Almost as if to insult, the multicolored roses commanded the attention of the banquet hall.
Rakan gazed at them absentmindedly. The orchestral music was so drowsy that before he knew it, he was holding someone's crown and the clump of hair attached to it in his hands.
"Hm?" Rakan thought, and set it down on the neighboring table.
The official next to him hastily snatched it up and put it on.
He seemed to be staring at Rakan intently, but Rakan couldn't quite tell. He removed his monocle, wiped the surface with a handkerchief, and placed it over his other eye this time.
The roses had been arranged at the center of the banquet.
The way they were displayed — almost as though flaunting them — seemed to betray the arranger's spiteful nature.
He remembered that there had been a banquet.
Gossamer fins danced through the air as the sounds of stringed instruments drifted by.
Extravagant kaiseki courses were laid out, and the scent of wine hung thick.
Somehow, things he had never held any interest in never left an impression in his memory.
He remembered that the banquet had taken place, but not a single sentiment or impression tied to it came to mind.
Before he knew it, the banquet was over, and two consorts — one dressed in black, the other in blue — had each received from the emperor a rose in their respective color.
Both were said to be beauties, according to the voices around him, but he couldn't really tell.
The beauty or ugliness of a face had absolutely nothing to do with him.
Even so, how boring.
She hadn't come, then?
He didn't understand what the point of provoking her had been.
Well, since there was nothing to be done, he might as well tease someone else as usual. He'd at least let off a little steam.
Glancing around, many guests still remained.
He disliked crowds.
Most human faces look like nothing more than Go stones to him.
He can tell men from women — men appear as black stones, women as white ones. And all of them seem to have the same mark stamped on each one.
Even people from the military whom he knows by face are, at best, merely converted into shogi pieces.
Most of them are foot soldiers — pawns. As rank increases, they become lances, then knights.
The strategist's job is simple — just deploy each piece where it belongs. Right person for the right position, and you can win most battles that way.
There is nothing difficult about it. As long as he does that, Rakan's job is done. Even if he himself were incompetent, so long as he made the assignments, those around him would handle the rest on their own.
That is what Rakan believes.
Even the man with a smile like a celestial maiden — the one everyone praises — is beyond his understanding.
All he needs to do is find a gold general with a promoted silver in tow, and there will be no problem.
He is used to finding people this way.
Even so, today his eyes hurt more than usual.
Red is everywhere he looks. Every fingertip is painted with rouge.
The current fashion among the ladies-in-waiting, nail rouge, is it?
The nail rouge in his resurfacing memories was not such a garish red.
It was a faintly stained red.
The color of balsam flowers.
As the name of a long-forgotten courtesan suddenly surfaced in his mind, his gaze fell upon a small lady-in-waiting.
Small and plain-looking, yet tough as nails, Katakuri Katakuri She was like one.
She turned her hollow eyes toward him.
Noticing his gaze, she turned her back as if to say "follow me."
Beyond the peony garden, a shogi board had been set up in a small pavilion. On it sat a paulownia box, from which a withered rose lay like a corpse.
"Won't you play with me?"
The girl asked in a monotone, clutching a shogi piece.
Beside her stood a gold general and a promoted silver.
There was no reason to refuse.
Not when a cute girl was asking.
Rakan grinned.
○●○ What exactly was she trying to do?
Jinshi had ignored Maomao's request to leave and was here despite her wishes. Maomao clearly loathed every bit of it, but she had agreed to keep quiet on the condition that she not be asked to do anything.
Having lured the strategist there, Maomao was arranging the shogi pieces.
Her face bore no trace of emotion — her usual sullenness was still, if anything, recognizably human. She kept scratching the back of her hand; perhaps she had been stung by an insect.
"Which would you prefer — going first, or second?"
The narrow eye behind Rakan's monocle shone with undisguised delight. Given his level of obsession, that was only natural.
"Before that, the rules.
"—and won't we settle the stakes of our wager?"
Maomao proposed.
"That makes things simple."
Jinshi peered over the board from behind Maomao.
Rakan directed an unsettling smile his way, but there was no losing this. He returned it with an easy grin.
A straightforward five-round match. The first to win three took the game.
Try as he might, Jinshi couldn't make sense of it. The strategist was undefeated in shogi. The game she had chosen was wrong from the start.
What on earth was Maomao thinking?
Gaoshun seemed to share the sentiment, the furrow between his brows growing deeper still.
"What pieces are there? The rook or the bishop?"
Rakan said.
"I won't need any."
Maomao refused even the generous offer. If only she'd just accepted it, Jinshi thought.
"Well then — if I win, you'll come work for me."
Jinshi was about to object to the proposal, but Gaoshun stopped him from behind. He'd promised not to say a word.
"She is currently under contract, so it would have to wait until her term is up."
"Under contract?"
Those fox-like eyes fixed on him.
Jinshi kept smiling, fighting the twitch in his cheek.
"Is she really employed?"
Rakan asked, seeking confirmation.
"Yes. The documents state as much."
Maomao That is correct.
The documents she had seen stated as much.
However, the signature had been done by a capable old woman who stood in as a guardian. The man who appeared to be Maomao's adoptive father had the brush he was holding snatched away from him.
