House of Mirrors

The first three floors were now cleared, meaning the bottom two floors were left, including the Oyabun's Office at the end.

---

“This is…”

“Hey, Ichirō, do you know of this..?”

“I.. had no idea this was a thing.”

Ichirō, Kenichi, and Tsuyoshi had made their way to the second-to-last floor, known to harbor the Three Executives of the First Tier. But what greeted them was entirely different.

“An underground... prison..?” Ichirō murmured, confusion pulling his brow tight.

“It’s.. more than that.” Kenichi’s eyes widened, his usual stoicism giving way to unease. The air here was dead, heavy, and rank.

“Welcome. Saitou Ichirō, Taiichiro Kenichi, Masashi Tsuyoshi.” An unrecognizable voice echoed through the cold stone hall, dry as old bone.

“Huh?!” Tsuyoshi snapped his head around.

“Who’s there?!” Kenichi demanded, drawing his sword a hairsbreadth from its sheath.

To their surprise, the hall was empty. Nobody on the other side of the hallway, nobody behind them, nobody leaning over any wall.

The voice came from within the prison cells.

“Who spoke just now?! How do you know our names?!”

Slowly but steadily, spectral figures started to shuffle up to the metal bars, revealing themselves from the pitch-dark interiors.

“Ngh?!” Ichirō recoiled.

“What the... fuck,” Tsuyoshi breathed, unable to conceal his revulsion.

What was shown was truly grim. The prisoners’ skin was stretched tautly over their bones, translucent and sickly pale. Their eye sockets were deep and shallow, shaded by years without light, and snot had dried in grotesque trails over their lips. Leeches, somehow still surviving in the damp dark, fell from the remains of their long, matted hair onto their rather oddly grown, wiry beards. Their very presence was an insult to life.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS PLACE?!”

“This is...” A random prisoner spoke, his voice a dried-out whisper that cracked in the stale air.

“Kagame no ie...” (House of Mirrors).

“What..?” Kenichi asked, taking a hesitant step forward.

“Old man, what the hell does that mean?!” Ichirō demanded, walking over to the nearest cell.

Suddenly, the old man collapsed, his head hitting the metal bar with a sickening clank before his body slid down, silent and limp. Ichirō was startled, taking a sharp step back.

“This is.. as you said.. an underground prison...” Another prisoner, an elderly woman whose face was a web of dried wrinkles, said from the cell behind.

“What kind of prison is this, old lady?!” Kenichi asked, staring at the motionless body on the floor.

“As you can see.. the cells are small and pitch-dark. Some of us have been held here for years…”

“Huh?!”

“We haven’t seen daylight or breathed the outside air for a long time,” another voice rasped.

“The only sign.. of the living world.. is…” A prisoner started to say before collapsing onto his back, his breath finally giving out.

“Is that this place actually has alive people,” another prisoner completed for him, his voice flat with despair.

Ichirō swallowed, building up the guts to ask, “Well what’s with the name of this place?! Why’s it called the House of Mirrors?!”

A younger, more energized prisoner walked over to the bars, his eyes possessing a sharper, more painful intelligence than the others. “The ‘House of Mirrors’ moniker is a bitter irony, Samurai.”

“Bitter irony? How?” Kenichi pressed.

“It doesn’t reflect the truth; it’s a code word, an official pretense to conceal the horrific reality from public view, much like a mirror can distort or obscure. The very existence of these centers was violently denied by the outside world, rendering every detainee a ‘non-person’ who simply ceased to exist. They tortured us here until we were just shadows of men.”

“You seem to have a book level of knowledge about this place,” Ichirō observed, his suspicion growing.

“I was…”

“Hm?”

“I was a First Tier Executive.”

“WHAT?!” Ichirō and Kenichi shouted simultaneously. “Tch,” Tsuyoshi sneered, his hand tightening on his sword.

---

We are back to Toshio’s floor, though the battle with the Shatei-gashira ended, he hadn't left, standing motionless amidst the shadows. Meanwhile, Masunaga was bleeding onto the floor, his torso useless from the precise, paralyzing cut.

