Chapter 14: Silver Soul (Era of Anti-Foreign Campaign)

Hangovers are painful, but sleeping outside all night in the cold winter and then waking up hungover is misery beyond words.

Okakura Take felt miserable, yet someone was even worse off: that person was Gintoki Sakata.

When Okakura Take opened her eyes, she was met by Gin’s weary, dead-fish eyes. But what truly terrified her was seeing the White Demon stripped to the waist, trembling and curled up in her arms—in fact, she was forcibly holding him there.

“…” Okakura Take was stunned. She was not yet of age—could she have done something so beastly?

“Um, Gin-san?” she ventured cautiously, “What happened last night?”

He looked at her, his dead-fish eyes bloodshot.

“I’m never drinking with you again,” Gintoki muttered, rubbing his hair.

“Eh?!!”

“You—you went wild after getting drunk last night. Crying, laughing, then you stripped me, threw my clothes over yourself, and refused to let me go. You’re absurdly strong—I spent the whole night freezing with you. If I catch a cold, you’ll have to take responsibility!” Gin glared at her.

Okakura glanced at herself; the clothes covering her waist were Gin’s. She hurriedly picked them up and draped them over him.

“I’m sorry, Gin-san,” she stammered, fumbling with the clothes.

“Achoo!” Gintoki sneezed, making Okakura feel even more guilty.

Yawning, Gin pulled on his clothes and climbed down—he needed more sleep. Okakura, a mere foot soldier, went off to train, her headache lingering. Life went on as usual.

A third of winter had passed; now was the heart of the season. Snowflakes, thick and heavy, swept down like goose feathers, blanketing the earth in white. On such days, nestling in a warm bed was the greatest comfort—if only the bed were warm.

The anti-foreign army lacked not only proper clothing but also thick quilts. They still slept under summer’s thin blankets. At night, when temperatures dropped below zero, these barely offered any protection against the cruel chill. The soldiers adopted a strategy: huddling together for warmth. Each night, pairs of men would embrace to fend off the cold.

At first, everyone was reluctant. Two grown men embracing felt awkward and uncomfortable—especially when you considered the other guy was sweaty, unwashed, and reeked, not to mention certain body parts pressed together. The mere thought made them shudder.

But in the end, they did it—clinging tightly, wishing they could meld into one another. Because damn, it was cold!

There were exceptions—

Gintoki Sakata curled up, trembling against the wall. Help, he thought. I’m freezing! The floor was covered with straw mats, the blanket was thin, offering no warmth at all. Gin felt as if his ears might fall off from the cold.

Okakura Take, balled up like a hedgehog, was experiencing her first truly cold winter. At home, she’d had a heated table and thick quilts. Now, only a thin blanket and the chill from the floor seeping into her bones—she felt she was about to freeze.

Okakura glanced toward the corner.

Gintoki looked behind him.

Their eyes met—awkwardness flickered between them.

They were the only pair in the room not huddled together. Their positions made it perfect for sharing warmth: one by the wall, the other beside them. But neither had the courage to initiate, and so they endured the cold.

Gin, always fearful of ghosts, found Okakura’s face too unsettling. Hugging him would be a psychological test; looking down, he’d see that eerie visage. But now, he wavered—it was just too cold. Maybe if he closed his eyes and tried…

Okakura hesitated—female shyness (even though she was used to seeing naked men by now, embracing one was another matter), and the fear of her gender being exposed, meant she’d slept alone lately. But as the cold grew unbearable, she checked her chest—small, bound tightly, with books tucked in. Should be safe…

Both were wavering, but too embarrassed to speak.

“Achoo!” Okakura sneezed.

Gin sensed his chance. He tried to sound casual: “Okakura-kun, are you catching a cold? Take care of yourself, or it’ll turn into a fever.” Come on, just say it—let’s huddle together!

Okakura curled tighter, looking up at Gin’s fluffy silver curls. They looked warm…

“Um, Gin-san,” she began tentatively.

“Mm?” Gin replied with a nasal hum, inwardly tense.

“Would it be alright for us to sleep together? I’m freezing, I can’t take it anymore.” Okakura gazed at Gin, awaiting his answer.

Gintoki pretended to ponder for half a minute before agreeing.

“Sure, we should help each other out.” He finally spoke—relief flooding him. He really didn’t want to be the one to suggest hugging a guy!

