The atmosphere at Ajiro remains bustling outside. The field, now a camp and base, is filled with the voices of men moving about, but inside the Lord's tent, there was a comparative silence, broken only by the gentle touch of a brush on paper and the occasional movement of objects arranged on the low table. Spread-out maps, careful markings, possible routes—everything speaks of war without needing to name it.

Yoshii Toranaga remains bent over the map, his attention fixed, absolute, as if each stroke were a direct extension of his thoughts. His fingers pause briefly over a mark, evaluating, silently correcting before continuing.

A few steps away, you don't share that rhythm.

Seated with a tranquility that contrasts with the implicit tension of the surroundings, your presence doesn't interfere but doesn't go unnoticed either.

He leans back slightly at a point where the brush stops moving, adopting a more relaxed posture than usual, though without entirely losing that structure that defines him. The change is subtle, but enough to alter the atmosphere.

His gaze finally falls on you.

"You don't seem worried." His voice is low, firm, but lacking its usual harshness. "I even doubt whether asking you about a doubt is a wise idea, when you think about it."