Pairings: Kenshin Himura / Kaoru Kamiya, past Kenshin/Tomoe
Characters: Kenshin Himura, Kaoru Kamiya
Word count: 2149
Read the chapter in AO3, FF.net or below the cut!
Notes and thanks: That's it. It took five years... but now it's done. I hope you enjoyed my story. :)
I would love to thank my dear friends for all of their help: beta reading my ESL dyslexic writings, listening me ramble... and being there for me. I would also extend my sincere thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story. It means a lot and has given me the strength to keep writing and working on this story.
Lastly, I would like to thank Alekssi, who has done a humongous job and translated the whole saga into Russian. You can find their translations here.
AN: This chapter has not been beta-read, so be prepared for grammar issues and typos.
This one – Epilogue
”And that’s how this one became a wanderer,” Kenshin said quietly, looking up at the clear night sky. The stars were bright tonight, much brighter than they had been all those years ago.
Warm arms sneaked around his chest, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, for telling me,” his beloved wife for four years, Himura Kaoru whispered. “I know it wasn’t easy for you, to keep speaking of your past for all these evenings during this past year, to delve into your private memories, both terrible ones… and tender ones.”
“It wasn’t,” Kenshin agreed. He looked at her softly, “But you were curious, that you were. And… you, you have given this one so much already, that it was only fair to–“
“No,” Kaoru cut him off. “You didn’t owe me a single thing. If that was the reason, then you should have told me and I would have never–“
“Maa, maa–“ Kenshin raised his hands in surrender, to stave off her burst of temper. “Forgive this one, one said it badly. It wasn’t an obligation to tell you these things, that it wasn’t. You didn’t pressure one to do so. No, what one was trying to say was… this one never dared to speak up, tell more than the absolute basics of ki, of his feelings and thoughts to Tomoe, that he didn’t. It was something one always regretted, that it was. If one had been braver, had dared to trust her more, maybe we could have avoided the disaster that struck us.”
The spark of temperament in his wife’s eyes wilted and she bit her lip, before agreeing quietly, “I guess so.”
Kenshin could have cursed himself, for his badly chosen words. This was not what he had been trying to achieve! He reached for her hand and stroked her palm. “Kaoru, love – one can’t change the past. Even if this one could, he wouldn’t. No, there was a reason for everything that happened, and without of those bad things, the disasters and terrible things… this one wouldn’t be the man he is now. He wouldn’t have become a man you dared to fall in love and marry. He wouldn’t be the father of our beautiful son. Without all those bad things, this one wouldn’t have this happiness with you.”
“You, you…” She bit off, blinking the mist away from her eyes. She shook her head then decisively rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands and looked at him, her eyes shining with her fierce emotions. “Kenshin, you idiot! You don’t need to tell me that! I know! I wasn’t jealous or thinking I was the second prize, just for having met and married you after her.”
“Oro?” Kenshin blinked, “But you…”
She surged to his arms, hugging him with all her strength. “I love you,” she said. “I want the best for you and I am so, so thankful that you faced your demons once more and told me about your past, about ki, about the spirit. About the people in your life, about your private happinesses and worst terrors. Now I don’t have to guess why you are feeling blue on Obon Matsuri, on the winter morning when it’s snowing… or why you stop to look at a garish kimono in the shop window with a smile on your lips. I honestly thought that you wanted to buy that yellow kimono and was trying to figure out a nice way of telling you it was the ugliest garment I had ever seen!”
“Ah.” Kenshin exhaled softly, his tension melting. “Well, yes – it was quite similar to the one Lady Ikumatsu bought this one but for the color. That one was purple, not yellow with blue prints.”
"It would have clashed terribly with your hair." Miss Kaoru shuddered at his arms. “Everyone would have laughed at me if you had decided to buy it.”
“A terrible fate indeed,” Kenshin laughed, stroking at her back gently.