Okakura was delighted, immediately rolling over with her blanket onto Gin’s mat, her large pale eyes sparkling, eager to burrow under his covers.

Gin was startled by her speed. Wait! I’m not ready! But before he could protest, icy hands reached for his neck, sending a shiver through him. His blanket was swept aside.

Gin was shocked. Why did he feel as if he were being molested?

“Okakura-kun, could you wait a moment? Aren’t you being a bit too eager?” Gin stammered. He’d never shared a bed with a man before; though they often slept in communal quarters, this was his first time cuddling. He’d always dreamed of holding a busty mature woman, but that dream had yet to materialize.

The heavens were cruel—before he could embrace a voluptuous beauty, he had to hold a boy who looked like Kayako. No matter how small, he was still a man!

But Gin was reassured—the darkness hid the face that unsettled him.

Slowly, Gintoki extended his arm, placed it on Okakura’s shoulder, and gently drew him close. Okakura followed the movement, inching nearer, until they were embraced.

Warmth—that was Okakura’s first impression. Nestling in, she felt the heat from Gin’s body, a faint scent of sweat—not unpleasant. It was so warm, she couldn’t help but rub her cold cheek against Gin’s chest.

Is this kid still on milk? Gin’s first thought. The body in his arms barely reached his neck, small and skinny, soft and warm, with a subtle milky scent. Gin wondered what Okakura used for bathing.

They combined their blankets, bodies pressed tightly together, Gin’s arm around Okakura’s waist, Okakura’s hand resting on Gin’s arm, her head nestled against his chest.

Indeed, sharing warmth made a huge difference, both thought.

Unconsciously, they held each other tighter, as if trying to absorb the other into themselves, listening to steady heartbeats, feeling the warmth, slowly closing their eyes.

Winter nights were quiet—only the sound of snow settling outside. All those huddled together could finally sleep peacefully.

——— ———————————————————

They say the bladder is the laziest; dawn arrived, and Okakura Take was awakened by the urge to pee. She opened her eyes to see Gin’s exposed collarbone—at this moment, she was on top, pressing Gin beneath her.

How did their positions get reversed? Okakura wondered, poking her head out from the covers; the air was icy, and her urge to pee dissipated. She quickly retreated under the blanket, deciding to endure a little longer—it was too cold to get up.

She comfortably settled back atop Gin’s chest. Gin, her makeshift pillow, was dead asleep, arm around Okakura’s waist, head tilted, mouth slightly open, a small puddle of drool under his pillow…

Okakura was mortified. Best to pretend she hadn’t seen anything!

Just as she closed her eyes, intending to sleep more, strange panting noises came from the next bed.

Beside her slept a burly, foul-smelling uncle; on the other side, another burly uncle—the two were huddled together.

From the next bed, the panting grew louder.

“Ah… damn, that feels good, slow down…”

“Damn, your hand is amazing…”

“Don’t stop, right there, touch me there, ah…”

“Ah, be gentle…”

“This is so good, I’m about to lose it…”

What on earth are those two doing?! o(╯□╰)o!!

Suddenly, she recalled those manga shops near her school—many girls in her class rented comics there. Shimizu Kiku, who sat in front of her, was one of them. Okakura had once seen her cradling manga with a peculiar expression. One day, Okakura caught a glimpse of the cover: two naked men embracing…

Okakura’s worldview was shattered! So men could be together too!

So, the two uncles next door must be doing that sort of thing?!! Okakura decided to play dead—or rather, play asleep.

“Ahhh! I’m coming!!”

“Ahhh! Me too!!”

Enough already! Consider the feelings of those around you!! (Everyone’s inner voice)

Why everyone? Because many were awakened by the pair’s noisy antics. With frequent night raids, everyone’s sleep was light.

The room was full of men—men who understood men. Early mornings produced… well, certain reactions. Hearing those two fools moaning had everyone feeling restless down below. What to do? Sneak glances at the guy beside you—ah, he’s looking back. That familiar gaze, no need for words. Since we’re all men, let’s help each other out—let’s have a mutual session!

As Okakura’s mouth twitched, the panting noises around her multiplied.

Enough already!!! I’m too embarrassed to get out and use the toilet!

Even worse, something hard pressed against her abdomen, sending chills down her spine.

