“Was I born to play?
Was I born to frolic?
As I hear the children playing,
Even my body—”
A man was singing deep inside a mansion, late at night. The chamber, which should have been swallowed by darkness, was lit only by the faint glow of talismans floating here and there.
To some, it would’ve been an eerie sight, yet the man nevertheless poured his entire being into the song. No drums or flutes accompanied him—only his impassioned voice filled the air. When he finally finished singing, he remained standing with his eyes closed as if savoring the reverberation of his own beautiful voice.
“Heh, silence. So moved you’re at a loss for words?”
“Don’t be stupid. Everyone besides us drank until they passed out.”
A weary voice answered him, and the man opened his eyes. The room before him was a complete mess. Empty sake bottles and cups were scattered across the floor. People also lay strewn about, some half naked, sleeping in undignified heaps. It was the typical scene at the end of a banquet. The man was no exception—he, too, was thoroughly intoxicated.
“Guess you’re the only one who gets the honor of hearing my singing tonight, Haruyoshi. Heh, singing for a single friend’s not a bad feeling.”
“You say that as if it weren’t for your own pleasure. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to receive that so-called honor?” the mansion’s owner, a man in a kariginu robe, said exasperatedly.
His name was Haruyoshi Kuga. Currently independent, he was hailed as the most powerful exorcist in history. Though publicly feared by many, he was surprisingly caring and attentive. The people gathered on this night knew that side of him well, and as such, didn’t bother trying to maintain appearances.
“Ha ha ha. Don’t be like that.” The man got up and sat next to Haruyoshi.
Haruyoshi wasn’t the only one awake because he particularly wanted to listen to the man’s singing. He simply wasn’t very susceptible to alcohol. In addition, as the owner of the mansion, cleaning up was his job. The other man was naturally aware of that, but he wasn’t bothered. He had a place to sing and somebody who would listen. That was enough. He loved singing more than anything else.
“My throat hurts. Too much singing, I guess. I think that’s enough booze for tonight.”
“You really don’t know how to limit yourself, Masahito,” Haruyoshi said, offering genuine advice. “Enough with your imayou song obsession. Given your status, you’re just going to annoy the people around you.”
“Ha ha ha!” The man named Masahito gave a confident laugh. “No need to worry about that. Everyone’s already fed up with me.” He shook a bottle that still held a little sake, as if reluctant to let it go. “I’m fine just being Masahito.”
Masahito didn’t have a family name. Not because he was a commoner, but because he was of the status to give such names to others. The current emperor was his half brother, and the cloistered emperor who held real power despite his retirement was his father. Masahito was a member of the imperial family. And yet here he was, in a room of a mansion built in some remote corner of the land, drinking through the night with dubious companions of uncertain standing, shouting his voice hoarse. It was obvious why people were fed up with him. To the rest of the world, he was a foolish prince obsessed with imayou songs. His father, brothers, and likely even his more compatible son had all given up on him.
“Father never intended to let me inherit the throne from the start. If I’m not going to have any part in the succession, then it’s only fitting for one of noble birth to devote himself to culture and the arts instead, don’t you think?”
“You call imayou culture? You might have a point if you played an instrument or wrote poetry.”
“What’s your problem?” Masahito said, offended. “Imayou’s a part of culture too.”
Imayou were popular songs beloved mainly by the common people. It wasn’t unusual for members of the imperial family to appreciate the arts and learn instruments, but because imayou was commoner music, it wasn’t considered a pursuit fit for royalty. And even if he enjoyed it, there was a limit to how far his appreciation should go.
“Even if I agree with that for the sake of argument, what you have is an obsession,” Haruyoshi said, a doubtful look on his face. “Didn’t you say you once sang so much you ended up coughing up blood?”
“Heh, sure did. That joke’s always a hit.”
“That’s not funny. I can’t believe you.”
“Can’t you at least appreciate the effort I put in?”
“I suppose I’ll give you that.”
Masahito was certainly a skilled singer. Even Haruyoshi’s friends, before they’d drunk themselves to sleep, had been captivated by his performance. His passion had truly earned him the title of imayou fanatic. His level of skill came from relentless practice. The sheer number of hours he spent singing was enough to make anyone proficient.
“You haven’t been singing all night at Tanaka Palace, have you?” Haruyoshi asked.
“I do have some sense. It may be my home, but I have respect for the other people living there. I’ve only done it occasionally.”
“Give me a break.”
“Just once or twice. It’s difficult to invite geisha or dancers given my brother’s station, so I usually host imayou performances elsewhere. Besides, my brother holds poetry contests, so I don’t see the harm.”
“Poetry doesn’t keep people up all night. Don’t act like they’re the same.” Haruyoshi sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Try not to give the boy too much trouble.”
The “boy” in question was Masahito’s older brother, the now-retired Emperor Akihito. Since Masahito’s mother passed away, he had been living in Tanaka Palace with Akihito.
“Say, Haruyoshi. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“What is it?”
“Why do you call my brother ‘boy’ like he’s a child? He’s eight years older than I am.”
A slightly pained look washed over Haruyoshi’s face. “It’s just a matter of when I met you. You only started coming here recently, but I first spoke with that boy when he had just become emperor. He must have been only six or seven years old.” Akihito had become emperor at the age of five, then retired at twenty-three. It was all according to the will of his father, the current cloistered emperor, Munehito. “I just still remember him from back then.”
“It’s been almost thirty years already.”
“That isn’t very long to me.”
“I guess,” Masahito mumbled.
“If I could have, I would’ve taken him as a disciple. Not just because he was a good kid, but because he had enough cursed energy to excel as a sorcerer. I wonder if he would’ve agreed had he been born to a different family.”
Haruyoshi occasionally took on sorcery disciples. Temperament and talent were factors, but they were also generally abandoned by their parents, orphaned, or disowned—children in pitiful conditions. Back when Akihito had been emperor, he had fit the conditions perfectly.
“My brother’s a good person,” Masahito mumbled. “When I was feeling down after my mother passed away, he asked if I wanted to come live with him. He might be a bit too kind, but no matter how harsh his circumstances, I doubt he would’ve relinquished the throne and joined the commoners in the streets.”
“Yeah. So don’t take advantage of him and let him spoil you.”
“Why don’t you visit him anymore, Haruyoshi?”