Chapter 9: Gintama (Period of Expulsion)

Unnoticed, the autumn equinox had already passed, and the cold dew arrived, making the weather even colder. The anti-foreigner army found themselves both short of clothing and lacking food. Of the two, it was hunger that the soldiers could least endure; the feeling of an empty stomach was unbearable. Whenever there was no fighting, they would run to the hills behind to hunt wild game. When starvation reached its peak, anything became edible. Just a few days ago, Take Okakura tasted snake soup cooked by old man Ueda; to his surprise, it was quite good. Take mixed the broth with potatoes and finished two bowls. Rice had become a rare commodity now, and they had to ration it.

Takasugi, Katsura, Gintoki, and the others were the leaders, but in their hearts, all who fought for the same cause were brothers. They ate the same watery porridge and sweet potatoes as the soldiers did, busying themselves with more than just combat—they had to devise strategies to counter the shogunate’s plots and lead men into battle. Without physical strength, they simply could not endure.

Take Okakura’s opinion of these “simpletons” had changed. Though often foolish in trivial matters, when it came to what was important, they were earnest and reliable.

She had finally witnessed the gallant figure of the White Demon on the battlefield.

Not long ago, there had been a sudden assault by the aliens. Many were wounded at the front, and, guided by old man Ueda, Take Okakura helped carry the injured. Amidst the grotesque mass of alien attackers, she caught sight of a white-clad figure.

The White Demon—Gintoki Sakata.

It was deep winter. The sunlight was dim and yellow, the air frozen. The vast plain was scorched and blackened, with flames leaping skyward—remnants of the aliens’ artillery bombardment. Corpses lay everywhere; blood and dust mixed into a dark, crimson slurry.

The battlefield roared with the clamor of men, blades flashing and swords clashing, as the anti-foreigner army in their wooden armor charged into the alien guns and cannons wielding whatever weapons they could find. Bullets could not be stopped, and bodies were torn to shreds in an instant. Yet no one retreated; their eyes were bloodshot with fury. Even if they were to perish, they would take an alien with them.

Amid this bleak and tragic landscape, Gintoki Sakata shone like a bolt of lightning slashing through stormy skies. The White Demon was the very light of the battlefield.

Take Okakura stood dumbfounded, staring at the man in white, long sword in hand, leaping high into the air. Those familiar, dead-fish eyes widened; the usual languid expression transformed into one of fierce determination. The aliens fell helpless beneath his blade—he was like a threshing machine, unstoppable wherever he went.

That was the White Demon.

A demon, a fiend: fierce, powerful, violent, able to devour men.

She thought that now, at last, she understood why old man Ueda so revered the White Demon. That man was dazzling—his silver radiance wasn’t blinding, but it was impossible to look away. Unknowingly, she felt compelled to draw closer.

After the battle that day, Gintoki Sakata was brought to the rear to have his wounds tended. His arm was slashed in several places, but he didn’t care at all, staring with those lazy, lifeless eyes and lamenting that the strawberry milk he had drunk had all leaked out. He was a world apart from the vicious demon on the battlefield.

Late at night, when all was quiet, Take Okakura fished through her bundle, counted her coins, and found she had just enough left to buy a box of strawberry milk.

Her opinion of the White Demon had changed. Seeing how he had been asking for strawberry milk these days, she wanted to buy him one, as an apology for her earlier prejudice, and also to help replenish his blood.

Take Okakura was decisive in her actions; once the thought occurred to her, she did not hesitate. The next day, when old man Ueda sent her to buy ingredients, she went to a small shop and bought a box of strawberry milk, hiding it in her bosom. After all, she was supposed to be buying food for the army; even though it was her own money, if someone saw and misunderstood, thinking she was misusing military supplies, it would be bad.

It had been a long time since she’d had milk herself. Just thinking of the strawberry milk tucked in her clothing made her mouth water with longing—the creamy white and pink packaging was especially enticing. She felt she could smell the sweet fragrance through the box. But she resisted.

Back at the camp, she handed the ingredients to old man Ueda.

“Okakura, didn’t expect someone as small as you to be so strong,” Ueda laughed heartily, clapping her on the shoulder.

“I’m just used to working at home. That’s how I built up some strength,” Take explained, a bit embarrassed. In truth, she’d become strong from helping villagers carry heavy things.

“Not bad. Even I would struggle to carry all this food alone, but you seem to manage easily. You’ve got talent. Work hard for a while, and you’ll have your chance to train on the battlefield. You’re still young—don’t be impatient,” Ueda said patiently. He had seen too many inexperienced youngsters, all bravado and no skill, charging ahead like dumb oxen, only to drag everyone down and get themselves killed.

Not everyone was like Sakata, Takasugi, Katsura, or Sakamoto—talented prodigies. Even they, now and then, acted recklessly.

“Uncle, I understand. I know I lack experience. I’ll do what I’m supposed to,” Take replied.

“That’s good. Now, help me peel these sweet potatoes,” Ueda said, pointing to the large wooden barrel at his feet.

“Alright,” Take Okakura said, rolling up her sleeves and starting to peel. After so much time working in the kitchen, she was more than skilled at washing, peeling, and chopping vegetables.

