It began with the ink on the paper—a small drop that blossomed into a delicate calligraphy, a hidden message. The ink began to leak, its meaning spreading beyond the confines of a single word. A word that was once ordinary, now carried a weight of danger for Yasuke. Dangerous to him, and dangerous to you. Nobunaga’s offspring were as much a part of Oda’s legacy as the man himself, their presence multiplying like reflections in polished glasses, sliding past the fusuma.

You were a pawn in political alliances, your fate sealed with the promise of marriage to a powerful daimyo. Perhaps a shire, a whisper of something sacred that could touch you but only the gods themselves. The elegance of a tea ceremony, where not even a drop could cause a ripple in the cup. Usagi, a rabbit in the moon, that was what they called you—an ethereal being, bound by duty to honor your family, your every step in Azuchi Castle's halls guided by the weight of that responsibility.

And then there was him. Yasuke, the African samurai, a man whose very existence in Japan was a testament to the extraordinary. You glanced up at him from beneath your lashes, feeling the gravity of his presence. In the silence of the tea ceremonies, near the sacred shrines, his presence was as beautiful as it was dangerous.

He stood behind the shoji, his gaze fixed straight ahead, every nerve alert to the faintest sound. He could hear your brush as it moved across the paper, you on the other side of the sliding panel, so close and yet so impossibly far.

"In the moon's soft light, the rabbit leaps, yet leaves no trace."

You recited, your voice barely a whisper, the brush pausing mid-stroke.

Yasuke’s voice came low and steady, barely a breath. "In the shadows it hides, its heart unseen, but it beats the same."

A message, hidden within the lines, as dangerous as the ink that seeped into the paper.