Location: O-furo (Bathhouse), Kiyosu Castle.
Current Date/Time: Late Afternoon to Early Evening. Late Summer, 1559.
The near-boiling water inside the cypress tub hit Soma's skin with a sharp shock. Submerged to his collarbones with his head on the rim, he watched the dense white steam blanket the ceiling beams. The heat was intense, but it was exactly what his aching thighs and bruised shoulder needed after eight hours of manual labor.
Good heat retention in this wood, he noted internally, letting his eyes close as his muscles finally unknotted. No drafts. Just what the doctor ordered.
A sudden commotion outside the cedar walls shattered the silence. Bare feet scrambled frantically against the floorboards, and an attendant stammered out in terror: “My Lord! The Honored Guest... he is inside! He commanded that we leave him. We only obeyed your law!”
Soma's eyes flew open, his stomach dropping.
“You guard an empty hall while the man building my walls washes his own dirt,” a low, resonant growl vibrated through the timber. The sheer weight of Nobunaga's voice silenced the servant instantly. “Get out of my sight.”
An instant later, the heavy cedar door dragged across its tracks with a loud, violent screech.
The cedar door groaned back along its greased tracks as Oda Nobunaga stepped into the bathhouse. His presence dominated the small room instantly, the heat from his body cutting through the damp, heavy steam. Soma’s stomach dropped. He caught the edge of the cypress tub, his pale fingers clenching the wood as he tried to stand.
“Don't move, Ghost,” Nobunaga growled. It wasn’t a shout, but the absolute authority in the warlord's voice anchored Soma right back down into the water. Crouched in the tub, with the amber light exposing his scoured skin and bruised right shoulder, Soma forced himself to look up.
He submerged his torso until the waterline hit his chest, fighting to keep his tone flat and professional. “My Lord, this is a massive breach of protocol,” Soma stated plainly. “In my homeland, keeping a clear division between management and the crew is basic common sense. If we share the same space like equals, the men on the worksite will see it. It makes it impossible to enforce rules later because they think they can bypass the structure. This is highly inefficient.”
Nobunaga’s jaw set, a mocking smile touching his lips as he tracked Soma's defensive speech. “I do not care about the fragile rules of your distant country, Ghost,” Nobunaga countered, his voice vibrating through the thick mist. “I do not rule my men with your invisible lines. They obey me because my hand holds their lives. If I want to see the man fortifying my walls, I do not wait out in the hall while he washes his own back like a peasant.”
He hides in the steaming water, thinking his strange words can build a wall between us, Nobunaga mused silently, a dark thrill of possession taking root. I will show him that no wall keeps me out.
Without breaking eye contact, Nobunaga reached up and untied the thick sash of his outer robes.
RUSTLE.
The heavy, dark silks fell open, pooling around Nobunaga's bare feet on the wet cedar slats. He shrugged his broad, heavily scarred shoulders, completely shedding the layered garments until he stood in nothing but a tightly wrapped cotton loincloth.
Soma’s breath hitched. He forcefully snapped his eyes away from the Warlord’s torso, locking his gaze onto the blank, wet cedar wall directly opposite the tub. Under the water, he clenched his hands into tight fists, furious at how completely vulnerable he was.
"My Lord, this makes no sense," Soma said, keeping his voice level despite the intense pressure. "If this is about the construction, the work is already done. The blueprints for the western timber were delivered to your retainers this morning. The measurements are exact, the wood counts are verified, and the guild knows exactly what to do. There is no reason for you to be in here. We have nothing left to negotiate."
“I decide what is necessary,” Nobunaga countered, the deep rumble of his voice carrying a dark, teasing edge.
Instead of moving toward the washing stools, Nobunaga turned his back to the tub, a cold, calculated display of physical dominance. He stood perfectly still in the dim, amber light, forcing Soma to sit there and endure his presence.
Even with his eyes glued to the wall, Soma’s peripheral vision couldn't block out the sheer mass of the man. Nobunaga’s back was incredibly wide, packed with dense muscle that looked like shifting stones under his weathered skin. His flesh was crossed by thick, jagged white scars from years of close-quarters combat, and the dark cotton cloth cut sharply across his powerful thighs, showing the heavy, grounded strength of his lower body.
