After the doctors, who had arrived with all speed by jinrikisha, had examined him, Daigo was instructed to pick up his medicine the next day and was then allowed to go home. Isanosuke, on the other hand, had been admitted to the hospital.
Although several students offered to see him home, Daigo refused and walked home alone.
With one look, his mother knew everything.
As he lay on his side on the futon, Daigo described the incident at the dojo.
His mother usually asked to hear how his training went and the results of his matches, but today she fussed over him to keep herself from crying.
“Please don’t be sad, Mother. I am satisfied,” he said, trying to cheer her up.
She shot back, “What is so satisfying about coughing up blood? You have your whole life ahead of you.”
Daigo smiled and articulated the thought he had long held in silence. “I never expected to live to be my father’s age. Soon, I will have to say good-bye to you, too, Mother. I consider myself lucky to have met someone like Count Dracula.”
“Don’t say such things. You must forget about fighting until you are better.”
“My time is too short for me to forget anything.”
“Say that again and I will never forgive you, Daigo. I will kill you and then cut my own throat. Do you understand?”
Daigo nodded. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
“Good.” His mother broke down, wiping the tears away on her sleeve. “You have your father’s blood in your veins, so I know it will be impossible for you to forget about fighting. But tonight you must forget everything and get some rest. I am going to get your medicine. It can’t wait until tomorrow.”
Soon after his mother left, Daigo fell into a feverish sleep.
He dreamed of his father. He wore a haori, a hakama, and two swords. Although his face was a blur, Daigo knew in his heart that this was his father.
Father. Daigo called out to the man before him.
Suddenly, the face became clearer.
The face he recognized was Count Dracula’s.
Daigo tried to jump, but his feet did not move.
“Daigo,” said the count.
Daigo—
When he woke up, he realized that the voice was real.
“Daigo-san.”
He must have been asleep for some time. The room was lit by the bluish tint of night.
He went from the bedroom out into the entry way.
“Shirô-kun, is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry. There was no answer, so I let myself in,” said Shirô with a look of relief. He had come to check on Daigo. “Um, how are you feeling?”
“Good. I’m fine now. My mother is out getting medicine. Please come in.”
“Oh, no—” The young man with the sunny disposition hesitated uncharacteristically.
“Are you in a hurry?”
“Uh, yes,” he said, nodding. But he broke down under the force of Daigo’s piercing look. “Actually, I’m on my way to Renbei-jyuku. Sensei insisted I get back there before the sun went down.”
“Sensei Kanô?”
“Yes.”
Once he had heard the whole story, Daigo was shocked. Jigorô had sent his most important apprentice to go not to Renbei-jyuku but to stand guard outside Akane’s room. He had ordered him to keep an eye out for anything suspicious from nightfall to sunrise.
“From nightfall to sunrise. It sounds like you’re on the lookout for burglars.”
“I know. On top of that, he gave me this when we were riding back from Renbei-jyuku.”
Shirô reached into his sleeve and unwrapped a small bundle.
It was a small gold crucifix. On the cross was the figure of Jesus Christ. Shirô had learned that this was called a crucifix, and that the same shape, but without the figure of Christ, was called a cross.
“He gave you this? I can’t believe that looking at a statue of a Western god would make any burglar reconsider his actions.”
Daigo stared at the crucifix suspiciously. It was well known that Jigorô was Christian, but he couldn’t understand why he would impose his religion on Shirô.
“Neither can I. But he told me to keep it with me at all times.” With a dissatisfied look, Shirô put the crucifix, which hung from a chain, around his neck.
“But why Akane-san’s room?”
“I don’t know.” Shirô shook his head. “But I’m glad to see you are doing well. I’ll come again tomorrow.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself. Thanks for coming.”
“Not at all. You must get better soon. We made a promise.”
“That’s right.”
Daigo smiled. They had promised to fight each other someday—Daigo’s sword against Shirô’s judo— in a serious match.
“I should be going.”
Daigo went back to his futon after Shirô left.
I won’t be able to keep my promise. He felt it deep within his heart.
It was difficult to know how long you might live but easy to recognize when death was near.
But had it been a good life?
Seventeen years. He had tried to live those years to their fullest, but he could not help but feel that his life had been too short.
His skill with the sword, which had long been recognized as that of a prodigy, was still improving. But the changing times left few opportunities for him to test his skill. The true way of the sword would soon be obsolete.
If that was the case, perhaps it was his destiny to disappear quietly along with it.
By the time darkness fell, his mother had returned.
