A Scandal in Edo
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+. to F › Code Geass
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
16
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5,336
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
+. to F › Code Geass
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
16
Views:
5,336
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Code Geass, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Eight Years Ago
--was an accident.
It had been an accident.
He was ten years old and ready to learn the ways of the sword. His teacher said that he needed to practice every day to become stronger.
His father had an important job in the bureaucracy of the Shogunate. As he was young, Suzaku was not privy to the exact details of his work. But recently, he had been coming back late. He had been especially taciturn that week and by the frown on his face, his mood was turning rapidly foul. Something, somewhere was going wrong.
His father’s heart was not calm on the day he had accepted Suzaku’s request to watch him demonstrate what his teacher had taught him. A most demanding man, his father had been. It was not enough to entrust his son’s education to other teachers. At home, he would often examine his son’s scholarship and critique his sword forms. He was a hard man to please, his father was.
And Suzaku so desperately wanted his father’s approval.
But as usual, his best was not quite enough and his father had stepped off the viewing porch like a god coming down from the mountain to correct him.
Again, he had said to his son. Show me your mettle. Your sword is a reflection of your soul.
Although he worked as a bureaucrat, his father was a samurai of the old school. Very traditional.
Again, you can do better than that.
Suzaku was tiring, but he did not wish to disappoint his father. Yet he was still determined to prove himself.
Come at me again. Your form is getting sloppy.
His father was not as alert as he should have been. The young were unpredictable because they were not rigidly set in their ways. His sword forms were not as regulated as they would have been given a few more years of practice.
And Suzaku really should have been using a practice blade.
But who was to know that his feint would get past his father’s guard? Certainly not Suzaku, who stared at his handiwork in a kind of bemused horror.
Things might have turned out differently if the first person on the scene had not been his uncle. Uncle Masahiro was his mother’s brother. Also a bureaucrat of the Shogunate, he had been showing up more often to meet with his brother-in-law of late for reasons that the adults kept to themselves.
Upon seeing the frozen tableau, he had run up to check his brother-in-law’s vitals. But even Suzaku knew what a dead man looked like.
It was his uncle’s actions afterwards that Suzaku would always remember.
Hastily drawing Suzaku away, Uncle Masahiro had questioned him very carefully. Upon discovering the truth, his uncle had faced him, an almost kind expression on his face.
Your father’s death should not be in vain. It would be a shame for him to go like this, with so much unfinished business at stake.
Did he know that his father had been busy? Yes, of course.
Well, there was some trouble . . . certain things were not where they were supposed to be. Suzaku’s father had been working to resolve the issue, but at the rate things were going, there would be a scandal and it would stain even the high-ranking officials they were working under.
But if, and just if, his father were to take it upon himself to commit ritual suicide, then all honour would be restored.
Only later, much later, did Suzaku question the honour of such a request. But by then, it was too late.
When he was fourteen and older, when he dared to look back into his past, he would remember what his uncle had said.
When he was fifteen and wiser, he investigated the events surrounding the apparent suicide of his father on his own.
Five years ago, there had been a matter concerning a tithe of some twenty thousand bushels of rice and several thousand tales of silver in back-taxes. His uncle had been understating the issue of things not being where they were supposed to be. His uncle and father had worked for the same official whose responsibility it was to oversee the accounting of the tithe.
His uncle had received a promotion not long after the affair had concluded.
Suzaku chose not to look further. Even if he suspected what lay at the end of that five-year old trail, even if he were to deny his father’s involvement in such an affair . . . Let the dead keep their secrets.
“And so my uncle has been wary of me since I turned sixteen and was not the same boy he could manipulate,” he said to the girl, who had watched him tell his tale with wide eyes. He expected to see her recoil in horror. Be aghast at such an awful and sordid history. But not the flash of anger that kindled such an intense light in her eyes.
“That’s a terrible burden . . . for a ten-year old to carry. Suzaku-san, I would keep your secret even if you had not paid me.”
