“I gave you a chance. I offered you an opportunity to make up for what you did. Work for me and perhaps you could see your son again. And yet, despite my generosity, despite my kindness, you treat me like this?”

“It wasn’t my fault, Takashi-san,” she protested. “The bag split inside me. I nearly died.”

“Did you come to me?” Katsuro butted in, evidently concerned that his version of events not be challenged.

“I told you where to find me,” she said.

“And you weren’t there when I arrived.”

“The police—”

“And then you come here with a gaijin,” Katsuro cut over her.

“I wanted to see Yamato,” she said. “Milton told me he would help.”

“You disobeyed my father—”

“Be quiet, Katsuro,” Takashi snapped. He glared at his son until he looked away, then turned his attention back to Sakura. “I had already promised that you would see the boy again. You knew what you had to do.”

“I know,” she said. “I am sorry. I should have stayed in Bali. But I was desperate. I let him persuade me that he could fix my problems. I was wrong. Please, Takashi-san.”

Takashi turned away from them both. “It doesn’t matter now. Your apology is worthless. It is the same with your excuses. You led my eldest son to disgrace. Despite that, I offered you a chance. You have rejected it and given me reason for disappointment in my youngest son.”

“Otōsan,” Katsuro whined.

“Quiet, Katsuro. Not another word.”

Sakura dropped to her knees. “Please, Takashi-san. I am sorry. Truly. I didn’t know what else to do, but I’ve never wanted to offend you.”

“It is as I said—too late. Your words mean nothing. You cannot be trusted. I have listened to others who have suggested that I show clemency toward you, and look how you have rewarded me. You bewitched Miyasato. You bewitched the gaijin. You have bewitched Katsuro.”

Katsuro frowned. “Otōsan, I—”

“Shut up. I have heard enough from you to last a hundred years.”

Katsuro chewed the inside of his lip, his fists clenched.

Takashi turned back to Sakura. “Do you know what I wanted to do after what you did to Miyasato? I thought about having Katsuro kill you. That was my first instinct, but then I decided that was not punishment enough for your crime. You cost me my son. Death would be too good for you. Instead, I decided to remind you, every day, of the shame of what you did. I spoke with an old friend—Yoshio Wakasa. Do you remember that, Fumio?”

“I do,” his wakagashira said, concern on his face at the direction the conversation was taking.