Dinner was nearly over, and the dishes on the table were almost empty.
Kurose Nobumasa wiped his hands with a cloth and set it aside. The atmosphere had only just relaxed after the discussion about household expenses, but his expression was more serious now. Nobumasa’s gaze passed over Chiyo and Shizuru before finally settling on Ieharu, who was sitting beside his mother and still fiddling with a nearly eaten stalk of greens.
“There’s something you need to remember.”
Hearing the unusual tone in his father’s voice, Ieharu looked up.
Nobumasa said, “Things at Fukamizu Lake have been getting more serious these past few days. The crocodiles have started coming into the shallows. Adults are in danger, let alone children. Starting today, you’re not allowed to run off by yourself.”
Ieharu blinked, seeming not to fully understand how frightening the situation was.
Nobumasa didn’t soften his words because of that.
“If you want to go out and play, your mother, Genbei, or someone else from the household has to go with you. You’re absolutely not to go near the west side of Kawase. Even if someone invites you, don’t go. Got it?”
This time, Ieharu realized his father wasn’t joking and hurriedly nodded. “I got it.”
Chiyo spoke up as well. “I’ll tell everyone in the household to keep an eye on him.”
Shizuru gave a small nod. Fumino and Takehisa were still too young to leave the house on their own, so Ieharu was the one who needed the most attention right now. Munetaka was already at Takamine Dojo, which meant he was temporarily far from the dangerous lake.
Nobumasa looked at both women and added, “And it’s not just the children. Unless you have a necessary reason, neither of you should go that way either. The crocodiles are used to the people around the lake. Once they start coming close to shore, it’s hard to predict how reckless they’ll become.”
Chiyo replied, “I know.”
The atmosphere at the table had only been serious for a moment when Shizuru set down her spoon. She seemed to remember something, looking at Chiyo first before turning to Nobumasa.
“There’s something I didn’t get a chance to tell you about today.”
Nobumasa looked at her. “What is it?”
“During the day, while you were in the study, Chiyo suddenly felt dizzy.” Shizuru spoke slowly. “I was worried something was wrong, so I had Genbei bring a physician to examine her.”
Nobumasa immediately turned to Chiyo.
“Is something wrong?”
Before Chiyo could answer, Shizuru smiled.
“It’s nothing bad. The physician said Chiyo is pregnant.”
Nobumasa froze.
A moment later, his expression changed completely.
“Really?”
Chiyo gently placed a hand over her lower abdomen. The embarrassment on her face couldn’t hide her joy.
“The physician said the pulse is already quite clear.”
Nobumasa burst out laughing.
“That’s wonderful news.”
His joy came naturally, almost without thought. Munetaka had only recently left home, and the house seemed to be missing a child’s voice. Now, another new life had begun to grow.
Hearing that his mother was pregnant, Ieharu stared at Chiyo’s belly for a long while.
“There’s another baby in your belly?”
Chiyo rubbed his head. “Yeah.”
“When will the baby come out?”
“It’ll be a long time.”
Ieharu thought for a moment before asking again, “Will there be two babies, like Aunt Shizuru had?”
The question made everyone at the table burst out laughing.
Even Chiyo couldn’t hold back. “I don’t know that.”
Seeing the joy on her face, Nobumasa felt much lighter as well. These past few days, discussions about the cultivation art, Munetaka, Fukamizu Lake, and all kinds of household expenses had come one after another. Only now had he received news that brought joy simply by hearing it.
But as his happiness settled a little, another thought naturally surfaced.
Chiyo was pregnant.
That meant the Harmonized Life Nourishing Root Art would have to be suspended with her for at least the duration of the pregnancy.
The Life-Breath of the Clan Lineage within the Thousand-Leaf Family Hall was still something Nobumasa hadn’t fully grasped the value of. Each time the Harmonized Life Nourishing Root Art circulated, the amount of life-breath accumulated wasn’t much, but over the long term, it clearly shouldn’t be neglected.
That thought made him look unconsciously toward Shizuru.
She had only recently given birth to Fumino and Takehisa. After several days of rest, sufficient food, and attentive care, her complexion had improved considerably. The pallor she’d had right after giving birth had nearly vanished, and her skin was gradually regaining its healthy glow. The gentleness that had always existed on her face had gained another layer of softness after she became a mother.
Nobumasa looked for another moment, then withdrew his gaze.
Shizuru was still recuperating.
This couldn’t be rushed.
He cleared his throat and turned back to Chiyo.
“Now that you’re pregnant, you need to take even better care of yourself. You can leave more of the household work to Genbei and Shizuru. If something doesn’t require you to handle it personally, don’t take it all on yourself.”
