My father taught me to despise violence, to despise the provocation of it. But he taught me other things too. And once he was gone, wherever fallen samuraïs go, I learnt from others too.
So when she came to see me, telling me her story, I was faced with a dilemma. As she knelt in front of me, around the low tea table, head bent, awaiting my decision, I thought of my father. I stood up, said to her I would be back. I took my sword, and walked.
So died a rapist, silently without honour.