Chapter 23: Gintama (Era of Expulsion)

Kumamoto Hachirō, the eighth and youngest child of the Kumamoto family, was the beloved boy of the entire household. The Kumamoto family, though ancient in Kyoto, could not compare to the famous great houses like the Yagyū, but before the arrival of the Amanto, they too were members of the noble samurai class.

Everything changed when the Amanto came. The Kumamoto family began to decline—not in a way that was immediately visible, but slowly, imperceptibly, as though eaten away by unseen worms. It was during this gradual decline, before the family’s fortunes had entirely crumbled, that Kumamoto Hachirō was sent to study swordsmanship under the Jikishin Kage-ryū.

Back then, the shogunate was still locked in desperate struggle with the Amanto; the samurai class still had room to breathe and had not yet fallen. Hachirō’s childhood was filled with joy and sweat. Each day, his greatest concern was to perfect his kendo, to please his parents, and to earn his master’s praise.

But this period of happiness was far too short. After only a few years, the shogunate suffered a crushing defeat, submitting to the Amanto. The samurai class collapsed. Glorious old dōjōs closed their doors one after another. The ancient world was abruptly thrust into contact with advanced civilization, the change so immense that those living in the past were left bewildered and lost.

The shogunate then moved from Kyoto to Edo, and most of the Kumamoto family followed. Hachirō’s mother and sisters remained in Kyoto, while he journeyed to Edo with his father and brothers.

What happened afterward seemed, in Hachirō’s memory, to pass in a flash: he joined the shogunate army, then infiltrated the anti-Amanto rebels as a spy.

Hachirō never understood why someone like him should be chosen as a spy. He was incapable of hiding his feelings, incapable of pretense—wouldn’t such a person be easily exposed? Later, he realized that his very inability to act was his camouflage; no one suspected him, and he easily blended into the ranks of the rebels.

At first, he was unhappy among the rebels, torn by his own duplicity. The rebel army was a hodgepodge of all social classes, seemingly unthreatening, yet filled with extraordinary talents. These people led the ragtag force to grow stronger by the day, so much so that even the Amanto began to take notice.

Hachirō was caught in conflict. He saw everything, but his upbringing and loyalty to his family constantly reminded him that he was a spy, there only to gather intelligence. Yet the rebels treated him as a brother… Every day, the more kindness they showed him, the deeper his pain became.

But he was never one to show his pain. Whenever anyone was around, he would laugh—open, hearty, as though nothing troubled him. The soldiers gave him a nickname, “Black Bear,” for his dark skin and robust build—a good-natured jest.

When battle called, he pretended to be a true rebel, fighting former comrades, clashing with the Amanto, earning trust among the rebels—all the while sending secret reports to the shogunate. He played his role well, but the pain inside him only deepened.

And then, he met that person—Okakura Take.

He first heard of Okakura Take from Andō, a talkative, lively youth who delighted in gossip and teasing. At some point, Andō began mentioning a certain Okakura Take, telling everyone that this person looked terrifying, like a demon from a ghost story, but was fiercely loyal, immensely strong, and had single-handedly repelled an entire Amanto squad—truly formidable.

Hachirō imagined Okakura Take as an ugly, burly youth, but when they met in person, he was startled by how different reality was.

Okakura Take was slight, barely over five feet tall, and his appearance was not so much ugly as unsettling. He spoke slowly and gently, even giving a shy impression. Hachirō could hardly imagine such a person defeating so many Amanto. On a whim, he challenged the small figure to a match.

He remembered taking off his shirt and issuing the challenge, and the look of disbelief on Okakura’s face. Yet Okakura agreed, and even won. Afterward, as Hachirō lay defeated, Okakura offered a hand to help him up—a gesture shy as a small animal, though it was Okakura who had won. Hachirō noticed, almost absentmindedly, how small Okakura’s hand was, and yet with such a hand he had been thrown to the ground.

“Good morning, Vice-Captain Kumamoto.”

It was an ordinary winter morning. Hachirō, as usual, had risen early to exercise, then went to the well to wash. There, he met Okakura Take again. The other smiled and greeted him, face as unsettling as ever, even more so when he smiled, though his voice was gentle.

“Haha, just call me Kumamoto,” Hachirō replied, as he often did to others. It was his way of closing distance between people. Titles after a name only created barriers, and Hachirō disliked that.

Sure enough, he noticed Okakura became less tense around him, even smiling more easily.

“Kumamoto, there’s an icicle in your hair.”

It was at that moment that Hachirō began to slip, little by little, into the snare named Okakura Take. That person stood on tiptoe, reached up, and removed a shard of ice from his hair.

Hachirō found himself unable to care about the icicle at all. Instead, as he gazed at Okakura’s thin, pale lips, he felt his mouth go dry, his heart pounding uncontrollably. He thought himself pathetic, to have feelings for such an ugly boy, especially after having known many beautiful women and already lost his innocence.

