The Wakatake-tei Yose
Now, what exactly is a yose? Put simply, it's a place where rakugo performers perform rakugo.
Back in the old days, there was no internet, no television, no film, no video, none of that now-obsolete stuff. Entertainment meant popular theater, and every manner of performance art meant to dazzle an audience took place in these yose.
To get technical about it, there were separate venues like kōdan halls and kabuki theaters, but that gets complicated, so here in the world of Toyoashihara, we lump them all together under the one name: yose.
For what it's worth, in this world's yose, the center section holds nothing but ordinary chair seating, while both sides feature tatami box seats where eating and drinking are permitted.
The layouts vary a little, but at the fancier yose, the entire floor is tatami box seats, and the second floor becomes the so-called VIP seats (Daijin seats).
That said, a yose exists to showcase popular entertainment, so most of them, like this Wakatake-tei, follow the same basic arrangement: a kōza where the performer sits, ordinary chairs, and tatami box seats.
The curtain hanging over that very kōza was rising, and a kōdan performance was about to begin.
Chan! Cha-chan! Cha-chan! Cha-cha-chan-chan!
Clap, clap, clap, clap...
Ushered on by the shamisen's tune and a thunderous round of applause, a kōdan storyteller emerged from the wings.
The storyteller wore an easy, congenial smile while surveying the state of the audience.
Full house, he thought. Lots of old folks out there today, so he'd better speak slowly and clearly.
He always adjusted his delivery based on the crowd, so he made a point of reading the room carefully.
Elderly listeners inevitably struggled to catch anything spoken too quickly, so slow and clear was the only way to be understood.
No matter how skillfully crafted a piece of rakugo or kōdan might be, if the audience couldn't follow it, it was nothing but noise, and this storyteller understood that well.
He took his seat at the lectern set upon the kōza...
Crack!
With a sharp rap of his fan against the lectern, the storyteller gave a light bow.
"As I'm sure you all know, since ancient times there have been such things as monsters, and it is the Kabukimono who have long been credited with putting down these troublesome creatures..."
The storyteller began, his pace unhurried.
"Tendōzan Kinoko, hailed as the mightiest onmyōji of them all. Sega Hachirō, the noh performer who wielded the 'Locust Mask.' Kachaō, the martial artist master of qi arts. Kadoku, the musician who fought with his shamisen. I imagine you've all heard these names before..."
So the storyteller went on, naming one celebrated Kabukimono after another.
By offering up these examples of heroic tales spun by various Kabukimono, he built up the audience's anticipation for what was to come.
Kabukimono were those who traveled the world, resolving all manner of difficult troubles.
That said, most of them were ruffians and scoundrels at heart, a thoroughly troublesome lot in their own right.
But they were also a gathering of formidable martial talents, and many a young man dreamed of striking it rich by becoming one himself.
It was, in its way, a profession of dreams.
"Among them was one they called Sukebei, the Siring King, said to be father to a thousand heroes and grandfather to ten thousand more. Thanks to this one man, most of the famous folk in the land turned out to be blood relatives, which caused no end of what we now call 'the Sukebei problem.'"
"Ha-ha-ha-ha..."
A light ripple of laughter rose from the audience.
"Well, the man was a master of two blades and, more to the point, the single most lecherous fellow in recorded history, scattering thousands upon thousands of children across the whole world. And more than half of them turned out brilliant in one field or another, politics, diplomacy, sorcery, swordsmanship, leaving behind achievements that beggar belief. At first, fathers cursed him, 'You've ruined my daughter!' But by the end, they were begging him, 'Please, won't you have a go at my daughter?'..."
"Ha-ha-ha-ha..."
This time the laughter rose louder still.
"And that's why so many Kabukimono out there dream of becoming just like Sukebei. Yes... and I mean that in both senses."
"Ha-ha-ha-ha..."
Judging that he'd won the crowd over with that laugh, the storyteller paused, just for a moment.
That brief silence was enough to conjure a touch of tension.
And then, quietly, he turned toward the true subject of the evening.
"Now then, tonight's tale concerns the one hailed as the mightiest Kabukimono of them all, the man known as the Twin Blade Dragon: Ashino Yasutaka."
The audience quieted, just slightly.
This was where the real story began, and they leaned in, holding their breath to listen.
"This is the very story behind that book everyone's been buying up at the shops lately, The Flight of the Twin Blade Dragon. As I understand it, the tale is based on The Ashino Diary, which the man himself wrote late in life, looking back over the course of his years. A playwright got his hands on it, embellished it every which way, and turned it into something else entirely, and that something else became The Flight of the Twin Blade Dragon."
"Ha-ha-ha..."
A light laugh rose from the audience.
"Now, I imagine some of you are thinking he had no business turning it into something else entirely... but that playwright happened to be my own teacher. And when I asked him about it, he told me, 'The poor Twin Blade Dragon had such a miserable life, I figured I'd dress him up a little.'"
"Ha-ha-ha-ha..."
Once again, laughter rose from the audience.
"Now, the whole world sings the praises of the Twin Blade Dragon as the strongest of them all. But when my teacher had the man himself read it, he actually thanked him for it... which made me wonder just how miserable his real life must have been, so I went and read the original diary myself... and, well... yes, indeed, only the good parts had been dressed up."
"Ha-ha-ha-ha..."
The laughter from the audience swelled even bigger...
"Now then, today's tale shall be this very Flight of the Twin Blade Dragon. I'm afraid we'll have to cut things off right at a good part, but I'll bring you the rest another day, if you'll indulge me."
With that disclaimer given, the storyteller began to recount the hero's footsteps.