“Mmm,” Miss Kaoru mumbled her agreement, squeezed him once more before pulling back and settling to sit one veranda again. She swept her longer bangs behind her ear. “I meant to ask you before, but this ki – did you ever figure out why it was paining you so?”
Kenshin paused, looking down at his kimono sleeves and fiddling with the magenta fabric there. “Not as such. One did take time to find monks who knew about ki, but one couldn’t say if he learned anything new or worthwhile. They told this one that ki is something most people have, but the talent to sense it well enough to learn to manipulate is rare, very rare. It’s dangerous. Used wrong, it can cripple or kill. But if one is careful and knows exactly how to do it, one can use it to perform impossible tasks.”
“I see.” Miss Kaoru said. “But your pains…”
Kenshin shook his head. “One used it too much, too often – for years. It’s no wonder such misuse left its marks on this one.”
“Marks? But… “ Kaoru blinked, the dots connecting at lightning speed. She screeched, “You liar! You said to Megumi that you didn’t know why you felt such pain and stiffness in your limbs that you couldn’t use Hiten Hitsurugi’s strikes anymore!”
Kenshin gave her his blandest look. “Miss Megumi is a wonderful doctor, so she is. But she is also a woman of medicine. Of reason, and logic. Explain ki to her, and she assumes you have listened to old wives ghost stories for too long.”
“Don’t even try!” Kaoru growled, pointing her finger at him. “You… You went to Hiko, asking him to teach the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu’s final moves to you, knowing perfectly well how badly it would go for you whether you won or lost against Shishio.”
“Yes,“ Kenshin agreed. “This one doesn’t regret it. Shishio had to be stopped.”
Miss Kaoru buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know why I am surprised. You have always sacrificed yourself for the sake of others. I just…” She looked up, eyes red and her lower lip quivering. “I just hate when you make those choices. Why can’t you think of yourself, of your own happiness?
Kenshin's heart ached for her. He reached to sweep an errant lock of her hair behind her eyes. “T-this… I, I… I don’t know.”
“I know." She smiled at him – a sad, heartbreaking smile. "I have known why from the moment you rescued me from those Hiruma bastards and I hope that one day, my husband, I can teach it to you too.”
She swept her face to her sleeve and laughed. “Gosh, we are a mess, aren’t we? But one last question. This ki – Kenji has it, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” Kenshin said. “He is easy to sense. He has a very distinct presence, that he has. Free flowing and active. He gets it from you,” he added, absently.
“Me?” Kaoru asked, surprised. "I have ki?"
“Yes, of course,” Kenshin said. “It shines brightly in you when you fight.”
“But I have never used it, I don’t think –”
Kenshin shrugged, apologetic. “Maybe once, you could have learned. Now, it would be too risky.”
“It’s okay.” She exhaled softly. “I have done well without it. So you can feel me and Kenji? Is that how you always know where to find Kenji whenever he decides to play hide and seek? I bet it is. You cheater,” She said fondly. “But if he has such a presence, do you think he can learn to manipulate ki? Like you did?”
Kenshin sighed. “It would be better if he didn't, that it would.”
“I agree.” She paused, hesitating. “But what if it’s not up to us to decide? What if the talent runs so strongly in him that he starts to use it on his own, intuitively? He already has his imaginary friend. What if he ends up experimenting like you did as a child?”
“Oro!“ Kenshin frowned, baffled – like this was the first time the scenario occurred to him. “Then... we need to keep an eye on him, that we must. If he achieves something impossible that only could be done with ki, then he needs training.”
“In that case, can you train him?”
“The way this one used ki was odd, even backward. It would be dangerous for anyone to try to mimic that, so it would.” Kenshin said, thoughtful. “You know, out of all ki-user this one ever met, the closest to this one’s odd approach would be…”
“Hiko?” Miss Kaoru guessed.
“No, not Master.” Kenshin denied instantly. “Master’s style is very defined, structured. It’s as close to perfect as internal ki use could ever be. It’s why Master can still utilize it with little to no risk, even at his age. No, if this one had ever properly learned Hiko’s style to use ki, one wouldn’t have even half of the problems he had over the years. ”
“Ah.”
