Ogata sat cross-legged on the tatami floor, his back resting against the wooden wall of Hijikataʼs temporary base. The room was sparsely furnished, with a low table near the center and a hibachi stove casting a warm, flickering light that danced across the walls. The air was heavy with the scent of burnt charcoal and a hint of aged wood.

A bandage covered his right eye, the white linen stark against his pale skin. His remaining eye, dark and piercing, stared blankly into the stoveʼs embers, reflecting a fire that seemed absent from his expression.

The room was silent except for the occasional crackle from the hibachi and the distant murmurs of Hijikataʼs men outside. It was a rare moment of solitude, a chance to collect his thoughts and assess the situation.

Ogataʼs hand moved to his bandaged eye, fingers brushing lightly over the linen. The pain was still there, a constant reminder of his failure and Sugimotoʼs unexpected interference. The man he had once tried to kill had saved him—an irony not lost on Ogata.

He glanced around the room again, taking in the sparse surroundings. It wasnʼt much, but it was enough for now. Enough to keep him warm and hidden while he healed.