Within the cave lay three mounds of piled stones. At first, they seemed like nothing more than ordinary debris, but upon closer inspection, the two women noticed something odd—the three piles were perfectly aligned to the west, south, and east. Moreover, the distances between them were carefully spaced, as though placed with deliberate intent.
"'Dressed properly, I call Tsubaki's name seven times toward the east…'"
The Shogun murmured softly, her finger resting under her chin as she recited the line mentioning 'east.'
Since these stone piles were out of place in their surroundings, they were likely clues. If the verse referred to the east, then the pile of stones in that direction must be the one it described.
"Let's try it, Shogun-sama," Ayaka said, having reached the same conclusion.
Together, they approached the eastern pile. It sat atop a stone terrace above a small stream, requiring them to climb a short slope. During the ascent, the Shogun kept hold of Ayaka's hand to keep her steady—though Ayaka wasn't quite as fragile as the Shogun feared, she made no move to pull away, out of both courtesy and a touch of fondness.
"We're here… this should be the eastern pile," Ayaka said once they reached it. Before them stood a massive mound of stones, several times their height.
"Since the sentence mentions the number 'seven,' does that mean we need to call Tsubaki's name seven times?" she asked.
"No… I think the word 'call' here might be metaphorical," Ayaka reasoned, glancing down at the notes in her hand.
The Shogun studied the stones carefully, reaching out to brush her fingers against their surface. Activating her elemental sight, she sensed faint ripples echoing back—there was a hollow space within.
She tapped lightly with her finger.
Tok~!!
"!"
Unlike an ordinary rock, this one emitted a clear, resonant tone, echoing through the cavern like the note of a fine instrument.
The two women exchanged a glance and instantly understood.
"Seven sounds," Ayaka murmured thoughtfully. "So… should we tap seven times?"
"Let's give it a try," the Shogun said, and she began tapping the rock in a steady rhythm.
Tok~ ×7
Two seconds passed.
Silence—only the soft lingering echoes of her tapping filled the air.
"No response," the Shogun sighed quietly.
"…"
Ayaka frowned and lowered her gaze once more, scanning the words on the page intently. Her ice-blue eyes traced every line of the poem:
'A crane brings a flower to adorn my hair. The white rabbit stitches four rays of moonlight into my skirt. Dressed properly, I call Tsubaki's name seven times toward the east—and in an instant, I stand upon the path to her home.'
Flower…
She glanced around. Nearby, faintly glowing white flowers bloomed softly across the grass.
Moonlight…
The silvery light from outside the cave now bathed them both in its radiance.
East—this was indeed the eastern pile.
The only remaining pieces were 'Tsubaki'… and the numbers.
'Tsubaki' must have been the key to the riddle.
And the numbers…
"The numbers!" Ayaka suddenly said, looking up with newfound determination. "Perhaps… it's not only seven taps."
"Oh? What do you mean?" the Shogun asked, curious.
"There are other numbers hidden within the verse, Shogun-sama," Ayaka explained. "One flower, four rays, seven calls."
"So that makes… twelve?" the Shogun replied.
"That's right. But between each sequence—one, four, and seven—there should be a pause," Ayaka said firmly. "Otherwise, Mother wouldn't have hidden the numbers in three separate lines."
The Shogun nodded and returned to the pile, her expression calm yet focused. She lifted her hand and began:
One tap—
Tok~
A pause.
Four taps—
Tok~ ×4
Another pause.
Then seven taps.
Tok~ ×7
The clear, rhythmic sound echoed through the cavern like the striking of a temple bell.
Crack!
A moment later, the rock trembled—something inside began to shift.
The Shogun instinctively pulled Ayaka gently backward.
Moments later—
Rumble!!
The mound began to collapse, crumbling layer by layer like melting snow, until finally revealing a hidden chamber large enough to fit several people.
At its center stood a long, rectangular slab of natural stone. Resting atop it was a small, ornate box. Its surface had long since aged—the once smooth reddish-brown wood had faded, and the golden clasp had grown dull and rusted, proof that it had lain untouched for many years.
"What is this…"
Ayaka found the box oddly familiar—it resembled one from her own estate, identical in design though far newer.
"…Let's take a look. Perhaps it was meant for you," the Shogun said softly, her expression thoughtful, as if a quiet realization had already dawned on her. She exhaled slowly, her tone tinged with emotion as she gently encouraged the girl beside her.
"Shogun-sama…" Ayaka murmured, her steps hesitant.
"Go on," the Shogun replied, nodding lightly, her voice gentle but steady.
"…Alright."
Ayaka pressed her lips together and nodded. Then, she turned and slowly walked toward the box.
Click…
The latch snapped open with a soft metallic sound as she carefully lifted the lid—and peered inside.