Kenshin turned at her, shrugging awkwardly. “We were very different, Master and this one. He taught this one the best he could... but this one can be stubborn.”
“I am aware.” Miss Kaoru agreed blandly. “In your own way, you are the most stubborn person I have ever met.”
Kenshin rubbed the back of his head, acknowledging her point sheepishly. Then he smiled, “It was Sanosuke that one was thinking.”
“Eh?” Miss Kaoru blinked. “As a teacher?”
“No, no.” Kenshin denied. “Sano uses ki. You have seen him break boulders, haven’t you? He enhances his fists before he strikes. Obviously, he doesn’t know he is utilizing something that typically only samurai or monks have managed to use – but he uses it very intuitively, based on the feeling. It’s quite similar to how this one learned to use ki as a child.”
“Except that he is not a child.” Miss Kaoru murmured. She frowned thoughtfully, “but his hands, they are always…”
“He does himself quite a bit of harm with the trick, that he does.” Kenshin agreed. “This one told Sano, the last time we saw him, that he should utilize the skill carefully.”
“Good,” Miss Kaoru nodded. Then she jumped off the veranda and straightened to her full height. She looked at him calmly, as if she had just come to a decision. “If Kenji needs help or he wants to learn, we can visit Kyoto. That’s good to know.”
“Oro?”
Kaoru gave him a look. “Hiko.”
“What about Hiko?” Kenshin asked.
“You said that out of all ki-users you have ever met, Hiko’s way to use of ki is the safest, the least risky one.” She explained to him. “So if Kenji needs guidance, or if he wants to learn… our son will have the best. It’s our duty as his parents to provide him with the best changes for the happiness he can get.”
“Oh.” Kenshin paused, suddenly thinking back to his son’s ideas of fun – climbing to the rooftop or any high places he could get to. If someone stopped him or carried him down before he wanted to come, god, his son had lungs to spare. Even the errant thought back to this morning’s screaming session was enough to bring a twinge of pain to his ear. Kenshin rubbed his ear absently. “Maybe it’s not a bad idea. Master seemed quite taken with Kenji the last time we visited, that he did.”
“I knew you would see it my way.” Miss Kaoru smiled at him. “Besides… whatever we could do, having a couple weeks to ourselves, eh?”
“Oro!” He protested, heat rising to his cheek.
She grinned. “And some time… you could tell me about your wandering days. I would love to hear what you got up with during those years on the road.”
“It’s not much of a tale.” He mumbled.
“Rubbish.” She said fondly. “That’s what you said about your years in the revolution and I loved those stories. But I won’t push you, if you truly don’t want to tell.”
“Well, maybe.” He hesitated. “There could be some bits and pieces that could make a story… when there is a good moment for it.”
Chapter summary: Kyoto is buzzing with rumors about Sakamoto-san’s assassination and in the aftermath of Satcho alliance’s internal power play, Kenshin finally has time to stop and think, to truly think about the revolution and his role in it.
Read the chapter in AO3, FF.net or below the cut!
AN: This chapter has not been beta-read, so be prepared for grammar issues and typos.
Chapter 39 – The Request
“What did happen, what did they want with you, what did they ask of you… what was that all about? Tell! Pretty you got to tell us everything!” Makoto demanded and grabbed him by the shoulders the moment he stepped back into the inn.
Kenshin was already off balance by the situation, but the worried look in Makoto’s honey brown eyes and Hideyoshi’s anxious hovering, their reactions stunned him. Oh. They really care? But… but what could he tell them?
