The land of Ringo was white as far as the eye could see. Snow blanketed the rooftops, drifted against the fences, and glittered like powdered glass beneath the pale afternoon sun. In the courtyard of the Shimotsuki estate, a boy no older than six ran laughing across the frost, his small footprints trailing behind him.
Beside him darted a white fox with ted markings and piercing eyes—Onimaru, the loyal companion of Lord Ushimaru. His fur stood out against the snow like a spirit of the land, but to Mamoru, he was not a guardian or a legend. He was simply a playmate.
"Catch me, Onimaru!" Mamoru shouted, cheeks flushed with excitement. He stumbled through the drifts, clutching a stick in his mittened hands. The fox bounded after him, ears pricked, snow spraying with each leap.
It was a game they had invented together—"The Chase of the Snow Bandit." Mamoru pretended to be a thief who had stolen treasure from the mountain gods. Onimaru's role was to hunt him down and take it back.
When the fox finally pounced, knocking Mamoru into the snow, the boy squealed in laughter. The stick fell from his grip, landing between them. "No fair!" Mamoru cried. "You jumped before I even said the game was ready!"
Onimaru barked, tail wagging.
Mamoru sat up, brushing snow from his hair, a frown tugging at his lips. "Rules are important. If you don't wait for me to say 'start,' then it's cheating. Games only work if everyone plays fair."
The fox tilted his head, unconcerned, and licked Mamoru's cheek with a cold tongue. Mamoru burst into giggles again, his earlier complaint forgotten. In his young heart, fairness was as simple as everyone agreeing to the rules. The world beyond Ringo's snow had not yet taught him otherwise.
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From the engawa of the main hall, two men watched the boy and the fox in quiet contrast to his laughter. Lord Ushimaru Shimotsuki sat with his back straight, the weight of his title pressing invisibly upon his shoulders. At his side knelt Denjiro, one of the retainers of Kozuki Oden.
Steam rose from the cups of tea placed between them, the warmth a small comfort against the biting air. The courtyard spread before them like a painted scroll—Mamoru playing in the snow, Onimaru circling him like a silver shadow, the estate's walls standing guard against the endless white.
Denjiro broke the silence first. "Lord Ushimaru… the coffers of Kuri are strained. Lord Oden kept borrowing from us to send to Orochi, and now… well, now he is gone."
Ushimaru lifted his cup, considering the words. His eyes, sharper than the edge of his blade, followed his son's laughter as it drifted across the snow. "Gone," he echoed. "With pirates, you said?"
Denjiro nodded. "The Whitebeard Pirates. One of the strongest crews on the seas beyond Wano . It was always his dream to leave Wano… to see the world. Though," he added with a wry smile, "dreams do not fill our granaries."
At that, Ushimaru chuckled—a deep, knowing sound. "Everyone in Wano knew it was his dream. The man tried more times to leave these shores than I can count. Each time, he fell short. If not for his stubbornness, it would almost be comical."
Denjiro allowed himself a small laugh, though the weight of concern remained in his gaze.
Below them, Mamoru threw himself face-first into a snowbank, pretending to be "defeated." Onimaru circled proudly, barked once, and then settled beside the boy. Mamoru looked up at the fox with wide eyes. "But next time, you have to wait! Fair is fair, Onimaru!"
The fox sneezed in response.
Ushimaru's smile softened, his gaze caught between pride and worry. He leaned back on the wooden railing of the engawa, steam curling from his untouched tea. "Denjiro," he said quietly, "what of this man, Orochi? The shogun spoke of him as if he were Oden's dearest companion. Yet every tale I've heard paints a different picture."
Denjiro's brow furrowed, confusion crossing his face. "That is what confuses me as well. Orochi is no friend of Oden. He is… a beggar. A man who attaches himself to kindness because he has none of his own. I first met him in Hakumai, serving under Lord Yasuie. Even then, he was always asking for coin, for favors, for indulgence. Oden-sama never refused, but not because of friendship—because he is too kind to turn anyone away."
Ushimaru's hand tightened around his cup. "And yet the shogun speaks as though they were brothers."
Denjiro shook his head. "I cannot explain it. But I fear what such lies might mean. Orochi is cunning, in ways most men do not notice until too late."
For a time, silence returned. The snow fell steady, Mamoru's laughter continuing like a song in the stillness.
Ushimaru finally exhaled, long and slow. "My son," he said, his voice low, almost to himself. "He sees the world as if it must always be fair. To him, even a fox's game should follow rules." His eyes did not leave Mamoru as he spoke. "What will such a heart do when faced with men like Orochi?"
Denjiro followed his gaze. Mamoru had tackled Onimaru this time, holding the fox's tail with both hands, crowing, "Now it's fair, see? I caught you the same way you caught me!"
The boy's laughter rang bright, unbroken by the burdens the two men carried.
Denjiro's lips pressed into a thin line. "Perhaps… he will grow strong enough to change the world, rather than bend to it."
Ushimaru did not answer. His eyes lingered on Mamoru, on the innocence that had not yet tasted betrayal, and the weight of unspoken fears rested heavy upon him.
The snow continued to fall.