Ryosuke stepped into the dimly lit servant's quarters, the thick scent of damp wood and sickness clinging to the air. A group of servants had gathered at a distance, whispering amongst themselves, their faces etched with fear.
Near the far wall, a woman knelt on the floor, wailing. Her cries were raw, filled with pure desperation. Her hands clutched at the sleeve of a frail, fever-ridden child lying limp on a thin straw mat. The little girl's skin glistened with sweat, her breathing shallow and labored. She shivered violently, her small fingers twitching against her mother's grasp.
"Please, my Lord," the woman sobbed, forehead pressed to the ground before Ryosuke. "Have mercy! She is all I have!"
Ryosuke's sharp gaze flicked toward the girl. Ito.
