The Busujima Residence: Main Hall
Both members of the Busujima family were somewhat unsure of the true extent of Murasame's mystery.
Especially the Patriarch of the Busujima family. He was utterly baffled by his ancestor's recorded method of unlocking Murasame's true abilities.
Only by slaying demons could Murasame be fully unleashed?
'What an absurd claim…' the Patriarch thought, staring at the misty blade. 'Where in this modern world are there literal demons? Was this really not just my ancestor's metaphorical conjecture?'
He had to admit, the physical manifestation of the water vapor proved Murasame was indeed an extraordinary, magical artifact. But the "demon" theory was simply too much to swallow.
"Saeko, what do you think?" he asked, his voice rough.
Saeko Busujima didn't rush to answer. Instead, she pondered the specific, accidental opportunity that had led her to discover Murasame's extraordinary nature in the first place.
"Father, have you ever wondered why Murasame's special abilities hadn't been discovered before?" she asked astutely.
This question gave the Patriarch a sudden wake-up call.
Yes… While the fabricated, chuunibyou name of Murasame was deeply shameful to the pragmatic martial artists of the family, hadn't there been previous family heads who secretly "held onto a sliver of hope" and tested the blade? Over seven hundred years, surely someone else had accidentally or intentionally bled on the steel.
'Impossible…' The Patriarch's eyes narrowed. 'If that was the case, then why was Murasame's special water-condensing nature only discovered now, by Saeko?'
Could it be…?
The Patriarch looked at his daughter with profound surprise, then back at the enshrined Murasame.
"A famous sword truly recognizes its master…" he murmured, speaking the seemingly absurd, fantasy-novel deduction aloud involuntarily.
At this moment…
The Patriarch completely lost his skeptical, dismissive mood. A sharp glint of martial shrewdness flashed in his eyes as his mind raced.
'This is terrible, truly terrible…' he thought, his pulse quickening. 'The idea of a renowned sword possessing the sentience to recognize its master might actually be real... What an unbelievable truth.'
If it were true, then...
Even the usually composed Patriarch felt his throat go completely dry and parched. A kind of feverish, obsessive heat seemed to rush to his head, forcing him to intensely rethink every single record concerning Murasame.
Of course, there was still one glaring mechanical flaw that hadn't been resolved.
If his daughter had truly gained the qualification of a renowned sword recognizing its master—triggering the water mist—then Saeko should have found Murasame perfectly balanced and very easy to wield. But her physical grip and swing with the sword felt just as terrible as his did. Both master swordsmen considered Murasame a practically useless weapon, even a clumsy hindrance in a real fight.
So, were they wrong about the recognition? Or was the physical "recognition" of a renowned sword lacking a final, crucial element to unlock its true weight and balance?
Rationally, the Patriarch leaned towards the former. But emotionally, as a grandmaster who dedicated his life to the blade, he leaned heavily towards the latter.
'What if... what if...'
He had personally witnessed the impossible, extraordinary nature of Murasame. If the mechanics weren't as he had guessed, how could he ever sleep again without seeing the facts settled?
Immediately, he hurriedly began to reread his printed copy of the Busujima family chronicles.
Similarly, Saeko was also actively searching her phone for everything historically related to Murasame. Since she knew the Busujima family and the mighty Hojo clan of the Kamakura period might have an inextricable, hidden connection, she decided to start with the Hojo.
The Hojo clan initially considered themselves the ultimate samurai. Samurai… were generally perceived in that era as having immense status, almost akin to nobility. They were universally known for their raw physical strength, ruthless fighting prowess, and strict martial discipline.
Samurai, samurai…
The Patriarch was getting anxious. He felt completely lost. Even with the translation of the family register in hand, he was like a headless fly, running around aimlessly in a maze of boastful words. The concept of the Samurai and the magic of Murasame didn't seem to have a mechanical connection he could exploit.
Historically, it seemed only the ancient Hojo family ever used a "Murasame" as their symbolic sword, and there were vague records of it being passed down before vanishing from history. In other words, Murasame was merely a fleeting, dazzling mythological phenomenon.
This was completely unlike the substantial Muramasa cursed swords, which were originally part of a mass-produced series of treasured blades, with many actual, physical artifacts surviving and even the forging techniques preserved to this day. If a wealthy collector wanted, they could easily have a modern Muramasa sword forged anytime by paying the right smith.
