Yoriichi knelt quietly on the deep green tatami.
The tattered gray robe he had once worn had been replaced with a deep crimson haori embroidered with flame patterns. His lower half was dressed in black hakama, hastily tailored by the female attendants. The pants were a little too long—so long that the hems brushed against the floor, occasionally getting caught under his feet.
But that didn't matter.
He wasn't even four years old yet. Children grew quickly—within a few months, the clothes would fit perfectly.
Mifune was never a stingy man. Though he lived simply, he was far from poor. Buying a few sets of decent clothing was nothing to him.
Taito gently patted Yoriichi's head, signaling for him to relax, then turned his gaze toward the others in the hall.
Across from him sat Rikaku and Shusuke, both staring at the unfamiliar boy with puzzled expressions.
As far as they knew, Taito disliked children. They had never once seen him interact with one. Yet now, the atmosphere between the two resembled that of an awkward older brother and a timid younger sibling.
Could this be… Taito's brother?
The thought was quickly dismissed.
All three of them had been war orphans taken in by Lord Mifune. Once, they all had families. Some of their fathers had even served in the Iron Country's famed samurai corps.
But more than ten years ago, that internal conflict—
It had wiped out the entire unit.
Along with countless families.
"Taito. Rikaku. Shusuke."
"Yes!"
All three responded in unison.
Mifune looked at his disciples with satisfaction, his gaze passing over their hardened faces before finally settling on the small figure seated quietly at the low table.
Yoriichi was staring intently at the grilled eel placed before him.
His eyes were locked onto it, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
He looked as though he wanted to devour it with his gaze alone.
"Yoriichi…" Mifune called, now knowing the boy's name.
Yoriichi immediately straightened his back, pretending nothing had happened—though the droplet of saliva slipping from the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
'I'm so hungry…'
Breathing techniques consumed enormous stamina.
With his frail body, Yoriichi could barely manage two forms before exhausting himself. Despite having eaten an entire table of food earlier, every bit of it had already been burned away.
Which was why—
Before eating, he pressed his palms together and murmured, "Itadakimasu," before shoveling food into his mouth at terrifying speed.
The way his arms moved was almost a blur.
Even Mifune was momentarily stunned.
How does a child eat like that…?
Seeing the boy's embarrassment, Mifune didn't press him further.
This child was his future heir.
Age-wise, he was young enough to be his son.
And when Mifune looked at him, there was nothing but fondness and admiration in his eyes.
"I have an announcement," Mifune said loudly.
"From this day forward—Yoriichi will be my adopted son."
The declaration landed like thunder.
Aside from Taito, everyone else froze.
"What?!"
Rikaku's heart pounded.
'Who is this kid… to be chosen by Mifune-sama?!'
"Is he some noble's child?" Shusuke muttered. "Is Mifune-sama trying to get a good image with a powerful family?"
Meanwhile—
"Can we eat now…?" Yoriichi muttered softly, rubbing his stomach.
He didn't understand what "adopted son" meant.
His grandfather had never explained such things.
Who would have imagined that a beggar child—barely three years old—could suddenly become the adopted son of a great samurai?
Fairy tales like that didn't exist in the shinobi world.
Stories were always about noble lords, heroic warriors, and legendary battles.
No one cared about the fate of commoners.
A peasant could achieve something extraordinary, and still remain nothing more than a peasant.
At best, a kind noble might toss them a few coins out of pity.
That was reality.
Mifune sensed their doubt.
Without a word, he lifted the chest armor worn by Masao.
A deep gash split through it.
The metal around the cut had been scorched black, warped by intense heat. Even now, the bitter smell of burning lingered in the air.
The cut was clean.
Too clean.
Like it had been carved by something far beyond ordinary steel.
The two men stared in disbelief.
That was him?
They both turned slowly toward Yoriichi, who was still eating with his head down.
In the samurai world, there was no room for sympathy.
Only honor.
Only death.
A true warrior would charge forward even with his guts spilling out, laughing in defiance until his final breath.
And yet—
This child had produced an attack that even seasoned warriors could not replicate.
"This isn't impulse," Mifune said quietly. "I've thought it through."
His gaze was deep, unfathomable.
"Yoriichi is the most talented warrior I have ever seen. The only one capable of leading the Land of Iron to true greatness."
He was calling a three-year-old a warrior.
Mifune smiled faintly.
"He is unique. Peerless. A sun born to shine upon the world."
He turned toward the boy.
Yoriichi sensed his gaze and lifted his head, still holding half of a grilled fish.
Their eyes met.
"Will you become my son?" Mifune asked.
Yoriichi didn't answer right away.
After a moment of thought, he asked softly,
"…Can I go outside?"
"Yes."
"Can I eat meals like this every day?"
"Yes."
"Can I live in a house?"
"Yes."
"…Then can I go find my grandpa?"
His voice wavered.
The yellowed paper charm his grandfather had given him was folded carefully and tucked into his clothes. Even when being bathed and changed, he had refused to let it go.
Mifune's voice softened.
"In life, we meet many people. Sometimes, someone you pass by without noticing… is someone another person longs to see for their entire life."
"Never forget to respect life, Yoriichi."
The boy's eyes trembled.
His grandfather's voice echoed in his mind.
His gentle smile.
His warm hands.
Where are you now, Grandpa…?
Are you eating well? Sleeping somewhere warm?
Are you thinking about me too?
His gaze drifted past the courtyard walls, as though trying to see beyond mountains and distance.
"Yes," Mifune answered firmly. "You may."
Yoriichi didn't respond.
He simply lowered his head and took another bite of fish.
Only then did the tears he had been holding back finally well up in his eyes.
His grandfather always boasted about his past glory, about how respected he once was. Yoriichi had always listened with admiration.
But when he once asked why Grandpa had ended up this way—
The old man had gone silent.
Then smiled sadly.
"Everyone has a past they'd rather forget."
And then he laughed and ruffled Yoriichi's hair.
"Come on! Let's go catch some fish! Grandpa'll grill them for you!"
...
Grandpa…
I found really good fish today.
But It seems...
That I can't find the person to eat it with anymore.