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JUSTIFIED
?
It isn’t Matsugae’s family who keeps him informed of Matsugae’s fate, they never approved of their friendship, Honda a mere commoner, beneath them in standing, but rather word of mouth. Have you heard, have you heard, Kuchiki Byakuya-sama killed Matsugae’s son yesterday. When Honda inquires about it, the usual investigative questions, what happened, why, he isn’t afforded any answers that would be worth much before a judge, but he gathers so much, the Head of the Kuchiki Clan took down a defenseless boy who could never have hoped to match the other man even in a fair duel.
As such, he thinks, making his way through the streets to the Matsugae Mansion, no duel between the two could ever be fair in the first place. This seems to him an essential problem.
*
Seated on his knees before the Matsugae head’s writing desk, watching the other man as he takes his sweet time in allowing him to speak, his brush moving slowly and carefully over the paper, Honda thinks of the many hours this man’s son and he spent together in school and outside of it. The many afternoons frolicked away in the gardens outside the open door. It’s late summer now. What a time to lose a child.
The man’s face is set in stone, unreadable and cold. Matsugae could adopt a similar expression.
“Yes, Honda-kun,” he finally acknowledges him without looking up. His brush continues to move down the page. There will be many formalities, of course, in relation to Matsugae’s death.
“Please let me extend my heartfelt condolences!” Honda bows so low, his bangs fall into his eyes and obscure his vision.
“For what?” The older man inquires, voice emotionless. That, too, Matsugae had mastered when he wanted. He was truthfully his father’s son, Honda thinks.
”The loss of Kiyoaki,” Honda clarifies readily. “Word is all over the streets, Matsugae-sama.”
“Yes, that part is very unfortunate.” Finally, Matsugae’s father puts the brush aside and leans back, resting his hands on his thighs and perceiving Honda through narrow eyes. Calculating.
That, too, Matsugae had often done.
“But, your son…” Honda begins.
“My son was a passionate fool,” the man replies, waving his hand at the way Honda opens his mouth to protest. “You knew him best, Honda, am I not right?”
Honda murmurs a quiet, I shan’t presume to have known your son well enough, evidently, and the head of the Matsugae household gets to his feet tiredly, walking quietly over to a stand with tea and sake. He pours himself a cup of the latter, his voice frustrated.
”If I had known he felt that way about the girl, don’t you think I’d have done something? We’re not poor, we could have offered the Ayakura family an eligible match, but every time I asked him if he really wasn’t interested in that Satoko, he firmly denied. What was I supposed to do? Kiyoaki was like that. Too proud. That pride cost him his life in the end.”
“Pardon my rudeness, but I don’t think so, Matsugae-sama,” Honda says, making the other man turn his head towards him mid-sip, sake shining in his small cup in the soft light from the sunset. Honda bows low again and waits for the approaching sound of footfalls before looking up. Matsugae, father not son, is standing before him, eyes dark and glittering. “Kuchiki Byakuya lost him his life.”
“Hm,” is all that Matsugae’s father has to say at first, sipping more sake, until he finally empties his cup and puts it on his working desk. “Do you know the full account of what happened, Honda-kun?” he wants to know after a few long moments.
“I don’t believe so.”
“Well, Kiyoaki and Satoko had somewhat of a flirtation going, before the Ayakuras struck gold and got her hitched with Kuchiki-sama. Still, the girl knows her place, they’ve raised her right, and she accepted the marriage, since it could save her family from ruin. However, once she began looking happy and satisfied in her new accommodations, Kiyoaki got a bloated ego and had to start spreading rumours about their former affair, saying she’d been unfaithful to the Head of the Kuchiki Clan. You don’t do that with the Kuchiki family, those types are much too powerful. He could as well have hit himself in the head with that bokken, Kiyoaki…”
The older man sighs. For the first time since his arrival, Honda senses that he’s truly troubled by the death of his son.
“Kuchiki Byakuya is a trained officer and an aristocrat with immense power,” Honda insists, knowing if he should hold any hope of reaching Matsugae’s father with his logic, now is the time. “Kiyoaki couldn’t have defended himself even given a sword. That is an unjust fight. Surely there must have been another solution.”
“You’re a simple commoner,” Matsugae’s father dismisses him, his voice once again hard as stone. “You don’t understand the ways of nobility.”
