At last we reach the third act of my mystical Japanese drama. Amaya and Yoshio have reached Osaka and seen the killer Ryunosuke at work there, though his whereabouts and motives still remain shrouded in mystery. Note: I realized that I used the name "Shiro" twice in the total narrative. I have changed the name of the second Shiro (the nephew of Daiki) to Shigeo. This edit has not been done on previous installments as of yet.
Previous installments can be found on the fiction page above or by clicking here. Thanks, as always, for reading. Don't forget to share if you liked it, and return on Thursday for the second half of chapter 10.
<<Previous: Chapter 9-2
Act III
Chapter 10
“How do you like your new clothes, Yoshi?” Amaya smiled at her retainer, who fussed with the knot on his obi by the window.
“A little oversized,” Yoshio said. He straightened the light mantle on his shoulders, which gave his lean body a long taper. “Which is in many ways good. It allows freedom of movement, and these leggings will obscure my foot movements for an opponent.” Yoshio tugged at the loose blue umanori pants, which hung in stiff pleats to the tops of his feet. “However, this outfit will give an enemy more ways to grab and throw me, and I risk getting it caught on some piece of the décor should I be forced to draw my sword indoors.” Amaya laughed as she walked over to the window and ran her hands over the cloth on Yoshio’s shoulders. “Ever thinking of utility. That is my Yoshi.”
“What else should I think of?”
“Do you like the way it looks?” Amaya said, opening her arms and displaying the long, hanging sleeves of her two-cloth kimono. The pure white silk shimmered in the sunlight from the window, and the pink pattern of the obi and the inner folds of the kimono stood out brightly. Her wide obi was snug, making her already small waist seem tiny.
“I like the way yours looks,” Yoshio said.
Amaya laughed again. “What about yours?”
Yoshio looked down. “I suppose it will do.”
“What about comfort?” Amaya said.
“I said it was loose.” Yoshio tugged on a sleeve. “See?”
“Yes, but does that mean comfortable?” Amaya walked back to the futon and tucked her katana away behind pillows and blankets.
“What else would it mean?”
“My dear Yoshi,” Amaya said, looking back to Yoshio as she tucked her tanto away in the folds of her white and pink kimono. “I will never tire of you.”
Yoshio frowned. “What does that mean?”
Amaya gave him a subtle smile, then sighed. “Let’s go. I do not want to make this worse than it already will be by being late.”
Yoshio nodded. He walked to Amaya’s low table and picked up the scroll he had found at their door upon returning in the early morning. He un-rolled it and looked at it again. It was written in beautiful black script, with flowing lines and perfect brush strokes.
“What is it?” Amaya said, standing by the door.
“I just didn’t get a good look at Masaki’s note when we arrived.”
“What do you see now, in the daylight?”
“It is professionally scripted,” Yoshio said.
“Many nobles are taught well in the arts,” Amaya said, moving to look at the scroll herself. She traced her finger along the well- painted and perfectly black strokes. “But you are right.”
“He means to impress you,” Yoshio said, frowning.
“He does,” Amaya said, “but he has already impressed upon me his cruelty and stubbornness. Tea and entertainment will do no more to lighten my opinion of him than inviting us to such with pretty letters. You worry about me often, Yoshi. You do not need to worry about me being wooed by the likes of Shiba Masaki.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were aware of his intentions.”
“I am. And yours.”
