The days went by, punctuated by a sinister and unchanging routine. The memory of the slain tiger remained vivid in the prisoners' memories. Many spoke of it in low voices, as an improbable feat. Senzaki's name, once associated with an impulsive brute, now resonated with a different timbre. He had become the survivor, one of those who had been able to join forces in the face of a greater threat.
Aranobu exploited this reputation in subtle ways. During the chores, if he came across a prisoner who was exhausted or injured, he would give him a brief helping hand, without excess, just enough to sow the idea that he was not hostile to cooperation. However, he avoided being too nice, so as not to arouse suspicion. His role was to remain ambiguous, borrowing both from the old Senzaki and from his own nobler personality.
Fujita Naotora, the former tea master, approached him one day, out of sight. They were assigned to move heavy sacks of moldy grain to a remote corner of the courtyard. The guards were talking to each other, distracted. Fujita knelt by a bag, pretending to examine its contents, and whispered in a light voice, "Senzaki... I got what you wanted... well, what we had been talking about.
Aranobu frowned, lowering his chin. "I didn't ask for anything."
Fujita smiled, without looking up. "Really? Still, I thought you'd want something for... to slumber vigilance. A blend of herbs, a modified tea. The guards are so tense, sometimes a little would relax them.
Aranobu realized that Fujita was offering a poison or sleeping pill. A potentially valuable tool. But taking such a risk now would be premature. He did not yet know the escape plan, nor the real complicity. It was better to temporize. It's too early," he replied soberly. "Save that for later. Things have to mature.
Fujita nodded, slipping a speck of dust between her fingers. "As you wish. But know that I have a small stock. When you're ready...
Aranobu nodded and stood up, pulling a bag over his shoulder. The gesture was accomplished, the seed planted.
Meanwhile, Kishibe Tsuneko was watching Aranobu from a distance. She didn't approach him head-on, but he could feel her gaze. In the dining hall, she would sometimes sit two tables away from him, talking to other inmates, and perhaps slipping in a few words about this less predictable "Senzaki." Aranobu thought of contacting her directly, but the woman-at-arms was temperamental. It was better to wait for it to come on its own, or to find a pretext.
Ryō remained a special case. This idealistic young prisoner, locked up by mistake, was like a frightened puppy in a pack of wolves. Aranobu would often pass him, sometimes sharing a chore, and then give him some brief advice, showing him how to lift a load without further injury, or to stay away from a violent guard. Gradually, Ryō developed a mute admiration for Aranobu, seeing him as a taciturn but reliable guide. This could be helpful, as a motivated and obedient workforce would be valuable in an escape plan.
Daigo, the colossus, remained more difficult to pin down. He worked in silence, obeyed orders, never complaining, but his sadness was palpable. Aranobu had learned, through whispers, that Daigo had lost his family before being locked up here, accused of rebellion. One day, after the meal, Aranobu managed to meet Daigo near a wall. He contented himself with saying to him, in a low tone: "You struck hard in the fight against the tiger. Without you, we would have died. Daigo shrugged, his voice hoarse, "It was the only way out. Aranobu replied, "But you chose to do it." It's a strength. The colossus looked down, perhaps touched by the implicit recognition. A tenuous link, but a link nonetheless.
Akemi, the healer, continued her discreet work. Aranobu saw her dressing wounds, massaging bruised muscles, sharing some medicinal herbs. She was like a glimmer of humanity in this brutal world. Sometimes she treated him without a word, just a look full of meaning, she seemed to gauge him, assessing his fragile balance between survival and cruelty. One day, when he had a wound on his arm, she whispered, "Every day here is a test. Who will you be when you go out? Aranobu had no answer. He looked down, thinking When I get out, I'll get my true body back. I will become Aranobu again. But how can this be explained? He just nodded. She understood without insisting.
The Director, for his part, maintained an ominous silence. No new games, no thunderous announcements. Just the brutal routine. The prisoners felt uneasy, as if a storm was brewing. Did the lack of entertainment for the Director mean that he was preparing for a more devious test? Or was he content to wait for the tension to subside?