“That may be,” Honda agrees. “I am, however, son of a legal advisor and I understand the law. If you do not forbid it, I will make a case of this. Your son deserves a fair legacy. Your family deserves a proper redress.”
For a long time, Matsugae’s father only watches him, wordlessly, something unreadable in his gaze, then he scoffs and returns to his former seat, continuing his writing. “Do what you want, but keep me uninformed. I’d rather not be accused of treason next.” A pause. “This is enough.”
Leaving the Matsugae Mansion, Honda understands that he is alone in his pursuit of justice for Matsugae, but then again – he has been alone in his views of Matsugae for many years now. This is simply to finish it on that same note.
*
The next day, he seeks out his father in his offices in Southern Rukongai where he, in his spare time, offers free legal advice to small vendors and merchants, focusing mainly on debt collection and similar financial matters. His official occupation is as legal advisor to the lower nobility who often scuffle among themselves and aren’t as untouchable as the big Clans, not internally, at least.
No one from this district could have much hope of touching anyone in those circles.
That is why his father does this work.
That is how Honda has learned how to do it, too.
“Ah, Shigekuni,” his father says in greeting, when he’s shown in by the strict-looking secretary. “What brings you here so late? Surely you have homework to do.”
Honda doesn’t beat around the bush, knowing his father’s time is precious and unwilling to squander it. “Have you heard about the death of Matsugae Kiyoaki, Father?”
“Is that why you have come?” His father wants to know, walking from the bookshelf to his desk and sitting down slowly. Honda comes over and stops right in front of the desk. They both know, he’d never disrupt his father’s working time otherwise.
“It is.”
“I have heard, of course. A humiliating end to the Mastsugae family’s legacy.”
“No doubt, Matsugae misbehaved, but usually misbehaviour gets a scolding. From civilized people, I mean. Only criminals and animals kill a defenseless boy for so little!” Honda hears his own voice rising as he speaks and quickly tunes it down.
His father doesn’t correct him, instead folding his hands on top of the desk, waiting for the question they both know will come of this.
“Is there no way to prosecute the Kuchiki family, Father?” Honda continues. If anyone, his father would know, having straddled the vast gap between the common world and the aristocracy for a good part of his long career.
“They’re above the law, as you well know, Shigekuni,” his father replies and Honda’s shoulder’s drop, lose some of the strength born of pent-up anger. Then, as if recognising his son’s dedication to this single goal now, he continues in an offhanded manner, as if talking about the weather. “No, you can’t raise question about the law with them, but you can raise question about their honour. It will hurt them much more, regardless.”
“Honour…” Honda hears himself repeat. Yes, because what kind of honourable beings take over all political instances and run a society without reproach or advice from the people they govern? Honda nods to himself. Yes, honour!
“Are you prepared to risk your life for this friend of yours, even when he is already dead?” his father inquires, beginning to shuffle through papers. The audience will soon be over. “Because, you must know, that is what will happen. You may follow him there.”
“Do you forbid it, Father?” Honda only wants to know.
“No. I raised you to be an honourable man.”
“Then, I am prepared.”
“I see.” It’s all his father says before he calls for the secretary and has Honda shown to the door. Yet, Honda knows that although he will walk the road alone, his father’s understanding and acceptance pave the way. Wherever it leads, that will be Honda’s given destination.
*
A month later, after long after-school hours of spreading fliers and bulletins and pamphlets, getting the word out about “these dishonourable times of Soul Society”, holding rallies and speaking to the common people more than a little fed up with the aristocracy and the Gotei 13, Honda runs into her in the streets.
The girl formerly known as Ayakura Satoko.
Matsugae’s only love.
He doesn’t know why he’s willing to risk it, he has purposefully stayed out of the Kuchiki Clan’s direct path, making it a political debate rather than a family matter, but seeing her stroll through the markets, surrounded by servants on all sides, her hair done up and her kimono worth more, no doubt, than either his father or Mastsugae’s could make in a year, he thinks of something Matsugae had said, one time when Honda had complimented the girl’s beauty, after they’s run into her in the Matsugae gardens.
You have to be careful with her, Honda. Satoko-san never says everything she thinks. You can’t trust people like that, can you?
And Honda had looked sideways at Matsugae and thought to himself, no, I know.
