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Masuji Ono was once a proud painter who believed his art could change his country. In his younger days, he lived in a lively district filled with geisha houses, restaurants, and bars, where he learned the art of painting under a kind master. His teacher focused on beauty, light, and peaceful subjects, but Ono felt that art should have a purpose beyond pleasure. As Japan changed and grew more nationalistic, Ono started to believe that art could serve the nation. He left his master’s studio to join a new group that promoted patriotic ideas through paintings.
Years later, after the war, Ono lived in a quiet neighborhood with his daughter Noriko. His wife and elder son had died during the war, and his elder daughter Setsuko was married and had a little boy named Ichiro. Ono often walked through the streets, seeing the ruins left behind and the new buildings rising. He remembered how beautiful the floating world of pleasure once was and how his own choices had helped destroy it. His once-famous paintings now carried shame because they had supported the militaristic spirit that led Japan into war.
Ono was proud of his past but also uncertain. He often spoke about his achievements with confidence, but deep inside, he wondered if he had been wrong. As Noriko’s marriage negotiations began, Ono worried that his past might cause problems. Many families avoided connections with those who were linked to the wartime government. Ono’s friend, Matsuda, who had once shared his nationalist beliefs, was now old and frail but still defended their old ideas, saying they had only done what they thought best for Japan.
Ono remembered his early teacher, Master Takeda, and how he had been disappointed when Ono left him to paint propaganda. Takeda had believed that artists should stay true to beauty, not politics. Ono also remembered Kuroda, a fellow painter who had been considered rebellious. Kuroda painted freely, showing Western-style modern scenes, and Ono had once criticized him harshly. But now, Ono realized that Kuroda’s ideas about artistic freedom had been right.
At home, Ichiro brought laughter. The little boy asked funny questions about heroes and cowboys he saw in movies. He often asked if his grandfather had killed anyone in the war, which made Ono uneasy. The innocence of the child reminded him of how much Japan had changed. The new generation admired American things—movies, toys, music—and the old ways were fading away. Ono tried to explain the past, but even he could not fully understand or defend it anymore.
When the first marriage negotiation for Noriko failed, Ono suspected it might have been because of his past. He wanted to set things right. He decided to visit the family of the man who had rejected Noriko, hoping to apologize for any harm his actions might have caused. This act of humility was difficult for him, but he felt it was necessary. He remembered the arrogance he once had, thinking his paintings could guide the nation. Now he knew they had only served the pride of men who led the country to ruin.
During a visit from Setsuko and Ichiro, Ono talked about the coming marriage. Setsuko, gentle and patient, tried to tell her father that people no longer blamed him for the past. She said it was better to let things be forgotten. But Ono could feel that the silence around him was filled with unspoken blame. He could not tell if his family truly forgave him or if they were simply too kind to speak the truth. Still, he took comfort in the thought that Noriko’s new match might go well this time.
Ono often thought about his old students, especially Shintaro, who had once looked up to him but now avoided his name. Shintaro had been his assistant and had benefited from Ono’s influence, but after the war, he distanced himself, claiming he had only followed orders. Ono realized that many people who once praised him were now embarrassed to have known him. Even his paintings, once displayed with pride, had been removed from galleries. He wondered if his life’s work had any meaning left.
He sometimes walked past the bridge near the old pleasure district, now broken and overgrown. The bars and theaters had been replaced by offices and factories. The laughter and music of his youth were gone, replaced by the noise of construction. He felt both sadness and hope. The city was healing, but it was also forgetting. The memories of the floating world—its beauty, its charm, and its carefree joy—were fading just like his own reputation.
As time passed, Ono became more peaceful in his thoughts. He began to accept that his influence had been both good and bad. He had inspired many artists, but he had also helped spread ideas that led to suffering. He could not undo what had been done, but he could at least face it with honesty. When the second marriage negotiation for Noriko succeeded, Ono felt relieved. He believed that the new family had accepted them despite his past, perhaps because Japan itself was learning to forgive.
At Noriko’s wedding, Ono watched the young couple and their friends, full of laughter and hope. He noticed how different the world had become. The younger generation no longer carried the burden of guilt or pride from the war. They wanted to build something new—something free from the shadows of their parents. Ono felt a quiet happiness seeing this. He realized that life would continue, even without the art and ideals he once held so dear.
Later, sitting in his garden, Ono reflected on his life. The house was peaceful, surrounded by trees and the sound of birds. He remembered the people he had loved and lost, the students he had guided, and the city that had changed before his eyes. He felt no anger, only acceptance. He thought of his old friend Matsuda, who still tried to defend their past actions, and felt pity for him. Ono no longer needed to defend or deny anything. He simply accepted that his generation had made mistakes in the name of honor and pride.
He looked at the rebuilding city and thought about the future. The young men working on new buildings laughed as they worked, full of energy and optimism. They did not look back or dwell on shame. Ono admired their spirit. He realized that the world always changes, and every artist, no matter how great, becomes part of the past someday. What mattered most was the courage to live honestly and the hope that the next generation would do better.
When neighbors passed by, Ono smiled and greeted them warmly. He enjoyed small conversations about gardens, families, and festivals. These simple moments brought him peace. He no longer longed for recognition or feared judgment. He felt that even though his art was forgotten, his life still had quiet meaning. The world around him floated forward, like the floating world he had once painted, always shifting and beautiful in its own way.
In the end, Ono accepted that he had been both a dreamer and a fool. He had wanted to serve his country with his talent, but he had not seen the harm his art helped cause. Yet he also knew that he had loved beauty, truth, and his people. He had lived through times of glory and ruin, and now he was living in renewal. Watching the sunset over the rooftops, he felt a calm understanding that everything, even guilt, fades like the light at the end of the day.
He thought again of the floating world—those nights of laughter, music, and color when everything seemed alive and fleeting. He smiled softly, realizing that even those memories, though gone, were part of who he was. The past had shaped him, and though it could never be changed, it no longer haunted him. He sat quietly as the evening deepened, feeling at peace with the silence, the world, and himself.