Kiyoro found himself shackled to the wall opposite the towering structure that housed Misuki’s headquarters, his companion Charles beside him. Over the past months, their bond had grown amidst the confusion of their imprisonment. Charles, equally bewildered, could offer no explanation for their predicament or the abrupt halt to their laborious routine. But he let Kiyoro know he suspected it had something to do with the war.

As they endured their confinement, the guards sporadically offered water, a small respite from the oppressive heat. Despite their physical needs being tended to, the lingering question of why gnawed at Kiyoro's mind.

“What war?” Kiyoro queried, his disbelief evident.

“The war against the samurai,” Charles responded, beads of sweat glistening on his brow.

Kiyoro's skepticism deepened. “But how could a mere band of rebels pose a threat to Misuki?”

Charles wiped his face, drops of sweat falling onto the sandy ground. “It seems they've become more than a nuisance. Rumor has it that Ikaru, Misuki’s right-hand man, ordered provisions for a week-long campaign. And when they returned, their faces weren't exactly jubilant. Now, with oil production halted and us chained here, it seems things aren't going Misuki’s way.”

Kiyoro absorbed Charles' words in silence, contemplating the unexpected connection they shared amidst their dire circumstances.

“You know, Charles,” he began, breaking the stillness with a rare glimpse into his personal life. “I don’t usually open up, but... I have a son. My only son. He fled before Misuki’s guards stormed our home. Determined to join the samurai ranks, he vowed to do whatever it took. Stubborn as they come, that boy,” Kiyoro chuckled, a mixture of pride and sorrow in his voice. “Maybe he succeeded. I haven’t heard from him since the night our lives were upended by Misuki's henchmen. I just wish I could see him once more.”

Charles' expression darkened with empathy as he listened to Kiyoro's heartfelt words. Memories of his own past as a samurai, before succumbing to alcoholism and losing everything, flooded his mind.

“I, too, have a son,” Charles revealed, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. “I’m certain he completed his samurai training.”

“How can you be so sure?” Kiyoro inquired, intrigued by Charles' confidence.

“Because he's a fighter, just like his old man,” Charles replied with conviction. “Samurai training challenges the mind as much as the body. It's all about determination.”

Kiyoro nodded thoughtfully, pondering the weight of Charles' words and the possibility that his son shared the same resilience.

“Were you a samurai, Charles?” Kiyoro asked, his voice laced with genuine curiosity.

“I was,” Charles replied, his gaze drifting downwards. “But life took a dark turn. After my wife passed, I spiraled into alcoholism. Misuki's men capturing me, strangely enough, felt like a reprieve. Before this, I was drowning in a bottle, numbing my pain every night until I'd pass out. I lost more than my dignity; I lost my son's respect too, or what little remained. He's a resilient lad, though. I have faith he'll find his way back to me. Perhaps he's with the samurai army, fighting in this war. If they've won the first battle, he must be on his way here.”

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“Here?” Kiyoro echoed, surprised by the vulnerability peeking through Charles' façade of strength.

“Yes, here,” Charles confirmed, a hint of regret creeping into his tone. “If their aim is Misuki's downfall, they'll march right to his doorstep.”

Kiyoro observed Charles, a tinge of astonishment coloring his perception. For so long, Charles had projected an image of unwavering strength.

A carriage halted a short distance away, stirring up dust as it came to a stop. Two guards disembarked, swiftly followed by the driver. Between them, they escorted a young man towards the building, his face obscured by a black hood, the chains around his wrists clinking with each step. Ikaru was summoned, his smile gleaming with triumph as he announced the capture of a samurai, his voice echoing through the air.

"That's right, folks," Ikaru's voice boomed, cutting through the air like a knife. "This guy right here is our enemy, the nemesis of our esteemed Lord Misuki. Now, young man, it's time for you to be paraded before every single one of our workers. Before we deliver your fate, you'll be seen by all, a warning etched into their minds for daring to defy Misuki's power." With a dramatic flourish, Ikaru unveiled the young man's face, revealing a mix of defiance and resignation.

Charles nudged Kiyoro, a spark of interest igniting in his eyes. "Looks like we're in for a show," he remarked, his voice tinged with anticipation. Amidst the monotony of their captivity, the arrival of a doomed samurai promised a welcome diversion.

Kiyoro peered at the scene unfolding before them, his curiosity piqued. "Who is that?" he whispered. "Another slave?"

Charles shook his head, his gaze focused on the young man. "No, not a slave," he murmured. "He carries himself like a warrior, perhaps even a young samurai. But it's odd. Capturing a samurai isn't an easy feat. They'd sooner choose seppuku than risk becoming a pawn. There's something amiss here."

Kiyoro's eyes widened, catching the gravity of the situation. "Did you hear that?" he said, his voice tense with foreboding. "They're parading him throughout the entire compound."

As Ikaru advanced, flanked by two guards, a wave of empathy swept through the slaves as they locked eyes with the young man. They recognized him as a samurai; Ikaru had made that much clear. They knew the samurai opposed Misuki's rule. It was evident the poor boy had been ensnared, and his youth only made the situation more tragic.

As they neared the walls where Charles and Kiyoro were bound, Kiyoro felt his heart thundering in his chest. "Could it truly be him?" he wondered frantically, the possibility unfurling like a dark omen in his mind. With each step the young man took, Kiyoro's apprehension grew, until there could be no denying it: it was Kasaki.

Thoughts deserted him as panic seized his senses. He had to do something, anything. Charles glanced at him and saw the look of shock etched on his face, his features contorted as if he'd seen a specter. Without a word, Kiyoro summoned every ounce of strength, pulling with all his might against the chains, his desperation fueling his efforts. He kicked ferociously at the wall, each impact reverberating through his bones, until finally, with a resounding crack, the wall yielded, the metallic hook tearing loose from its moorings. Red-faced and veins bulging, Kiyoro broke free from his restraints, propelled by a surge of adrenaline.

“My son! Kasaki!” Kiyoro cried out, his voice echoing through the courtyard as he sprinted towards the newcomer prisoner. His heart pounded with a mixture of relief and dread, his emotions swirling like a turbulent storm. As Kiyoro rushed forward, Ikaru observed with a sense of satisfaction. "This is even easier than I anticipated," he mused, a smug grin playing at the corners of his lips. With a subtle gesture of his finger, he signaled the guards to intervene. They moved swiftly, converging on Kiyoro with practiced efficiency. But Kiyoro was undeterred. With a desperate lunge, he managed to grasp the fabric of Kasaki's kimono, his fingers clinging to the material as if it were a lifeline. Before he could utter another word, a swift blow from one of the guards sent him crashing to the ground, his consciousness slipping away like a fading ember in the wind.