"…A notebook?" she whispered, reaching in to lift it carefully with both hands. Then, returning to the Shogun's side, she explained softly, "It's a notebook… could it be Tsubaki's? Let's step outside first. The air in here feels a bit heavy."
Ayaka instinctively took the Shogun's hand as she spoke.
"Let's go. Reading in this dim light isn't good for your eyes either."
Together, they left the cavern and returned to the moonlit shore. The beach was now completely dark, save for the silver glow of the waves rolling softly against the sand. The rhythmic sound of the surf washed through the quiet night—familiar, almost comforting.
Standing once more upon the sand, Ayaka held the notebook in her hands. For a brief moment she hesitated, then, taking a quiet breath, opened it.
"…"
The Shogun didn't follow to read over her shoulder. Instead, she stepped back a few paces, allowing Ayaka her own space—she could already sense that this letter carried deep personal meaning. It was best read in solitude. It might even have been written for her.
"…"
From the very first line, Ayaka was absorbed. Her icy-blue eyes traced the handwriting with intense focus. The script was one she knew well—so familiar it made her chest tighten.
She stood perfectly still, her figure unmoving, the fringe of her hair hiding her eyes from view. Yet the Shogun could sense the subtle tremor of her lips, the silent effort to contain her emotions.
Moonlight poured over her delicate frame, draping her in silver. On the pale sand, her lonely shadow stretched long behind her—a scene so quiet and fragile it could have belonged to a painting.
"Haa…"
After what felt like an eternity, Ayaka exhaled softly, closing the notebook with trembling hands. She lifted her gaze to the shining moon above, then shut her eyes briefly to steady herself. The small gift she'd bought earlier lay forgotten by her feet, half-buried in the sand.
Tap, tap…
After a moment's pause, she turned and walked lightly back toward the Shogun—her steps soft and measured, like a passing breeze. Gentle enough not to disturb, yet close enough to be felt.
"…Are you alright?" the Shogun asked quietly.
"I'm fine…" Ayaka replied, meeting her gaze with a fragile smile. Her icy-blue eyes were slightly reddened, shimmering with unshed tears that threatened to fall at any moment.
Seeing this, the Shogun's heart ached. She reached out gently, brushing her fingertip against the corner of Ayaka's eye.
"…Shogun-sama, I…"
At the touch, the girl could no longer hold back. A few silent tears slipped down her cheeks—not many, just a few—but they glimmered faintly beneath the moonlight. She didn't sob; she simply let the tears fall quietly, then gathered herself once more.
"Was it Kayo?"
"…Yes."
Ayaka nodded faintly.
"What… did she say? Oh—but if you'd rather not—"
"It's alright. You're family too, Shogun-sama," Ayaka said softly. In truth, sharing this moment with her eased the weight in her chest, if only a little.
"This 'Tsubaki'… sigh… was my mother," she admitted, lowering her gaze.
"…I see," the Shogun murmured. She had already suspected as much. From the moment she saw the box, she'd known. After all, she was familiar with Kamisato Kayo—and such a clever riddle was exactly her style.
"Shogun-sama thought the same, didn't you? Haa… from the beginning, I had a feeling something was amiss."
Ayaka handed the notebook to her, inviting her to take a look.
The Shogun unfolded it, her eyes scanning the elegant handwriting spread across the page—
'Tsubaki and I are both the same and yet not the same. When I am Tsubaki, I am not Kamisato Kayo, but the most ordinary of women.'
'Everything that follows is merely the daily life and trivial musings of that ordinary me.'
So that was it… The notebook contained Kamisato Kayo's personal reflections—mundane details of daily life, such as what she wanted to eat that day, what she wished to try, thoughts about her daughter Ayaka, her son Ayato…
In short, it was the heartfelt journal of a mother's love and hopes for her family—nothing divine, nothing formal, simply human.
"All those things we thought were related to Tsubaki… were really just Mother's own desires," Ayaka said softly.
That meant the clothing designs and foreign recipes had all been things Kamisato Kayo once wanted to try herself.
"'Tsubaki' represents the ordinary side of Mother—the self that wished to follow her own heart, not the side bound by her role as Kamisato Kayo, nor by what others expected of her."
She paused, then smiled faintly. "To be honest… I think I have that side of me as well."
With a sigh, Ayaka turned and walked slowly toward the sea. Her delicate figure, illuminated by the moonlight, cast a slender silhouette across the sand.
"Perhaps…"
The Shogun followed quietly, stepping up beside her.
"…Perhaps Kayo wrote these words for you," she said, her gaze falling on the silver-haired girl beside her.
"Mm… When I first read the notebook, I didn't know what to think," Ayaka admitted with a soft, rueful laugh. "It felt like she had seen straight through me… She really was my mother."