Maybe… it’s time to get up and use the restroom…

Gin was mortified—his New Armstrong Cannon was primed and ready, but there was a man lying on top of him, pressing right against his Cannon! All around, bachelors without any female comfort were starting mutual sessions. In this atmosphere, what was he supposed to do?! Even feigning sleep, his lower body wouldn’t cooperate!

Gin tried to play asleep; Okakura, sweating with embarrassment, felt the thing beneath her grow harder, hot and firm…

She couldn’t take it anymore! Okakura abruptly flipped over, threw off the blanket, and ran for the door, accidentally kicking open several beds where mutual sessions were underway.

“Ahhh!!!” The suddenly exposed crowd clutched themselves, screaming.

So ugly! Okakura saw countless mushroom heads dripping white liquid waving at her. She hurried to the door and escaped, the soldiers inside scrambling to cover themselves.

After relieving herself, Okakura went to the backyard to fetch well water and wash up. After a splash of cold water, her flushed face finally returned to normal.

So that’s what the Armstrong Cannon looks like when it fires—her worldview was refreshed yet again.

Calm down, Okakura Take. All men have those things—next time, don’t panic. If anyone suspects, it’ll be bad. She began self-hypnosis: I’m a man, I’m a man, I’m a man, I’m a man, I’m a man, I’m a man, I’m a man…

Yeah right! No matter how flat, she still had flesh on her chest! (Dignity…)

“Okakura kid, good morning!”

Lost in thought, a large hand slapped her shoulder. Turning, she faced a wall of steaming bronze muscle—Kumamoto, the vice-captain…

What a healthy body, Okakura thought. To be sweating, bare-chested on a winter morning.

“Good morning, Vice-captain,” Okakura replied.

“Haha, just call me Kumamoto,” he said jovially. He was direct, and after losing to Okakura, he respected her skill.

“You’re up early, Kumamoto,” Okakura remarked, eyeing the beads of sweat. He must have been exercising.

“It’s too cold to sleep, so I figured I’d warm up,” Kumamoto said, hoisting a bucket of well water and dumping it over his head.

Cold! Okakura’s first thought—there were even ice chips in the water.

“Ah! That’s refreshing!” Kumamoto wiped his face.

“Kumamoto, you’re showering with cold water so early—aren’t you worried about catching a cold?” Okakura asked.

“No worries, I always do this. My health’s excellent; I won’t get sick,” Kumamoto grinned, drying himself with a rough towel.

Okakura noticed a shard of ice on Kumamoto’s head and pointed it out. “Kumamoto, there’s an ice chip on your head.”

Kumamoto looked up, searching but finding nothing. He felt his head, “Where? Did I get it?”

Seeing him struggle, Okakura sighed, stood on tiptoe, and reached for his forehead, “No, not yet. Hold still; I’ll get it for you.”

“Okay.” Kumamoto paused, looking at Okakura’s hand.

Her wrist was slender, her palm small. It was hard to imagine such delicate hands wielded so much strength. Kumamoto glanced at Okakura’s face—a pallid, eerie visage, large whites, tiny pupils. But the mouth—if judged alone—was beautiful, thin and red, almost glossy, like jelly…

Kumamoto blushed. What was he thinking? Fancying such things about this ugly kid—he must have been deprived of women for too long.

“I got it, Kumamoto,” Okakura said, showing him the ice chip. She noticed his flushed face. “Kumamoto, are you alright? Your cheeks are red—are you running a fever?”

“Huh? No, it’s just the cold wind. Haha…” Kumamoto shook his head, flustered. “Okakura—I’ll go change. You should hurry to the main hall for training after you’re ready.” With that, he ran off.

“What’s with him?” Okakura wondered, scratching her head. Well, it didn’t concern her. She finished her preparations and returned to the dormitory.

Inside, only a few lingered in bed; most had gone to wash up. Okakura found her bedding, saw the White Demon still wrapped up like a cocoon.

Okakura squatted, poked Gin’s face. “Gin-san, training starts soon! Aren’t you getting up?”

“Ahh—” Gin yawned, looked out the window and at Okakura. “Looks cold out there. Your face is frozen blue. I’ll sleep a bit longer.”

“Hey, my face is always blue, Gin-san. Aren’t you the captain? Is it okay to be so lazy?” Okakura teased, tugging his silver curls—soft and cool.

“Then ask for leave for me. I’ve got a fever today,” Gin said, burrowing deeper.

