The moonlight was occluded by mist when a youth stepped into the dingy
sake bar behind Tokyo's departed fishmarket.  Leaving not a footfall,
the young man approached the lone etched derelict figure perched at
the bar.

"Otsu!" cried the youth, "Your presence is requested and required to
lead the forces of the Shogun."

"Excavating relics is a most uncouth profession," said Otsu, not
lifting his eyes from the sake glass, "Do I know you?"

"No sir," said the youth, still holding attention, "But I you."

"Yes," said Otsu, "All know the man whose face was once mine through
tales of history.  But I have long since fallen off the page.  Go,
lest there your name slip as well." 

"I would make it, sir," said the youth, "That leaves may still be
drawn down by the wind."

Either man said nothing until the faded convolution of the other
patrons' voices again filled the ear, puntuated with the ching of
glasses and the pouring of draughts.  Suddenly, from beneath his robe
Otsu bared a sword and struck at the youth with a hand whose life's
affinity was marred not by age and only upon the face by drink.  But the
impeccable skill the youth parried, tearing Otsu's ancient katana from
his hand flying into a wooden beam as he sheathed his own sword.  Otsu
stood amazed at a force never before beheld.

"The fanfare faded, you sought to leave the trappings of this earth,"
said the youth, "Pouring your memories into glasses of rice wine.  But
you have not paid your debt.  Your two children you have left in
neglect in your voyage to twilight.  One, the province, you have
always known and loved.  The other, before tonight, you had never
met."

The legend of the final victory of Otsu is told to every child with a
measure of reverence, yet what inspired him to leave those darkened
oil-lit bars for the drums of war is rarely spoken.

Victory achieved, his mind clear, Otsu drank at a tea house high in
the mountains.  Upon a bench ofred wood, Otsu drew the white
porcelein to his mouth, took in the steamy green liquid, and returned
the cup to the table without making a sound.

Baring a sword, another youth climbed the mountain and approached
Otsu's table.  The latter was without motion.  The youth stood
rigidly, calling out, "Otsu! My honor and the honor of my family
demands your blood for the actions you have wrought!  My brother
perished against your forces, so fierce they were! My father, seeking
revenge, fell to your son's blade.  And so you shall to mine!"  His
sword he held twitching, threateningly pointed at the tea drinker.

His eyes still lost in the beauty of the forest, Otsu took another
drink of tea without haste or prolonging.  He sat the glass on the
table.  Then, he kicked the table at the youth, sending its contents
into the ether.  The youth parried and jumped back.  Leaping on to the
table which he righted with his foot in mid-air, Otsu fenced with the
youth, pairing a life with the sword against rage and young fire.  The
table tipped and Otsu slid off, catching the tea cup on his sword.  He 
knocked the table back aright and set the tea back upon it before the
youth was upon them.  They fenced more, steel scraping steel in lightning
procession. But the fires of the youth could not meet Otsu's mastery,
and the young man was silenced when with a cut deep into his throat. 
Otsu grabbed a napkin from the ground which had fallen from
the table and wiped his blade before he resheathed it.  The bloody
cloth he tossed on the face of the departed youth.

The proprietor looked in horror upon the sour fruits of violence which
had encroached chaos upon his serenity.  Otsu picked up the bench
which had fallen over in the fray and
set it at the table.  He sat upon it and picked up the tea mug,
staring off into the distance.  Half to the tea master and half to the
sky, Otsu said, "It is nice to watch the fog roll down through
the tree tops."  With that, the tea master was enlightened.