It seemed that he would have to accept “Suzaku-san” for now. She was the first soul he had unburdened himself on. Someone outside the world of officials, bureaucrats and samurai jockeying for power and prestige. Yet she seemed to understand what he was saying and what he was not saying, for she did not press him for his reasons.
“That the code of honour was twisted like that, to make use of you when you were that young, that was inexcusable.” She was a samurai’s daughter and she knew what he had been taught. Family honour and honour to their liege lord above all else.
Suzaku had stopped believing in honour years ago.
“Maybe so. Maybe it was better this way. We would never know how it would have ended otherwise.”
“My apologies, I spoke out of turn.”
“I like you better when you were honest, Luluko-san,” Suzaku said. The slight flush on her face was really one of the most attractive things he had the pleasure to witness. “It’s getting late--do you wish to go home?”
She nodded and another hairpin slipped out of her unravelled hairdo, resulting in the rest of it tumbling down around her neck and shoulders. A most unladylike word slipped out and she clapped her hand over her mouth in mortification. Suzaku surprised himself by laughing while she glared at him.
Luluko solved the problem by removing all the pins and tying the mass of hair back in a single tail. She looked younger--and so very lovely. It was fortunate that Suzaku had suggested that they leave the inn. His good intentions would only hold out for so long.
Perhaps he was still trying too hard to be chivalrous, but Suzaku offered to walk her home anyway. As the law stipulated that a man and a woman could not walk together, a woman could only walk two steps behind a man. Which made conversation very awkward, but there was not much to say in public beside the usual platitude about the weather and when the cherry blossoms were expected.
Nearer to Asakusa, she stopped by the bridge over the river and bowed to him. It would not be good for a samurai of his standing to be seen in this neighbourhood so late at night. Suzaku agreed. For her reputation rather than his.
As for him, he would go back to the Nishinomaru. Perhaps after bothering Toudou-sensei for a cup of tea or something stronger. It might be rude to impose, but Suzaku felt curiously relaxed enough to break with convention for once and subject himself to his teacher’s metaphors for a little while.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
It had been an accident.
He was ten years old and ready to learn the ways of the sword. His teacher said that he needed to practice every day to become stronger.
His father had an important job in the bureaucracy of the Shogunate. As he was young, Suzaku was not privy to the exact details of his work. But recently, he had been coming back late. He had been especially taciturn that week and by the frown on his face, his mood was turning rapidly foul. Something, somewhere was going wrong.
His father’s heart was not calm on the day he had accepted Suzaku’s request to watch him demonstrate what his teacher had taught him. A most demanding man, his father had been. It was not enough to entrust his son’s education to other teachers. At home, he would often examine his son’s scholarship and critique his sword forms. He was a hard man to please, his father was.
And Suzaku so desperately wanted his father’s approval.
But as usual, his best was not quite enough and his father had stepped off the viewing porch like a god coming down from the mountain to correct him.
Again, he had said to his son. Show me your mettle. Your sword is a reflection of your soul.
Although he worked as a bureaucrat, his father was a samurai of the old school. Very traditional.
Again, you can do better than that.
Suzaku was tiring, but he did not wish to disappoint his father. Yet he was still determined to prove himself.
Come at me again. Your form is getting sloppy.
His father was not as alert as he should have been. The young were unpredictable because they were not rigidly set in their ways. His sword forms were not as regulated as they would have been given a few more years of practice.
And Suzaku really should have been using a practice blade.
But who was to know that his feint would get past his father’s guard? Certainly not Suzaku, who stared at his handiwork in a kind of bemused horror.
Things might have turned out differently if the first person on the scene had not been his uncle. Uncle Masahiro was his mother’s brother. Also a bureaucrat of the Shogunate, he had been showing up more often to meet with his brother-in-law of late for reasons that the adults kept to themselves.
Upon seeing the frozen tableau, he had run up to check his brother-in-law’s vitals. But even Suzaku knew what a dead man looked like.
