Chapter 5: Scheming

Once again, Takemaru lay sprawled on the veranda, staring up at the sky.

As always, the spring sunlight was gentle.

He was supposed to be doing nothing in particular, simply spacing out—but suddenly, something that had sunk deep within his mind surfaced.

(Spreading rumors should work.

I can weaken them without fighting, and I won’t have to move myself.)

The conclusion came quickly.

His thinking alone was mature.

It was an idea befitting a true sluggard.

But doing it alone would be troublesome, and more importantly, dull.

If he was going to do it, he might as well drag someone else into it.

The faces that came to mind were the usual ones.

And once again, he thought—after all, it was a hassle.

Atsumaru.

For some reason, his younger brother was unusually attached to him.

If told to do something, he would generally nod.

A convenient existence.

Maremaru.

His uncle’s son, a muscle-brained boy with excessive strength.

He acted before thinking.

In other words, easy to handle.

(Alright, these two will do.

I don’t want to move if I can help it.)

Only his thinking was absurdly modern and rational.

He recalled last year.

The Yamase winds had blown, fog had spread, and from what he later heard, rice across all of Mutsu had been catastrophically poor.

There had been many refugees and deaths from starvation.

That was not the fault of the farmers, nor was it due to a lack of skill.

It was simply a natural disaster.

And yet, both the lords and farmers of this land clung stubbornly to rice.

It was almost laughable.

To begin with, Takemaru had been saying for years—since he was around five, perhaps—that they should abandon rice.

It was not merely persistent.

He said it morning, noon, and night.

He even wrote it on paper and stuck it onto his father’s back, and boldly wrote it across his white loincloth.

At night, after his father fell asleep, he would sneak in and whisper it endlessly into his ear.

(Human memory is organized through REM and non-REM sleep.

If you repeat something during light sleep, it should imprint on the subconscious… probably.)

This was not something a child would do.

Normally lazy, yet in matters like this, he did not spare effort.

Of course, the next day he would be too sleepy to move and would sleep until noon.

His mother would sigh, asking, “What on earth are you doing?” but he would proudly reply, “This is sleep learning.”

Naturally, no one understood him.

Yet whether due to that persistence or simply because his father gave in, the Owada domain began encouraging millet, foxtail millet, wheat, and buckwheat.

As a result, compared to other lands, the number of starvation deaths visibly decreased.

(Rumors.

The most effective ones mix a little bit of lies into the truth… probably.)

And then, have Atsumaru and Maremaru—children—spread them.

That was the key.

(Children don’t tell lies intending to lie.

That’s why they’re believed… probably.)

It was a rather unpleasant logic.

Now then, the problem was how to get to Tomioka.

Walking?

Out of the question.

Walking twenty kilometers was madness.

A horse?

It would be bumpy, tiring, and above all, painful on the rear.

Rejected.

(A boat will do.

If we board at night and sleep, we’ll arrive by morning.

Perfect, isn’t it?)

It was rough.

But also rational.

With that, Takemaru slowly got up and wandered out of the residence.

His destination was a house near Ukedo Port.

It belonged to a relative who managed ships—Yamada Tatsunaga.

His mother’s younger brother, the type of man who looked intimidating but was actually quite amusing.

This Tatsunaga, when war came, would serve as a naval commander, but normally he fished and transported goods—the head of the local fishing operations.

Above all, he loved anything flashy and attention-grabbing.

And his personality was easygoing.

Once, when Takemaru casually suggested, “Wouldn’t it look cool if you painted the ship black and added scary eyes?” he actually went and did it.

Moreover, he painted eyes on both sides of the ship.

The slight difference in size between the left and right made it oddly charming.

Then, when Takemaru egged him on with, “Adding flame patterns might look cool too,” he went ahead and painted bright red flames onto the black hull.

A completely absurd sense of style for the Sengoku period.

The finishing touch was the flags.

He displayed the crests of both the Owada and Yamada families as much as possible, letting them flap loudly in the wind.

Then, when Takemaru jokingly said that flags reading things like “Owada Supreme!” and “Yamada Arrives!” and even “Nice to meet ya!” would be cool, he somehow forced those into existence as well.

And then came the instruments.

Drums and flutes were loaded onto the ship, beaten loudly upon departure.

He even taught them the rhythm of delinquent chants—“Bun, bun, bububun, bubububun bun!”—and had them play it with drums and flutes.

There was absolutely no intention of moving quietly.

To top it off, real bamboo spears were stuck into the back of the ship, and a carving of Myoken Bodhisattva was unnecessarily mounted at the prow.

Utterly irreverent.

(This is basically a biker gang… a Sengoku biker ship…?)

If this were to go down in history, it would surely earn the title of the origin of biker gangs.

But since Tatsunaga himself was satisfied, saying, “Looks cool, doesn’t it?” it was fine.

And so, this Tomioka rumor operation.

When Takemaru brought the idea to his uncle Tatsunaga, his eyes immediately lit up.

“Now that sounds interesting!”

An instant answer.

The reason was simple.

In the past, Tomioka had burned Ukedo Port, and Tatsunaga held a grudge.

“Spreading rumors with children, eh?

Good.

Let’s give it a try!”

The plan came together in an instant.

It went like this.

At night, depart from Ukedo.

Once on the ship, Takemaru would sleep—because he was lazy.

Atsumaru would likely get seasick and sleep.

Maremaru would probably stay awake out of excitement.

They would drift southward, and before dawn, land at an uninhabited beach or river mouth near Tomioka.

The ship would be hidden among reeds or behind rocks.

Uncle Tatsunaga would remain on standby.

After that, the two children would enter the town, play around as they pleased, and casually spread rumors.

Naturally, Takemaru would remain on the ship, lounging around.

He might even fish.

“Truly, it feels like nothing more than children’s play.”

Takemaru said this as he chuckled softly.

(And I’ll mostly just be sleeping or playing.

Perfect.)

The plan was strangely well thought out… or was it?

However, the two children who would carry it out might have a critically low level of motivation.

Who knows.

The wind blew, and from the veranda, the sound of waves at Ukedo Port could be heard.

The scent of battle was still faint.

Yet, without anyone noticing, small ripples were about to spread.

…Or so he thought.