The Jirei—the Transfer Order from the Demon Lord Kotaro—was absolute.

  The sentence of island exile handed down to me, written upon that cursed paper talisman, decreed my new assignment to be "Fuma Care Holdings"—the name of the overarching shogunate, the parent company that ruled this new territory.

  But a shinobi does not fight on abstract, ledger-bound battlefields. The true front line, the physical stronghold where I would shed my blood and sweat, was a subsidiary facility nestled quietly in the suburbs of the capital.

  The sign above the automatic glass gates read: Sunset Harmony Elderly Care.

  To the untrained civilian eye, this was merely a place of rest for the aged. But to a shinobi, the truth was blatantly obvious. This was a hidden sanctuary for retired Daimyos and veteran warlords. These were the heroes who had survived the brutal corporate wars of the Showa era, their bodies now pushed past their absolute limits by decades of conquest, resting their souls before their final journey.

  And I, Hattori Masanari, had been reassigned to serve as their Royal Guard.

  My target for today’s escort mission was "Lord Yamada." He was a veteran of eighty-eight grueling winters, clad in a beige cardigan of soft woven armor. His hair had completely retreated from the top of his head, leaving behind a polished, glorious dome of wisdom. His legs, weakened by countless historical campaigns, could no longer bear his own weight.

  Thus, he sat upon the "Throne of Wheels."

  It was a magnificent mechanical chariot. Constructed from gleaming chrome and thick black leather, it possessed four wheels of varying sizes. It lacked a horse, relying entirely on the physical power of the retainer assigned to push it from behind.

  "We are heading to the sunlit courtyard, Hattori-kun," Lord Yamada said, his voice trembling like a dry leaf in the autumn wind.

  "Your will is my command, My Lord!" I dropped to one knee behind the chariot, inspecting the dual sealing mechanisms on the rear wheels. I flicked the steel levers upward. Clack. Clack.

  "The seals are released!" I announced, gripping the rubberized handles with the bone-crushing precision of Koppojutsu. "I, Masanari, shall be your engine! We advance!"

  The hallway of Sunset Harmony was a treacherous canyon. The floor was polished linoleum, slick and unforgiving. As our vanguard advanced down the corridor, a formidable obstacle appeared: the Medicine Cart. It was a massive rolling armory loaded with pills and alchemical powders, pushed by a veteran kunoichi of the nursing staff.

  The corridor was far too narrow for both the cart and the Throne of Wheels to pass.

  "Coming through! Make way, please!" the kunoichi called out.

  I did not stop. Momentum is the lifeblood of the cavalry charge. I engaged the Suri-ashi (sliding step), dropping my center of gravity until my thighs burned. I pulled the right handle and pushed the left, executing a flawless, high-speed slalom maneuver. The heavy wheelchair glided past the medicine cart, leaving exactly one millimeter of clearance.

  "Oho!" Lord Yamada chuckled, clapping his spotted hands. "Quite a smooth ride today!"

  "My footwork is entirely at your disposal, My Lord!" I replied, sweat beading on my brow.

  We breached the automatic doors and entered the courtyard. The sun beat down upon the paved stone paths. Here, the true battle began. The stones were uneven, a mosaic of natural terrain that threatened to violently rattle the Lord’s ancient, fragile bones. I could not allow his chariot to vibrate. A bumpy ride is the ultimate shame of the vanguard.

  I unlocked my knees and elbows, transforming my entire body into a fluid "human suspension system." As the small front wheels struck the uneven stones, I absorbed the shock through my triceps and shoulders, pulling back the handles by micro-fractions of an inch with every bump. To the outside observer, my upper body was vibrating violently, but the Throne of Wheels glided forward as smoothly as a swan upon a frozen lake.

  Suddenly, a threat materialized from the heavens.

  A shadow passed over us. I looked up. A rogue crow—a winged assassin likely drawn by the scent of the biscuit crumbs in Lord Yamada's pocket—was diving straight toward the center of the Lord's lap in a kamikaze assault.

  "Aerial ambush!" I roared.

  There was no time to draw a weapon. I slammed my foot down on the specialized iron bar at the rear base of the wheelchair—the Tipping Lever. Applying my full body weight, I pulled the handles violently backward.

  Secret Art: The Rearing Stallion!

  The front wheels of the chariot lifted off the earth, angling Lord Yamada perfectly backward. A split second later, the crow's razor-sharp talons scraped the empty air where his knees had just been. Maintaining our precarious balance on just the two rear wheels, I pivoted the entire chair 180 degrees, throwing my own body between the retreating bird and my Lord.

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  I unleashed a concentrated burst of Sakki (Killing Intent) at the crow. The beast squawked in sheer terror and fled over the perimeter wall.

  I gently lowered the front wheels back to the ground.

  "My goodness," Lord Yamada wheezed, his eyes wide. "That was thrilling. I haven't tilted like that since I went to the amusement park in '85."

  "The assassin has been repelled, My Lord," I said, breathing heavily. "The perimeter is secure."

  Presently, a kunoichi of the kitchen staff approached, carrying a plastic tray. The time for the midday rations had arrived. She placed the tray on the courtyard table.

  "Here is Yamada-san's Engeshoku," she said, bowing briefly before turning to leave.

  I stepped forward to inspect the feast. The rations were divided into three separate bowls, but their forms defied the laws of nature. Orange, green, brown... all of them had been reduced to smooth, pastel-colored pastes.

  "By the gods..." I murmured, my tactical mind spinning. I turned to the kunoichi and bowed deeply. "You women of the kitchen vanguard... to compensate for the Lord's weakened jaw, you have painstakingly chewed his meat and vegetables with your own teeth until it reached this consistency...! What unparalleled loyalty! Such devotion, akin to a mother bird feeding her chicks! I, Masanari, am truly humbled!"

  The kunoichi stared at me. Her expression was one of someone witnessing the end of the world, or perhaps just a man who had completely lost his mind. For a few agonizing seconds, she said nothing. Then, her face contorted in sheer, unadulterated terror, and she fled back toward the kitchen without a word.

  I watched her retreating back and nodded solemnly.

  (Hmph... hiding her embarrassment, I see. To flee like the wind without boasting of her self-sacrificing loyalty. A true shinobi.)

  Such thorough mastication to completely destroy the structural integrity of the ingredients! Because of this, the Lord could instantaneously absorb his nutrients, saving his jaw strength to bark commands on the battlefield!

  I picked up the provided weapon: a small, specialized plastic spoon. My hands trembled slightly. The trauma of the 500 Amazon spoons still haunted my soul, but I steeled myself.

  "Lord Yamada," I said, scooping a precise measure of the orange paste. "Open the gates. The loyalty of the kitchen staff—this carrot—shall fortify your spirit."

  Yamada opened his mouth.

  Feeding a Lord is an act of high-stakes timing. It requires the precision of a master swordsman. If I thrust the spoon too fast, he would choke. If I moved too slowly, the paste would lose its vital heat.

  I watched the muscles of his throat. I waited for the exact millisecond his previous breath finished.

  Tsubame-gaeshi! (Swallow Reversal!)

  With a flick of the wrist, I delivered the paste perfectly onto the center of his tongue, withdrawing the spoon without once touching his teeth.

  Yamada swallowed, his eyes closing in deep contentment. "Ah, delicious. You have a very steady hand, Hattori-kun."

  "I have practiced this thrust ten thousand times, My Lord!" I scooped the green paste. "Second wave, incoming! Prepare the swallowing reflex!"

  For twenty minutes, we engaged in this sacred dance of sustenance. I anticipated his every breath, delivering the paste-like feast with the rhythmic, unyielding precision of a metronome, until the bowls were entirely eradicated.

  The Lord was fed. The sun was enjoyed. The mission was an absolute victory.

  That evening, I returned to the Castle of Six Mats. My newly issued mobile light armor—a polo shirt boasting terrifying moisture-wicking properties and cotton chinos—still carried the faint scent of antiseptic and pureed carrots.

  Aoi-dono was sitting at the low table, aggressively scrubbing a stain out of her canvas tote bag like it had murdered her family.

  I dropped to one knee in the genkan, my head bowed as I delivered my triumphant report.

  "Aoi-dono! The ancient warlords in this facility have lost the use of their legs! Thus, I must push their mechanical chariots into the sun, and feed them 'pre-chewed rations' that the kitchen staff have painstakingly masticated with their own teeth out of devotion to their lords! Such unparalleled loyalty! The resolve of the people in this era knows no bounds!"

  Aoi's hand stopped scrubbing. She slowly raised her head. In her eyes was a look of pure, one-hundred-percent horror.

  "...Masa. Please tell me you didn't say that out loud to anyone."

  "Hm? I spoke directly to the kitchen kunoichi to praise her devotion, but she fled to hide her embarrassment—"

  "It's a miracle they didn't call the cops!!" Aoi screamed, clutching her head. "It's a wheelchair, and the food is called a 'blender diet'! They use a machine with high-speed spinning blades to turn it into a paste! There is zero saliva involved! Stop making up these genuinely gross delusions!"

  "Wh—what?!"

  My eyes widened in shock. It wasn't human teeth, but a horde of mechanical, swirling blades?! These were rations pre-chewed by alchemical blades!

  "That is the ultimate peak of efficiency, My Liege!" I countered, rising to my feet. "Even Lord Nobunaga's head chef could not boast such ingenuity!"

  "Just go take a shower, Masa. You smell like a hospital waiting room."

  I bowed deeply. The modern world was strange, but protecting the fragile elders of this era and witnessing their invisible technologies was a duty worthy of a shinobi.

  Masanari’s Cultural Notes (Glossary):

  ? Kuruma-Isu (The Throne of Wheels): A tactical chariot designed for those with compromised leg mobility. It requires immense core strength to steer, but the 'Tipping Lever' at the rear is a brilliant mechanism for evading ground-level traps.

  ? Engeshoku (Alchemical Rations): Rations that have been reduced to a fine paste by the high-speed blades of a mechanical contraption. While visually unsettling, the elimination of the chewing process allows a warrior to consume calories at frightening speeds. Warning: assuming the kitchen staff chewed it themselves will result in terrified stares from civilians.

  ? Tsubame-gaeshi (Swallow Reversal): A legendary precision sword strike, repurposed in this era as the ultimate feeding technique. By perfectly timing the spoon's thrust and withdrawal with the VIP's breathing, a shinobi can deliver pureed rations without triggering a deadly choking hazard.

  Countdown Update: Day 52 completed. 48 Days Remaining.

  Next Episode Preview:

  Episode 53: The Bathhouse of Vulnerability and the Scrub of a Thousand Strokes!

  Masanari: "Aoi-dono! The warlords must be cleansed! I must escort them into the boiling waters of the grand bath, but the tiled floors are treacherous, and the Lord's skin is terrifyingly fragile!"

  Aoi: "It's called assisted bathing, Masa. Please don't scrub Mr. Sato like you're trying to polish a suit of armor."

  Next Time: Masanari treats bath time like a deadly water-dungeon!

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