After Merin went out, the sun dipped low and cast a golden, honey-like glow across the cobbled street, a black-lacquered carriage gently drew to a halt before the Matsuda Clinic. The horses snorted softly, their flanks heaving, their breath misting in the cooling air.
The carriage door creaks open, and an older man in his early forties steps out. His travel-worn robe is plain but clean and accompanied by a cloak for protection against the cold late autumn wind. His gaze falls on the clinic and the signboard- Matsuda Clinic.
Seeing the name written on the signboard, he feels proud and curious about how his son was able to open a clinic in a short time and on Summer Street. This is not his first time coming to Susa City, so he knows the value of Summer Street.
Following the older man, a young boy of 12 years comes down the carriage with the help of the carriage driver and his head swivels, eyes wide with the sheer novelty of Susa City.
Every detail was new: the neat rows of shuttered shops, the soft glow of paper lanterns being lit, and finally, the wooden sign hanging above the simple building: Matsuda Clinic. The Clinic opened by his elder brother.
In front of the clinic, a young man is finishing sliding the last wooden column in place, locking the clinic for the day. Beside him, a young woman stands holding her cloak around her tightly as she waits for the man to lock the clinic. She turns her head, hearing the sound of the carriage, and straightens as the two travellers approach.
" Sorry, Sir," She says politely, stepping forward as she inspects them," We're closing for the day and if it is not an emergency, then please come again tomorrow."
The old man pauses his inspection, and inspects the woman," Is Kanoru here?" wondering what is her relationship is with his son.
She raises her eyebrow as for the first time someone calls the healer by his name. She asks," The healer is not present." With a pause, she says while frowning." May I ask who are you?" She is wondering are they family member of Mr. Kanoru as they look familar.
The man nods once. " I am Matsuda Kenji," he says," And Kanoru is my eldest son."
Her eyes widen in surprise, and then she thinks it all makes sense, the resemblance between both the travellers and Healer Kanoru. She says," The healer went out earlier."
Kenji frowns, feeling tired from the two-day journey and asks," Did he tell where he went? And when can I expect for him to return."
Just then, the young man beside her, having finished securing the door, brushed wood dust from his hands. He caught the tail end of the conversation and added with a polite nod," He did not inform us where he was going or when he would return?"
Kenji glances at his younger son, Haru. Haru looks like he is full of energy, but all this excitement of arriving at a new place and in few minutes all this energy would vanish. Then he would need a place to rest. He asks," Can we enter the building?"
The woman says," I… I can't be sure if you're really who you say you are. I'm sorry, but I can't let anyone into the clinic when he's not here."
Kenji frowns, but expected the answer, and his answer would also be the same." Can I ask who you are both?"
The woman states," I am Sora and am Kanoru's assistant," and gesturing at the young man beside her," He is Ren and does some trivialities."
Kenji acknowledges them with a nod and inquires," Is there any place for us to rest for a couple of hours?"
Ren immediately points across the street. "There's an inn, two buildings down, on the right. You can request a table by the window on the first floor; it offers a good view of the clinic."
Kenji nods and says," Glad to meet you both," and turns around to leave.
---
Merin's head tilts skyward, his eyes momentarily resting on the fading orange glow of the day. He then shifts his gaze back to the play taking place on the Oouchi-Ya's raised platform. He wonders if he should return to his house. He came here around less than an hour ago.
After observing all the patients for the day, he left his clinic. While roaming the streets, he found himself near the Oouchi River. While walking along the riverbank bank he came across Oouchi-Ya and decided to enter for a drink. Now, as he is close to finishing his drink, he starts thinking whether he should leave or watch the complete then leave.
But then he wonders what he would do after returning, trains his inner energy, but his training of the inner energy glove has reached the limit. Now he conjures the energy glove over his hand in two seconds.
The energy glove is done. Two seconds is the absolute limit for now. Pushing it further tonight is pointless. He closes his eyes, a soft murmur escaping him: "Let's just watch the whole play."
Several more minutes passed, and the performance intensified, with two actors performing a sword battle with growing vigour, drawing cheers as the hero kills one of the villains in the play. Merin brings the large cup holding rice wine to his lips. But as he raises the cup to take a sip, he finds it empty.
He looks around and finds a woman server holding a tray with wine cups on it. But his eyes are drawn to a man watching the play with a drumstick in his hand. Then a different sensation nudged Merin's attention—his stomach. Around him, the air thickens with the aromas of roasted chestnuts, skewered eel, candied lotus roots, and fried fish balls, wafting from the snack stalls lining the four buildings like a warm tide.
