Chapter 10
1542, Oda Nobunaga's Room.
"You really went all out, huh…?"
Oda Nobunaga's voice broke the tempered silence of the room.
Wearing an unusually gentle expression, she applied ointment to Senji Muramasa's wounded back. Her small hand carefully traced each bruise, each cut, each remnant of the battle. The boy sat upright, hands resting on his knees. Not a complaint, not a flinch.
Outside, the other maids were tending to Hana and Himari, who lay sore from the results of their duel—a savage fight among the three, part of a training that could not afford softness.
"These wounds… aren't from simple sparring," Nobunaga murmured as she soaked the cloth with more balm. "Did they break any ribs?"
"Two… maybe three," Senji replied coldly. "But they'll heal."
"Hmph. You shouldn't talk like some resigned old man. You're ten," Nobunaga retorted, though not mockingly.
Silence returned. Only Senji's controlled breathing and the damp sound of balm sliding over marked skin could be heard.
"You know," Nobunaga continued after a long pause. "When you told me the truth about the [Kagutsuchi Blood], I thought it was just a story to justify your strength. But watching you train… I understood."
Senji didn't answer. He only nodded—barely.
"That damned blood burns like a chained beast," she went on. "Even if you master it, it always tries to devour you. And you… you've been carrying that secret since before we even met."
"It's a curse that can't be removed. But if I can teach Hana and Himari to control it differently than I did… they won't be seen as monsters."
"And you?" Nobunaga asked, wrapping a clean bandage around Senji's torso. "Do you care if they see you that way?"
"No. I can handle it. They shouldn't have to."
Nobunaga paused; her hands trembled for just a second. Then she tightened the bandage—more than necessary. Not out of cruelty… but from restrained anger.
"Idiot. Always saying you can handle it on your own…" she whispered.
Senji tilted his head, not fully understanding.
"You said you were mine, right?" Nobunaga asked, a different spark in her voice now.
"Yes."
"Then, what's mine… I take care of myself."
Her words were firm. She wasn't speaking like a noble child. It was the declaration of someone beginning to see beyond utility.
Senji lowered his head a bit.
"Nobunaga-sama… thank you."
"Just Nobunaga," she corrected, smiling without realizing it. "At least while you're injured."
Senji didn't object.
When she finished bandaging him, Nobunaga remained beside him a while. Her scarlet eyes fixed on the boy who looked like he carried centuries on his back.
"In the future, when I conquer Owari—and then all of Japan… I want you to stay by my side, Senji."
"I will," he replied without hesitation.
"And if the day comes when that blood tries to drag you down… I'll kill it myself—so you don't have to."
Senji remained silent. And for the first time, his lips formed something barely noticeable: a smile. Small, but real.
And so, on that night without fire or ceremony, the bond between them ceased to be just one of power or duty.
It was the birth of something much deeper.
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The afternoon breeze blew gently through the cherry trees surrounding the pond. Leaves danced across the calm water, where little fish peeked curiously whenever shadows passed overhead.
"Faster! Faster!" cried a small voice with fake authority.
"If you're going to ride me like a horse, at least don't shout so close to my ear," Senji replied, smiling as he carried Nobunaga on his shoulders.
The girl laughed, gripping his head like the commander of an imaginary army.
"You said you'd take me to see the lotus flowers! So it's your fault!"
"Yes, but I didn't remember you being this bossy even when you're having fun."
"I'm not bossy! I'm a future leader. Big difference," she replied proudly, arms crossed as she looked toward the sky.
Senji rolled his eyes, still smiling. He continued walking along the edge of the pond, where the sky's reflection began to turn orange from the sunset. His steps were steady, used to carrying weight… but Nobunaga's was different. Light, warm.
"I've never come this far from the castle without guards," she said more quietly.
"Are you scared?"
"No. I like it. Feels like everything is just ours."
Senji paused. Nobunaga, still on his shoulders, rested her chin on his head.
"Do you think… we'll always be like this?" she asked in a low voice. "Walking together… no matter what happens?"
Senji didn't reply immediately. He slowly knelt down to let her off carefully.
"That depends on you," he said, looking into her eyes. "If one day you decide you don't want me carrying you anymore… I'll accept that too."
Nobunaga frowned, confused.
"Why would I do something so stupid?"
Senji shrugged, looking at the pond.