“Oro, that is… They wanted to question this one of the last night's events. Saigo-san had Tanaka-san with him, to testify that this one had been seen escorting Sakamoto-san alone and then Saigo-san demanded to know what had happened. He was angry, more so than usual. This time, there were threats spoken. He and the Satsuma leadership suggested that it might be possible that this one had murdered Sakamoto-san. This unworthy one denied it, of course, and told the truth as it happened. Kido-san trusted this unworthy one’s word, that he did.” Kenshin explained slowly, keeping slight pauses to gather his thoughts. He was trying to make it sound like it was not a big deal, that there was no cause to worry.
It seemed to work, to a point. The Chirpy let go of the painful hold of his shoulders and exhaled pointedly, all but shaking. Hideyoshi simply nodded, but his eyes held suspicion still.
It was not perfect, but it was as good as an explanation Kenshin could give, under the circumstances. Katsura-san had covered for him, sacrificed much face among his peers and difficult allies by asserting that Kenshin’s word could be trusted.
But the fact was: heads would roll for this.
An assassination of such an important figure as Sakamoto-san was a serious setback to rebellion and it would create instability in their hesitant alliance with Tosa. That was bad enough, but if even a hint of a rumor got out that Choshuu’s legendary Hitokiri Battousai was responsible? It would spread like a wildfire and sow anger and distrust between Satsuma and Choshuu.
Sakamoto had been respected and favored middleman by Satsuma leadership. He had brought the most unlikely provinces to the same negotiation table and the resulting Satcho alliance was lauded as his greatest achievement. A rumor, especially this rumor – no matter how many people would deny it – it would risk everything they had been working for and it could damage or break the Satcho alliance.
Without Satsuma’s support, the revolution could still fail.
Katsura-san knew it. Kenshin knew it. And yet, his leader had asserted that his word was trustworthy, that this dangerous rumor could be still killed and buried at its root.
At the meeting, Nakamura and quite a few of the Choshuu leadership had been stoic, their ki presences swarming like flies inside their flesh shells, but as they took a break for discussion, the whispers had begun. Kenshin had been worried, because of the situation and of the earlier rumors claiming his insanity and he had enhanced his hearing, listening in to their agitated private conversations.
Among the Choshuu leadership, far too many had been questioning his credibility, his usefulness and Katsura-san’s assertion about his trustworthiness.
Saigo-san’s rage had them worried to the point that not one, or two, but nearly all of them were ready to give Hitokiri Battousai to Satsuma as a method for saving face, to prove that Choshuu had not sanctioned Sakamoto-san’s assassination. So that if he was found responsible, there would be no question that he had been working alone.
At the end of the recess, when Kenshin and his leader had been just about to step back to the meeting room, one of Katsura-san’s peers, a high ranking man from the province had stopped them and voiced his concern: “Kido-san, this revolution is worth more than one man’s life. If Saigo-san won’t be satisfied by your word, give your hitokiri to him.”
Katsura-san had paused, and then replied: “I’ll take your advice under consideration.”
The meeting had continued for hours but at the end, they had reached a compromise no one had been happy about. Kenshin would return to his unit like nothing had happened. The rumors would be squashed. And Satsuma, well – Saigo-san and the rest of the Satsuma-leadership present had demanded proof and something tangible to show Choshuu’s good faith, which led to all sorts of material and immaterial concessions.
Choshuu had lost much, too much for this.
And still, if Saigo-san hadn’t been calmed down by Katsura-san’s cold logic that such assassination benefited Bakufu more and framing Hitokiri Battousai for the murder was the best tactic they could ever dream of; and if Katsura-san had not been willing to give so much for reparations, to save face and to try to prove his trustworthiness…
It was perfectly possible that Kenshin would be a head shorter right about now.
Or a deserter.
Kenshin didn’t know, he truly didn’t know, if he could have accepted a death sentence for a deed he didn’t do for the sake of politics. He wasn’t samurai, no matter what papers and rumors claimed. He didn’t believe in samurai’s ancient honor code and creed, and it wasn’t like they could force him to commit a seppuku like so many of the Ishin Shishi had done when it had been required of them in the early days of the revolution.