One morning, a squad of guards entered the cell quarters, accompanied by a scribe carrying scrolls. They wrote names, called prisoners, checked registers. Some detainees were taken elsewhere, perhaps for interrogation or otherwise. Aranobu, worried, remained silent. His name was not called that day, which relieved him temporarily. However, he watched for the reaction of the others. Kishibe frowned at these movements, Fujita kept a deadpan mask, Daigo remained stoic, Ryō trembled like a leaf, afraid that he would be taken away. Akemi, on the other hand, observed discreetly, no doubt noting who was leaving and who was coming back.
Two prisoners close to Fujita disappeared in this way, without anyone knowing why. There was a rumor that they had been executed, another that they had been transferred to a deeper block of the prison, an even worse hell. Fear grew, and Aranobu knew that this climate of uncertainty could be a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it pushed prisoners to docility, on the other, it fuelled the idea that remaining inactive led to death. Would rebellion become more tempting?
Aranobu decided it was time to make discreet contact with Kishibe Tsuneko, the most unstable of the group who had faced the tiger, but also a woman of courage and rage. During a chore of cleaning buckets of standing water, he managed to be near her. The guards watched, but without much attention, because they found this task boring.
Kishibe, his sleeves rolled up, skimmed a bucket, his jaw clenched. Aranobu leaned over a nearby bucket, not looking directly at her, and whispered, "Would you like to team up again someday?" She jumped, nearly spilling the water. "Excuse me?" she hissed between her teeth. Aranobu continued, slowly, "Against another monster..." or something worse. We've already done it. We survived. Kishibe let out a nervous laugh. "Do you think I want to play the hero again? We were lucky, that's all. Aranobu took a low, hoarse, almost indifferent tone: "No heroes here. Just people who want to live. A second of silence, then Kishibe sighed, avoiding his gaze, "I'll think." I don't trust anyone, but... We'll see. It was a start. A door ajar.
Time passed, and Aranobu was always looking for more flaws, more details. He eventually noticed a younger guard, the same one who seemed nervous, whom Fujita had mentioned from afar. This guard sometimes had tics, tremors, as if he were afraid of something. One evening, Aranobu overheard a conversation between this young guard and an older one. The young man seemed to be begging the elder to obtain him a leave of absence, to leave this prison. The other laughed, saying that one did not leave this post easily, that the Director did not like desertions. An uncomfortable guard could be a flaw. Maybe Fujita could drug him? But a wider plan was needed.
At night, Aranobu mentally reviewed the map of the corridors, the doors, the railings. He imagined how to distract some guards, how to gain a few minutes, how to equip prisoners with improvised weapons. Nothing was simple. The Director had surely planned for successive layers of security. An escape would involve a coordinated revolt of several groups. It wasn't for now, but he was laying the groundwork.
One morning, an unexpected event occurred. As the prisoners made their way into the courtyard, a guard stumbled and fell into the mud, causing some of the inmates to stumble into stifled hilarity. The guard, humiliated, flew into a terrible rage, striking with a stick the first prisoner within reach, an unfortunate emaciated man. The violence intensified. Another prisoner protested and was also beaten. There was a close call for a riot, but the other guards intervened
inrent, threatened to kill everyone. Calm was restored in terror. Aranobu watched this scene with a heavy heart. Injustice stirred up hatred. One day, this hatred could turn against the jailers.
Aranobu's neighbor in the adjacent cell was more talkative that night after the incident. "Senzaki, did you see that scene? The guard went crazy just for a muffled laugh.
Aranobu replied, "They hold us by fear. The neighbor growled, "One day, fear won't be enough. If everyone rebelled at the same time...
Aranobu shrugged, "It's risky. The neighbor grumbled, "We might die, but we'd die free." A silence weighed heavily. Aranobu weighed every word. Too much enthusiasm would have seemed suspicious. He opted for a somber tone: "Dying is not my goal. It's better to find a loophole to escape. The neighbor didn't answer, but Aranobu hoped he was thinking.
The weeks passed, in a climate of slow boiling. The Director, always invisible, distilled anguish by his silence. However, one afternoon, a rumor spread that a messenger had arrived from outside, carrying orders from the shogunate. Perhaps the Director should soon execute some high-ranking prisoners, or negotiate an exchange. This rumour reinforced the need to act one day. If noble or important prisoners were executed, the prison would become a mass grave, and the hope of getting out alive would diminish.
