The first thing that struck Hamamura Hanzo as he arrived in Himeji wasn't the sight of the grand white castle glimmering in the distance, but rather the smell.
The scent of sizzling broth, grilled meat skewers, freshly steamed buns, and the faint tang of soy sauce wafted through the air from the station's nearby stalls. It was intoxicating in its own right, perhaps even more so than sake.
He stopped, dropped his furoshiki pack beside a bench, and drew a long, grateful breath.
"Now this," he murmured, "is the real scent of civilization."
His stomach growled in agreement.
A soba stall stood just a few paces away, its humble red curtain swaying gently in the afternoon wind. The owner, an elderly man with a kind face and more wrinkles than a dried plum, glanced up as Hanzo approached.
"Welcome, traveller! You look like you've walked a long way. Soba'll hit the spot."
Hanzo smiled, the warmth of familiarity in his tone. "You read my mind, old man. Make it two bowls to start."
"Two?" The old vendor blinked, half chuckling. "You must be starved."
"Something like that," Hanzo said as he took a seat on the small wooden stool.
Two bowls quickly became four. Then five. Then six.
The people around him began to stare, jaws slack, as the lean young traveller in simple black attire calmly inhaled bowl after bowl of steaming soba. Each time, he clasped his hands together and muttered, "Thanks for the meal," before sliding the next bowl toward himself as if it were a sacred duty.
When the sixth bowl finally clattered empty, Hanzo leaned back, patting his stomach.
The old man stared at him, torn between disbelief and admiration. "Young man… where do you even put all that?"
Hanzo grinned. "Efficient storage system. Comes with the body. Though this much doesn't make me full yet."
"You're telling me you're not full?"
"I'd call it satisfied." He tilted his head, amused. "My metabolism's a curse. It burns faster than my wallet."
A few customers chuckled at that, shaking their heads as the old man laughed heartily and bowed slightly. "You've got spirit, traveller. If you ever pass through again, I'll prepare a bucket instead of a bowl."
"Deal," Hanzo said, rising. "I'll bring my own chopsticks too—reinforced edition."
He paid the man, thanked him again, and strolled down the street. The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, honeyed glow over Himeji's streets. Lanterns began to flicker to life, one by one, as the scent of oden drifted through the cool air.
Hanzo's feet carried him to another stall, this one serving steaming bowls of oden. He greeted the vendor with an easy smile. "Two bowls for dessert, please."
"Dessert?" the woman blinked. "You mean oden?"
"Exactly," Hanzo said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
A few passersby snickered. He ate quietly, savouring the warmth spreading through his body, the soft bite of daikon, and the richness of simmered fishcake.
And afterward, he ordered sake.
The vendor poured it with a curious look. "You don't seem the type who drinks alone, traveller."
"I'm not," Hanzo said, swirling the cup. "But sometimes the best company is quiet."
He took a sip. The sake was smooth, with a faint sweetness that lingered on his tongue. Warmth spread down his throat, into his chest—and then dissipated almost immediately.
Hanzo sighed, looking at his cup with mild irritation. "Ah, what a tragedy. A man who can't even get drunk anymore."
The woman laughed softly. "You might need more than a cup."
"Figure as much. Probably a pool of sake could make me drunk."
He downed another cup, only to find the same sober clarity waiting for him. "Heavenly Restriction, you're a cruel mistress," he muttered under his breath. "First, you take my cursed energy, now you take my buzz."
The vendor blinked, unsure whether to respond, so Hanzo gave her a bright grin, dropped a few extra coins on the counter, and walked away.
He wandered aimlessly for a while, taking in the city's sights—the bustle of merchants cleaning their stalls, children chasing each other through the streets, the faint toll of a temple bell in the distance.
Finally, he found a quiet bench near the market square, shaded by a cherry tree whose leaves rustled gently in the evening breeze. He sat, took out his journal, and began to draw.
The pencil moved fluidly in his hand. Years of discipline from both his past and present lives translated into graceful strokes that captured the scene before him. The lively chatter, the dancing lantern lights, and the smoke curling from yakitori stands.
