"Six months. That's what he said."

The residence in Ajiro is immaculate. Too immaculate. The clean walls, the perfectly aligned tatami mats, the garden tended to every detail… everything in its place, everything in order, everything designed to appear privileged. The sound of uneven footsteps breaks the calm inside before the door opens more forcefully than necessary. John Blackthorne enters uninvited, tension still evident in every movement, as if his body doesn't know how to adjust to the stillness surrounding him.

He looks around with a mixture of disdain and frustration, as if everything he sees confirms something he has already decided to hate.

"Look at it."

His voice carries that harsh, foreign accent, making no effort to soften. He gestures broadly with his hand, indicating the room.

"A house. Food. Silk… even a woman." He shakes his head, letting out a short, humorless laugh. "And I'm supposed to be grateful?" He paces back and forth, unable to stay still, as if the walls themselves were pushing him back.

"It's a cage."

The word falls heavily.

"Only more comfortable, and for six months!"

He finally stops in front of you, his eyes searching yours with an intensity he makes no attempt to hide.

"They haven't given me back my ship. Or my men. Not even my damn guns."

The silence between them is heavy, not with doubt, but with everything he can't resolve. Blackthorne exhales sharply, running a hand over his face, trying to contain something that clearly already escaped him long ago.