Now, he breaks into a run, following her trails across the square, panting harshly and finally, yelling her name, again and again, heads all over the market turning after him. Satoko-san! Satoko-san! Satoko, too, turns after a long second, her servant girls lining up in front of her, ensuring that Honda can only talk to her from a safe distance. However, when she seems to recognise him, she motions for them to step aside. Let him closer. Honda stops in front of her.
”Honda-san,” she says.
”It’s been a while,” he greets in return.
“It’s been a while,” she repeats.
“Did you hear about Matsugae,” he asks her, directly, and not because he assumes she hasn’t. Her expression turns nostalgic, a little melancholy, like he’s opened the chest holding a long-lost childhood memory.
“Of course,” she replies, finally. Her smile is sad, but beautiful. Stunningly so. Honda hesitates only a brief moment, before saying what he came to say.
“Do you feel justified, Satoko-san?”
Although it turns a notch sadder, the smile doesn’t die away and Satoko looks off to the side as she replies, slowly, as if tasting the words as she speaks them: “Justice is a men’s concept, Honda-san. It has never served women right.” Her voice lightens, however. “We can only wait for a person to weigh their intentions for us against any societal idea of rightness. Do you understand?”
He shakes his head. ”Is that what happened?”
“That’s what happened. Kiyo-sama was found wanting and someone else was free to take his place.” One of the servants steps closer and whispers something in Satoko’s ear that makes her nod to herself and grasp her hands primly in front of herself, as she takes a short glance behind Honda who suspects they won’t be let alone for much longer.
“By someone, you mean Kuchiki Byakuya?”
The words that answer him are contemplative rather than sharp. She isn’t attacking, she’s wondering instead. “Who the man was, does that matter, when the justice done was to me? Or am I not part of the equation in your head?”
Belatedly, he realizes that he has no correct response to that. He could say no, and he would be in the wrong, morally. Or he could say she had been considered at any point, and he would be lying. Honda bows his head, shamefully, which she graciously accepts as his answer. Behind them, guards show up, one coming up to Honda and roughly pulling him back, away. Time to go, boy.
”Good afternoon,” Satoko tells him. Goodbye, it means.
With his back half to her, Honda mutters, “thank you for your time, Satoko-san.”
*
After that, it becomes even more of a political debate, completely severed from any talk about the Kuchiki family or Matsugae’s death. And like all political debates, it eventually loses the people’s interest.
Honda returns to his schoolwork.
As such, he thinks, making his way through the streets to the Matsugae Mansion, no duel between the two could ever be fair in the first place. This seems to him an essential problem.
Seated on his knees before the Matsugae head’s writing desk, watching the other man as he takes his sweet time in allowing him to speak, his brush moving slowly and carefully over the paper, Honda thinks of the many hours this man’s son and he spent together in school and outside of it. The many afternoons frolicked away in the gardens outside the open door. It’s late summer now. What a time to lose a child.
The man’s face is set in stone, unreadable and cold. Matsugae could adopt a similar expression.
“Yes, Honda-kun,” he finally acknowledges him without looking up. His brush continues to move down the page. There will be many formalities, of course, in relation to Matsugae’s death.
“Please let me extend my heartfelt condolences!” Honda bows so low, his bangs fall into his eyes and obscure his vision.
“For what?” The older man inquires, voice emotionless. That, too, Matsugae had mastered when he wanted. He was truthfully his father’s son, Honda thinks.
”The loss of Kiyoaki,” Honda clarifies readily. “Word is all over the streets, Matsugae-sama.”
“Yes, that part is very unfortunate.” Finally, Matsugae’s father puts the brush aside and leans back, resting his hands on his thighs and perceiving Honda through narrow eyes. Calculating.
That, too, Matsugae had often done.
“But, your son…” Honda begins.
“My son was a passionate fool,” the man replies, waving his hand at the way Honda opens his mouth to protest. “You knew him best, Honda, am I not right?”
Honda murmurs a quiet, I shan’t presume to have known your son well enough, evidently, and the head of the Matsugae household gets to his feet tiredly, walking quietly over to a stand with tea and sake. He pours himself a cup of the latter, his voice frustrated.