Sketching calmed him. It was a kind of meditation, a way to order his thoughts besides eating numerous amounts of food.
He had nearly finished shading a merchant's face when it happened.
A great disturbance in the force.
That was the only word he could think of for it—a sudden disturbance in the air, like a vibration that only his senses could perceive. His hand froze mid-stroke. His gaze shifted, instinctively drawn toward the distant silhouette of Himeji Castle.
Hanzo's brows furrowed as he let his Observation Haki extend outward—his awareness stretching like invisible threads through the city streets, brushing over the people, the buildings, the empty spaces… until it reached the castle.
What he felt made his stomach twist.
Thick, cursed energy. Heavy, stagnant, and foul—like the stench of rotting flesh wrapped in perfume. It oozed from the castle's heart, seeping through the stone walls and down into the city like a creeping fog.
Hanzo grimaced. "Ugh. That's… disgusting."
He leaned back on the bench, tapping his pencil against the page. "Guess the rumours about haunted castles weren't just bedtime stories."
His gaze remained fixed on the towering structure. A faint, cold wind blew from that direction, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of decay that only his heightened senses could detect.
Hanzo sighed. "Great. Just when I thought I'd earned a peaceful day."
A soft bark interrupted his thoughts.
He looked down.
At his feet stood a tiny Shiba Inu puppy, its fur a warm caramel brown, eyes bright and curious. It wagged its tail and barked again—short, demanding yips that translated roughly to 'Feed me, human!'
Hanzo's lips curved into a smile. "Well, hello there, little warrior."
The puppy barked again, pawing at his shin. Its stomach growled.
"Persistent, aren't you?" He reached into his pack and pulled out a small parcel of dried mackerel. "Alright, alright. You win."
He broke off a piece and offered it. The pup snatched it eagerly, tail wagging with the speed of a windmill. Hanzo chuckled, petting its head gently. The fur was warm and soft beneath his calloused hand.
"You sensed it too, huh?" Hanzo said quietly, glancing again at the castle. "Even dogs can feel bad juju."
The puppy tilted its head as if in agreement, then resumed gnawing at the mackerel.
Hanzo smiled faintly, but his eyes remained shadowed. He could feel the cursed energy pulsing stronger now that the sun was slipping behind the horizon, as though whatever dwelled within the castle was waking from slumber.
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching the castle tower pierce the twilight sky. "If I ignore it, someone else is gonna die. Probably a lot of someones."
The puppy yipped softly again, and Hanzo laughed. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Hero complex, right?"
He stood, brushing off his pants, and slung his pack over his shoulder. The sky had deepened into indigo, stars beginning to blink awake above. Lanterns flickered along the market path, their orange glow trembling in the wind.
For a brief moment, Hanzo hesitated. This was his first time fighting a cursed spirit that was way stronger than the grade 2 he had fought. From the thick presence itself, it solidified its strength.
He looked toward the castle once more. The cursed presence within was like a drumbeat in his mind now, faint but unrelenting.
"Alright," he muttered, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Let's go exterminate a cursed spirit."
The puppy barked twice, as if cheering him on.
Hanzo gave it one last pat. "Stay out of trouble, little guy."
He turned away, the soft sound of his geta sandals fading into the night. The city behind him continued its quiet rhythm—lanterns swaying, laughter spilling from sake houses, the murmur of life unaware of the darkness that loomed above them.
At the market's edge, Hanzo stopped. The moon had risen fully now, silver and solemn, casting its light upon the white walls of Himeji Castle. In that glow, the fortress looked less like a monument and more like a tomb.
His eyes narrowed.
The wind shifted, carrying a faint whisper across the empty street—whether it was the voice of the cursed spirit or the castle itself, he couldn't tell.
He adjusted the knot of his furoshiki pack and spoke softly into the night.
"I'll slay whatever's rotting inside that place."
Hanzo stood there for a long moment, while his silhouette framed against the moonlight. Then he turned toward the castle and walked away.