Chiyo was still happy, so she didn’t argue as she usually did. She only nodded.
“I understand.”
Shizuru also said, “I’ll help with whatever I can.”
Chiyo looked at her, her expression much gentler than it had been at the beginning of dinner.
“You still have to take care of the two little ones. Don’t take on too much more.”
The two women exchanged a few more words, and the atmosphere in the dining room grew warm again.
Watching them, Nobumasa suddenly felt that one thing had become quite clear.
A growing clan meant more than simply having more mouths to feed.
Every child’s birth brought a chain of changes. A pregnant woman needed rest, a new mother needed time to recover, infants needed milk, older children needed someone to teach them, and a few years later there would be reading lessons, martial training, and examinations of their constitution.
Children and grandchildren weren’t numbers.
Once they were born, they had to be raised into capable people.
The thought only flashed through Nobumasa’s mind before he let it go. He served Chiyo more food, and this time she didn’t say anything about saving money.
Elsewhere, Munetaka’s first days at Takamine Dojo were far less comfortable than dinner at the Kurose household.
On the first night after formal training, the boy practically crawled back to the sleeping quarters.
The day before, he had thought that horse stance was nothing more than standing still in one place. Only after actually doing it did he learn how much his legs had to endure. The instructor adjusted every angle of his feet, the bend of his knees, and the positions of his back and shoulders. If his posture was even slightly off, he was made to start over from the beginning.
Then there were laps around the yard.
Then rope pulls.
Then exercises meant only to familiarize them with maintaining balance and generating force.
By nightfall, Munetaka felt as though nothing from his calves to his back truly belonged to him anymore.
He lay facedown on the thin mattress spread over the wooden bed, his face buried in the pillow and his legs so sore that he didn’t want to move them.
“It hurts so much.”
The boy groaned softly.
Even the slightest attempt to draw up his legs made his muscles tighten as though someone were squeezing them hard.
Munetaka bit his lip, tears almost welling in his eyes.
He missed home.
He missed his familiar bed.
He missed Chiyo reminding him to cover himself with a blanket every night.
He even missed Ieharu sneaking over to his bed to cause trouble, only to be chased back to his own.
That morning, when his parents left, Munetaka had felt that he was finally becoming a true martial artist. Now, after only one day, nearly all that excitement had been beaten out of him by his aching legs.
A very shameful thought began to surface.
Maybe he should go home.
He could tell his father that the dojo wasn’t right for him.
His father might scold him, but his mother would definitely take his side.
Uncle Takanori couldn’t tie him down, either.
Munetaka was thinking just that when he heard the sound of water beside him.
He turned his head to look.
The child in the neighboring bed was only about a year older than him. He was slightly thin, with darker skin than the other students and neatly cropped hair. His name was Hirakawa Shūji, and he hadn’t joined Takamine long ago either.
Shūji had just washed his face. He carried the basin outside to empty it by himself, then came back. Sitting down beside his bed, he rolled up his pant legs, revealing calves that were just as swollen and red as Munetaka’s.
The boy slowly massaged his muscles with both hands.
His face tightened slightly whenever he pressed a sore spot, but he didn’t utter a single complaint from beginning to end.
Munetaka watched for a while before he couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Shūji.”
The child beside him looked up.
“What?”
“Don’t your legs hurt?”
Shūji looked down at his legs and answered naturally, “Of course they do.”
Munetaka was slightly stunned.
“Then why don’t you complain?”
Shūji thought for a moment, seeming to find the question strange.
“Complaining won’t make the pain go away.”
Munetaka didn’t know how to respond.
Shūji continued massaging his calves. After a while, he said, “At home, I still have to go work in the fields with my parents. In hot weather, we stand outside all day with our feet sunk in the mud, and sometimes leeches cling to us. Compared to that, today wasn’t much more unpleasant.”
Munetaka blinked.
“You have to work in the fields too?”
“Yeah.”
“But you’re still little.”
Shūji looked at him. “Little or not, I still have to eat.”
The answer was so simple that Munetaka fell silent.
In the Kurose household, he had never considered that children might have to work for their food.
Nobumasa had farmland.
There was Amasuzu Garden.
The household also had Genbei and servants.
Munetaka had run through the fields, played in the dirt, and even tried swinging a hoe a few times, only to be laughed at by the adults. But that had only been play.
He had never had to work from morning until evening simply because the household would be short-handed if he didn’t.
Munetaka sat up a little farther.
“Is it really tiring?”
Shūji nodded. “It is. When it’s hot, it’s hot, and when it’s cold, you still have to work. Sometimes, by the time I get home, my back hurts so badly I don’t even want to eat.”
