Firestone Hot Springs kutsurogi no jikan

The silence was heavy, and Shinjou made no effort to break it. After all, a lady had every right not to answer the insistent questions of a man if she deemed him too curious — she was entitled to her secrets. The man in black knew he had likely overstepped and chose to say nothing more on the matter.

Then the topic shifted to Lord Masa’s promises. Shinjou was a poor actor, and he had failed to conceal his weariness — the grimace twisting his face gave him away.

Masa-sama… he’s an honorable manBut what, I wonder, does he call wealth? Abstract notions clung to by aging samurai, while Shinjou hungered for pleasures of the flesh — food, comfort, warmth, and other indulgences no man of bushido would ever admit craving. But if Shinjou had honor, he certainly lacked shame.

And the conversation kept veering down a path that reminded him why he had sought the quiet of the baths in the first place.

The kid… I’ve got no idea! Just some poor brat found on the roadside, he muttered, waving a paw as if to swat away the foul mood that clung to him like smoke.
He doesn’t even speak our language… Maybe some secret Masa-sama’s keeping. A contract he conveniently forgot to mention.
At least he hoped so — otherwise, why drag around such a useless burden?