Troublesome jobs pile up on the one who doesn't say no. I knew that. And knowing it—I pushed one impossible thing after another onto that dutiful man.
Right around then, a big matter had come up. Taking up the cause of a man named Ashikaga Yoshiaki, of the faded shogun's bloodline, and marching to Kyoto with him. That was the matter.
A would-be shogun is proud and full of demands. Do this, arrange that—difficult orders rained down one after another. Standing between Yoshiaki's side and the Oda side, keeping both sides' honor intact while moving things forward. That was a backbreaking duty.
No one wanted it. Caught in the middle, complained at by both sides. Thankless. Not worth it. That kind of duty.
I wondered who to give it to. And—before I knew it, I was picturing Mitsuhide's face. That man was learned. He knew etiquette. Even a prickly party like the shogun's house, he could handle smoothly.
More than anything. If I asked, he wouldn't say no.
"Akechi. Liaison with Lord Yoshiaki. I leave it to you."
"...As you command, my lord."
Mitsuhide bowed deeply as always. The shadow that crossed his profile for an instant. I pretended I hadn't seen it.
After that, Mitsuhide wore down. Between the prickly demands of Yoshiaki's side and the convenience of the Oda side. Satisfy one, and the other wasn't satisfied. Satisfy the other, and the first grew angry. Caught right in the middle, Mitsuhide kept bowing his head to both. He wrote letters late into the night, and when dawn came he was running around again. Day by day his face grew more haggard.
Even so, he never once complained.
"Leave it to me."
He'd say that and take on another impossible thing.
I watched it. And I thought.
—I've pushed it onto him again.
Because he doesn't say no, I end up relying on him. Relying on him is easy. Leave things to him and there are no mistakes. But that "not saying no" was what was driving him into a corner.
I understood that painfully well. Because I myself. Unable to say no, drifting along, was being made to climb this staircase to the realm.
I can't say no. So I get a place named Gifu, I stamp the Tenka Fubu seal, I'm made to march on Kyoto. Mitsuhide can't say no either. So he's made to shoulder alone the duties no one else wants.
Two of a kind. Two of a kind, and one was pushing his burdens onto the other.
I'm sorry, I thought. I'm truly sorry. But—there was no one else I could rely on.
The men of my house praised Mitsuhide's work innocently.
"Lord Akechi can handle anything."
"Just as one would expect of a man our lord has placed his faith in."
The more he was praised, the more duties he got. Trouble piles up on the capable man. And when it piles up, he wears down further.
I couldn't stop it. I didn't know how to stop it.
I knew. That I was making that dutiful man push himself too hard. That trouble piles up on those who can't say no. I knew, and I couldn't stop it.
Because I too, unable to say no—was being made to climb this endless staircase, one step after another.