The Last Assassin

how this looks. But we were set up. We swear to you.'
    Kito added, 'In our fear, we lost our heads. But then we decided, we must leave this matter to our
oyabun.
He will do whatever is truly best.'
    Kito's reference to Yamaoto as their
oyabun,
their father, was clever. The term invoked the traditional relationship between the yakuza boss and his underlings, and so was designed by implication to cast Kito and Sanada as Yamaoto's
kobun,
his children. And surely no wise and compassionate father could harm his own child.
    Yamaoto began pacing the room as though in frustration. He walked past Kuro's desk, admiring as he always did the beautiful Kamakura era
daisho
sword set the man kept on a stand beside it. The
daitou,
or long katana, was displayed on top, blade up, the folded steel polished to a mirror finish, with the shorter
wakizashi
below. The black lacquer
soya
scabbards, each adorned with a pair of golden Tokugawa family crests, were on separate stands alongside the blades. The set was of museum quality, and Kuro claimed a dealer had once offered him twenty million yen for it, an offer Kuro refused even to consider. He allowed no one but Yamaoto to touch it, both out of deference to his boss's rank and in recognition of his extensive martial arts background, which included not only unarmed arts like judo, but also
battoujutsu,
combat sword cutting.
    Yamaoto paused before the sword stand and turned to face the two men. 'You "lost your heads"?' he said, his voice rising. 'I pay you to think! You say I'm your
oyabun,
and yet at the first sign of trouble you insult me with your doubt!'
    The men dropped their heads in shame and Yamaoto went on, shouting now. 'Do you have any idea of the trouble you've caused with your incompetence? You say you were set up, and maybe you were. But whose responsibility is it to prevent such things?'
    The men, heads still bowed, said in unison, 'Our responsibility,
kumicho.'
    Despite his outward anger, Yamaoto was calm within. He had already decided how to resolve this, and there was no longer anything to be angry about. But if he showed his inward calm to these men, they would understand what was to happen. Better that they should believe him angry, which would indicate he was still undecided. That would keep them focused on how they could manage his anger and try to lessen the penalty for the situation they had placed him in.
    What he needed to do now was shame them just a little more. They would welcome that, believing if Yamaoto were inclined to punish them with shame, he might be willing to forgo something more severe. More important, it might also cause them to bow lower, perhaps even to assume
chinsha,
the most apologetic bow of all, where the offender drops to his knees, his palms wide in front of him and his forehead to the ground.
    'Yes, your responsibility!' Yamaoto exploded. 'Yours! But now I'm left with the burden of cleaning it up! All because you failed to do what I entrusted you with! And then you compounded your mistake with this shameful lack of confidence in your
oyabun!'
    As one, the men cried out, '
Moushiwake gozaimasen!'
and dropped down into
chinsha.
    Yamaoto grasped the hilt of Kuro's
daitou
and snatched it clear of the stand. In an instant he had reached the two prostrate men, his fingers naturally and automatically tightening around the hilt in a two-handed grip as he moved. Barely slowing, he pivoted to his right, hips leading the way, elbows and wrists following like the trailing edge of a whip, creating the optimal combination of chopping and cutting that had been drilled into him in long hours of
battoujutsu
training.
    Kito started to come up, perhaps sensing in some primitive way that something was amiss, but too late. The sword sliced through his massive neck and was blurring skyward again even before the man's cleanly severed head had fallen to the floor. Blood sprayed onto Sanada's face, but before the startled man could react the sword had completed its second lightning arc and his head, too, was on its way to the ground.
    Yamaoto stepped to the side, away from the spray. Without thinking, he wiped down the blade on one of the men's wide backs, reversed the sword in his hand, and prepared to resheath it in a scabbard he suddenly remembered wasn't there. He walked over and handed it hilt first to Kuro, who took it with trembling hands without even rising from his seat.
    Yamaoto looked for a moment at the fallen men. Their bodies had remained