1943. Shanghai. A soldier of the Japanese Army happens by a club one night purely out of boredom. What he expects to find are uncouth drunks. He actually meets a beautiful African-American performer by the name of Beatrice. Throughout the next three...
"Matsuda Ichiro chūi. Approach." Taking a step forward, he kept his expression emotionless, body still and rigid. Adorned in a new uniform, he took step by step, his boots freshly polished. Dark navy blue overcoat. Sparkling gold brass buttons traveled in a single file line down the sharp single-breasted collar. Short golden braids decorated his shoulders and on the sleeves lived an ornate golden trim and jarring red. A red and white belt circled his hips, hanging with full lush red tassels. A smaller belt up above his waist, lined with a navy and red trim. In his hands, he held the ornate handle of an officer's katana, the blade straight against his chest.
"Stop." At once, he ceased movement.
"Greet His Majesty." With a sure voice, he replied.
"Tenno Heika Banzai!" Doors opened and the Emperor stepped in. The sight of him made his heart skip a beat and he dug his nails into his palms, eyes forward. His military advisors followed in behind him, heads bowed. At once, he let his body fall into saikeirei. The room was quiet as the doors behind him were shut.
"You may lift your head." His voice spoke, a firm yet calm authority in it.
"I am not worthy, Your Majesty."
"So he is like his father." That made beads of sweat gather at the back of his neck. At once, he lifted his head, keeping his eyes at his chest.
"My... my father, your Majesty?"
"Matsuda Yukio. Advisor to Emperor Taisho. Your father."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"He was far too humble. Like yourself." Tongue-tied, he listened in earnest as he spoke again.
"Your Major speaks high praises of you. Having now seen you, I understand why. You have the eyes of a warrior."
"I am deeply honored to receive your compliments..."
"Your aura is staggering. It roars with the souls of our great samurai. A war cry, it seeks above all else to fight. To live." He bowed his head even lower.
"You've survived Bairoko. Io To. Captivity in the hands of the Russians." The man had slowly circled him but now he came to a stop.
"Do you feel like a failure?" His question stabbed his heart. Trying to form words, he bit into his lip, the pain serving to focus him.
