>>6266038
[Partial Success]

You stand erect and meet Matsuda's bloodshot gaze with unbothered serenity. Your voice flows like water over stone, each word measured and soft.

"The Lotus Sutra teaches that those who slander the dharma suffer most from their own poison. I come offering nothing but prayers for your household's peace, Lord Matsuda. To refuse such an offer speaks more of your pain than--"

His fist catches you just below the eye.

The world tilts. You taste copper as you stumble backward, your instincts screaming from release, to flow with the motion and return the strike ten-fold. Instead, you let yourself fall, robes tangling around your legs. Your cheekbone throbs, already swelling.

"Sanctimonious dog!" Matsuda stands over you, breathing hard. "You dare lecture me? You dare quote scripture at me in my own house?"

He kicks your begging bowl. It clatters across the entranceway, the few bits of food inside scattering like fleeing mice.

"This is what I think of your prayers!" He hawks and spits again, the phlegm landing near your cheek. "Get out! Get out before I--"

"What's this racket?" A new voice cuts through his rage. An elderly woman appears in the doorway of the noodle shop next door, flour dusting her sleeves. "Matsuda-san, what are you doing to that poor monk?"

"Mind your business, noodle hag!"

But she's already hobbling closer, and behind her, other neighbors emerge. A young carpenter. Two housewives with laundry baskets. The commotion has drawn an audience.

"It's Brother Myōan!" One of the housewives recognizes you. "The one who sweeps the shrine steps! What kind of man strikes a holy person?"

"The kind who sees through false--" Matsuda stops, suddenly aware of the growing crowd. His face darkens further. He grabs Akane's wrist, yanking her through the doorway. But before he can slam it shut, his eyes find yours one last time. The former rage now mingles with something else--fear.

"If I see you near my house again," he hisses, "monk or not, I'll gut you like a carp."

The door slams. The old guard, still clutching his bamboo spear, looks uncertain, glancing between you and the neighbors. Finally, he steps inside the small courtyard, leaving you alone with the small crowd.

You lie still for a moment, letting the neighbors fuss over you. The old woman helps you sit up, clicking her tongue at your swelling eye.

"That man brings shame to the whole street," she mutters. "Used to put on such airs before, acting like he was better than us. As if we didn't know who his father was. Now look at him. Just another drunkard."

His father. You file that away.

"His poor wife," one of the housewives adds. "She used to hold her head so high."

"There's talk," the younger woman lowers her voice, "that he came into some money recently."

"Must have lost it all on Chō-han and sake," says the carpenter, a bit too loudly.

"Shh!" The first woman glances nervously at Matsuda's door. "You want to end up like the monk?"

[Cont.]