The night after the railgun incident exploded at Hoshino's house, the atmosphere at Oda's home grew tense again. The servants whispered about the booming sound that echoed up to the mountain slopes. The young guards speculated, “Is it the curse of the machine? Or sabotage from the enemy?”

  Nobuzan couldn't sleep. She was restless, hearing voices in the hallway: the names Fitran and Senzaburo were mentioned, sometimes with anger, sometimes with fear. The child in her womb kicked gently, as if reminding her: this world is never truly safe.

  Fitran sat in the dimly lit living room, accompanied by a cup of cold tea and scattered sheets of spiral plans. He waited, knowing that someone would come tonight to demand clarity.

  Senzaburo appeared, walking slowly but with determination. His white hair was neatly rolled, and his eyes reflected exhaustion and anger. He stared at Fitran with an intensity that shook him, “Fate-dono, do you think you’re clever?” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Do you think this world belongs to those who are best at luring enemies into traps? Look at what has happened! The Hoshino children are in danger, we’ve lost trust, and the people are starting to fear machines they’ve never even touched!”

  Fitran leaned back in his chair, suppressing a cynical laugh. “Oh, Senzaburo, you speak as if this world is only about trust and fear. But what are you doing to prevent it?” He looked at Senzaburo with crossed arms, showing his dissatisfaction. “Or do you prefer to let them live in uncertainty? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like this chaos, but sometimes we need to allow chaos to awaken others.”

  Senzaburo glared at Fitran with fiery eyes, “So, you think we should let everything be terrible? Is that the right way to respond to this situation?” He stepped closer, his voice rising, “This isn’t just about machines; it’s about human lives! We are burdened by your decisions!”

  One of the servants stood at the doorway, listening anxiously. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice trembling, “but we’ve heard stories from the people. They are starting to feel threatened.”

  Fitran turned to the servant, showing deep concern on his face. “What are they saying? Are they afraid of ghosts they’ve never seen, or entrusting their fate to something they don’t understand?”

  The servant shook his head, “They are more afraid of the uncertainty you’ve created. They just want safety!”

  Senzaburo nodded, “See? Even your people feel cornered! This is the time to act, to fix all of this before it gets worse.”

  Fitran sighed, placing his tea cup down. “If there’s no sabotage, the railgun remains safe in the workshop. If no one steals, no one gets hurt. I just let the rats stumble upon the bait—who knows, they might learn to be careful before playing with fire.”

  Fitran closed his sheets firmly, his eyes sharp as he stared at Senzaburo, who stood before him. His body language showed calmness, even though his heart raced. “If there’s no sabotage, the railgun remains safe in the workshop. If no one steals, no one gets hurt. I just let the rats stumble upon the bait—who knows, they might learn to be careful before playing with fire. But, Senzaburo, don’t you see the impact of my actions?”

  Senzaburo, his voice rising and his face flushed, looked anxious: “You talk about bait and rats, but here, every injured person is a child of a family that once protected Oda’s house! Have you forgotten, we are all—friends or foes—still one land, one fate? Every suffering they endure is a reflection of your decisions!” He clenched his fists, trembling with emotion.

  The watching crowd whispered among themselves, some nodding in agreement, others anxious. An elderly woman patted her grandchild’s shoulder, “Our children have suffered long enough. They need a leader, not dangerous games.”

  Fitran stood more boldly, taking a spiral diagram from the table and confidently presenting it to Senzaburo. “Do you want justice, or do you want everything to remain silent so the world pretends to be at peace? I prefer bitter honesty over a false peace. What are you looking for, Senzaburo? Should I close my eyes and pretend everything is fine?”

  Senzaburo gritted his teeth, his voice breaking: “You are right in strategy, but you forget one thing—trust. You win tonight, Fitran, but tomorrow, who will trust a house that has no secrets? Who will fight alongside the Oda clan if all they get are traps and feelings of being discarded? You remind us of a dark past!”

  A man in the crowd, with a face full of uncertainty, spoke softly, “We just want to live peacefully, not be caught in endless intrigues. Who cares about strategy if we lose everything?”

  Fitran replied in a softer tone, “I know it’s all difficult. But we can’t keep looking back. There must be change. Let’s revive the trust that has faded.”

  Senzaburo, his eyes blazing with emotion, responded, “But how can we trust you if in your heart there’s still suspicion? Courage, Fitran, must be accompanied by a sense of security. Prove to me, to me and all the people of Oda!”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Fitran sighed, his face tense, and his brows furrowed. “Trust takes time, not inheritance. If tonight the world is angry at Oda, then tomorrow, they will come seeking guidance. Because only here do innovation and tradition hold hands—and only those willing to change will survive. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Senzaburo nodded, his face showing concern. “And if everything changes too quickly, do you know what will remain of the old Yamato roots? Ashes. And we cannot let that happen, Fitran.”

  In the corner of the room, some members of the Oda clan listening furrowed their brows. One of them, an elderly man with wrinkles on his face, whispered to his friend, “Just listen to them. Trust doesn’t come easily. No path, no hope.”

