When dawn was about to come, Ieyasu got up while half asleep. The rays of the morning sun shone down obliquely, leaving graceful and smooth shadows on the fair and delicate face of the person beside him.
It's so beautiful, so beautiful. Ieyasu thought. So that it all seems unreal. It was as if everything he had done to that person compulsively last night, as well as the helpless stance of the two people in reality, were already old history that no one would touch in the yellowed pages, and had been gently obliterated at some point.
Ieyasu stretched out his hand to touch the man's beautiful cheek, and suddenly had this thought.
The truth is sometimes like an onion. When you peel off the layers, you only see a deeper layer of the surface.
This may be a question that cannot be answered.
Conception: