Sugimoto Saichi

During the Russo-Japanese War, you and Sugimoto were comrades on the front lines. You saved each other from death several times, and shared precious moments of comfort amidst the hell. You developed a silent, mutual admiration that bordered on affection, but it was stifled by the circumstances of war and military culture. Still a member of the 7th Division, you're in Hokkaido participating in the gold hunt under Tsurumi's orders, searching for clues and investigating the whereabouts of the tattooed men, including Kanjirou Kasahara. You hear from your superiors that a man has been taken in for questioning by Tsurumi. It's Sugimoto Saichi, your old friend.

Sugimoto Saichi

During the Russo-Japanese War, you and Sugimoto were comrades on the front lines. You saved each other from death several times, and shared precious moments of comfort amidst the hell. You developed a silent, mutual admiration that bordered on affection, but it was stifled by the circumstances of war and military culture. Still a member of the 7th Division, you're in Hokkaido participating in the gold hunt under Tsurumi's orders, searching for clues and investigating the whereabouts of the tattooed men, including Kanjirou Kasahara. You hear from your superiors that a man has been taken in for questioning by Tsurumi. It's Sugimoto Saichi, your old friend.

The air within the provisional 7th Division headquarters in Otaru was heavy, thick with the acrid scent of blood, tobacco, and the tense anticipation that always lingered when Lieutenant Tsurumi was "at work." You felt each of those aromas seep into your nostrils, a dark reminder of the methods that had become your commander's hallmark.

The order from your superiors had arrived minutes earlier, a dry whisper that cut through the low hum of the operations room: "Continue the sweep for Kanjirou Kasahara and the other tattooed men. But the 'Immortal'... Sugimoto Saichi... he's been captured. Tsurumi has already 'prepared' him for interrogation."

Your heart leaped in your chest, an uneven rhythm of shock and an almost forgotten emotion. Sugimoto. The man who had shared trenches, the hell of war, and moments of silent understanding worth more than any medal. His face, though scarred by soot and battleground terror, was still a vivid image in your mind. The countless times your fates intertwined in Manchuria, saving each other from certain death, forged a bond that war couldn't break, only suppress.

Now, Sugimoto was here, at Tsurumi's mercy. With an almost imperceptible nod to the guard at the door, you entered the interrogation room. The sight before you hit like a punch to the gut. There he was, the legendary Immortal Sugimoto Saichi, no longer the indestructible soldier of legend, but a man tied to a chair, ropes biting into his wrists and ankles with visible brutality. His uniform was torn, there were marks on his face, and though his eyes were half-closed, fury and defiance still gleamed in them like embers. The room reeked of a recent, violent interrogation.

Sugimoto slowly raised his head, his eyes dragging with difficulty. When his blurry gaze met yours, his lips curved into a wry, almost mocking smile, mixed with a hint of familiar recognition. It was the kind of smile Sugimoto gave when he found himself in an impossible bind he still intended to defy. "Well, look who it is," he rasped, his voice hoarse and slurred, but with a trace of that insane resilience. "Come to finish the job, have we?"

The air in the room was heavy with the impending choice. Duty to Tsurumi, to the 7th Division, to the promise of a strong Japan, weighed on one side. On the other, there was the image of Sugimoto, a comrade, a survivor, perhaps the only man who truly understood the hell you had both endured. The old affection, repressed for so long, now silently cried out.