"Why... haven't you left yet?!" Masunaga asked.

“You...” Toshio looked back, his eyes catching the light.

“You haven’t asked my name. That’s all.”

“Ngh?! What the hell is that about?!” Masunaga demanded, his voice a painful grunt.

“I asked you your name before we battled. I asked you your name after our battle. In neither scenario did you offer the respect of asking mine.” Toshio responded, his logic infuriatingly clean.

“Why the hell would I?! I’m no respectable duelist looking for a respectable fight, I will snatch a win if I have to,” Masunaga answered, spitting blood onto the floor. He continued, “Besides, I know your name all too well.”

“Hm.” Toshio did not offer a verbal response, merely a low, humming acknowledgement.

“You’re Hijikata Toshio. I’m frankly sure I referred to you with that when you arrived on this floor.”

“That you did. But you still, did not ask what my name is.” Toshio responded, unmoving.

“CUT THE CRAP ALREADY! What the hell do you think this is?!” Masunaga shouted, his frustration overriding his pain.

“I think this right now is a conversation. I think what you’re referring to is a past event, and that would be your loss in our battle.” Toshio answered with a slicing detriment, the calm in his voice twisting the knife.

“Well, as long as you’re on this floor and my blood is still warm, it’s a battle in every regard.” Masunaga calmly retorted, regaining a flicker of pride.

“Well said, but having said that, you can’t even move right now, so in what regard do you consider this a battle anymore?” Toshio asked, his tone still perfectly even.

“Yo-You’re really getting on my nerves right now!”

“Say, usually when infiltrating bases, more and more battalions come, ready to take the infiltrators down. Why doesn’t your place do the same?” Toshio swiftly shifted the topic.

“Because the lowest tier with the most members is on the top floor from where you entered. If you defeat that, you’ve defeated most of our people. I’m pretty sure someone like you can at least perceive that without asking it.” Masunaga answered, spitefully.

“You’re not wrong. My question was actually a build-up to my next question.” Toshio turned back, facing the dying man fully.

“So let me ask you this, Keisuke Masunaga,”

“Why hasn’t anyone come to save you or rather take me down yet?”

“Ngh…” Masunaga felt challenged by the brutal weight of the question. “Well of course, you people are the Kodokuna Sonae, it was only normal that they didn’t stand a cha—”

“Wrong answer.” Toshio interrupted, cutting him off with the clean force of his conviction.

“Ngh?!”

“The first floor with the most fighters was taken down by a mere village Higo-hikyaku. Can you believe that? A village-to-village letter messenger whose only capability is running fast.” Toshio elaborated, the statement chillingly deflating Masunaga's ego.

“That’s.. not true! Village higo-hikyaku’s are trained to—”

“He was not trained. He is the messenger of one of the most isolated and peaceful villages in this country. He never needed to be trained to the degree of taking down forty fighters of an underground organization known to kidnap, steal, and fight.” Toshio interrupted once again.

“What... are you trying to say?”

“What I’m saying is... You people,” Toshio walked over, his boot finding the space beneath Masunaga’s chin, lifting the dying man's head slightly off the mat. “Had the audacity to ‘rule’ the underground world, imprison the ones who tried to lift a finger against you, make the poor poorer and the rich richer, all while hunting down the most prominent and whole-hearted samurais of the region who would end civil wars before they’d start, just so you can see more chaos...”

Toshio leaned in, the cold fire in his eyes burning away the last of Masunaga's composure.

“You people had the audacity to hurt all these factors while being,

Lowly. Pathetic. Gut-wrenchingly scum... and most of all,”

He immediately kicked Masunaga’s chin upwards, the sudden, brutal impact launching the man's face high.

“WEAK!”

SLAM!

He drove his boot down again, catching Masunaga viciously on the cheek, forcing him to cough out blood in a crimson spray.

“What the hell.. (cough) are you (blood splats) TRYING TO EVEN SAY?!” Masunaga shouted, the rage in his eyes mixing with panic.