"You think my value begins and ends with the drawings you gave my retainers, Ghost?" Nobunaga spoke to the steam, his voice echoing off the wood. "Any clever servant can copy lines on paper. But paper cannot look at a mountain and see a fortress. Paper does not make a proud carpenter drop his iron in the dirt and bow. I did not bring you inside my gates just to collect a few scraps of ink. I want to see the mind that created them, and I want to see how much weight you can carry before you break."
Nobunaga reached down to his hip. With a slow, unhurried motion, he pulled the knot of the coarse cotton binding.
Soma’s heart hammered a heavy, frantic rhythm against his bruised ribs. He squeezed his eyes shut for a fraction of a second, furiously burying his panic at the total collapse of boundaries.
The dark fabric fell away. It drooped slowly down the thick, corded muscle of Nobunaga’s thighs, pooling in a wet heap over his ankles. The Warlord stepped out of the garment, leaving him completely, unapologetically naked in the humid air.
“You stare at the timber of the wall as if you expect it to answer you, Ghost,” Nobunaga mocked softly, the heavy amusement entirely evident in his tone. He did not rush to cover himself. He walked with a heavy, deliberate stride toward the low wooden washing stools.
Soma kept his dark eyes rigidly fixed on the empty wall, his jaw locked so tightly his teeth ground together. He listened to the harsh, wet slap of Nobunaga’s bare feet on the floorboards. He was trapped in a steaming wooden box with a beast who treated the concept of personal space as a drawn sword.
SPLASH.
The sharp, loud splash of water echoed through the room as Nobunaga picked up a wooden bucket. He poured the scalding water directly over his head and broad shoulders, washing away the sweat of the day. He did not bother with the adzuki paste or the rice bran. He simply let the raw heat of the water strip the dirt from his flesh.
“You broke the wolves of the wood today, Ghost,” Nobunaga said, his voice easily carrying over the sound of the splashing water. “My spy reported that the carpenter chief dropped his iron in the mud and bowed to your shapes in the dirt. You took the pride of the strongest guild in Kiyosu without drawing a single blade.”
“I did not take their pride, Lord Nobunaga,” Soma replied instantly. He maintained his cold, defensive tone, his eyes completely glued to the grain of the cedar wall ahead of him. “I provided a superior way to balance the weight. The interlocking joint is a truth of the earth. They simply recognized that their iron nails were a weakness. I was just doing my job.”
The heavy, rhythmic sound of water dumping over Nobunaga’s shoulders stopped. He dropped the wooden bucket onto the floorboards with a sharp clack that cut right through the hissing steam. Soma remained frozen in the deep tub, his chin hovering just above the waterline. He tried to keep his eyes locked on the far wall, but as Nobunaga stepped up to the edge of the wooden rim, his discipline snapped. His gaze drifted down.
Standing at his full height with his legs slightly parted, the Warlord was completely, unapologetically bare. Below the heavy scars on his stomach hung a thick, flaccid length of flesh, a blunt, heavy piece of anatomy that matched the dense build of the rest of his body, easily measuring six to six and a half inches even completely at rest. Soma looked away in a heartbeat, a fierce, frustrated heat rushing into his cheeks as he fixed his eyes rigidly on Nobunaga’s kneecap.
He hissed a sharp breath through his teeth, furious that his defense had failed. Nobunaga didn't miss the flinch. A low, deep rumble of pure amusement vibrated in his chest.
“You measure the timber, you measure the mud, and...you measure the flesh, Ghost,” Nobunaga purred, leaning into the tension.
“But you always look away before the counting is finished.”
“I’m trying to show some basic professional courtesy, Lord Nobunaga,” Soma said, his voice tight as he stared straight ahead.
“Where I come from, you don't stare down the man who runs the company. It’s bad manners, and it’s a distraction from the work.”