Daigo took his medicine and ate his dinner by the dim light of a paper lantern.
Even though he was feverish and did not have an appetite, he managed to finish his meal. There was no telling when he would have to fight, so he made an effort to keep his strength up at all times.
“Try to get some rest. I’m going to finish my work.”
Since Daigo did not make enough money teaching at the dojo, Sayo took on some sewing work from the neighborhood to bring in a little more.
After Daigo was asleep, she took out her sewing box. Someone banged at the door.
Was it Shirô?
An uneasy feeling brought Daigo off the futon. Stopping his mother from getting up, he grabbed a wooden sword that was propped against the wall and went to the entrance area.
“Who is it?” he asked.
The reply came quickly. “Pardon me for this late night visit. I am Count Dracula.”
This surprised Daigo. Why was he here at this hour? Maybe to finish the match? Before he could organize his thoughts, in the other room his mother asked, “Daigo, is this the man who—”
“What do you want?” Daigo asked, cutting his mother off.
“I wish to speak to you… about a Japanese samurai I met four hundred years ago.”
“Four hundred years ago?”
“His name was Minazuki Shôichirô. He had a fighting style just like yours.”
Daigo heard Sayo behind him catch her breath. Daigo himself was stunned for a moment.
That was his father’s name.
“Please let him in.”
It didn’t matter whether or not he had heard his mother, because he had removed the wooden slat and opened the door almost immediately.
The darkness filled the doorway, punctuated by two crimson-colored stars shining high above. Then it spoke. “May I come in? I cannot enter without an answer.”
“Excuse me. Please come in.” As soon as Daigo answered, the darkness flooded in and took the form of the man.
“During the day, I am usually asleep or writing at home. I am only able to go out at night.” He smiled, revealing jagged teeth. “Today was an exception.”
Daigo almost smiled along with him. He was certainly a grim and mysterious man, but martial arts gave them a common bond. They both possessed the spirit to seek battle and the desire to risk their lives in combat.
“You are the man who made my son cough up blood.”
Sayo was standing at the entrance of the tatami room.
The count bowed and said, “You have a fine son.”
“Even I, his mother, would acknowledge that he is a master swordsman. You must also be a warrior of some renown in your own country to have defeated him. I welcome you to our humble home. It is hardly the place to receive such an esteemed guest from a foreign land, but please come inside.”
“I will.”
The count boldly stepped into the tatami room, without so much as acknowledging Daigo. That he knew to take off his shoes only days after coming to Japan was commendable.
He was enormous.
It was not all that uncommon for foreigners over six shaku tall to visit Renbei-jyuku, but this man appeared to be close to seven shaku tall. And with his broad chest and shoulders, there was practically no room for Daigo in the small six-tatami mat room.
Somehow they managed to negotiate the space so that mother and son sat facing the count.
“First, let me tell you about Minazuki Shôichirô. My purpose in coming to this country is so that I may pass on his personal items to his family.”
From his cape, the count took out a dagger with a vermilion sheath and a bundle of hair tied together with string. He laid the items before them.
“May I?”
“Please.”
Sayo took the dagger in her hand, stared at it for several seconds, and drew the blade halfway. After staring at it for several more seconds, she passed it to Daigo.
Daigo saw the half-moon crest at the bottom of the blade and returned the dagger to its sheath.
“This belonged to my father. But how did it come into your hands?”
“I don’t exactly know myself.” The count’s eyes narrowed. “But there is another mystery. Probably a mystery not even someone with eternal life could solve.”
For the first time, Daigo noticed that the count’s voice and expression suggested a fierce intellect.
“Since I first met your son at my mansion, I thought maybe I had found the person I was looking for. And our match today confirmed it. Perhaps it was the spirit of your father who brought you to me. I was able to come here because I had my servant follow you home. I apologize for my methods.”
“Please don’t. But just how and when did my husband meet you, and where did he die?”
He closed his eyes against the pressure of Sayo’s gaze. Then, he said, “He died in a place called Transylvania. Do you not think that the dagger and hair look very old?”
“Why, yes.” Both Sayo and Daigo nodded.
The color of the sheath was faded, and there was rust on the blade. The pin holding the blade in place inside the hilt appeared corroded as well. When the pin was removed, the blade shifted out of place.
Likewise, the bundle of hair was so brittle that the strands fell away when they were touched, as if the bundle were hundreds of years old.
“When I met Minazuki Shôichirô, he was a soldier in the Turkish army that invaded Wallachia. That was four hundred years ago.”