“I’ll say it in words you understand, Keisuke Masunaga.” Toshio bent down to sit on one knee. “What I’m saying is.. You haunted the outside world while being humiliatingly weak. And I can’t stand that.”

“Ngh!”

Toshio continued again, his voice becoming a cold moral authority. “What I’m saying is… Chaos is a force of destruction. But when the chaos is generated by pathetic, humiliatingly weak people—people who masquerade as powerful while only preying on the defenseless—it is an offense against reason and duty. The kind of rampant, meaningless suffering your ilk spreads is the only thing I cannot stand. You are weak, you are chaotic, and you are utterly unworthy of the harm you inflict.”

He stood up again, turning his back deliberately.

“Think again, Keisuke Masunaga. I told you I knew you were the Shatei-gashira, meaning I knew your name when coming to this floor.”

“Tch.” Masunaga grunted, his defiance thin and desperate.

“Yet I repeatedly insisted on knowing your name. Whereas you failed to ask mine in the same scenario. Why do you think that is?”

Masunaga pondered while staring, having no response.

“The reason is…” Toshio took it upon himself to answer. “The reason is the difference between us, Masunaga.”

“Huh?!”

“The difference is that I have to live with the consequences of what my sword does. I am a warrior of the Yagyū Shinkage-ryū—a school built on the concept of the life-giving sword. When I make the choice to end a life, it must be justified. To justify it, I must know who I am fighting, what they represent, and the precise weight of the destruction I am enacting.”

“You, however, never asked my name. Because to you, I was not a person. I was merely a threat  to be eliminated, or a barrier  to be smashed. That is the philosophy of your entire organization: everything is expendable. The villagers you extort, the samurai you hunt, and the men you send to die for you. All nameless, meaningless obstacles.”

Toshio’s gaze was unflinching, piercing Masunaga’s remaining consciousness. As he stared, a forgotten memory flashed before him, a painful ghost of the past:

"Don't cry any longer young one, I'll tell the authorities to get you somewhere where you can be taken care of."

"But Shinsengumi-san.. My mother just.."

"Don't worry about it, heck even my mother hated me. At least yours died thinking she protected you!"

"Mm.."

"Say, do you have any friends?"

"No.. I have none."

"Well I'll be your friend for the day, my name is Keisuke Shintani."

"Shin..tani?"

"Yes! You know I can be a great friend for you cause I have a son just about your age! Though he never listens to me.. Guess I'll adopt some better parenting skills! Haha!"

Toshio reopened his eyes, the contempt in his voice now layered with profound, agonizing disappointment.

He pressed his point, his voice hardening with pure contempt. “You are the son of a man dedicated to public order, yet you chose the path of the void. You reduce life to a transaction. You are content to kill and die without context, without responsibility. You don’t ask for names because you have no sense of Duty to the fight, or to the life you forfeit. You are just another piece of the meaningless chaos that ruined people’s lives, and that is why you had to be the one to fall on this floor.

I needed to know the name of the chaos I destroyed.”

“SHUT UP!” Masunaga screamed, his voice dissolving into a gurgling, bloody cough.

“I DON'T NEED YOU TO TELL ME HOW MUCH OF A FAILURE OF A SON I AM! I'M WELL AWARE OF THAT AND I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT... FROM A DAMNED SAMURAI!”

Toshio stared on, his expression finally settling into cold pity. He turned his back once again.

“Hm. Do as you wish.”

---

We return to Ichirō and the others on the First Tier floor.

“Y-You were one of the Three Executives of the First Tier?!” Kenichi repeated, still reeling from the admission.

“That’s right,” the man, shrunken in his cell, responded. “I was recently replaced.. By a man named Kurogane.”

“Well, what the hell did you do to get kicked from the position and landing in this.. place..?” Kenichi asked, the curiosity overwhelming his fear.

“That.. is a rather long story. I don’t think you people have the time to hear that.” The man responded, a hint of his former, executive arrogance returning.

“You’re right. Anyway, we have to make it to the Oyabun’s Office quickly.” Ichirō responded, already mentally preparing himself to run to the next set of stairs.