  “Yes, we need more than just words,” his friend replied, his tone reflecting skepticism. “Don’t they understand how important tradition is?”

  Nobuzan, arms crossed over her chest, redirected attention back to the two. “Father Senzaburo, Fitran, stop.” Her voice was calm, yet there was a firm tone to it. “We can’t keep debating in the midst of a storm. We need to unite.”

  She stood tall between them, looking at both men with a gaze full of hope. “You talk about trust, about change, about the future. But don’t forget, this house is built not only on secrets but also on hope. We all want to survive here, in this house.”

  Her hands trembled slightly, trying to suppress the emotions bubbling inside. “You may have different strategies—but if all that remains is fear, then we have already lost the war before the enemy arrives.”

  With a gentle expression, she looked at Fitran, “My husband, I know you protect us in your own way. We must trust each other. Don’t let cunning kill the love for this house.”

  She turned to Senzaburo, her tone softer, “Father, if you want Oda to survive, guide us—don’t let us fall just because change feels threatening.”

  For a moment, the atmosphere in the room felt tense. Senzaburo slowly bowed his head, his face showing doubt. Fitran took a deep breath, looking at Nobuzan. “But what if this tradition becomes a barrier for us?”

  Outside the room, the people eavesdropping began to discuss. A young woman said, “I believe in change, but what price must we pay?”

  “We must continue to hold on to our values,” replied a man, “tradition is our identity.”

  Finally, Senzaburo spoke, his voice softening, “I know this is all heavy, but we must move forward. I will speak with the Hoshino family. I will apologize if that’s what’s needed.” He looked at Fitran seriously, “However, I also want you, Fitran, to be open with the people. Teach them—what is a spiral, what is a machine, why must there be change.” He gripped the table tightly, “Don’t hide behind the laboratory, don’t shut yourself off from the voices that are afraid.”

  Fitran nodded, his face full of determination. “Starting tomorrow, spiral training will be open to anyone who wants to learn. No secrets—only caution,” he said with enthusiasm. He looked at Senzaburo, “Those who want to know can join, and those who are afraid can watch from afar.” His narrative paused for a moment, “I feel a great responsibility. If anyone tries sabotage again, we all know who must be held accountable.”

  As they stared at each other, the atmosphere in the room felt heavy. Fitran added, “We must unite, don’t let fear diminish our spirit.” Senzaburo nodded, “Exactly, we must break down these walls. It’s important to listen to the voices of the people.”

  In the corner of the room, some citizens began to speak among themselves, “Will they really open the training? This is our chance!” a young man said, his eyes full of hope. “I want to learn, but I’m afraid if there are people who oppose our decisions,” an adult woman added anxiously. They began to whisper, “But if Senzaburo and Fitran unite, maybe we can start trusting this change.”

  “One small step for all of us!” shouted a child, gripping his mother’s hand excitedly. “Yes, and we can’t go back,” replied his mother, gently stroking her child’s head. “We must support each other, unite, as Fitran said.”

  For the first time, two different generations were not just clashing strategies—but finding common ground between cunning and wisdom. “Let’s show that we are ready!” Fitran exclaimed passionately, his smile wide with confidence.

  The next day, Fitran stood in the middle of the field with the railgun and the open spiral diagram. Guards, servants, children, and elders gathered, half hesitant, half curious.

  Nobuzan stood beside him, smiling at the people, and said, “Look, friends! We will create something extraordinary today.” Her smile was wide, as if inviting them to share the same hope.

  “But can we really trust him?” a woman in the front row whispered to her husband, her eyes shining with doubt.

  Her husband replied confidently, “We must give him a chance. They have fought for us. Look at how they plan,”—he pointed to Fitran, who looked enthusiastic.

  Fitran began, “Today, we will no longer accuse each other. Today we learn together. The world is changing, Yamato is changing, but this house still belongs to all who dare to believe—in themselves, and in the future.” He looked at the crowd with hopeful eyes, his right hand raised the railgun as if to showcase the power contained within it.

  “Can we really be better?” a young man asked, his voice trembling, filled with doubt and hope.

  Nobuzan answered, her voice firm, “Yes, we can! If we work together, nothing is impossible.” Nobuzan’s fist clenched, her teeth gritted—the pressure in her voice ignited the spirit among them.

  Fitran ignited the railgun in front of them, explaining the mechanism in simple terms, “Look, this is a new design that will help us survive!” He showcased both its magical and dangerous sides, his eyes ablaze.

  Senzaburo and other elders stood at the front, holding back their pride, “We must tell them about our history. If not, who will listen?” They exchanged glances, feeling the same pride and burden.

  However, their initial gazes began to soften as voices from the crowd emerged, “That light is beautiful! What will happen next?” A small child shouted it with enthusiasm, making everyone laugh.

  Fitran smiled as he saw the glowing spiral, “The sign of change has indeed arrived, but now, for the first time, that change is no longer threatening, but is beginning to be accepted as part of the new roots of the Oda house.” He spoke with a tone full of hope, as if representing everyone’s desire to see a brighter future.