"Because when you grow up… you might not need me anymore."
The girl stayed silent. Then, she stepped forward and poked Senji's forehead firmly with her finger.
"Dummy. I don't want you to carry me out of need. I want you to be there because you want to."
Senji's eyes widened slightly, surprised by the maturity in her words. Nobunaga lowered her hand, face lightly blushing.
"And yes… I want us to stay like this. Even if you're not carrying me, even if we're fighting… as long as we're together, I don't care."
The boy smiled, looking down briefly. Then he picked a lotus flower floating nearby and offered it to her.
"Then take it. So you'll remember this day."
"Huh? A gift?"
"Are you going to reject it?"
"Of course not!"
She took the flower with a genuine smile—one she never wore in meetings or during her child-emperor speeches.
Only here. Only with him.
They both stared at the pond for a few more seconds. Nobunaga didn't speak of ambition, and Senji didn't mention cursed blood.
For a while… they were just a boy and a girl, laughing beside the still waters of a day only they would remember.
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The sound of paper unfolding broke the calm of the office. Nobunaga held the letter with one hand while the other tapped gently on the lacquered wooden desk. Her scarlet eyes darted quickly through the lines of formal calligraphy, but her expression grew harder with every word.
Senji Muramasa stood at her side, watching silently. He knew something was wrong.
"A letter?" he asked calmly.
Nobunaga nodded without looking at him. Then she dropped the paper on the table.
"My father… Oda Nobuhide… wants me to attend a little party at Anjō Castle. Apparently, he's celebrating his victory over Imagawa Yoshimoto."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"For him, sure," she replied sarcastically. "For me… it's a waste of time."
She stood up from the cushion and began pacing around the room.
"He doesn't care how I'm doing. He's never visited me since they dumped me here like baggage. And now, because he won a battle, suddenly all the 'children have the privilege' to attend his stupid celebration."
Senji said nothing. He knew when Nobunaga spoke like this, what she needed most wasn't answers… but understanding.
"The worst part is… it's a chance to meet my siblings. Some I've never even seen," she added, clenching her fists. "All I've heard are rumors. That Nobuyuki is the most 'promising', the most 'proper', that he should be the heir, not me… because at least he behaves like a true son of the Oda Clan."
She turned on her heel and looked directly at Senji, seeking something—affirmation, comfort that no one else could give.
"Do you believe that too?"
Senji shook his head.
"No."
"No what?"
"I don't think a good heir is someone who just behaves. An heir needs conviction. Will. The ability to lead. To protect. To crush when necessary. And you have all that. In your own way."
Nobunaga stared at him for a few more seconds, until the tension in her body seemed to ease slightly.
"I hate how good your words sound," she murmured, sitting again with a soft sigh. "Even so… I'll have to go."
"Want me to come with you?"
She looked at him sideways. She smiled, but it wasn't arrogant this time. It was… grateful.
"Yes. I don't want to be alone with those people. If they're going to compare me to Nobuyuki… let them see who stands by my side."
"And what exactly should they see?"
Nobunaga crossed her arms and raised her chin confidently.
"My sword. My wall. The only one who dared tame the fire beast. You."
Senji tilted his head, half amused.
"Sounds like you've already made me part of the clan."
"Don't be stupid," she said, turning to the sky outside the window. "The Muramasa will stand equal to the Oda Clan one day… remember?"
Senji smiled.
"Yes. But until then, I'll stay by your side."
Nobunaga stood and reached for the letter she'd thrown onto the table. She folded it carefully, now more calmly.
"Let's go to Anjō, then. We'll see just how 'perfect' Nobuyuki really is… and whether I dare kick him out of boredom."
Senji chuckled.
"Don't do it at the party. At least wait until dessert."
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Anjō Castle rose proudly among golden fields and clear skies. The Oda Clan's banners waved boldly, flaunting Oda Nobuhide's victory over Imagawa Yoshimoto. Shamisen and drum music filled the air, and dozens of courtiers, soldiers, and servants bustled like an orderly swarm.
Nobunaga stepped down from the carriage, chin held high and eyes wide open. She wore an elegant crimson kimono with golden embroidery. Her face was clean and proud, and her perfectly brushed hair flowed freely down her back.
Beside her, Senji Muramasa disembarked on foot. He wore a simple but well-fitted yukata. His expression was the usual: serene, alert… though there was a spark of discomfort in his eyes.
