The path leading from the Kamisato Estate to the Grand Narukami Shrine on Mount Yougou was in terrible condition—so bad it could hardly be called a proper road.
In the past, no one paid much attention to the poor state of this path. But after the destruction of Tenshukaku, when the Shogun chose the shrine as her temporary seat of power, road repairs suddenly became a priority.
Fixing the road would take time. Government documents, however, couldn't wait.
With Tenshukaku gone, Inazuma's power structure had shifted. The previous system, where the Tri-Commission managed affairs while the Shogun ruled from afar, had been replaced by direct oversight from the Shogun herself. The commissions' autonomy had been curtailed, their authority partially stripped, and now the Shogun personally reviewed all major decisions. Official documents became the primary medium for this new arrangement.
But how were these documents supposed to reach the shrine?
Sending couriers up the treacherous path would cause unacceptable delays.
This was where the tanuki came in.
Tanuki—raccoon dogs, or more accurately, bake-danuki—were usually insignificant in the grand scheme of things. They mostly dwelled in Chinju Forest, with few venturing near human settlements. The residents near Mount Yougou, whether shrine maidens or retainers of the Yashiro Commission, generally ignored them.
Five hundred years ago—or even further back—Inazuma had been a land of youkai. Supernatural beings had once formed the backbone of society. But now, Inazuma belonged to humans. Youkai no longer mattered.
And yet, it was these overlooked tanuki who solved the document delivery problem.
What did they care about the terrible road conditions? They were experts at navigating rough terrain, scampering effortlessly where humans struggled.
Kamisato Ayaka set out from the Kamisato Estate at dawn, heading for the designated transfer point.
Documents had to be prepared at each commission's headquarters, then transported to a meeting spot near the Kamisato Estate before being handed off to the tanuki for the final ascent to the shrine. At the same time, already-reviewed documents had to be brought back down and redistributed to the commissions for implementation.
This process was cumbersome. The added workload was substantial. Ayaka didn't know how the Tenryou and Kanjou Commissions were handling it, but within the Yashiro Commission, she could sense growing frustration.
The main reason, however, was…
Arriving at the meeting point, Ayaka saw representatives from all three commissions already exchanging documents with the tanuki. Most of the bake-danuki worked in their animal forms, their small frames belying their supernatural strength as they carried stacks of paperwork. Only one tanuki took human form—a girl who served as the intermediary.
Once the exchange was complete, Ayaka approached her.
"Juzu, may I speak with you?"
"Of course."
"Do you know why the review speed for documents has slowed recently?"
Before, approvals came swiftly—documents submitted today would often be returned with instructions by the next day. Now, it took three or even four days.
While basic operations continued smoothly, major decisions couldn't proceed without the Shogun's approval. The entire Tri-Commission system felt paralyzed, as if locked in a cage.
No one dared act without explicit orders. After the recent upheavals, caution had become the rule. Delays in instructions were causing real problems.
Juzu—the tanuki in human guise—scratched her head. "Well… it's because there's only Her Excellency now."
"Even so, the speed shouldn't have dropped by half," Ayaka pressed.
"Why not? Before, Her Excellency and His Excellency the Divine Priest handled documents together. Now that he's stepped back, of course it's slower," Juzu said matter-of-factly.
"What about Lady Yae?"
"Her? She mostly just plays around. Sometimes His Excellency drags her in to help, but she slacks off."
Ayaka's eyes widened slightly. That was… unexpected. She quickly offered Juzu some sweets as thanks before the tanuki scampered off.
Humans wouldn't have been so easily appeased.
Juzu wasn't human—she was a bake-danuki who had taken human form to repay a debt. By chance, she had ended up serving as the liaison for this work.
Watching her go, Ayaka's expression darkened with concern.
Had the Divine Priest really been that crucial? Handling half the workload… didn't that mean he had effectively co-ruled Inazuma alongside the Shogun?
Just how much did the Shogun trust him?
Ayaka knew the Divine Priest enjoyed Her Excellency's confidence. Rumors said he had shaped Inazuma's current policies. But for efficiency to drop this sharply in his absence… it was staggering.
Then again, the Inazuma of today was vastly different from just a few months ago.
Back then, the nation had been isolated. Now, its borders were open, and shipbuilding was expanding rapidly. Near Konda Village, logs lay seasoning in temporary yards—preparation for a new industry.
Such policies didn't seem like something the Shogun would devise…
"I don't understand…" Ayaka murmured to herself.
This new Inazuma felt unfamiliar.
Suddenly, a calm male voice spoke beside her.
"What don't you understand?"
"Your Excellency?!"
Ayaka turned to see the Divine Priest himself standing there, clad in his shrine robes.
Li Mo tilted his head. "What's confusing you, Ayaka?"
"Her Excellency's orders… the policies," she admitted after a moment's hesitation.
Li Mo nodded. "Ah, the documents. The broad directives were my proposals, but the specifics were decided jointly with the Shogun. If you have time, I can explain my reasoning. But…" He gestured toward the mountain. "The current system is straining. I need to discuss adjustments with Her Excellency. Would you like to join me?"
"May I?"
"Why not?"
As they ascended, Li Mo began quizzing Ayaka—starting with simple questions about Inazuma's domestic issues, like food shortages during the Sakoku Decree, then probing deeper into causes and solutions.
Though he had been an ordinary university student in his past life, his time as an Academy City director had honed his strategic thinking.
At first, Ayaka managed tentative answers. But when the questions turned to topics like "Why develop shipbuilding?" or "Why send students to Sumeru?" she faltered.
Her responses were superficial, lacking depth.
By the time they reached the shrine, Ayaka was only beginning to grasp the reasoning behind Li Mo's policies.
"Discuss these questions with your brother later," Li Mo suggested gently.
He understood now.
Kamisato Ayato had shielded his sister well. As the Shrine Maiden's "White Heron," Ayaka handled ceremonial and social matters beautifully—but grand strategy wasn't her forte.
Not yet, at least.