Western Coast of Japan, Designated Trade Port
Late December 1836
Things didn't go back to normal after the observers entered the French enclosure.
It looked like it did.
The French stuck to their routine. The guards stayed at their posts. The observers came and went under supervision, writing things down, asking questions when needed.
On the surface, nothing had changed.
But underneath, something had shifted.
It wasn't just curiosity anymore.
It wasn't just caution.
It was a divide.
You didn't see it in official reports or hear it in formal discussions. It showed up in quieter places. In hushed conversations between samurai. In the way some observers stopped returning to the enclosure, while others asked to go again. In how guards lingered near the boundary, not just watching the French, but watching their own people.
Kuroda was one of them.
He hadn't gone back inside after the first day.
He didn't feel the need to.
