4 years later

And that was the last meal I shared with all of them. It's my last happy memory with everyone. I still couldn't sleep without the ghosts of these memories haunting me. I could still hear their cries for help every time I closed my eyes.

Keku and Minory were the last to be attacked. When one of my older brothers saw me covered in blood, he grabbed me, and together we ran down the mountain, fleeing and leaving everything behind. We found Shino injured near the top.

We only stopped running when our strength completely gave out, hiding near a lake, and when the adrenaline finally left our bodies, all we could do was cry. Only Hōjō didn't shed a single tear—I always thought he would cry when he was alone, though I never heard him do so. After Master Onyokupo, Hōjō was the oldest; he was 20 at the time, and now he's 24.

As we grew accustomed to the loneliness of living just the three of us, we tried to find a place to stay. At first, we managed to stay in a small storage shed owned by a farming family, but when rumors began circulating that we were "demons" trained by Onyokupo, the family drove us out. We had to take our few belongings and move to the next village, but the rumors traveled faster than we did, and neither that village nor the one after it offered us any place to stay.

Hōjō grew weary, and even though we didn't understand why people hated us so much, we built a small house with wooden logs. It took months of work, and the rainy season didn't help; many times, our makeshift roof caved in. But Hōjō always encouraged us. He reminded me a lot of Onyokupo.

Our wooden oranges were the only things, aside from memories, that we still carried from our former master. Shino and I practiced the old exercises the master had taught us, though Hōjō never wanted to train with us. But I knew he trained alone—his movements were different from those Onyokupo had taught us. It took me some time to realize that my brother was diverging from the path Onyokupo had set for us. His wasn't just a defensive style like ours; Hōjō had developed a warrior's style. His body grew stronger, and he hunted daily while Shino and I butchered the animals to sell for a bit of money. We learned to blend in with the locals, though Hōjō never joined us, always staying behind, as if he were ready to defend our home with his life.

"Fuku?" Shino called me, close to my ear.

"Yes?" I replied as I accepted payment from a woman who had bought a piece of beef.

"Do you think Hōjō would mind if we bought that?" I put the money in my pocket and followed Shino's gaze. He was 22 and was starting to show a little interest in standing out. Maybe he was looking for a woman. Another thing Hōjō didn't seem interested in.

Shino was eyeing a red samurai armor, well-crafted and sturdy.

"I think he would," I answered sensibly.

Shino sighed. "If only I could show it to Hōjō…we could even share it; we're practically the same size."

"Our brother never leaves the house."

The market was starting to clear out around lunchtime when a man blew a whistle, and people moved aside between the stalls. It was the police, chasing a young boy. Situations like this were common; there was a lot of poverty, and sometimes stealing from those who had more was the only choice. The market was the perfect target. That's why Shino and I kept our money hidden in pouches against our chests. Our katanas were concealed horizontally against our bodies, and with our large cloaks, no one could see what we had underneath. We'd never leave them behind.

"Let's pack up." We'd sold almost all the meat that Hōjō had hunted that morning. Whatever was left, we'd eat during our two daily meals. This way, we didn't go hungry, nor did we waste anything.

"Tomorrow we'll finally be able to buy more seeds for our garden. We'll have fresh vegetables once they grow."

"Yes, but we need to talk to Hōjō first."

"Yeah, yeah," Shino grimaced—not that he didn't like our brother, but because every decision had to go through him, and Shino saw himself as a man of value too.

We packed the meat into baskets and began to leave the village. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the police grab the boy and throw him to the ground. A bag of coins slipped down the cobblestone path and hit my foot.

"Please, hand it over. This boy is a thief, and we will return it to its rightful owner."

I bent down and picked up the bag; the weight of the coins was heavy—likely gold. Was there someone this rich in the village?

"Forgive my intrusion, but how do you know who this bag belongs to?"

"We're taking it to the station. Whoever comes to claim it will need to prove how much is in it."

I smiled. It was a game.

"Very well. Here it is." I closed the bag in my hand, tossing it in the air and catching it again before handing it over to the officer.

"Thank you, miss."

Shino was watching from a little further away, leaning against a fence with a sly grin.

"I bet there are 170 yen in there," he said.

"No, it's gold. I'd say 300 yen."

We used to play many games like this in our childhood. Onyokupo hadn't taught us to deceive anyone, but everything he had taught us had made us good at guessing simple things like how many coins were in a bag.

"Let's take the meat up and then come back down."

"But they've already seen us. They know we're not the owners of that bag," Shino argued.

"They haven't seen Hōjō."

"Good luck," was all he said in reply.

After a while, we could see our house. Hōjō, as always, was sitting at the door with his legs crossed, his katana resting on them.

"We're back!" we said in unison.

"I know, I heard your footsteps. How was it today?" he asked me.

"We sold almost everything. It'll cover lunch and dinner," I said happily.

"Good." Hōjō held out his hand, and we took our money pouches from our chests.

"Hōjō…" Shino cleared his throat.

"Yes?"

"I saw something I'd like to buy."

"What is it?"

"A samurai armor."

"Later."

"But when?"

"When it's time."

"But we've saved so much money already. Aren't we going to use it?"

"If I gave you all the money we have, what would you do with it?"

Shino fell silent as Hōjō looked at him with his dark eyes and expressionless face.

"And you, Fukuma?" My older brother turned to me.

"I don't know how much we have, but I'd try to give us a better life," I exclaimed.

Hōjō didn't smile, but his eyes showed agreement.

"That's why I hold on to the money—to give us a better life. Shino, give me a bit more time, and I'll give you everything you're asking for." Hōjō stood, setting his katana aside and touching Shino's shoulder lightly.

"I'm going to the river."

And like every day, he disappeared behind the trees.