Aranobu decided to probe Daigo on this point. While fetching wood, he approached the colossus and whispered, "Did you hear the rumor about the messenger?" Daigo nodded, his eyes dark. "Yes. It doesn't bode well. Aranobu added, "If they execute more prisoners, our chances will be reduced." Daigo growled, "Are you insinuating that we should do something?"
Aranobu kept a cautious tone: "Just to say that we can't wait for them to kill us all.
Daigo clenched his jaw, not responding. But Aranobu thought he saw a gleam in his eyes, like a seed of revolt ready to germinate.
Fujita, on the other hand, observed the scene from afar. Aranobu sensed it: the tea master was an opportunist, ready to seize the slightest opportunity. If Aranobu ever wanted to stage an escape, he would need this kind of individual, capable of handling substances, bribing guards, or buying accomplices. But trust was a rare luxury here.
One evening, while Aranobu was dozing, he heard a moan in a nearby cell. A prisoner was crying, begging a dumb god to release him. This distress resonated with him: If I free this world from the oppression of the Director, I also free destroyed beings. But do I have the strength to free everyone, or just myself? The escape that was maturing in his mind was not a simple selfish escape, but a challenge to the system. The longer he stayed, the greater the cause became. He didn't just want to run away, he wanted to get his body back and punish Senzaki. But how can we ignore the suffering of others? The moral dilemma gnawed at him.
Akemi noticed this inner conflict. One morning, she was nursing him for a scrap on his wrist, and whispered, "Your eyes are different. It seems that you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Aranobu looked away, how could she understand? She put a light hand on his, "It doesn't matter what you were before, what matters is what you decide to be now." His simple words touched him. Was she guessing his true nature? Or just sensitive to change in their behavior? Anyway, it comforted him.
From now on, Aranobu began to have a clearer vision: to gather a small core of reliable inmates (Kishibe, Daigo, Ryō, Fujita, Akemi), provide them with weapons, drug a few guards, find a passage, create a diversion. But all this required time, additional information. Where were the keys? How many guards at all times? How to neutralize the Director, or to bypass him? The latter's silence was perhaps a trapdoor. Aranobu was expecting a new test.
This ordeal finally happened, in an unexpected way. One day, a guard called Aranobu by name. "Senzaki, the Director wants to see you. Alone. A shiver ran down the back of Aranobu's neck. A prisoner was not summoned alone before the Director. Was it a trap? An offer? A threat? He had no choice. The guards handcuffed him, led him through a series of unknown corridors, darker, quieter.
They entered a closed room, a stone room with damp walls, lit by two torches. In the background, a figure draped in black, his face partially masked, was standing. It must have been the Director. His cold voice went up: "Senzaki. You survived my games. You have even made an alliance with other prisoners. Interesting. Aranobu refrained from answering, maintaining an impassive silence.
The Director took a few steps, studying Aranobu like a curious animal. "I have observed your transformation. Before, you were more... foreseeable. Now you seem more thoughtful. You've become a pivot, Senzaki. A magnet that attracts some eyes. Aranobu gritted his teeth. The Director had therefore noticed the change in attitude. He had to play tight. He replied in a hoarse voice, "I'm adapting. Here, those who do not evolve die. »
The Director bowed his head, as if satisfied. "Precisely. I'm considering a new, different game. You can participate, or not. It's up to you. A thin smile appeared under his mask. "A hunt, perhaps. A hunt in the basements, where a few prisoners would be freed with weapons, and a few guards would be let loose on their heels. If you survive, you'll be better off, more space, more food. If you fail, you will die. His voice was even, as if he were talking about a simple hobby.
Aranobu understood that the Director was testing him, trying to manipulate him. A better batch? More space? It sounded like a trap to separate him from the others, to make him become a watchdog, a hunter on behalf of the Director. He had to refuse cleverly, without condemning himself. "I am honored that you offer me such a game. But alone, I am worth nothing. My strengths come from what I have learned alongside others. To separate them from me would be to weaken the show. He played the show card, flattering the director's ego, insinuating that the interest lies in the group dynamic.
The Director was silent for a moment, then laughed, a sharp sound. You politely refuse, invoking the show. Very well, I will respect your choice. But know that I can change the rules at any time. Keep that in mind, Senzaki. Here, I am the master. »
Aranobu lowered his head, pretending to submit. "Of course." Internally, he knew that he had just avoided a trap, but the Director was not fooled. This summons meant that the Director was watching him closely. He had to be even more careful. The guards then took him back to his cell, without further explanation.