“Wait—”
“Hey—”

The whispers rose to a chorus of pleas, desperate and pitiful.

“Are you just going to leave us here?!”
“Please don’t leave us..”
“Yeah! If.. If we stay any longer.. WE WILL DIE DOWN HERE!”
“Please, my mother thinks I’m dead by now!”
“Please let me go back.. My wife..”

The prisoners, one by one, started to plead, poking their skeletal hands out through the cold metal bars. The three infiltrators—Ichirō, Kenichi, and Tsuyoshi—were startled by the sheer emotional force.

“Hey.. what do you mean your wife?” Kenichi asked, oddly curious, walking toward a man weeping softly into his elbow.

“Y-You would know, wouldn’t you?! Taiichiro Kenichi! You’re notoriously known for the story with your wife! You could assume the pain I feel from…”

“From what?” Kenichi came closer, his own eyes darkening.

“FROM HAVING WATCHED HER DIE!” The man screamed, grabbing Kenichi’s kimono collar with surprising strength, the contact cold and clammy. “KENICHI PLEASE! DIDN’T YOU.. DIDN’T YOU DO ALL THAT FOR YOUR MISTRESS?! Why am I not allowed to.. to.. to.. to even give her a proper burial…” The man let go loosely of his collar, his hand falling back, trembling.

Kenichi stayed quiet, a shadow cast over his eyes. He turned over, facing his comrades. “Ichirō-dono…”

“Hm?”

“I.. I want to release all these people. They are near death, they’ve clearly been tortured. They deserve to be freed.”

“You won’t see me disagreeing, Kenichi-dono, however, I wonder how we can free them immediately.” Ichirō responded, looking at the countless locks.

“Y-You can find the keys to all the cells in Kurogane’s room ahead! I know it because that was once mine!” The former imprisoned Executive shouted, his voice hoarse with urgency.

“Say.. This has me curious.” Tsuyoshi walked over to that man, his expression sharp and skeptical.

“This all feels too shady to me. You feel shady to me. All of you feel shady to me.”

“What are you saying!”
“We didn’t get tortured for years for some samurai to come and say we’re lying!”
“Do you even see our state right now?!"
"Can't you see?! Some of us are not even properly alive!”

The prisoners erupted into a commotion of angry despair, hitting the bars weakly. Tsuyoshi seemed entirely unbothered by it, his skepticism a shield.

“Alright, alright, you guys, hold up!” Ichirō calmed the commotion down with a booming voice. “I personally will go get the keys right now! How about that?”

The prisoners seemed to get quiet, an uneasy agreement settling over the hall.

“Much better, off my way I am then.” Ichirō walked across to the other side of the hall where there were three doors, followed by the stair leading down to the Oyabun’s Office. He swallowed and cautiously went into the office the imprisoned Executive had indicated.

“Would you see that, completely unchecked and open for me to enter!” Ichirō muttered, entering the office which was seemingly Kurogane’s.

He walked across, the wooden floor creaking under his weight, spider webs hanging in corners, barrels and boxes stacked haphazardly. The office was shady but contained the trappings of a high-ranking official. He reached over to the desk and found the keys hanging over a single hoop. “Bingo!” He gasped.

“Alright then,” He started to tip-toe away to go back.

SLAM!

“Ouch! My toe!” He shouted to himself, having stubbed a chest of some kind with his foot.

“Huh, looks kinda interesting, might be Kami-sama’s way of saying ‘Opeeeennn iiiittt, Iiiiichirō...’ So I might as well do it.”

He caressed the heavy iron lock of the chest, proceeding to smash it brutally with the heavy hilt of his sword, the metal shrieking before the mechanism gave way.

“Let’s see what gold I fi—”

It was something he did not expect, at all.

“…Guns?”

“What the hell..? This..” He lifted a musket up, the polished wood shockingly clean compared to the grime of the room. “This is the Tanegashima…” His eyes widened in horrified realization.

“Don’t tell me.. Kurogane.. The newer Executive.. is—”