He said it very matter-of-factly, as though it were nothing worth mentioning.
Munetaka looked at Shūji’s hands.
Under the oil lamp, the eight-year-old’s palms already had clearly visible rough patches. They were nothing like Munetaka’s. Aside from a few scratches from playing with wooden swords, Munetaka’s hands were still soft.
“If your family is so poor, why did you come to Takamine?”
This time, Shūji was silent for a moment.
Then his eyes brightened slightly.
“People from Takashiro came to our area looking for children with martial constitutions. They said I had pretty good aptitude, so they brought me here.”
Munetaka immediately remembered that name.
Takashiro.
It was the clan behind Takamine Dojo.
“Does your family have money to pay for your training?”
Shūji shook his head.
“They don’t need to.”
He said, “Takashiro covers the training fees. They also send my family an allowance every month. My father said that means he doesn’t have to take on as much work outside the fields. My mother can stay home and take care of my two younger siblings more.”
At that, a small smile finally appeared on Shūji’s usually expressionless face.
“My little sister used to get nothing but thin porridge. Ever since I came here, our family has had money to buy more rice. Father says she’s put on a little weight.”
Munetaka said nothing.
Shūji lowered his head and continued massaging his legs.
“So I have to study.”
“Even when it hurts?”
“When it hurts, I rest for a bit and then keep studying.”
“Don’t you want to go home?”
Shūji stopped moving his hands.
This time, he thought for longer.
“I do.”
Munetaka looked up.
Shūji spoke very softly. “I miss home too. But if I leave, that money will be gone. My parents will have to work even more.”
He looked at his swollen, reddened legs.
“Here, all I have to do is train hard to eat my fill, have a place to sleep, and send money home. I can endure it.”
Munetaka stared at him for a long time.
Those words weren’t like the things Uncle Takanori said about martial arts.
Nor were they like his father telling him to work hard and never give up.
Shūji wasn’t even advising him to do anything.
He was only talking about his own life.
But Munetaka felt his face grow hot.
He thought about meals at the Kurose household.
They didn’t have meat every day, but they had never lacked rice.
When his clothes tore, someone mended them.
There were blankets in winter.
When he was sick, someone called a physician.
When he wanted to learn martial arts, his father paid for it.
When he wanted to go to Takamine, his mother had gone to ask his uncle first.
Even that morning, before he left, Chiyo had worried that he wouldn’t eat enough and stuffed extra food into his luggage.
Munetaka had only trained for one day.
Yet he had already thought about quitting and going home.
The boy turned his face away.
A feeling of shame unlike anything he had ever experienced welled up inside him.
Not because he was afraid others would laugh at him.
But because, for the first time, he realized he possessed something another child had to exchange a great deal of hardship to obtain.
His father had paid for his training.
His mother had let him stay despite not wanting to part with him.
Uncle Takanori had agreed to watch over him personally.
If he ran home just because his legs hurt, wouldn’t all of them have gone to such trouble for nothing?
Munetaka clenched his teeth.
He braced both hands against the bed.
The moment his feet touched the floor, pain shot up through his calves, twisting his face into a grimace. But this time, Munetaka didn’t lie back down.
He slowly sat upright.
Shūji looked over.
“What are you doing?”
Munetaka pulled up his pant legs and looked at his swollen, reddened legs. Then he copied what Shūji had just done, using both hands to massage from his calves down to his ankles.
The first time, he pressed too hard and nearly cried out from the pain.
Shūji said, “Gently. Rub them slowly.”
Munetaka followed his instructions.
The two children sat beside each other beneath the small oil lamp. Neither spoke for a long while.
After a while, Munetaka finally spoke.
“Shūji.”
“Yeah?”
“I can endure it too.”
Shūji turned to look at him.
Munetaka was still grimacing from the pain, but the urge to cry that he’d had earlier was gone.
“I’m still training tomorrow.”
Shūji looked at him for a moment, then grinned.
“Then don’t get your stance wrong tomorrow. The instructor corrected your legs more than anyone else’s today.”
Munetaka immediately flushed.
“It was only my first day.”
“It was my first day too.”
“You’re older than me.”
“By one year.”
“One year still counts as older.”
The two of them argued back and forth for a few lines, keeping their voices low because the others in the room had begun to rest.
Outside the window, the Takamine training yard had fallen completely silent.
Munetaka’s first day at the dojo ended with his legs so painful that he could barely stand.
He hadn’t learned a single punch.
He didn’t know how to use a single weapon.
He was even farther from touching the Postnatal realm.
But something was different from that morning.
For the first time, Munetaka understood that the opportunity he had wasn’t something he was automatically entitled to.
And for the first time, he decided for himself that he would not give up.