After giving his samurai their orders, Ujio Sakuraichi went into the adjoining courtyard where the garden was. He stepped slowly along the stone path, listening to the wind blow through the flowers. The clouds had thickened, giving the day respite from the hot summer sun. He thought he felt a drop on his forehead.

Good. The blood will need to be washed away.

Suddenly he winced. Souji had been a fool, just like the Emperor was a fool. He had hoped the old man would come over to his cause.

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He couldn’t help but to allow a sound of exasperation to escape his lips as he flicked the back of his hand across his thigh. Souji had liked him. Ujio had to keep his distance, though their daughters often saw each other. They wouldn’t anymore. She would understand.

I could not have let him live, he told himself. Had I allowed it, he would have interfered… perhaps stopping me altogether.

The old shōgun might have been soft, but he had become the shōgun through sheer cunning and prowess of military leadership, having fought many battles. He would have been unable to go through with any of this had they been more closely acquainted.

And even still, he hated what he had just done.

It was necessary.