Story:

At dawn, Mitsuhide gave the signal, and the army advanced from three directions—west, south, and east—converging on the imperial castle like three rivers closing on one lake.

By afternoon the three columns had joined hands, every checkpoint seized, every gate secured, the city's arteries pinched shut with quiet, surgical precision.

The Miyoshi and their paper puppet shogun had already fled through the north gate before the first column arrived, their palanquins bouncing over rutted roads, their dignity left behind in the dust.

The palace of the Tenno itself stood unguarded—untouched, open, waiting.

Mitsuhide's first order inside the city gates echoed his character exactly: strict military discipline. Not one grain of rice taken, not one door forced, not one citizen troubled.

"We come to restore order to the capital," he told the assembled samurai officers, "not as bandits. Any man who plunders will lose his head, and I will carry it to the lord myself."

Kyoto's citizens watched from doorways and lattice windows, expecting the usual sack, the usual smoke—and instead saw red-caped soldiers bowing at crossings, buying goods with proper coin, restoring barricades they had dismantled.

Word spread from district to district like warmth through cold hands: these are soldiers of justice.

The Oda name began rising through the city like sun through morning mist.