Greetings good sir. I hope this finds you well. Riding a succession of victories over these past months, our military has triumphed over their Russian foes, and peace has been restored. Our brave and noble men in uniform, to the delight of all citizens everywhere, sing songs of jubilation. Let us never forget the dedication of those officers and men who, responding to the Emperor's call, enlisted in the armed forces, shipped off to faraway lands, endured hot sun and frigid cold in devoted prosecution of the battle, and even laid down their lives in service to their country. This month marks the return of their comrades, and our association will be hosting a grand celebration on the 25th in their honor. Over one thousand of our local commissioned officiers, non-commissioned officers, and rank-and-file soldiers will take part. In addition, we believe it only propoer to express our heartfelt gratitude to the families of the fallen. To celebrate our fighting men in due fashion, with the enthusiastic backing of our citizenry, is our association's ultimate mission. It's my sincere hope that you'll donate generously to this grand cause. Yours most sincerely.
The signatory is a member of the peerage. The master, after reading it through, folds it up and returns it to its envelope with a look of indifference. Most likely he won't be contributing. From a while back now, after giving several yen for famine relief in the Tōhoku region, he complains to any and all how he was shaken down. As he clearly donated of his own free will, it's hard to see how he was shaken down. His recounting is entirely off base. After all, no one held a gun to his head. Nevertheless, the master feels he was robbed, and no finely printed letter, even for the sake of returning soldiers, and even at the behest of the peerage, will pry further funds from his grasp. As the master sees it, his obligations lie with himself first and returning soldiers second. Once his own needs are met, he's happy to lend a hand, but as things stand, with each day a struggle, the peerage can fend for themselves in fêting soldiers. The master takes up the second piece of mail. "Another one in typeset," he remarks.