"Awful." Sighing, Tsuchimikado Yasuhiro extended his chopsticks. "Awful, awful, awful..." Miso soup, pickled vegetables, white rice, and sashimi made from seasonal fish. All of these dishes were regularly enjoyed in Edo households. And these were of a far higher quality than the food eaten by commoners. Even though they had fallen on hard times, a member of the prestigious Tsuchimikado family should never have reason to complain about either the quality or volume of his food. Had he lost his sense of taste then? ...No, he had not. There was another reason, another emotion, that explained why Yasuhiro found his meal unsatisfactory.
Basically, Tsuchimikado Yasuhiro found everything unsatisfactory. His current situation, the blockaded Edo, his poverty-stricken family... absolutely everything. However delicious the cuisine may be, if one hasn't the notion to savor the food, it means nothing. As such, to Yasuhiro, the fresh ingredients and the excellent techniques used to prepare this meal were all "awful". Still, he had to eat—less for sustenance than because eating was simply what prestigious families did. But it wouldn't do for his gripes to reach anyone else's ears. "...My Master he may be, but what a pathetic wretch." With that, Caster further detached himself from Yasuhiro. Caster's—or more precisely, Hieda-no-Are's—keen mind had plumbed the furthest recesses of Yasuhiro's heart and exposed what lay within. He was small and weak. But his pride was at least somewhat warranted. His hopes and the distaste he harbored for his current situation were undeniably heartfelt. He genuinely felt that his first-rate cuisine, the likes of which commoners could never hope to enjoy, tasted awful. The only way he could enjoy food again would be to fulfill the wish he made with the Waxing Moon Ritual. Until the Tsuchimikado clan was restored to glory and received its due adulation, he would continue thinking that everything was awful.
That was how far Yasuhiro had been driven. No matter how poised he appeared to the shogunate, no matter how much contempt he showed his enemies, there was nothing that could soothe his heart. Like a rat pursued by a tenacious cat, he was inconsolably restless and agitated. But that's how it should be, Caster thought. That sense of inferiority is precisely what is needed to seize victory in the Ritual. Caster chuckled as he analyzed Yasuhiro's inferiority complex, his arrogance, and above all, his magnificent cowardice. For in this Waxing Moon Ritual—a mortal melee of supernatural beings—victory and survival were one and the same.
Still bemoaning the awful state of things, Tsuchimikado Yasuhiro continued scheming. Deep down, he prayed that food might someday become pleasing again.
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of tsuchimikado yasuhiro & caster.
Sighing, Tsuchimikado Yasuhiro extended his chopsticks. "Awful, awful, awful..."
Miso soup, pickled vegetables, white rice, and sashimi made from seasonal fish. All of these dishes were regularly enjoyed in Edo households. And these were of a far higher quality than the food eaten by commoners.
Even though they had fallen on hard times, a member of the prestigious Tsuchimikado family should never have reason to complain about either the quality or volume of his food. Had he lost his sense of taste then? ...No, he had not.
There was another reason, another emotion, that explained why Yasuhiro found his meal unsatisfactory.
Basically, Tsuchimikado Yasuhiro found everything unsatisfactory.
His current situation, the blockaded Edo, his poverty-stricken family... absolutely everything. However delicious the cuisine may be, if one hasn't the notion to savor the food, it means nothing.
As such, to Yasuhiro, the fresh ingredients and the excellent techniques used to prepare this meal were all "awful".
Still, he had to eat—less for sustenance than because eating was simply what prestigious families did. But it wouldn't do for his gripes to reach anyone else's ears.
"...My Master he may be, but what a pathetic wretch."
With that, Caster further detached himself from Yasuhiro. Caster's—or more precisely, Hieda-no-Are's—keen mind had plumbed the furthest recesses of Yasuhiro's heart and exposed what lay within.
He was small and weak. But his pride was at least somewhat warranted. His hopes and the distaste he harbored for his current situation were undeniably heartfelt. He genuinely felt that his first-rate cuisine, the likes of which commoners could never hope to enjoy, tasted awful.
The only way he could enjoy food again would be to fulfill the wish he made with the Waxing Moon Ritual. Until the Tsuchimikado clan was restored to glory and received its due adulation, he would continue thinking that everything was awful.
That was how far Yasuhiro had been driven.
No matter how poised he appeared to the shogunate, no matter how much contempt he showed his enemies, there was nothing that could soothe his heart. Like a rat pursued by a tenacious cat, he was inconsolably restless and agitated.
But that's how it should be, Caster thought. That sense of inferiority is precisely what is needed to seize victory in the Ritual.
Caster chuckled as he analyzed Yasuhiro's inferiority complex, his arrogance, and above all, his magnificent cowardice.
For in this Waxing Moon Ritual—a mortal melee of supernatural beings—victory and survival were one and the same.
Still bemoaning the awful state of things, Tsuchimikado Yasuhiro continued scheming. Deep down, he prayed that food might someday become pleasing again.