”If I had known he felt that way about the girl, don’t you think I’d have done something? We’re not poor, we could have offered the Ayakura family an eligible match, but every time I asked him if he really wasn’t interested in that Satoko, he firmly denied. What was I supposed to do? Kiyoaki was like that. Too proud. That pride cost him his life in the end.”
“Pardon my rudeness, but I don’t think so, Matsugae-sama,” Honda says, making the other man turn his head towards him mid-sip, sake shining in his small cup in the soft light from the sunset. Honda bows low again and waits for the approaching sound of footfalls before looking up. Matsugae, father not son, is standing before him, eyes dark and glittering. “Kuchiki Byakuya lost him his life.”
“Hm,” is all that Matsugae’s father has to say at first, sipping more sake, until he finally empties his cup and puts it on his working desk. “Do you know the full account of what happened, Honda-kun?” he wants to know after a few long moments.
“I don’t believe so.”
“Well, Kiyoaki and Satoko had somewhat of a flirtation going, before the Ayakuras struck gold and got her hitched with Kuchiki-sama. Still, the girl knows her place, they’ve raised her right, and she accepted the marriage, since it could save her family from ruin. However, once she began looking happy and satisfied in her new accommodations, Kiyoaki got a bloated ego and had to start spreading rumours about their former affair, saying she’d been unfaithful to the Head of the Kuchiki Clan. You don’t do that with the Kuchiki family, those types are much too powerful. He could as well have hit himself in the head with that bokken, Kiyoaki…”
The older man sighs. For the first time since his arrival, Honda senses that he’s truly troubled by the death of his son.
“Kuchiki Byakuya is a trained officer and an aristocrat with immense power,” Honda insists, knowing if he should hold any hope of reaching Matsugae’s father with his logic, now is the time. “Kiyoaki couldn’t have defended himself even given a sword. That is an unjust fight. Surely there must have been another solution.”
“You’re a simple commoner,” Matsugae’s father dismisses him, his voice once again hard as stone. “You don’t understand the ways of nobility.”
“That may be,” Honda agrees. “I am, however, son of a legal advisor and I understand the law. If you do not forbid it, I will make a case of this. Your son deserves a fair legacy. Your family deserves a proper redress.”
For a long time, Matsugae’s father only watches him, wordlessly, something unreadable in his gaze, then he scoffs and returns to his former seat, continuing his writing. “Do what you want, but keep me uninformed. I’d rather not be accused of treason next.” A pause. “This is enough.”
Leaving the Matsugae Mansion, Honda understands that he is alone in his pursuit of justice for Matsugae, but then again – he has been alone in his views of Matsugae for many years now. This is simply to finish it on that same note.
The next day, he seeks out his father in his offices in Southern Rukongai where he, in his spare time, offers free legal advice to small vendors and merchants, focusing mainly on debt collection and similar financial matters. His official occupation is as legal advisor to the lower nobility who often scuffle among themselves and aren’t as untouchable as the big Clans, not internally, at least.
No one from this district could have much hope of touching anyone in those circles.
That is why his father does this work.
That is how Honda has learned how to do it, too.
“Ah, Shigekuni,” his father says in greeting, when he’s shown in by the strict-looking secretary. “What brings you here so late? Surely you have homework to do.”
Honda doesn’t beat around the bush, knowing his father’s time is precious and unwilling to squander it. “Have you heard about the death of Matsugae Kiyoaki, Father?”
“Is that why you have come?” His father wants to know, walking from the bookshelf to his desk and sitting down slowly. Honda comes over and stops right in front of the desk. They both know, he’d never disrupt his father’s working time otherwise.
“It is.”
“I have heard, of course. A humiliating end to the Mastsugae family’s legacy.”
“No doubt, Matsugae misbehaved, but usually misbehaviour gets a scolding. From civilized people, I mean. Only criminals and animals kill a defenseless boy for so little!” Honda hears his own voice rising as he speaks and quickly tunes it down.
His father doesn’t correct him, instead folding his hands on top of the desk, waiting for the question they both know will come of this.
“Is there no way to prosecute the Kuchiki family, Father?” Honda continues. If anyone, his father would know, having straddled the vast gap between the common world and the aristocracy for a good part of his long career.
“They’re above the law, as you well know, Shigekuni,” his father replies and Honda’s shoulder’s drop, lose some of the strength born of pent-up anger. Then, as if recognising his son’s dedication to this single goal now, he continues in an offhanded manner, as if talking about the weather. “No, you can’t raise question about the law with them, but you can raise question about their honour. It will hurt them much more, regardless.”