This guy’s going to laze around again! Since joining Gin’s squad, Okakura had to wake him every morning; otherwise, he’d sleep until noon. He was so gallant on the battlefield, but lazy in private. She’d heard he was a thorn in the side of the aliens, infamous as the White Demon.

Okakura looked down at the tightly curled figure in the bedding. If he ever died, it’d be from laziness.

“Get up, Captain Sakata! Everyone asked me to wake you. Come on!” Okakura yanked his covers off.

“So cold—ah, so cold…” Gin shivered, sitting up and hugging himself. “You’re like tossing a featherless eagle off a cliff—freezing me to death. Give the blanket back!”

“Gin-san, you’re just a curly-haired dead-fish-eyed guy. The cold won’t kill you, get up,” Okakura replied.

“Really, you’re strong—no one else can tug my blanket off, but you do it effortlessly,” Gin grumbled, rubbing his curls and getting up.

With Gin awake, Okakura’s day began.

Morning training, a two-hour break for lunch and nap, afternoon training, another break for dinner, evening training, then sleep at ten.

Life among the anti-foreign army was regimented yet dull, but the rigorous training made the squad stronger. Many weren’t privileged samurai—they weren’t allowed to carry swords, yet they joined the cause with pure passion. Some called them foolish, but they acted on their convictions.

They once wielded hoes and sickles to feed their country; now they took up swords against invading aliens. Ordinary, unremarkable on the battlefield, yet they held up the aliens and shogunate.

They were the foundation—without them, bridges couldn’t be built, buildings couldn’t rise, roads couldn’t be paved.

Okakura Take was now one of these foundational folk, training hard alongside them. Though Kumamoto lost to Okakura in strength, he was once a samurai and skilled at kendo. With Gin often shirking, Kumamoto taught most of the swordsmanship.

Kumamoto was a disciple of the Jikishin Kage-ryu school, whose style emphasized solidity. His powerful build made his swordplay fierce and imposing. His blade, a seventy-centimeter long tachi, swung with hidden force—impressive and commanding.

“Okakura, keep your blade in here!” Kumamoto called, coming to Okakura’s side. Okakura wiped sweat from her face, replied, “Yes!” and kept swinging. Kumamoto required five hundred swings from each trainee; Okakura counted each stroke, now at three hundred and twenty.

The repetitive movement was tedious and exhausting; many had to rest before continuing. Okakura never paused, swinging her twenty-kilogram wooden sword as if it were a book.

Not enough! She needed to be stronger! Strong enough not to rely on anyone!

While others rested, Okakura continued practicing, her thin shirt soaked with sweat, outlining her slender frame.

“That Okakura kid is really diligent,” a passing uncle said, wiping sweat.

“He’s always hardworking. I can’t do it anymore—my arms won’t lift. Youth is precious,” a young soldier laughed.

“Miki, you’re only two years older than him,” the uncle retorted.

The group left, joking. Only Okakura remained, swinging her sword, eyes fixed ahead, each movement powerful.

Apart from her, only Gin napping on the veranda and Kumamoto standing nearby remained.

Kumamoto wiped his face, gazing at Okakura. Despite his youth and frailty, he was stronger and more diligent than anyone—always the last to finish, mature and measured for his age. This kid had potential for greatness.

“Okakura, don’t practice too late! Get some rest!” Kumamoto called.

Okakura didn’t stop, didn’t even turn her head.

Kumamoto scratched his head, smiled—her focus was impressive. After watching a while, he left, leaving only Gin and Okakura.

Gin rolled over and opened his eyes, seeing Okakura’s backlit figure swinging a sword.

With each swing beneath the setting sun, sweat scattered, the orange-red light illuminating her face, making her large eyes shine with spirit.

Gin yawned, scratched his curls, watching the slender figure in the sunset. After a while, he stood, picked up his wooden sword, and approached.

Clack! Okakura snapped out of her trance—her sword was blocked by someone. She looked up: Gin.

“Gin-san?” she asked in confusion.

“It’s time to eat,” Gin said lazily.

“Eh?!!” Okakura glanced at the sky—the sun had half set. “Ah! I didn’t realize it was so late.” As she came to herself, Gin was already walking away, yawning.

“Wait for me, Gin-san!” Okakura hurried after him.

In the sunset, their shadows stretched long, the sky ablaze with evening light, making everything radiant.