"That settles it, then. But more importantly, what are you going to do over there?"
Still looking skeptical, Rakan spoke.
"Nothing is needed. But would you mind adding two more rules?"
"I don't see any problem with that."
"Very well then."
Maomao produced a sake bottle she had Gaoshun prepare in advance.
She poured it evenly into five cups. From the smell, it was a fairly strong distilled liquor.
Then she opened a paper packet she had taken from her sleeve and sprinkled in powder. Three of them, each a different powder it seemed. Maomao tilted the cup to mix them, then swiftly swapped the five cups around so it was impossible to tell which was which.
"Each time you lose a round, your opponent will choose one of these for you to drink. It's fine if you just take a sip."
For some reason, he had an overwhelmingly bad feeling about this.
Jinshi moved from behind Maomao to her side.
It was not his imagination—his usually expressionless face had flushed ever so slightly. His cheeks had softened with what looked like amusement.
Whenever he made a face like this, the outcome was always the same.
He wanted to ask what exactly those powders were, but could not bring himself to.
That frustration at himself only made it worse.
"What were those powders you just added?"
On Jinshi's behalf, Rakan asked the question.
"Medicine. On its own—"
"But if you take three together, it becomes a deadly poison," she added.
The strange girl said this with a smile, as though it were nothing.
And then.
"No matter the reason, if you forfeit the match, that counts as a loss. Please add those two to the rules."
Maomao said this while swishing the medicine-filled cup round and round.
Her nails were dyed red, and the pinky finger of her left hand was crooked.
Rakan stared intently at those fingertips.
Jinshi could only think the most gut-wrenching thoughts.
Even though it wouldn't be a problem as long as she didn't drink all three, it wasn't something anyone would willingly put to their lips.
Was she trying to throw her opponent off balance?
Certainly, an ordinary opponent might be shaken.
But the opponent was the strategist known as an eccentric. He doubted she'd be rattled by mere bluster.
Just as he expected, Maomao had lost two in a row.
He'd thought she might have some familiarity with the game, but apparently— —the rules— was all she knew. She seemed to have no actual experience whatsoever.
She had already drained both cups of sake without leaving a drop, and she looked thoroughly pleased as she did so.
What on earth was she thinking?
The third match had only just begun, but the outcome was clear.
Even granting that she drank the third cup, he considered the likelihood of hitting the poison.
The probability of choosing a poison ingredient first was three out of five, then if she chose it again two out of four, and finally one out of three.
In other words, there was a one in ten chance that Maomao would be struck by the deadly poison.
Honestly, what frightened him was the thought that if it were Maomao, being poisoned might not even be a problem.
He didn't know how much of that Rakan was aware of.
So, as Jinshi exchanged glances with Gaoshun, wondering what to do now that he'd lost the bet, "Checkmate."
he heard a voice.
Not Rakan's. It was Maomao's.
He looked to Gaoshun and then at the board, where the king general was about to be captured by the gold general.
The sequence of moves was dreadfully clumsy, but there was indeed no escape for the king general.
"You got me."
Rakan raised both hands in surrender.
"Even if it was out of mercy, a win is a win, wouldn't you say?"
Maomao said, as though seeking confirmation.
"Yes, well, I can't very well let a young lady accidentally drink poison, now can I?"
After those two cups of wine earlier, Maomao's expression hadn't changed a bit. Whether the drink had been laced with medicine or not remained impossible to tell.
Rakan put on a mischievous grin and studied the expressionless girl.
"That medicine you mentioned earlier — does it have a taste?"
"They all have a strong bitter flavor, so one sip would be enough to tell which one is different."
"Then I understand. Which will you choose for me?"
"Please, pick whichever you like."
Ah, so that was it. Rakan could afford to lose twice. If even one of those cups turned out to be bitter, he'd know Maomao was safe. The probability didn't change, but the certainty did.
Just as expected — a man who left nothing to chance.
Rakan picked up the center cup and brought it to his lips.
"Bitter."
Jinshi hung his head.
Now there would be no way for Maomao to win in the next game.
As Jinshi contemplated what to do next — "And hot, too."
When Maomao looked up at Rakan's words, Rakan's face was bright red. His neck swayed unsteadily from side to side.
Then, gradually the color drained from his face, and it turned a deathly pale as he collapsed limply.
Gaoshun rushed over and propped Rakan up.
"What is the meaning of this? You said it would be fine in a single dose!"
Jinshi pressed the accusation, saying that even if he found someone loathsome, surely he wouldn't actually poison them.
"No, it is medicine."
Maomao said with genuine exasperation. She picked up the water pitcher she had set aside and approached Rakan and Gaoshun.
Forcing Rakan's eyes open to confirm he wasn't unconscious, she then shoved the pitcher right into his mouth and poured water down his throat. It was a remarkably rough manner of doing things.
"Jinshi-sama."
Gaoshun looked at her with a bewildered expression.
"He appears to be drunk."
"Since he is the master of a hundred medicines."
Maomao was providing care with about as much enthusiasm as someone saying "well, I might as well get it over with."
Being a pharmacist by trade, she apparently couldn't help herself from doing something.
"This man is a lightweight, you know."
Only after Maomao's remark did they finally understand what she was getting at.