiers treading on sand, and the distant snap of a banner cutting through wind from somewhere high above. Hikaru was led deeper into Inaba Castle, seeing its interior properly for the first time. Stone-paved paths stretched ahead. On both sides, stone walls rose in careful stacks, and she could see sentries moving along the upper ramparts. The sky felt unnaturally narrow—a small rectangle of blue cut off from the world, imposing and suffocating. Hikaru's gaze dropped instinctively downward. (Is the inside of a castle always like this?) She had learned about "the internal structure of mountain castles" in university lectures. But walking through it was entirely different. There was a smell of stone. Wood. Sweat. And faintly, from somewhere, the scent of charcoal drifting through the air. One of the foot soldiers stopped before a large wooden door and pulled it open. The main hall, Hikaru thought instinctively. Beyond the door lay a corridor, its wooden floorboards stretching into shadow. As the soldiers gestured her forward, she stepped inside. At the far end of the corridor stood another door. It opened silently. A single man sat in the center of the room. The first thing that struck her was his *size*. Even seated in formal position, even wearing a kimono, he radiated an overwhelming presence. Six feet one inch—or about one hundred eighty-five centimeters in modern terms. Tall enough that Hikaru would have to look up at him if she were standing. Yet that body sat perfectly still on the tatami mat, and it was precisely that stillness that was terrifying. It was like the silence before a storm. The second thing she noticed was the scar on his left cheek. White. Deep. A single line running from just before his jaw to his cheekbone—a scar that told its own story at a glance. This was a real wound. A wound from a real battlefield, Hikaru thought. Gray eyes were watching her. There was no emotion in them. Not anger. Not interest. Not amusement. Simply observation. Not so much appraising as examining—the way one might look through a magnifying glass at something under study. The foot soldiers knelt as one. Hikaru alone remained standing, staring at the man. He did not grow angry. "State your name," His voice was low. Quiet, yet it transformed the very air of the room. Hikaru's knees buckled. Before she realized what was happening, she had fallen to her knees on the floor. "I-I am Kimura Hikaru," The formal speech had been reflexive. She simply could not bring herself to speak casually to this man. The man's eyes moved once, slowly, from the top of her clothing to the bottom. Jeans. T-shirt. Still damp, half-dried. Then his gaze returned to her face. "Everyone, leave," The foot soldiers looked up in surprise. But the moment they met his eyes, they fell silent, bowed their heads, and filed out of the room. The door closed. Only Hikaru and the man remained. (Why is he leaving me alone with him?) She was afraid. It would have been better if the foot soldiers had stayed. But there was no point in crying out now. "Where are you from?" Hikaru hesitated for only a moment. There seemed no point in lying. "...From a place called Tokyo, in the future. I fell into a river, and when I came to, I was here," The man's expression did not change. He did not laugh mockingly. He did not say "You lie." He simply watched her, quietly. "Continue," That was all he said. Hikaru searched desperately for words. Her mind was going blank. She had no idea how to explain anything to this man. Words like "time slip" or "the future" didn't even exist as concepts in this era. But she had no room for lies either. Then something she had seen in the castle town came to mind. "Um... it's about the water channels in the castle town," The man's gaze sharpened slightly. But he did not interrupt. "In the eastern farmland area, there's a water channel that runs beneath the fields, but the water isn't reaching the paddies above. If you want to bring water to higher ground, you'd need to create a branching point and adjust the slope... Also, when storing rice in jars, if you use unglazed earthenware, the summer humidity will cause it to rot. If you use kiln-fired jars instead, or lay straw inside the jars to absorb moisture, the rice won't spoil as easily," Even as she spoke, she was surprised at herself. She was terrified, but she couldn't stop. "And when treating an injury with cloth, if you wash the cloth in boiled water first before using it, the wound is less likely to fester. There are bacteria—um, tiny things you can't see with your eyes—that cause disease and can be on cloth. Heat kills them," When she finished speaking, Hikaru looked at her own hands. They were trembling. The man moved slowly. His gaze changed. It was different from the "observation" of before. Something like calculation flickered in those gray eyes, yet something beyond calculation—a feeling that existed just past the edge of reason. It was only the faintest movement, but Hikaru saw it clearly. "An interesting woman," he murmured, almost to himself. The tone was that of a private thought, but the next words were not. "I shall keep you as a concubine," Something in Hikaru's mind clicked and froze. A concubine—she understood perfectly what that meant. A Japanese history major knew the implications all too well. A wife of lower status than the principal wife. Confined to the inner chambers of the castle, unable to leave freely. No right of refusal. "Um... can I refuse—" The man's eyes looked at her quietly. That gaze was the answer. There were no words. But the message hung in the air: there was no right of refusal. Hikaru bit her lip. The inner chambers were silent. With each step down the corridor, the floorboards creaked