"A lot of noise for a dogfight," Nobunaga muttered, arms crossed as she looked at the parade of hypocritical faces.
"They'll hear you," Senji warned, though not too concerned.
"Let them. I didn't come to fake respect."
They began walking toward the castle entrance when murmurs spread among the guests. Several maids, ladies-in-waiting, and soldiers whispered to one another, surprised.
"What now?" Nobunaga growled.
Then a figure descended the castle stairs. A young man with long hair, as fine and well-kept as Nobunaga's. His face was delicate but proud, his eyes calm and gentle. He wore a dark blue and white kimono embroidered with the Oda Clan emblem.
"Ah…" sighed a maiden among the guests. "Such refined presence… Nobunaga-dono looks even more beautiful than usual."
"No! That's Nobuyuki-sama… the virtuous son of Oda Nobuhide."
Confusion spread like silent fire. Even some samurai bowed without knowing exactly to whom.
Nobunaga clicked her tongue loudly.
"We're already starting with the nonsense…"
"Is that…?" Senji began to ask, but then something caught his eye.
A small hooded figure slipped between the servants, carrying a strange cloth bundle in their arms. Not a guest. Not dressed like a courtier or guard.
And most oddly: they carried a sheathed katana—strictly forbidden at such an event.
Senji frowned. Without a word, he slipped away and followed them through the crowd, weaving silently between the columns of the grand inner courtyard.
"Senji?" Nobunaga turned her head, but he was already gone.
She sighed heavily.
"Tch… and just when I needed to introduce him to shut up that pack of flatterers."
Before her, Oda Nobuyuki descended with composed steps. His smile was serene, flawless. And for a moment, as he and Nobunaga locked eyes, a living mirror was formed.
Same face. Same hair. Different essence.
One was fire. The other, ice.
"So you're… Nobuyuki," Nobunaga murmured to herself, clenching her fists under her sleeves.
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The corridors were adorned with red silks and hanging lanterns, softly illuminating the faces of guests walking through the main hallways. But beyond the festive area, in shadows and half-open doors, the atmosphere changed. It became denser. Colder.
A hooded man slipped like a ghost through the north wing of the castle. His body was relaxed, but his eyes were tense, as if he knew he was in enemy territory.
Inside his hidden tunic, a kunai coated with mandrake poison rested, ready. His target: none other than Oda Nobuhide.
Everything was prepared. Chaos would begin just before the toast, when the fireworks lit up the sky. But then—something halted him.
A faint sound. Almost imperceptible.
Footsteps.
Too light to be a guard's.
The assassin turned slowly… and there he was.
A child.
No older than ten. Reddish, messy hair, bandages visible under his yukata sleeve. His face was neutral, his eyes strange… but the gaze wasn't hostile. Not yet.
The assassin frowned, puzzled.
"A courtier's son? A curious servant?"
But that couldn't be. The boy moved silently. He followed with precision, not clumsiness. Like a hunting dog.
Then he understood.
It wasn't chance. He was being tracked.
The assassin began backing away slowly, searching for an exit. He couldn't kill him here—the body would be found. He picked up his pace, turning into a side corridor.
The boy followed.
As he turned a corner, the assassin threw a poisoned needle toward where he'd last seen the boy. But he missed.
Senji wasn't there anymore.
The needle stuck in the wood.
"Who the hell are you…?" the assassin murmured—and suddenly, he felt a chill down his neck.
A makeshift tonfa, made of solid bamboo, pressed against his back. The boy stood behind him. Silent. Motionless.
"You don't belong at this party," Senji said, without raising his voice.
The assassin spun, trying to draw his kunai. But he was too slow.
A strike to the wrist. Another to the throat. A low kick.
In seconds, he was on the ground.
Senji didn't kill him. Not yet.
"Who sent you?"
The man spat blood, but smiled.
"Looks like… Oda already has his own guard dog…"
Senji didn't answer. He simply looked down and knocked him unconscious with a precise blow to the temple.
Minutes later, a castle guard found the boy at the entrance to the north wing, dragging the attacker by his robe like a sack of rice.
"What is that?!" the samurai shouted, alarmed.
"A threat," Senji replied, emotionless.
"Where did you find him?! Where were you?!"
"I got lost," was all he said.
And without another word, he walked back toward the party, as if nothing had happened.