———

That night, after discussing military matters with Takasugi and the others—though in truth, Gintoki spent most of the time daydreaming while Takasugi and Katsura argued—he yawned and walked back to his room.

“Gintoki-sama…” A quiet voice called out to him.

“Huh?” Gintoki turned to see Take Okakura stepping out from a corner.

“Oh my god!” Sure enough, Gintoki was startled yet again.

Take rushed over and clapped a hand over his mouth. “Shhh! Gintoki-sama, it’s me—Take Okakura.”

“Oh, it’s you,” Gintoki replied, beads of cold sweat on his brow, finally calming down a little. “Just call me Gin-san.”

Once Gintoki settled, Take Okakura withdrew her hand and pulled the box of strawberry milk from her coat, holding it out to him. “Um, Gin-san, I bought this strawberry milk for you.”

Gintoki lit up at the sight of the milk, beaming as he pointed at himself. “Really? You’re really giving this to Gin-san?”

“Yes, it’s for you,” Take said, holding it out closer.

Overjoyed, Gintoki accepted the milk and hugged it to his chest, his eyes sparkling as he looked at Take Okakura. Even her fearsome face seemed much less intimidating now. Still, he was curious, “But, why are you giving me milk? Do you like me? Sorry, Gin-san doesn’t like men.”

Take shook her head. “No, I just think you’re a good person. I really admire you. Seeing you get hurt and bleed so many times and never care, I just wanted to do something for you.” She meant every word; after seeing the White Demon on the battlefield, she genuinely wanted to buy him strawberry milk to satisfy his craving.

“You’re a good person, hahaha!” Gintoki was delighted. “I’m glad you thought of it.” At this moment, all he could think about was the strawberry milk—even if it were poisoned, he’d drink it.

Gintoki immediately stabbed the straw into the box, bit the end, and took a deep, satisfying gulp. The rich, creamy flavor seemed to elevate his very soul; it had been so long since he’d tasted his favorite strawberry milk, Gintoki thought blissfully.

Seeing him so happy, Take Okakura felt her task was complete. She turned to leave and get some sleep. As she was leaving, Gintoki hesitated, feeling a bit embarrassed—after all, she had brought him a gift.

“Hey, um, Okakura-kun?” Gintoki called after her.

“Yes, is there something else?” Take turned back.

“Thank you for the milk,” Gintoki said, scratching his curly hair. “If you ever need anything, just come to me.” Gin-san was used to owing favors among friends, but he still tried to be polite with those he didn’t know well.

“I didn’t give you the milk to ask for anything in return,” Take smiled. “But I’ll accept your thanks.” She was not about to ask for anything.

“Gin-san, I’m off to bed. Good night,” Take Okakura waved.

“Ah, good night,” Gintoki waved back.

Once Take Okakura left, Gintoki stroked his chin in thought. Though he still wondered about her motives for giving him milk, the milk was already in his stomach, and he was standing here safe and sound. It seemed Gin-san’s charm was just too much, he thought smugly.

He returned to his room to sleep. With strawberry milk in his belly, even his sleep was sweeter—he passed the night without a single dream.

———

Back in her room, Take Okakura quietly slipped into her bed, careful not to wake those around her. At any moment, they might be roused to fend off another attack by the aliens or the shogunate. Over these many days, she had watched the soldiers grow thinner, the shadows beneath their eyes deepen, the wounds multiply, and some never returned at all.

She sighed as she looked at the empty beds.

The one beneath the window had belonged to Takahashi Ippon, a middle-aged man with the loudest voice and the most boisterous laugh. When she first arrived, he had looked after her, dragging her into the circle of veteran soldiers and sharing stories of his wife and son. He spoke of them so often that she even remembered his son’s birthday. In the end, he died—blown to pieces by alien artillery while protecting another soldier in their quarters.

The empty cot in the corner had once been occupied by a thin, quiet young man named Yamashita Shimizu. He always had the most refined smile when everyone joked together. He once asked if she could read, and how many books she’d read, telling her that when the war was over, he wanted to return home and study in earnest. He died, too—only his body was found, the head nowhere to be seen.

Two beds down, another was empty. That had belonged to Akita Taichi, also working in logistics, just eighteen, sent by his poor family to be a soldier. Who could have guessed that in just a few years, the anti-foreigner army would become rebels? Taichi said he liked it here, and after the war, he didn’t want to go home; he wanted to open a small restaurant in Kyoto, and invited her to invest with him so they could build a chain, like Kenkiki. He died too—struck by a stray shell on the battlefield. Old man Ueda carried his charred body back in tears, weeping bitterly—the first time Take Okakura had seen him cry.

So many, many others had died. She remembered how they all once spoke of “afterward.”

They fought for the sake of “afterward,” believing they could open a brighter future. Their convictions differed—some for the country, some for family, some for themselves—but they stood together, facing the same enemy, weapons raised until death.

When a person dies, it is like a lamp snuffed out; the wisp of smoke left behind is gone with the wind.

Take Okakura curled up beneath her blanket. In her dreams, her home still existed, she was still that ugly, frightening yet carefree girl, and there were still people who loved her.