The neighbor noticed his absence and asked in a low voice, "Where have you been?" Aranobu replied, "The Director wanted to offer me a game. I refused. The neighbor let out a whistle: "Are you crazy?" He will take revenge. Aranobu shook his head. "We'll see." The neighbor sneered bitterly, "You've changed, Senzaki. Before, you would have accepted without thinking, just for the thrill. Now you play chess with this monster. Good luck. Aranobu didn't answer. The neighbor was perceptive.
The next day, the guards acted as if nothing had happened. But Aranobu knew that the Director was probably preparing a more subtle test, a test to break him. He then stepped up his efforts to consolidate his network. During the morning chore, he said to Fujita, "The Director offered me a deal. I refused. We must remain united. Fujita raised an eyebrow. "United? It sounds like a plan. Aranobu feigned indifference. "Just a thought. If we divide, he will have us one by one. Fujita smiled approvingly.
With Kishibe, during the storage of barrels, Aranobu blurted out, "The Director tested me, I refused to part with the others." She stared at him for a moment, as if to pierce a lie, then replied, "You're smarter than you look. Good. Keep it up. A semblance of respect? Maybe.
With Ryō, it was more direct. Aranobu helped him lift a bag, and Ryō whispered, "I heard that you rejected an offer from the Director. Aren't you afraid? Aranobu replied softly, "The fear is there, but I don't want to become his plaything." We must stay together. Ryō nodded, his eyes shining. He wanted to believe in a cause, in a hope.
With Daigo, just a nod was enough. The colossus understood without words.
With Akemi, when she treated a bruise on her shoulder, Aranobu whispered, "The Director offered me a special place, I said no." She looked up, smiled slightly, "Then you're willing to suffer with others, not above them. This is the path of humanity. He felt a strange warmth in his chest, as if Akemi's approval was worth a blessing.
These interactions wove a web. Aranobu had not announced an escape plan, but he was showing by his actions that he would not betray his own (those he considered his potential allies). Little by little, he established a climate of fragile but real trust.
The Director did not remain inactive for long. After a few days of relative calm, a new announcement came. Several prisoners were summoned for a "cell inspection." The guards took them away, searched their belongings, confiscated some objects. Aranobu expected to see his iron nail, hidden in the lining of his shirt, discovered. But he had chosen an ingenious place: slipped into the hem of a piece of fabric, half torn, the nail had been nowhere to be found. A small triumph. Other inmates lost a few improvised blades, but Aranobu learned that some were already preparing weapons. This meant that the resistance was organized, independently of him.
Fujita, after the inspection, noticed that he had not been relieved of a small bag of dried herbs. He showed Aranobu a knowing look. Luck or skill? It didn't matter. Another preserved resource.
Time passed, slowly, but each hour cemented Aranobu's determination. The Director had wanted to corrupt him, to separate him from the others, and he had failed. Now Aranobu knew he had to speed up the preparation. Find additional accomplices, gather blunt objects, locate a less guarded door.
One evening, as Aranobu was massaging his aching shoulders after a long day of chore, he heard light footsteps in the hallway. A female guard—a rare occurrence, there were very few women among the jailers—passed by her cell, peeking furtively. Aranobu saw a glimmer of concern in his eyes. Another flaw? Perhaps she was sensitive to the suffering of the prisoners. We should check later. Every detail, every nuance, was a piece of the puzzle.
Thus, Chapter 2 moved forward in a heavy atmosphere, charged with silences, looks, murmurs and calculations. Aranobu had forged an embryonic network within the prison, inspiring both mistrust and respect, refusing the Director's offers, consolidating cohesion between certain inmates. The tiger shot, the proposal declined, the refusal to betray others, all this formed a picture. But the danger persisted. The Director was perhaps preparing a new, more subtle test, aimed at breaking this fragile solidarity.
Aranobu clenched his fists. Regardless, he had to persevere. A day would come when the web he was weaving would tighten, when escape would become possible. And then the Headmaster would learn that even the darkest of labyrinths can collapse if the prisoners unite, if fear gives way to revolt, if hope blossoms in a determined heart.