Her plain kimono and white hair could not conceal this woman’s fundamental beauty and good manners. During his other visits, Shirô had seen the neighborhood women pass by and stare in a way that went well beyond jealousy.
This was Daigo’s mother, Minazuki Sayo.
“Oh, Saigô-dono. You have good timing. Please have breakfast with us.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” Shirô refused, waving a hand emphatically. “I just stopped by during my morning run to watch Daigo-san training. I can’t stay long.”
“Come, I insist.”
Sayo’s smile was genuine. As a daughter of a vassal who had been loyal to the shogunate to the end, she had always liked Shirô, who himself was the son of an Aizu samurai; and Shirô knew this. Which was why he didn’t want to burden her. Where she and Daigo lived spoke volumes about their circumstances.
Although he refused, she insisted that she could not allow a guest in her home to leave without so much as a cup of tea. Shirô finally accepted her offer of tea, but decided he could not eat breakfast, not in the middle of his morning training.
Just when he stepped into the main house, he heard a girl’s scream outside.
The neighborhood women could be heard yelling, demanding to know what was going on. Over the women’s voices, a gruff male voice yelled at them to shut up and then something about how the child had to work off her parent’s debts.
Suddenly Shirô remembered seeing a seven- or eight-year-old girl among the women gossiping by the well.
“Mother.” Daigo put a hand on his wooden sword.
“It must be men from Kumasuke, the loan shark. Go on and help her.”
Daigo nodded.
“Wait, please,” Shirô called out to Daigo, who was heading for the door. “If you go, they’ll know to come back here for revenge. I’m an unknown. Will you let me handle this?”
“You may be unknown, but—”
“Please let me out the back way. I’m going to circle around to the entrance.”
“But—” Sayo objected.
“Mother, let him handle it,” said Daigo, coming to Shirô’s aid. “Can’t you see? Shirô-kun wants to help someone in danger, but he also wants to test his skills in a real fight. In America, that’s called a ‘street fight’”
When Shirô jumped over the fence in the backyard, he heard Sayo exclaim, “Oh!” He had cleared the five-shaku fence in one easy jump.
Scratching his head, he went down the back alley and quickly made his way back through the front entrance, which he had entered only a few minutes earlier.
Over by the well, a sickly man was trying to prevent four burly men from taking a little girl forcibly by the hand. From his pale skin to the collarbone protruding from his pajamas to the gaunt arms and legs to the scraggly stubble on his face, it was clear that the girl’s father was very sick.
“I’m begging you. She’s only seven!”
The yakuza snorted at the father’s pleas. “She can still wait on customers. If you don’t like it, give us back the money. Or you can give us her sister. Now, she’s a pretty thing! Tell her when she comes back from her trip, to come by—”
That’s when they noticed. Turning now to where the yakuza were looking from a distance, they saw Shirô standing only three feet away.
“You a student? What do you want?” asked the yakuza closest to Shirô. He was the biggest of the four burly men. He might have been six shaku and maybe twenty-four kan.
“I was merely passing by when I saw your shameful behavior. Let go of the girl’s hand.”
“What!” They all drew closer, while remaining suspicious of the young man. He looked small and innocent enough, but he carried himself with a calmness that made the men wary.
“Who the hell are you?” asked the biggest yakuza.
“You don’t know me. The name is Saigô Shirô.”
The four men’s eyes could not open any wider. In fact, they knew the name quite well.
“S-so you’re Saigô from Kôdôkan. You’re the student of that judo stuff people are talking about. This’ll be good!” The tall one who had the girl’s hand stepped forward. A faint scar ran down his right cheek. Staring coldly down at Shirô, he said, “I used to be a student of Nishida-ryû[9] jujitsu until three, four years ago. I’ll take you on!”
“Quit it, Tatsu,” the biggest one said somewhat unexpectedly.
“Don’t try and stop me. You can’t expect me to ignore this kid meddling in our affairs, especially if he really is Saigô from the Kôdôkan dojo. Besides, what are we doing here, if this can be settled by just talking?” Then he turned to Shirô. “Don’t you agree?”
“Exactly.”
The tall one, Tatsu, laughed, which crinkled the scar on his cheek. “This’ll be good! You’ve got guts, but we’ll see how long that lasts. Come and get me!” Slipping out of his sandals, he raised his right hand high above his head and bent the left in front—taking the impenetrable water tiger stance of the Nishida-ryû.
Shirô also kicked off his sandals, centered his hips, and brought both arms forward. Compared to Tatsu’s stance, Shirô’s was a simple one that allowed his hands and feet to move naturally. Tatsu had his legs spread wide apart, but Shirô’s legs were about even with his shoulders.
“No one interferes,” ordered the biggest yakuza. “Tatsu. Bare hands only.”
Without answering, Tatsu began to close the gap.
Shirô did not move.
“Kiyyehhh!” Tatsu let out a thunderous kiai[8] and charged toward Shirô. In an instant, Shirô lunged at Tatsu’s chest at ten times the speed. Both bodies pitched forward.
No one heard a kiai. Only a sharp exhalation of breath.
Then everyone saw the tall man sailing through the air.