He glances at the shaded walkways, each corner with vibrant varieties of food stands, bustling with crowds. But he stands there as he is making an important decision to decide which snack he should choose. But all of them are equally appealing, he murmurs, Why choose? I'll simply try them all. Starting with the fish balls.
And so, he embarks on a leisurely tour, moving from stall to stall, enjoying one snack after another. The satisfying crunch, the warmth of sweet sauces, the smoky grilled flavours—each treat offers a small delight as he returns to his spot, alternating his attention between the stage and the food in his hands.
But just as he finishes chewing a spiced rice cracker, a loud CRASH shatters the tranquillity. It reverberates from a nearby building, sharp and sudden, followed by the distinct sound of metal clashing. Merin freezes. Then, the screams begin.
Initially, many in the crowd, still engrossed by the lively stage music, don't register the intrusion, the new sounds blending in too well. But those who hear—Merin among them—slowly turn their heads, scanning the upper floors of the building to his left. Confusion ripples in whispers, quickly escalating to nervous movements as people instinctively begin to drift toward the exits.
Then something heavy slams onto the ground a few steps from where Merin stands. A collective gasp escapes the nearby crowd. It is a body. Bloodied and limp, it lands with a sickening thud atop several unsuspecting spectators.
Panic surges through the square. Then, like rain from a storm cloud, figures leap from the upper floor. Young men and women in sky-blue robes land in a wide arc, their swords drawn, expressions grim. A breath later, more figures emerge—draped in black, faces hidden, blades glinting under the lanterns.
They clash. Swords flash. Screams rise. Tables are overturned and trampled. The fighters show no regard for those in their path. Guests scatter, yelling, stumbling over one another in their desperate flight.
Merin reacts without hesitation. He pivots on his heel and immediately begins sprinting toward the nearest exit, ducking under a flying chair and expertly weaving past terrified civilians. The metallic scent of iron of blood now taints the formerly fragrant night.
Outside the Oouchi-Ya, he halts for a moment. The world beyond is cloaked in unnatural darkness. No lanterns burn. No fires light the streets. The moonless sky stretches like ink above him. The entire district lies veiled in shadow.
Merin wastes no time. He slips through the crowd around him to enter the street leading to his house. With faint light from the stars illuminating his way, he makes his way toward his house with people walking around, and all of them have the same goal as Merin: to create as much distance from Oouchi-Ya.
While walking, his mind went back to the fight inside Oouchi-Ya. The young boys and girls look like from some Sects, and the figures that are hidden in black are the attackers. Three streets later, his guess is proven right as he hears that the young boys and girls are wearing the uniform of the external disciple of the Sky Sword Sect.
After navigating three streets, he has to come to a halt, as city guards in black-plated armour block the path ahead. Torches flicker in their hands, illuminating stern faces and set jaws. Behind them, wooden barriers are being rolled across the street. Several citizens are standing nearby, arguing.
A loud scrape as one of them draws his sword from its sheath makes the arguing citizens step back in fear. "No one leaves this sector tonight," the guard announces sharply. "Wait here after inspection is complete; then you may leave. This is an official order."
Merin frowns at the back, not liking this one bit. Then he notices that on all the guards' handguards is the pattern of the head of a tiger. His frown deepened as the Mori Patriarch had informed him who are standing against the Mori family, and one of them is the commander of the Tiger Guard.
And these guards are members of the Tiger Guard. He is not aware if they are aware that he is in the side of the Mori Family. But he doesn't want to stay and find out.
Making his decision, Merin turns and melts into a less-watched side street, ducking behind a pile of crates and slipping between buildings until he finds a forgotten alley entrance. He moves fast, his footsteps silent, his eyes alert.
After several turns, he enters a wider space tucked between three buildings—an old courtyard perhaps, half-forgotten. A rusted street lamp leans in one corner, casting a dull, yellow light that paints the stone floor in patchy shadow.
That's when he sees it.
Under the lamp, a boy in a sky-blue robe lies on his back, chest heaving, blade trembling in his hand. His robe is torn, blood soaking into the fabric. Two figures stand before him—tall, cloaked in black from head to toe, their features hidden.
The boy makes one last effort to rise.
One of the figures raises their curved blade and, with a swift, clean motion, slices the boy's neck.
Merin's body tenses. His instincts scream at him to back away—but before he can retreat, both figures snap their heads toward him. One tilts their head. The other steps forward.
They've seen him.
There's no more room to talk. No point in hiding.
Merin exhales slowly, his expression cold. "So be it."
He lowers his stance, his right hand pulling faint energy from his core, his fingers flexing slightly as a thin membrane of inner force begins to wrap around his palm.
Then, without hesitation, he charges.