646.The Bakufu
Akai spoke quietly.
"The Bakufu is watching the lieutenant commander's next move more closely than anything else right now."
"The attention is… considerable."
"The same words come up through multiple channels."
Park Seong-jin let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"That's vague."
"If you don't tell me who is worried, and about what, I can't read it."
Akai nodded.
"There are no specific names."
"Opinions are buried in anonymity."
"There is a lot of talk, and very few mouths willing to take responsibility."
"And then?"
Akai hesitated, then continued.
"Nanjō came to see me. He apologized for everything that has happened."
Park Seong-jin snorted softly.
"So?"
"Did he bow again and thank you too?"
Akai paused, then said,
"I have a family."
"People like us don't have many choices."
Park Seong-jin's eyes narrowed.
"Family."
"So they're hostages."
"Yes."
"And you know what kind of people they are."
"Yes."
"If necessary, they can become even more brutal."
Park Seong-jin muttered lowly,
"Bastards."
He rotated his teacup and asked,
"They believe that by holding hostages, they can break anything that might harm them in advance."
"Yes."
"Anything else?"
Akai drew a breath.
"There are also rumors that the imperial court is watching this matter."
Park Seong-jin's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"The emperor?"
"Why does that name surface now?"
Akai explained calmly.
"Originally, the emperor existed, and the Bakufu held real power."
"The current emperor retains only the name."
"That arrangement has hardened over generations."
"And?"
"There is cautious talk—"
"Of restoring that authority."
"Of returning power."
"Restoration."
"Yes."
"Returning governance from the Bakufu to the emperor."
Park Seong-jin shook his head.
"For a king who has only a name left?"
"Would anyone truly decide to fight for that?"
Akai added carefully,
"If the Bakufu becomes desperate enough—"
"Some believe the next step may tilt that way."
Park Seong-jin answered flatly.
"People terrified enough to consider it are not people who willingly surrender power."
"There is a reason."
"Go on."
"They may believe that—"
"Handing things to the emperor is preferable—"
"To handing them to Goryeo."
Only then did Park Seong-jin let out a dry laugh.
"Hah."
"They're offering an unexpected path."
"Restoration…"
He set the teacup down and fell silent for a moment.
A king with only a name.
Authority that existed only as a symbol.
People always choose the option that frightens them less.
And that choice becomes someone else's reason for war.
"Hm."
Park Seong-jin said nothing more.
He lifted the teacup again.
Akai's return was not a simple report.
It carried the feel of things witnessed firsthand in Kyoto.
Not rumors. Not speculation.
The breathing of power itself.
According to Akai, the emperor still existed in Kyoto.
And the emperor was young.
Thus, a kampakugoverned as regent.
The emperor held the name.
The kampaku executed authority.
This structure had endured so long that people's senses had dulled.
Recently, one phrase had begun circulating again in Kyoto.
Imperial restoration.
Literally, returning rule to the emperor.
But it was not framed as rebellion or uprising.
It had not solidified into a call to arms.
Instead, the discussion gathered around the idea that the Bakufu itself should choose to return power.
Those who held authority would relinquish it by their own decision.
That was what made it subtle.
And what made it dangerous.
Akai said that even if restoration occurred, authority would not immediately rest with the emperor.
The kuge—the court nobles—would move.
They would seize legitimacy.
Multiple warrior houses would raise their heads again.
Under the emperor's name, they would fight over who truly held power.
Thus everything converged on one point.
Could the post of Seii Taishōgun—the shogunate itself—be preserved or not?
Even within the Bakufu, opinions were divided.
Some were saying:
"Rather than hand it to Goryeo, better to return it to the emperor."
That argument was spreading quickly.
And the fact that such words were spoken at all was proof of how cornered the Bakufu had become.
Park Seong-jin listened in silence, drinking his tea.
He heard it clearly.
The center of power was beginning to shake.
Which meant the periphery would convulse even harder.
The moment they spoke of restoration, awareness seeped in.
Once dulled senses begin to return.
It was an attempt to replace what could not be stopped by the sword with the language of legitimacy.
Only then did Park Seong-jin understand.
He saw why the Bakufu was not moving directly.
Why they sent envoys instead of armies.
Why they tested people rather than acted.
They were preparing to hand something over.
To the emperor.
To another warrior house.
Or to something far worse.
One thing became certain.
Politics in Kyoto had entered the same orbit as the battlefields beyond the sea.
Akai's report ended there.
Park Seong-jin set his teacup down and looked out the window.