Some say a great commander must be like Richard the Lionheart - bold, dashing, leading from the front with sword raised high. But my lord, Tokugawa Ieyasu, proved there was another path to greatness. While others sought glory in the clash of steel, he found power in the quiet contemplation of numbers. I, Honda Hachirō, witnessed how this most unusual of warriors unified Japan not through the roar of the lion, but through the patience of the crane.

*Cast of Characters*

- **Tokugawa Ieyasu**: Born as Takechiyo in 1543. A future ruler who preferred counting shadows to swinging swords

- **Lady Odai**: Ieyasu's mother, whose composure remained unshaken even during childbirth

- **Honda Tadataka**: My father, a legendary warrior who could strike a boar at a hundred paces - and still claim he could do better

- **Honda Hachirō Tadakatsu**: Myself - known to most as Hachirō. A cheerful troublemaker turned loyal retainer

- **The Wet Nurse**: A dignified woman who raised both Lady Odai and me, and wasn't afraid to scold either of us well into our adult years

Perhaps I should skip straight to the battles and glory, but they say virtue grows ten-fold - no, hundred-fold in the telling. And this tale, well, it starts with thunder.

As the court historian Kinoshita recorded, my lord's birth was accompanied by portents - or at least, that's how the tale is told. The winds howled and thunder roared, the sky turned black as spilled ink, then suddenly cleared to reveal a dazzling sun. Rather theatrical, if you ask me, but I wasn't there to witness it myself.

Everyone in the birthing chamber trembled and prostrated themselves - everyone except Lady Odai, that is. While most women would scream at the slightest labor pain, she remained as serene as a mountain lake. They say she lifted the baby without breaking a single sweat. And oddly enough, the child didn't cry.

As everyone watched with bated breath, the baby merely looked around with a puzzled expression, as if trying to count the number of people in the room, before breaking into a smile. Even Lady Odai was taken aback, convinced that "this was no ordinary child."

Now, I myself entered this world on a perfectly normal morning, and spent most of my childhood getting into the sort of trouble that made my father's hair turn grey before its time. When I babbled "goo" as an infant, my father would smile. When called, I'd answer with a "hehe." But my lord - well, he was different. Even when he reached the age where most children would be chattering away, he remained silent. Not because he couldn't speak, mind you, but because he was too busy observing, calculating, measuring everything around him.

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Lady Odai noticed this peculiarity early on. One day, as I was getting scolded for some mischief or other, she quietly nodded and summoned our wet nurse - a remarkable woman who had served our families for longer than I had been alive.

The old woman appeared at the entrance, her back bent with age but her dignity intact. Though she could barely walk, there was still an air of quiet authority about her that made even battle-hardened warriors stand a bit straighter in her presence.

"My Lady, did you summon me?" she asked, bowing deeply to Lady Odai.

"Yes. This gentleman is Lord Hachirō's father. Please fetch young Tadakatsu."

You see, this wet nurse was no ordinary servant. She had been more than a nurse to Lady Odai - she was her milk-sister, assigned by the Imagawa family when Lord Hirotada married Lady Odai. Despite their age difference, the two women were as close as sisters. And she had been my wet nurse as well, which probably explains why Lady Odai always seemed to know about my misdeeds before anyone else.

It's no wonder people held her in such high regard. This same woman, bent with age as she was, had stood unwavering on blood-soaked battlefields, watching over my father as he earned his legendary status.

Ah, my father - now there was a warrior more in the mold of your Lionheart. He excelled in all martial arts, and his military prowess was unmatched within our household. Let me tell you about the time word came that a wild boar was ravaging the fields during his archery practice.

"Well then, shall I give it a try?" he said, and without even taking aim, loosed an arrow in front of the entire household. The arrow struck true, hitting the boar some hundred paces away. Everyone present could hardly contain their amazement.

"As expected of Lord Tadataka!"

"Magnificent!" they exclaimed in chorus.

But my father, ever the perfectionist, seemed unsatisfied. "Not yet. This is far from my true strength," he declared, leaving those around him dumbfounded.

And yet, for all his martial prowess, it would be my quiet, calculating young lord who would ultimately unify Japan. But that tale comes later - first, you must understand how a boy who preferred mathematics to swordplay became the most powerful warrior in all Japan.