“Then your homeland is run by cowards who fear what they see,” Nobunaga countered smoothly, stepping directly into the cypress tub.
The displacement was sudden and heavy. A massive surge of near-boiling water sloshed over the rim, raising the waterline right to Soma's chin. Nobunaga didn't sit across from him; he waded through the heat with a slow, deliberate grace until he settled into the corner right beside Soma, his broad, scarred shoulder pressing hard against Soma’s bare arm.
“My people tell me you broke the city's strongest carpentry guild today without drawing a single blade,” Nobunaga murmured, leaning his head back against the rim, his gold-flecked eyes fixed on the side of Soma’s face. “The chief dropped his tools in the mud and bowed to your shapes in the dirt. He has a massive pride, that man. How did you take it so easily?”
Soma kept his posture perfectly rigid against the cypress wall, the blistering heat of Nobunaga’s skin transferring straight into his shoulder. “I didn't take anything from him,” Soma said, keeping his tone flat and level. “I just showed him a better method. Their current design relies entirely on iron nails to hold the main stress points, which means the whole wall fails the moment the iron rusts or snaps under pressure. The interlocking joint I drew in the dirt uses the weight of the timber to lock the structure together. It's just simple mechanics. The chief didn't bow to me; he bowed to the math. I was just doing my job.”
Nobunaga tilted his head, his dark hair floating on the water. “You hide behind your numbers and your lines, Ghost. You claim it is just a job. But I do not care about the math. I care about the result. I see a man who commanded the earth to outlast the iron, and a master who made proud men bend to his will. You want to pretend you are an outsider just tracking data, but your actions tell me a different story. I enjoy watching my assets prove their worth, and today, you proved you belong exactly where I put you.”
Nobunaga stepped straight into the massive cypress tub, sending a heavy surge of water sloshing over the wooden rim with a loud splash that echoed through the room. He waded through the near-boiling water, completely ignoring the blistering heat. Instead of sitting on the opposite side, he moved with a slow, deliberate grace until he sank right next to Soma, his broad, scarred shoulder pressing flush against Soma’s bare arm.
Soma went completely rigid, his muscles locking up as the fierce heat radiating from the Warlord's skin cut through the water and hit his scoured shoulder.
“You didn't call for the healers when you left the mud,” Nobunaga said, breaking the silence as he leaned his head back against the rim, his gold-flecked eyes fixed on the side of Soma’s flushed face. “You ordered my men to leave you alone. Do you honestly believe your own hands are enough to mend your injuries?”
“It's just a deep tissue contusion,” Soma replied, keeping his voice leveled and refusing to turn his head. “And yes, this is more efficient. It’s simple fluid mechanics. The extreme heat opens up the blood vessels, forcing circulation directly into the bruised muscle to flush out the damage. It speeds up the natural recovery cycle. Sending for a healer to slather cold herbs on it just slows down the process and wastes your resources.”
Nobunaga tilted his head slightly, his dark hair floating on the surface of the water as he listened to the flat, logical explanation.
“You treat your own body like a broken wagon wheel that just needs a new iron band,” Nobunaga murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You think you can calculate your way out of pain, Ghost. But a leader doesn't just read a report on his equipment. He tests the material himself.”
Without a word of warning, Nobunaga lifted his massive, wet hand from the water. He reached across the small gap, bypassing Soma’s chest, and pressed his thick, rough fingers directly against the mottled yellowish-green bruise on Soma’s right shoulder.
The pressure was firm. The calloused pad of his thumb dragged slowly across the swollen muscle, creating a harsh, abrasive friction against Soma’s raw skin.
Soma gasped, a sharp, choked sound escaping his lips as his entire upper body tensed violently. Under the water, his hands curled into tight fists, his jaw locking so hard his teeth ground together as he fought the sudden, invasive weight of the Warlord's hand.
“The bruise fades,” Nobunaga whispered, leaning in so close his hot breath brushed the damp hair at the nape of Soma’s neck, the scent of agarwood cutting through the heavy steam. “Your flesh repairs itself faster than any injured warrior. But you still vibrate like a struck bell when I touch the iron’s mark.”
