Behind the paper doors, guards and servants walked slowly, careful not to disturb the shadows that lingered in every corner.

  Fitran moved quietly down the empty hallway, the fabric of his thin robe brushing against the tatami mats. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of damp wood and the faint smoke of incense from the family altar. Nights like this always felt like the perfect stage for whispers—and a chance to see who would slip first.

  He paused in front of the reading room, where an elderly elder, Hisayuki, sat alone on a cushion, writing a logistics report by the light of a small oil lamp. His face looked weary, eyes squinting, and the lines on his forehead had deepened since the night of Rei's trial.

  Fitran knocked softly.

  “May I enter, Hisayuki-sama?”

  The elder nodded without looking up, his voice hoarse, “Come in, Fate-dono. The night is still long. Aren't you sleeping?”

  Fitran sat across from him, placing his hands on his knees and bowing respectfully. “Honestly, Hisayuki-sama, it feels impossible to sleep in this house, where the silence is louder than the voices of children. Nights like this… make me think that perhaps something deeper is happening in our midst.” He gazed intently at Hisayuki. “Who is truly guarding this house, and who is merely waiting for the world to crumble from within?”

  Hisayuki sighed and nodded, “You are right. Once, I thought this house was stronger than steel. But after everything that has happened, sometimes I myself am unsure of who is still trustworthy.” He averted his gaze, as if hiding his doubts. “Have you heard the whispers about the traitorous guard? Someone said they saw something in the ranks of the eastern guards.”

  “Guard?” Fitran frowned, “Is that just a rumor? Or is there truth behind it?”

  Hisayuki shrugged, “This uncertainty… makes me uncomfortable. Every night I wonder, who among us is still sincere? Who can we trust?”

  Fitran's tone lowered. “I’ve heard about the resurgence of power from outside. Do we know who is really watching? Who was keeping an eye on the kitchen last night?”

  Hisayuki looked at Fitran seriously, “Be careful, Fate-dono. We may not be ready for what is coming. And…” He paused for a moment, “Don’t tell anyone this, but I feel like something is lurking in this darkness.”

  Fitran nodded, his face tense. “I will keep this between us. But, Hisayuki-sama, shouldn’t we investigate further? We can’t just wait.”

  Hisayuki exhaled deeply, “That’s a bold idea. However, there are many risks we face. We must think carefully.”

  “A wise person always doubts the power that is too silent, Hisayuki-sama. We must be brave to act,” Fitran replied, a challenge in his eyes, “We must prepare ourselves.”

  Hisayuki looked at Fitran, his expression showing contemplation. “If we are to do this, we must do it carefully. What do you need, Fate-dono?”

  “Perhaps we need more information about who comes and goes in this house. Every little detail could be an important clue,” Fitran answered, beginning to plan their next steps.

  Hisayuki nodded, “Alright, we will start our research tonight. And remember, whatever we find, we must protect each other.”

  “Of course, Hisayuki-sama,” Fitran replied, his eyes shining with renewed determination. “We will uncover the truth, no matter what happens.”

  Fitran leaned in, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret, and glanced around:

  “A wise person always doubts the power that is too silent, Hisayuki-sama. I wonder, who was really watching the kitchen last night? Ah, who can guarantee? Who knows about that logistics report, why it always changes in the ranks of the eastern guards? Are… they truly loyal, or are they just waiting for the perfect moment to stab us in the back?”

  Hisayuki looked at Fitran with a gaze full of doubt, as his anxiety began to show on his face. “Are you sure about this? It all feels very… dangerous.” He bit his lip, holding back his worry.

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  “Fate-dono… do you suspect someone? If so, you should share your suspicions with us for our collective safety.”

  Fitran stared deeply into the flickering oil lamp, as if searching for answers in the flame, then nodded slowly.

  “I’m just an outsider, Hisayuki-sama. However, I think sometimes the enemy we fear outside the house is actually much weaker than those who sit at the same dining table. Perhaps that is what we should be worried about. Have you ever felt it? I’m sure, Hisayuki-sama, Uncle Masanori has frequent access to logistics. He appears just before the reports reach the clan head. And more strikingly, sometimes those who seem too eager to look busy… actually have something very valuable to hide.”

  Hisayuki clenched his fists, nodding slowly, but the expression on his face was tumultuous. “Masanori is indeed cunning. Before Nobuzan returned, he even managed to change the guards without the clan head’s permission. But… I still think he is just worried about change. You know, change can bring risks. What is he really doing behind all of this?”