He fled, face burning. Even after the heat left his cheeks, the feeling inside him lingered, impossible to dispel. He found himself drawn to Okakura Take, unable to control his gaze.

During training, he would drift to Okakura’s side, watching his every move. He listened to every conversation Okakura had, and found himself jealous of those who grew close to him. Gradually, he began to approach Okakura, closing the distance between them.

But Hachirō’s pain only grew. His feelings were uncontrollable, yet he stood in the most dangerous position. He regretted ever coming to the rebels as a spy, but if he hadn’t, he would never have met Okakura Take…

Why do people fall for strangers?

Hachirō began to realize his behavior was changing. Lurking in shadows, he watched the one he loved—and then, he discovered a secret: Okakura Take was a girl. He secretly followed her far from camp to a stream, where he saw her remove her robe and unbind the white cloth from her chest.

He saw a young, girlish body—not that of a boy—immature, tender, and it made his heart race.

He resolved to keep this secret to himself. It was too sweet a secret for anyone else to know.

But knowing her true gender only made his yearning harder to bear. Watching Okakura among the men, so unaware of her femininity, so close to them, made him angry and jealous. Yet he could not expose her, not only out of kindness but also out of selfishness; he knew if her secret were revealed, she would be forced to leave the rebels, and he would never see her again.

When Christmas came, he secretly prepared a simple chocolate for her. Unable to give it openly, he slipped it to her when no one was looking.

She accepted it, overjoyed, and his heart blazed with heat. He longed to hold her, to keep her in his arms, but restrained himself. For the first time, Hachirō practiced self-control he never knew he possessed. He marveled at how he could love such an “ugly” girl—how strange fate was.

But as he later told Okakura, she had a charm all her own—he liked her, liked her so much, liked her more than anyone, with an infinite, overwhelming affection.

On that night of assassination, he had already slipped away to warn the shogunate of the rebels’ plot. If not for his betrayal, Matsudaira Katakuriko would have been killed in that little bar. Hachirō knew he could have faked his death and vanished from the rebels that night, but, by some strange compulsion, he returned.

He knew the answer: it was for her. He wanted to see her, to find a way to steal her from the rebels, to be with her forever.

That night, he collapsed by a roadside garbage bin from exhaustion. Unexpectedly, she found him, sitting in a dark corner like a ray of light piercing the gloom. She helped him up, let him lean on her, and slowly led him out of the darkness.

If he’d had the strength, he would have held her tightly; thankfully, he did not, or she would have discovered the depth of his feelings.

When she pulled from her chest a flattened bun and offered it to him, he nearly burst out laughing—she always cared for others in the simplest ways, as gentle as a breeze that slips unnoticed into the heart. He ate the two buns, hoping that one day he might taste her real “little buns,” for loving someone naturally kindles desire for their body.

But he could never have her. At last, he exposed himself before Okakura Take. He knew how much she loved the rebel cause, how deeply his betrayal would wound her, but he had no choice—the shogunate controlled his parents, forcing his hand.

For the first time, he truly embraced her, feeling her trembling beneath his arms, imagining her furious gaze. He could not defend himself, could only whisper again and again in her ear, “I’m sorry.” But he knew, no matter how many times he said it, she would probably never forgive him.

So much pain. Why had his life, after childhood, been nothing but suffering?

He knew of her great strength, so he had prepared a drugged cloth to render her unconscious. He let her go with great difficulty, boarded the airship, and told those aboard, “I killed her.” He hadn’t, but if he hadn’t lied, the Amanto would have killed her.

The airship slowly carried him away. From the heights above, he saw her lying small and alone on the grass, so delicate she seemed as though the wind might sweep her away.

He thought, this would be the last time he deceived her. After this, he would return, find her, take her from war, dress her in bridal white, and marry her. Whatever it took, he would never leave her again.

But his wishes were doomed. Okakura Take was too stubborn—just as he’d once described her swordsmanship, she was a wild bull, always charging ahead, too headstrong. Yet he loved her for this, so deeply that when she was in danger, he threw himself in harm’s way without hesitation.

When the blade pierced his body, he fell atop her, and found it almost laughable that even then, he still longed for her body.

He was beyond saving—whether his life, or his love for her.

“I love you, so much, so much…” he said, looking at her face, finally able to speak the words aloud. It was enough. At last, he had told her.

Seeing her stunned expression, he sighed again—she really understood nothing at all.

He bent down and kissed her, just as he had imagined: soft, for she was a girl after all. And then, in the moment before death, he saw the most beautiful sight of his life—the one he loved became radiant, and in that beauty, his regret was eclipsed by happiness.

To have loved you in this life—a blessing beyond words.

Forgive me, Okakura Take. I’m sorry.

This was the first and last time I deceived you.

Kumamoto Hachirō’s painful life had finally come to an end.