It was on Dejima. Portugal had been residing there on his trips to Japan. It seemed more to keep Japan’s sanity than his own. In a way, he’d all but lost his sanity in the coming years. All he focused on, at the moment, was trading and keeping himself afloat. It was the day he saw the ships on the horizon—the Dutch flags. The crowds were crowding at the docks, amazed at the ships that weren’t recognized by any. But Portugal knew. And he knew what was coming. His mood darkened, and he sighed, walking back into what he deemed his house and prepared for the Dutchman while Japan was away. . .