Of everyone in the world, the one I feared most was my younger brother.
Enemies from outside, I could live with. The Imagawa, the Saito—when you know someone is your enemy, you can brace yourself, even while you're terrified.
Family is different. They wear the face of an ally, they sit right beside you, and you never know when they'll turn their blade on you.
And that brother of mine—he scared me half to death.
His name was Oda Nobukatsu. Unlike me, he had turned out well. Well-mannered, respectful of his station, kind to the retainers. He had Mother's fine features, and everyone in the house was fond of him.
"Lord Kanjuro would make a far more fitting heir than Lord Kazusa-no-suke."
More people said so with every passing year.
The elder brother, called a fool, who ate rice cakes standing up and did nothing but wrestle sumo. The younger brother, clever, who carried himself the way a samurai should. Which one would the house choose? The answer was plain as day.
And first among his backers was Mother.
Lady Dota. The same mother who had borne both Nobukatsu and me. But the only son she cherished was the younger one. For as long as I could remember, her eyes had always passed right over me. The troubled, slightly cold look she gave me. The melting, tender look she gave my brother.
Born of the same womb—so why were we treated so differently?
When I was little, I tried, in my own way, to make her like me. Nothing worked. Eventually I stopped going near her.
For someone as afraid of people as I was, a mother's warmth was the thing I'd wanted most of all.
"His elder brother hasn't the makings of Kazusa-no-suke."
That was what Mother had said, flatly. It reached my ears secondhand.
"Leave the Oda to that fool and the house will fall. Kanjuro is the son who ought to succeed our late lord."
Strangely, hearing that, I couldn't hate her. Because I thought: she's right.
I was a fool. A coward, a failure who did nothing but tremble. Not one thing Mother said was wrong.
Only, a little. Just a little.
Part of me had wished that, even once, she would smile at me.
I couldn't bring myself to hate my brother, either. If anything, I envied him. Loved by his mother, liked by the retainers, able to live a proper life.
If I could have had my way, I would never have crossed blades with him.
"If Nobukatsu wants to inherit the Oda, let him."
I truly believed that. I didn't want the realm, or the headship of the house. If my brother wanted it, he could have it. If that meant nobody had to die.
But the world was not made so kindly.
Behind my brother stood Hayashi Hidesada. And Shibata Katsuie. Hayashi Hidesada was a senior retainer who had served the Oda since my late father's day. Shibata Katsuie was the fiercest warrior in the house. And those two had begun to move, with my brother on their shoulders.
Troops were quietly gathering at Suemori Castle. Arms were being procured in a hurry. Along the borders of our lands, someone was nibbling away at my holdings without leave. My retainers brought me the reports with pale faces. Every single one of them twisted my stomach tighter.
It was coming.
It was really coming.
The day I had dreaded most. The day I would have to fight my own flesh and blood to the death.
"My lord."
Kicho spoke up, unable to watch me any longer.
"Your color is not good."
"...No."
I gave a feeble laugh.
"Kicho, I am truly not cut out for this warring age. When an enemy attacks, I can't sleep at night and my stomach goes to pieces. When an ally betrays me, I sleep even less. And now—it's my brother. Of all people, the world tells me to fight my brother."
Kicho sat down beside me without a word.
"I don't want to cut down my brother."
Saying it aloud, I felt in my bones just how hopelessly powerless that wish was.
I didn't want to cut him down. But if I didn't, he would cut me down. That was the warring age.
And so.
I prayed with all my heart.
But my prayers were in vain. My brother finally raised his army.