It was his uncle’s actions afterwards that Suzaku would always remember.
Hastily drawing Suzaku away, Uncle Masahiro had questioned him very carefully. Upon discovering the truth, his uncle had faced him, an almost kind expression on his face.
Your father’s death should not be in vain. It would be a shame for him to go like this, with so much unfinished business at stake.
Did he know that his father had been busy? Yes, of course.
Well, there was some trouble . . . certain things were not where they were supposed to be. Suzaku’s father had been working to resolve the issue, but at the rate things were going, there would be a scandal and it would stain even the high-ranking officials they were working under.
But if, and just if, his father were to take it upon himself to commit ritual suicide, then all honour would be restored.
Only later, much later, did Suzaku question the honour of such a request. But by then, it was too late.
When he was fourteen and older, when he dared to look back into his past, he would remember what his uncle had said.
When he was fifteen and wiser, he investigated the events surrounding the apparent suicide of his father on his own.
Five years ago, there had been a matter concerning a tithe of some twenty thousand bushels of rice and several thousand tales of silver in back-taxes. His uncle had been understating the issue of things not being where they were supposed to be. His uncle and father had worked for the same official whose responsibility it was to oversee the accounting of the tithe.
His uncle had received a promotion not long after the affair had concluded.
Suzaku chose not to look further. Even if he suspected what lay at the end of that five-year old trail, even if he were to deny his father’s involvement in such an affair . . . Let the dead keep their secrets.
“And so my uncle has been wary of me since I turned sixteen and was not the same boy he could manipulate,” he said to the girl, who had watched him tell his tale with wide eyes. He expected to see her recoil in horror. Be aghast at such an awful and sordid history. But not the flash of anger that kindled such an intense light in her eyes.
“That’s a terrible burden . . . for a ten-year old to carry. Suzaku-san, I would keep your secret even if you had not paid me.”
It seemed that he would have to accept “Suzaku-san” for now. She was the first soul he had unburdened himself on. Someone outside the world of officials, bureaucrats and samurai jockeying for power and prestige. Yet she seemed to understand what he was saying and what he was not saying, for she did not press him for his reasons.
“That the code of honour was twisted like that, to make use of you when you were that young, that was inexcusable.” She was a samurai’s daughter and she knew what he had been taught. Family honour and honour to their liege lord above all else.
Suzaku had stopped believing in honour years ago.
“Maybe so. Maybe it was better this way. We would never know how it would have ended otherwise.”
“My apologies, I spoke out of turn.”
“I like you better when you were honest, Luluko-san,” Suzaku said. The slight flush on her face was really one of the most attractive things he had the pleasure to witness. “It’s getting late--do you wish to go home?”
She nodded and another hairpin slipped out of her unravelled hairdo, resulting in the rest of it tumbling down around her neck and shoulders. A most unladylike word slipped out and she clapped her hand over her mouth in mortification. Suzaku surprised himself by laughing while she glared at him.
Luluko solved the problem by removing all the pins and tying the mass of hair back in a single tail. She looked younger--and so very lovely. It was fortunate that Suzaku had suggested that they leave the inn. His good intentions would only hold out for so long.
Perhaps he was still trying too hard to be chivalrous, but Suzaku offered to walk her home anyway. As the law stipulated that a man and a woman could not walk together, a woman could only walk two steps behind a man. Which made conversation very awkward, but there was not much to say in public beside the usual platitude about the weather and when the cherry blossoms were expected.
Nearer to Asakusa, she stopped by the bridge over the river and bowed to him. It would not be good for a samurai of his standing to be seen in this neighbourhood so late at night. Suzaku agreed. For her reputation rather than his.
As for him, he would go back to the Nishinomaru. Perhaps after bothering Toudou-sensei for a cup of tea or something stronger. It might be rude to impose, but Suzaku felt curiously relaxed enough to break with convention for once and subject himself to his teacher’s metaphors for a little while.