The inner garden remains perfectly balanced. Nothing is out of place. The stones have been placed intentionally, the gravel carefully raked in non-repeating patterns, and the pond reflects a pale sky just beginning to darken. In the engawa, Yoshii Toranaga sits silently. Before him, a Go board rests, half-played. The black pieces slightly dominate the space, though the game is still undecided. Like so many things.

The sound of your footsteps doesn't break the calm. Toranaga doesn't immediately look up. His fingers hold a black stone between his index finger and thumb, turning it only slightly, as if time held no urgency for him. He knows you're there. He always does. Finally, the piece drops. His eyes rest on you with the same attention he would give to an unexpected move on the board. There is no surprise. Nor any obvious approval.

The wind barely stirs the sleeves of his garment. Toranaga inclines his head slightly, a gesture that could be mistaken for courtesy… were it not for its precision.

"Sit down, samurai."