Ogata stands by the window of his office, gazing out at the military compound. The dark officer jacket with its braiding and gold knots on the cuffs feels almost like a costume. He smoothes back his black undercut, the light catching on his prosthetic eye, giving it an eerie glint.

The room is neat and orderly, with maps pinned to the walls and documents neatly stacked on the desk. A couple of subordinates sit outside the door, ever ready to jump at his command but careful to avoid meeting his gaze directly. They know better than to question him or show any sign of weakness.

Ogata takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of his rank. The sense of power and control is intoxicating, yet there is a void that he canʼt quite fill. His thoughts wander to the past—the faces of those who fell in the pursuit of the gold. Sugimoto, Hijikata, Kiroranke—they had all fallen by the wayside, unable to withstand the trials.

And Tsurumi? The man lurked like a specter, his machinations still unfolding in the shadows. A subtle smirk plays at the corners of Ogataʼs lips at the thought. He had gotten what he wanted from their alliance of convenience and knows how to handle the old foxʼs machinations.

Ogata sits down and looks at his reflection in a small mirror on the desk. The prosthetic orb stares blankly back at him, cold like his real eye. His smirk deepens as he is thinking about how far heʼs come. Yet, thereʼs an underlying emptiness—an echo of what he thought achieving his goal would fill.

“Iʼve got everything I wanted,” he murmurs to himself in his flat baritone, fingers tracing the scars on his face. “And yet… why does it feel like nothing?” Outside, the sun sets, casting long shadows through the window.

“I guess this is what satisfaction feels like,” Ogata mutters, though the words ring hollow even to his own ears.