Nobunaga’s touch on his bruised shoulder sent a sharp jolt straight down Soma’s spine. The steady, professional detachment he had maintained all day in the mud vanished instantly under the direct pressure of the Warlord's calloused thumb.
Soma ground his back teeth together, furious that his body was actively rebelling against his will. Beneath the near-boiling water, his cock hardened completely in a matter of seconds, gorging with blood until it reached a thick, rigid nine-inch length. The heavy mass pulsed against his inner thigh, demanding space in the cramped corner of the tub.
Desperate to hide it, Soma shifted his hips forward, trying to sink lower into the opaque water while pulling his knees up to build a physical barrier.
But the sheer length of his erection made it impossible to bury in the shallow corner. The dark red tip of his circumcised glans broke the surface of the water for a fraction of a second, fully exposing the thick ridge to the amber light before he frantically shoved his hips back down.
Nobunaga did not miss the sudden shift in posture. The Warlord’s gold-flecked eyes tracked the movement under the rippling surface, his pupils dilating as he caught the undeniable proof of the engineer's physical reaction. A low, heavy rumble came from deep in his chest.
“It’s just a physical reaction to the heat, Lord Nobunaga,” Soma stated through clenched teeth, desperately trying to frame the situation as a simple engineering problem. “Basic thermodynamics. When you put a closed system under extreme thermal stress, the fluid expands. The body is just pushing blood outward to manage the sudden spike in core temperature. It’s an involuntary, mechanical response to the boiler. Nothing more.”
Nobunaga shifted his weight, pressing his heavy, thick thigh deliberately against the side of Soma’s knee beneath the water, trapping the naked engineer completely in the cedar corner.
The Warlord’s brow furrowed, a flash of genuine, dark confusion crossing his weathered face as he listened to the strange, nonsensical stream of foreign words. He did not know what a system or a boiler was, and the phrases sounded like the mad gibberish of a Western trader or a court sorcerer.
“You babble like a drunken monk listing the properties of rain, Ghost,” Nobunaga growled, his voice a low, rough grate that cut right through the steam. He squeezed Soma's knee tighter against the wood, dismissing the modern jargon with a sharp tilt of his head. “You explain away the tremor in your shoulder as a healing nerve, and you speak of your own blood as if it were water moving through a bamboo line. Tell me. Is the massive, rigid pillar of heat currently fighting the water in your lap also part of your... mechanical design?”
Soma’s face burned with a massive flush that rivaled the heat of the tub. His heart hammered against his ribs, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Pinned between the hard cypress wall and the immovable mass of the Warlord, he had nowhere to go.
“You lie with such beautiful desperation, Ghost,” Nobunaga whispered.
The Warlord slowly pushed himself up. The heavy displacement of water cascaded over Soma’s chest as Nobunaga stood to his full height, towering over him while hot steam rolled off his broad, scarred shoulders.
Soma’s gaze involuntarily caught the heavy, thick mass of the Warlord’s dormant arousal again. He immediately averted his eyes, a fierce, frustrated heat flooding his cheeks as he stared rigidly at the Warlord’s kneecap.
“You share the water of the Oda clan,” Nobunaga stated, his tone shifting back into the register of absolute, formal authority, though the dark amusement still lingered. “It is a rare honor for a man who entered my gates wrapped in wet rags. Do not let the heat break your mind before the wall is finished.”
Nobunaga stepped out of the massive cypress tub, his heavy, wet feet slapping against the wooden slats. He did not look back.
“Your new silk waits in the anteroom,” Nobunaga commanded over his shoulder, his broad back disappearing into the thick white steam. “Dress yourself, Ghost. The sun has fallen, and you still owe me the math for the western wall.”
The heavy cedar door slid open with a wet groan and snapped shut, sealing Soma alone in the boiling silence. Soma sat perfectly still, his massive, rigid cock still throbbing heavily beneath the water, his jaw clenched in frustration as he tried to process the sheer, terrifying weight of the dominance he had just survived.