However, Murasame was different. In all secular records, Murasame was completely fabricated and fictional. Many seemingly detailed historical accounts were nothing more than baseless rumors or dramatized depictions from old kabuki plays and modern TV dramas.
Just as the Patriarch was engrossed in his frantic searching, Saeko's phone vibrated.
She frowned. Saeko was somewhat displeased at the person interrupting her intense thoughts. But upon discovering the sender was Rom—the self-proclaimed occult professional—she was slightly surprised.
'Could it be… that he had already completed his commission and found hidden information about Murasame?'
Opening her phone, she found an email.
> [Miss Busujima, are you currently with those two ladies from the cafe? My professional advice is that you should stick with them for now.]
The Patriarch slowly walked over, wanting to see what his daughter's hired "professional" had to say.
But… didn't this guy's tarot divination yesterday explicitly say that Saeko and Yukinoshita shouldn't be together? He had said the three of them were entangled in a doomed karmic web, making them prone to catastrophic trouble…
Saeko directly texted her logical doubts back to him.
A moment later, Rom replied:
> [Ms. Busujima, fate is a terrifyingly mysterious thing; some things, once set in stone, cannot be avoided. If you try to run away and avoid your karma, trouble might just come knocking directly on your front door when you are alone.]
Tsk.
Seeing this so-called conman texting such ominous, unpleasant things to his daughter, the Patriarch wasn't in a good mood. Was he cursing his beloved Saeko?
Saeko typed back:
> […Mr. Rom, I just wanted to ask you to find information about Murasame in the chronicle.]
Rom's reply was swift:
> […Alright, I know I was being nosy about your friends, but I still desperately hope you'll consider my warning. As for the Murasame… I suggest you pay much closer attention to certain easily overlooked details in your book.]
This was Rom's extremely sincere, hard-won advice. Just like him, he used to think the "real thing" was nothing but absurd, chuunibyou nonsense. Now he had violently discovered that the real thing was hidden exactly in the minor details taught by Granny Mitsue...
Details?
The Patriarch looked at the screen, analyzing this seemingly nonsensical suggestion.
'Had I overlooked any details?'
He had read the family chronicle translation word for word and was absolutely certain he hadn't missed a single sentence. The problem was... the entire text of the family chronicle was completely filled with the ancestors' self-proclaimed "great achievements," along with some cryptic, mystical pronouncements, such as the admonition that "if you don't look at it, you'll be safe."
The rest of the text was basically useless to Busujima's current martial predicament.
Details...
He frowned and silently recalled the physical layout of the original family chronicle. Lost in thought, his gaze remained fixed on the misty Murasame enshrined on the stand.
He was very familiar with the sword's physical aesthetics. He had even admired Murasame's unique curvature and hamon line before. Moreover, this exact visual appearance had been heavily featured in the original family chronicle, specifically in those old charcoal drawings...
!!
'Drawings. The drawings!?'
His heart skipped a heavy beat. He felt a sudden, electrifying jolt in his brain. He had grasped the key point! This was what he had completely overlooked!
Since the written words couldn't provide more mechanical information on how to swing the sword, what about those seemingly useless, crude drawings that accompanied the text?
Moreover, would his hyper-lethal, pragmatic ancestors really have taken the time to meticulously draw such trivial, useless vanity illustrations in a secret family chronicle just for future generations to admire?
It was highly unlikely...
So...
The Patriarch moved with blinding speed. He rushed back to the tea table and grabbed the heavy original manuscript of the family chronicle.
He no longer knew exactly what he was rushing for. Was it for that terrifying "what if", or out of pure, desperate wishful thinking?
No. Neither.
It was the primal feeling of a martial artist standing on the precipice of a grand breakthrough. The agonizing impatience of confirming a hidden technique.
He carefully opened the fragile, original family chronicle.
There was a small, detailed charcoal drawing on the margin of the very first page. It depicted a burly, armored man leaning forward aggressively, his hand on the hilt, ready to draw his sword.
'Was it just him posing...?'
But the Patriarch couldn't glean any profound martial information from that single static image, no matter how hard he scrutinized the posture.
Until he turned to the next page. And the next.
He began to quickly flip the pages in sequence... page three... page seven... page nine...
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