faintly, and that sound alone echoed. As the foot soldier led her through the halls of the inner quarters, women in kimonos approached from the opposite direction. They saw Hikaru. All of them. The moment they saw her, they looked away deliberately, unmistakably. As if no one were there at all, they continued their conversation and passed by. (I was ignored.) They turned a corner, and she was shown into a six-mat room. One small window. The light that filtered through was thin, reaching only halfway across the room. The tatami was old, and the walls bore stains. The foot soldier left. After a while, small footsteps sounded in the corridor. The door opened quietly. A small girl stood there. Perhaps sixteen years old. Her black hair was tied back tightly, and she wore a plain kimono. Her eyes were round like a rabbit's, and now they were fixed on Hikaru. When their eyes met, the girl bowed slightly. "I am called Tae. I shall attend to you here," Her voice was small. Frightened. But she did not run away. A lady's maid—the only one assigned to Hikaru. Hikaru felt a small measure of relief. It was a thin, fragile comfort—the knowledge that there was at least one person in this castle who would speak to her. "Would you call me Hikaru?" Tae's eyes widened in surprise. "Such familiarity with your name would be... improper," Ah, so this era had its own rules of propriety based on rank, Hikaru thought. There was still so much she didn't understand. When midday came, Tae brought food. On the tray was cold barley rice and thin miso soup. That was all. From beyond the corridor came the laughter of women. The smell of food drifted in too—a better smell. The scent of grilled fish, of dashi broth. (They're eating something different.) She didn't need to ask. The quality of the meal told her everything about how a concubine—especially one dressed in strange clothes, of unknown origin—would be treated in this place. Hikaru ate the barley rice in silence. It was hard. The miso soup was salty but thin. But she was hungry, so she finished it all. Tae knelt beside her, looking apologetic. "It's not your fault, Tae," When Hikaru said this, Tae blinked rapidly. As evening fell, no one else came to the room. When Hikaru tried to walk in the corridor, she heard women's voices in the distance, and the moment they sensed her presence, they all fell silent. When she returned to her room, the voices resumed. The walls were thin. She heard everything. "Is that strange woman in odd clothes really going to be the lord's concubine?" "When we don't even know where she's from..." The voices were quiet, but deliberately audible. They were speaking at that volume to be heard. Hikaru sat in the center of the room. She straightened her knees and folded her hands. She couldn't go home. Tokyo, the university, her father's voice, her friends' faces—none of it existed here. Her smartphone was waterlogged and dead. There was nothing to prove who she was. She couldn't escape. She didn't know the castle's layout, and there were foot soldiers everywhere. The language was understandable, but the culture was too different. She had no place. The women of the castle either ignored her or mocked her from behind walls. The only one who spoke to her was a frightened sixteen-year-old girl. Three walls surrounded her quietly, closing in. She didn't cry. Or rather, she couldn't cry—some cold part of her mind knew that tears would change nothing. But her hands, resting on her knees, trembled slightly. Night deepened. Tae had already retired to her own quarters. The corridor beyond was silent, the women's voices gone. The entire castle seemed to sleep, wrapped in quiet. Hikaru lay in her bedding, staring at the ceiling. She couldn't sleep. When she closed her eyes, the bridge in Tokyo's night appeared—truck headlights, the cold of water. But it felt like a distant dream now, and she was already losing certainty that she had truly been there. Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Not heavy. Not light. But quiet and deliberate. Hikaru's body went rigid beneath the bedding. An order? Punishment for something? Her mind raced through possibilities. The footsteps stopped before her room. The door did not open. Beyond the paper screen, there was a presence. Standing. Simply standing. "Is this era frightening to you?" His voice was low. Not the voice of official business, not a command. Simply a question. Hikaru was silent for a long time. Why would he ask such a thing? Would she be laughed at for admitting fear? Would he think her weak? But she couldn't bring herself to lie. "Yes. It frightens me," She answered honestly. Her voice trembled slightly. Beyond the screen, silence fell. He said nothing. No comfort, no rebuke, nothing. He simply stood there for a moment. Then his footsteps receded, growing fainter down the corridor until they disappeared entirely. Hikaru lay staring at the ceiling, her mind following the sound of those departing steps. Why had he come? Why ask only that, then leave? Had her answer changed something? Had nothing changed at all? She didn't know. But somehow, the urge to cry had diminished slightly. Without understanding why, Hikaru slowly closed her eyes. Morning light filtered through the small window. Tae arrived with the tray. There was one more dish than yesterday. A properly made broth with dashi had been added. She could smell the dashi clearly. "This is... different from yesterday," Tae's eyes lowered slightly. She knew something, but would not speak of it. Had Kagetora ordered it? Or was it coincidence? There was no way to know. Hikaru took a sip of the broth. It was warm, properly made. Different from yesterday's thin miso soup—this was crafted with care. (I should have