"I... I wish to become like you, Brother. I want to become the second strongest samurai in all the land."
The innocent words of a younger brother who admired his elder sibling.
The boy addressed as 'Brother' glanced at him briefly before turning away, his voice cold.
"Admiration is the emotion furthest from understanding, Yoriichi."
@@@
"Waaaaah! Waaaaah!"
What in the world is happening?
One moment, I was passing out after drinking heavily to celebrate becoming an adult. The next, I wake up as a newborn baby.
Is this the work of some shoddy underground organization? Or did that liquor contain APTX 4869 or something?
"Twins! Twins, of all things! Moreover, what is that hideous mark on his forehead?! This is a certain omen of ruin for our house! Kill that monster at once!"
The man who appeared to be my father barked out orders, pointing at the infant lying beside me—my twin brother.
Good grief. It‘s bad enough waking up as a baby, but to have a lunatic with such insane thoughts as a father? This is madness.
"What are you saying, My Lord?!"
A woman stepped forward, screaming her opposition. She seemed to be my mother. Fortunately, it appeared she was a woman of reason.
At any rate, looking at the attire and the ceiling, this is definitely Japan—and it‘s certainly not the 21st century.
If I had to guess, would this be the Sengoku period?
"Kill him!"
"My Lord!"
Could you please take your domestic dispute outside?
@@@
Gathering what I could from the conversations around me, the family headed by that madman of a father was the Tsugikuni clan, a warrior house of considerable prestige.
Given the size of the estate and the gardens, they were certainly well-off... but I had never heard the name of any famous warrior named Tsugikuni from the Sengoku period.
In any case, my name is Tsugikuni Michikatsu. My father gave it to me, imbuing it with his desire for me to be strong and always victorious.
The twin brother he tried to kill is Tsugikuni Yoriichi. My mother gave him that name, hoping he would cherish the bonds (Yori) between people.
Mother had to scream and rage to stop my father from killing Yoriichi. The servants and even my father whispered that they had never seen her so furious.
It couldn't have been easy to stand up like that during the Sengoku period. I felt a surge of respect for her blooming in my heart.
Regardless, the compromise was that Yoriichi would be sent to a temple to become a monk at age ten, and until then, he was to be treated as a pariah. What a load of nonsense. These barbaric people.
By the time I reached the age of five, I was being raised as the pampered heir of the Tsugikuni clan. I lived in a spacious room, received an heir‘s education, and wore fine clothes while eating food that was considered a luxury for this era. Of course, no amount of delicacy could satisfy a heart already tainted by the wonders of modern civilization.
Meanwhile, Yoriichi lived in a cramped room of only three tatami mats, hiding from the eyes of the clan elders. His clothes were little more than rags, and his meals were usually thin gruel. On a good day, he got mixed grains and salt soup. That was it.
This is child abuse, you lunatics! It‘s practically written in the Kojiki!
My father forbade me from going anywhere near Yoriichi.
Yeah, right. Screw that. Hang in there, Yoriichi. I‘m bringing dango today.
@@@
Since the day he was born, Yoriichi had not spoken a single word. He showed no emotion, remaining silent to a frightening degree.
And he was always clinging to Mother‘s left side.
A devoted son, I see.
Mother, a woman of deep faith in the Sun God, believed the boy was deaf. She fashioned charm earrings for him, praying that the Sun God would brighten her child's ears.
Look at that, Father. That is what true faith looks like. You should take a page out of her book.
In my opinion, the boy didn‘t seem deaf. Whenever I snuck into his small room to tell him stories, he reacted in his own way.
Perhaps it was selective mutism? It wouldn‘t be surprising, considering his own father had been baying for his blood since his birth.
And so, my hobby became visiting those tatami mats to tell Yoriichi stories.
I told him myths, stories of the 21st century—it was entertaining to see his varied reactions. Perhaps it was also because I was an orphan in my past life and had no family; the existence of a younger brother felt precious to me.
Even if it meant taking a stray blow from our father whenever he caught me trying to protect Yoriichi.
Poke, poke.
"Ouch, that hurts."
"Honestly, why do you keep doing this? You took a rather flashy beating today, too."
A young girl with long black hair and red eyes, roughly my age, was carefully applying medicine to my swollen cheek with an exasperated expression.
"Human nature dictates that when told not to do something, one wants to do it more. As my kagemusha, you should at least memorize that much."
"Go eat dirt."
The girl hurling this sharp vitriol at me was Uzui Ei. She was my kagemusha, assigned by my father because he feared Yoriichi‘s mark was a curse that might strike me.
Believe it or not, she‘s supposedly from a line of shinobi. Seeing how perfect her disguises are, I‘m inclined to believe it. Her hair is naturally silver, yet she manages to dye it in this era. Impressive.
Apparently, some quack fortune teller said having a double who could master the art of disguise would help avoid calamity.
"Your tone is getting awfully casual lately, don't you think?"
"You‘re imagining things."