The people of Minato lined both sides of the street, watching in silence so complete it felt almost ritualistic.
No one stepped forward. No one dared interfere. They simply stood there, stiff and wide-eyed, as the sound of a body being dragged over dirt scraped through the air again and again, harsh and ugly, broken only by the occasional murmur that rippled through the crowd.
"It's Nobusuke…"
"He got beaten by a ronin?"
"No way. Ronin are mad, sure, but not this mad."
"That one is different. Look at him… he's terrifying."
"His face… doesn't he look like a half-blood?"
"Shut up, idiot! Do you want to die?"
"He's still dragging Nobusuke… Has he lost his mind?"
"No… look where he's going."
At that, more heads turned.
And then the whispers faded.
Because it was true.