  He touched his chin, trying to understand, “If we keep suspecting him, we might end up trapped in this game ourselves. It’s dangerous, very dangerous.”

  Fitran smiled faintly, softly, “Worry is often used to cover intentions. Doesn’t Hisayuki-sama know, only those who truly fear loss will strike first?”

  He paused for a moment, observing Hisayuki who was silent as if contemplating every word. “Do you think Masanori is aware of this danger, Hisayuki-sama? Or is he just pretending?”

  Silence fell for a moment, only the sound of rain could be heard. Fitran continued with an empathetic tone,

  “I know Hisayuki-sama wants this house to be safe. However, if we allow one rotten branch to grow… it will lead to the destruction of the entire tree.”

  “But… what can we do?” Hisayuki asked, biting his lip. “Masanori is part of our clan. Are we going to fight against him?”

  “If there is something to be conveyed to the clan head… or to me,” Fitran replied firmly, “don’t wait until this tree falls. We must act before it’s too late.”

  Hisayuki nodded slowly, his eyes reflecting doubt. “I will be more careful. Perhaps… it’s time we watch not only the outside enemies but also those we have considered brothers all along.”

  “Not just watch, but also seek the truth,” Fitran said, straightening his posture, “we cannot let fear guide our actions. Do you understand that?”

  Fitran stood, warmly patting Hisayuki’s shoulder,

  “This house will not fall as long as Hisayuki-sama remains brave enough to question—and choose who is worthy of trust.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone, Fitran. What if we’re wrong?” Hisayuki asked, hesitantly. “What if we act and find out nothing is wrong?”

  Fitran shrugged, then said gently, “Sometimes we have to take risks. Are we more afraid of making a mistake or of letting the truth sink into uncertainty?”

  He left the room, a thin smile on the corner of his lips. In the dark hallway, Fitran paused for a moment, looking at his own reflection in a small mirror.

  He pondered, “People don’t fall because of the enemy’s sword, but because of the fear and prejudice that arise among their own blood. I don’t need many hands to shake the Oda house—just one seed of suspicion planted in the right mind. The rest, the world will take care of itself.”

  Not long after Fitran left, Hisayuki began to quietly watch Masanori. He double-checked the logistics reports, questioned the kitchen servants, even asked an old guard to change his patrol route. Standing in the corner of the room, he whispered to himself, “Am I being too paranoid, or is something wrong here?”

  “Masanori is out too often at night,” one of the servants said worriedly, “I saw him talking to some strangers.”

  Hisayuki stared sharply at the servant, “Who do you mean? You must tell me,” he dropped the words firmly, hoping the servant wouldn’t shut down.

  Rumors began to surface slowly, “There’s missing logistics from the eastern kitchen,” an elder’s voice echoed from the end of the room, “that is unacceptable!”

  “Who dares to write delivery notes without permission?” another chimed in angrily, “We must investigate this before it’s too late.”

  The previously solid elders began to crack. Small factions formed, some choosing to wait, while others began to approach Fitran, whom they saw as “brave enough to speak the truth.” One elder said, “Perhaps we should consider his opinion. He dares to take risks.”

  “Honest? Or just seeking support?” another elder replied skeptically, “We must be careful in choosing sides.”

  In her room, Nobuzan gazed at the dark sky through the window. “What is happening to our house?” she whispered to herself as if searching for answers, “Every whisper seems to threaten our serenity.”

  She felt a change in her home—not through war, but through whispers that stung more painfully than swords. She knew Fitran was playing an old game. “Can we survive all of this?” Nobuzan asked, hoping no one would hear her.

  In another room, Fitran noted all movements: “Who asks what of whom, who sleeps earlier,” he said to himself while writing, “what is happening to our clan?”

  “There’s something wrong,” he murmured. “Or maybe I’m just worrying too much?”

  “Hey, Fitran!” one of the guards shouted, “I saw Masanori out tonight. What should we do?”

  “We can’t let him go alone,” Fitran replied firmly, “Come on, we need to keep an eye on him.”

  Beneath the surface, the power of the Oda clan was being redrawn—not through war, but through the fear and hope that battled within their hearts. Snacks fell from Fitran’s hands as he heard heavy footsteps outside, cautiously following the sound. “What is that?” he asked anxiously, preparing himself to face the burning uncertainty.