“Honour…” Honda hears himself repeat. Yes, because what kind of honourable beings take over all political instances and run a society without reproach or advice from the people they govern? Honda nods to himself. Yes, honour!
“Are you prepared to risk your life for this friend of yours, even when he is already dead?” his father inquires, beginning to shuffle through papers. The audience will soon be over. “Because, you must know, that is what will happen. You may follow him there.”
“Do you forbid it, Father?” Honda only wants to know.
“No. I raised you to be an honourable man.”
“Then, I am prepared.”
“I see.” It’s all his father says before he calls for the secretary and has Honda shown to the door. Yet, Honda knows that although he will walk the road alone, his father’s understanding and acceptance pave the way. Wherever it leads, that will be Honda’s given destination.
A month later, after long after-school hours of spreading fliers and bulletins and pamphlets, getting the word out about “these dishonourable times of Soul Society”, holding rallies and speaking to the common people more than a little fed up with the aristocracy and the Gotei 13, Honda runs into her in the streets.
The girl formerly known as Ayakura Satoko.
Matsugae’s only love.
He doesn’t know why he’s willing to risk it, he has purposefully stayed out of the Kuchiki Clan’s direct path, making it a political debate rather than a family matter, but seeing her stroll through the markets, surrounded by servants on all sides, her hair done up and her kimono worth more, no doubt, than either his father or Mastsugae’s could make in a year, he thinks of something Matsugae had said, one time when Honda had complimented the girl’s beauty, after they’s run into her in the Matsugae gardens.
You have to be careful with her, Honda. Satoko-san never says everything she thinks. You can’t trust people like that, can you?
And Honda had looked sideways at Matsugae and thought to himself, no, I know.
Now, he breaks into a run, following her trails across the square, panting harshly and finally, yelling her name, again and again, heads all over the market turning after him. Satoko-san! Satoko-san! Satoko, too, turns after a long second, her servant girls lining up in front of her, ensuring that Honda can only talk to her from a safe distance. However, when she seems to recognise him, she motions for them to step aside. Let him closer. Honda stops in front of her.
”Honda-san,” she says.
”It’s been a while,” he greets in return.
“It’s been a while,” she repeats.
“Did you hear about Matsugae,” he asks her, directly, and not because he assumes she hasn’t. Her expression turns nostalgic, a little melancholy, like he’s opened the chest holding a long-lost childhood memory.
“Of course,” she replies, finally. Her smile is sad, but beautiful. Stunningly so. Honda hesitates only a brief moment, before saying what he came to say.
“Do you feel justified, Satoko-san?”
Although it turns a notch sadder, the smile doesn’t die away and Satoko looks off to the side as she replies, slowly, as if tasting the words as she speaks them: “Justice is a men’s concept, Honda-san. It has never served women right.” Her voice lightens, however. “We can only wait for a person to weigh their intentions for us against any societal idea of rightness. Do you understand?”
He shakes his head. ”Is that what happened?”
“That’s what happened. Kiyo-sama was found wanting and someone else was free to take his place.” One of the servants steps closer and whispers something in Satoko’s ear that makes her nod to herself and grasp her hands primly in front of herself, as she takes a short glance behind Honda who suspects they won’t be let alone for much longer.
“By someone, you mean Kuchiki Byakuya?”
The words that answer him are contemplative rather than sharp. She isn’t attacking, she’s wondering instead. “Who the man was, does that matter, when the justice done was to me? Or am I not part of the equation in your head?”
Belatedly, he realizes that he has no correct response to that. He could say no, and he would be in the wrong, morally. Or he could say she had been considered at any point, and he would be lying. Honda bows his head, shamefully, which she graciously accepts as his answer. Behind them, guards show up, one coming up to Honda and roughly pulling him back, away. Time to go, boy.
”Good afternoon,” Satoko tells him. Goodbye, it means.
With his back half to her, Honda mutters, “thank you for your time, Satoko-san.”
After that, it becomes even more of a political debate, completely severed from any talk about the Kuchiki family or Matsugae’s death. And like all political debates, it eventually loses the people’s interest.
Honda returns to his schoolwork.