"Rōjū, what kind of position is that?"
Ei repeated the term, finding it baffling. What kind of role would have such a name?
Li Mo explained, "Rōjū can be understood as a position that allows advising the Shogun. Think of it as an honorary title without direct authority."
"Hmm? I see you want me to welcome broader counsel, but... why create this role?" Ei still didn't grasp the need.
Li Mo pointed out that past crises stemmed from limited information channels—even petitions from the Yashiro Commission could be blocked by that old schemer, Kujou Takayuki. No wonder things went wrong.
Ei wasn't opposed to open counsel, but why the extra step?
"Can't you see the flaw in how power is inherited now? The Tenryou Commission has always been led by the Kujou Clan, and the Kanjou and Yashiro Commissions follow the same pattern. I don't doubt the loyalty of the Kamisato, Kujou, or even the Yashiro Clan to you. But bloodline doesn't guarantee competence."
He continued, "The Rōjū's purpose would work like this."
In Li Mo's plan, the Rōjū would be a symbolic role, but anyone aspiring to lead one of the Three Commissions must first serve as Rōjū.
Ei countered, "Isn't that redundant? Can't I simply appoint leaders directly?"
Li Mo hesitated. He'd forgotten—in Inazuma, all authority flowed from the Raiden Shogun. She was a literal god; without her protection, humanity wouldn't have endured this long...
"Don't look so defeated. I'm glad you speak to me as a friend, not just a deity," Ei said.
Li Mo sighed. "Fine, have it your way."
"The Rōjū idea isn't wrong, though. We *should* hear diverse perspectives. How many seats would you suggest, and who should fill them?"
"The Three Commission leaders, of course, plus Lady Yae and the Watatsumi priestess—five total. Add a prominent civilian to make six."
"Why six?" Ei asked.
Li Mo shrugged. "Six feels balanced. The Commission heads must have a voice—you can't deny that. And Lady Yae acts as a... safeguard."
"Those four I approve."
Ei enjoyed these discussions with Li Mo. First, she'd never had someone to debate with before. Second, he broke down every detail patiently, almost like teaching.
Unlike that fox, who'd dodge questions with excuses or sly taunts.
The Three Commissions' leaders were obvious picks—their recent failures proved the need for mutual oversight. Yae made sense too; as Ei's only acknowledged familiar, her role was natural.
(As for the bake-danuki claiming to be her familiar? It only cared about its self-styled title, *"Hidden Protector of Life, Bake-Danuki."* Ei wouldn't interfere with such an elder. With so few familiar faces left, she treasured their bond.)
That lazy fox deserved more responsibilities anyway.
"Now, the last two seats? A civilian representative I understand, but the Watatsumi priestess..." Ei frowned, considering Li Mo's intent.
He leaned against the windowsill. "I get your hesitation. Since Orobashi's death, Watatsumi has nominally belonged to Inazuma, but it's functionally autonomous—outside the Three Commissions. Even during the Cataclysm five hundred years ago, they never sought the Shogunate's aid. You inherited Makoto's approach, but times have changed."
"Ei, have you visited Watatsumi recently?"
"Not since the Archon War, when I slew Orobashi. Watatsumi is self-sufficient, trading only lightly with Narukami."
"That's the problem! Watatsumi is *officially* part of Inazuma yet remains isolated. Forget politics—their trade alone reveals the issue. What do they export and import?"
Meeting Sangonomiya Kokomi had made Li Mo realize he, like Ei, had unconsciously ignored Watatsumi.
Could Watatsumi truly survive apart from Inazuma? Impossible. That barren land, sanctified yet unfit for crops, could never sustain itself.
"They sell finished textiles and luxuries, but buy... grain." Ei's eyes narrowed.
Grain was vital. Gods needed no sustenance, but humans did. During the Cataclysm's evacuation, food shortages had nearly doomed them.
"Watatsumi can't feed itself?"
"No. The 'divine soil' there can't grow crops. They rely on fishing. Now reconsider your Sakoku Decree—it didn't just isolate Inazuma from foreigners. It crippled Watatsumi's fishing fleets."
Narukami's waters were the richest. Before the decree, Watatsumi boats often fished near its shores. The policy starved them, breeding the rebellion.
"What's done is done. The question is how to prevent another uprising. You *must* hear Watatsumi's voice."
Li Mo pressed on. "Beyond that, their faith divides them from Inazuma. True unity is impossible without bridging that gap."
Ei sighed. "I see your point. But will Watatsumi *want* to integrate?"
"We're not demanding they abandon their beliefs. Just align administratively and economically. Sangonomiya Kokomi is shrewd—she'll cooperate."
Watatsumi was like a storm-battered ship, its hull barely holding. Kokomi's efforts were patchwork repairs. Real solutions required Inazuma's support.
People with nothing to lose are dangerous. But give them stakes, and they'll act with caution.
In the end, Ei agreed. The Rōjū would be a symbolic role—less burdensome than actual governance.
One last question lingered as they gazed at the stars.
"Why call it 'Rōjū'?"
"Just a placeholder. You can rename it."
Li Mo had borrowed the term from history. In feudal Japan, the Rōjū were senior advisors to the Shogun, wielding real power—akin to a cabinet.
Given Inazuma's inspiration, borrowing the title felt fitting.
Ei kept the name.
Even if it sounded odd.