Her smile under the moonlight was both beautiful and fragile—a mixture of grace, sorrow, and quiet strength.
"Shogun-sama, I'm not sure if you know this, but… after Mother married my father, she took charge of all the Kamisato household affairs. As the head lady of the Yashiro Commission, her status was noble, but the burden was heavy. There were countless matters to manage."
"Not only that—every word, every gesture of hers represented the Kamisato name. People were always watching her. Under such constant scrutiny, she rarely had time to think about herself."
Ayaka turned to face the Shogun directly, her eyes clear and earnest as they met her gaze.
"After our parents passed away, the Kamisato family fell into decline. My brother and I had no choice but to take over everything. In that desperate time, it was you, Shogun-sama, who saved us—who saved the Kamisato family and pulled us out of danger."
"Both my brother and I are deeply grateful. We've always wanted to repay you somehow. The warmth we shared during that time… we still carry it in our hearts."
"When you helped restore the Kamisato family, my brother began working tirelessly day and night. I too began taking on the Yashiro Commission's duties—handling public affairs, diplomatic relations… Those were difficult times, and we have never forgotten them. Whenever I faced hardship or helplessness, I would wonder—did Mother feel the same? How did she endure it? Did she ever feel powerless, too?"
As she spoke, Ayaka slowly lowered herself onto the sand, resting gracefully with her knees drawn close, her posture calm and unguarded. The dawn wind gently lifted her bangs and ponytail, and the moonlight that coated her figure shimmered softly, brushed away by the night breeze.
"And now?" the Shogun asked quietly, following her lead. She sat down beside her, smoothing her kimono as she did. Her legs, wrapped in white silk stockings, reflected the moonlight with a silvery, pristine glow.
"Now… it's rare for me to feel that way," Ayaka said softly. "Because… the hardest part has already passed."
She inched closer, her shoulder lightly pressing against the Shogun's, then rested her head gently upon it, closing her eyes in quiet peace.
"…I see."
The Shogun half-lidded her eyes, gazing at the girl leaning against her shoulder.
"It's been so long since I last saw her," Ayaka murmured. "My only memories are of her dignity and grace… and of her frail figure lying in bed."
"Ayaka… you—"
"I know… I know it's wrong of me to think that way."
It was as if Ayaka had already guessed what the Shogun was about to say. She opened her eyes and looked up, meeting her gaze. Their faces were so close that they could feel each other's breath and faint scent.
"Mm…///"
Ayaka froze for a moment, her cheeks flushing pink as she shyly turned her gaze away. Yet, the hands wrapped around the Shogun's arm did not loosen—in fact, they tightened even more.
Honestly… the Shogun thought fondly, unable to help the small, indulgent smile that touched her lips.
"When I read that notebook, I realized… Mother and I are completely alike. No matter what responsibilities we carry, at heart, we are still ordinary people."
"We like pretty clothes, want to taste foods from distant lands, yearn to see places we've never been… Hehe, tell me, Shogun-sama—doesn't that sound childish to you? So immature?"
"Isn't that simply the nature of being a woman? How could that be childish?"
The Shogun's response was gentle but firm. After all, she had those same thoughts herself—what was wrong with that?
"Pfft… I knew you would say that," Ayaka laughed softly. "So… today, I'm not Kamisato Ayaka, the daughter of the Yashiro Commission. Today, I'll live simply as an ordinary girl."
She tightened her hold on the Shogun's arm again, smiling sweetly up at her.
"So… where does this 'ordinary girl' wish to go?" the Shogun teased with a light grin.
"If possible… um… the festival…///" Ayaka murmured, her face growing even redder.
"Knew it," the Shogun said with a knowing smile. She could read the girl's heart with ease.
With a soft chuckle, she rose to her feet and gently pulled Ayaka up with her. They brushed the sand from their skirts, then set off toward the festival grounds—the glowing heart of Narukami Island.
Of course, along the way they stopped to pick up the forgotten gifts. The pizza, however, was entrusted to Ayaka to carry back, while the unfinished kimono would remain at Ogura's shop for the time being.
That evening, the Inazuma festival shone beneath clear skies. From every corner of the city, one could see the warm, colorful lights of countless lanterns, their glow bright enough to illuminate the night sky.
For the Yashiro Commission, such scenes were nothing new—they were the ones responsible for ensuring the festival's safety, after all. Ayaka herself would often attend in an official capacity to oversee the event.
But never before had she joined as simply herself. Not as the dignified daughter of the Kamisato family, not as the face of the Yashiro Commission—
Tonight, Kamisato Ayaka would experience the festival for the very first time as an ordinary girl.
And at this moment, that thought filled her heart with pure, unrestrained excitement.