But then again, if it would have been the only way to save the Satcho alliance, if Katsura-san had asked it of him… which was more important, his life or the revolution?
What did he have left to live for but his desperate hope that the revolution would lead to a new era of peace and happiness for the common people? He was guilty of causing so much pain and misery. He had destroyed so many lives, dreams of future, families… he was a murderer, pure and simple. Would he abandon the only thing he had left and turn deserter just to save his own life?
“How could they even suspect you? You wouldn’t hurt a fly! Well, not if it wasn’t ordered by that Kido fellow and besides, it isn’t like you are crazy, at least not any crazier than I am,” Makoto muttered, his tone uncommonly somber. “You have been fighting for so long, always done what they ask of you. I can’t name a single man who is more committed to this revolution than you are. And yet… yet, it makes no sense! Why would you even want to fight for them, if they repay you with so little trust?”
Kenshin sighed and buried his face into the crook of his arm. He didn’t bother to reply to Makoto. The fact was: it was haunting him, the blatant backstabbing, power plays and rumor mongering among the Ishin Shishi leadership. It was obvious that to them he was not a person, but a resource, a tool to be used and discarded when it best suited them.
Especially Nakamura’s grudge against him was worrying. It kept growing, taking a darker, more serious turn after each incident, each opportunity that was presented. The weasel had been so angry when he had left the meeting; his ki had pulsed with murky hatred, like a swamp crud threatening to swallow smaller presences around him.
When would Nakamura’s influence grow to the point that Katsura-san’s word wouldn’t be enough to cover for him?
He couldn’t forget Katsura-san’s clenched fists and ice cool stare towards the rest of the Choshuu leadership. It had been a clear sign to Kenshin: watch out and be on your guard. His leader could only protect him to a point.
“An assassination like this… It can’t go unanswered. Someone will have to die for it.” Hideyoshi remarked thoughtfully. “Was that the reason why Nakamura was so pleased this morning? Was he hoping he would finally get you?”
Kenshin gripped his kimono sleeve in his fist. Damn it all. He had been hoping to avoid this conversation. He truly did not want to discuss this, not now, not ever… but Steady and Chirpy, they had been sticking up for him since they were assigned here, so maybe it would be better to let them know what risk they were taking just by staying close to him.
He took a deep breath and admitted, “Yes.”
“So, let me get this straight. The higher-ups are gunning for you, left and right, and yet you still fight. That’s crazy. I would bail out right away.” Makoto said, his gaze clearly puzzled. “It isn’t like this revolution is riding on your shoulders.”
“This unworthy one fights for the new era where all can live in peace,” Kenshin whispered. “It doesn’t matter what a few men in the leadership think. This one has sworn to follow Kido-san and see this war to the end, that he has.” Even though Kenshin tried to keep his voice assertive, decisive, at least to make it sound he believed in his own rhetoric, those words sounded hollow.
“Nakamura won’t stop for this,” Hideyoshi remarked, thoughtful.
Kenshin shook his head, staring at the floorboards while picking on the loose threads of his sleeves. It was the truth. He was worried. He had been quietly worrying for so long, listening to the talk of hitokiri, mad dogs, and Nakamura’s claims about his insanity, but now even he had to admit that the tide was starting to turn against him.
“Well, Nakamura is just a region commander, isn’t he? He can’t have that much power. I mean, you are the Hitokiri Battousai, the Choshuu’s living legend. Surely that is far more valuable to the cause than one measly weasel of a man who thinks he is a big deal? Besides, if Nakamura becomes a threat, never fear — I’ll protect you Pretty! And so will Hideyoshi! To get you, they will come for all the three of us!” Makoto declared.
Kenshin glanced up, eyes widening… Makoto was grinning, proud of his absurd words. Even Hideyoshi was nodding along, smiling determinately.
“I agree,” Hideyoshi stated. “After all, we are the Steady, Chirpy and the Odd, aren’t we?”
“We are what?” Makoto parroted.
And Kenshin couldn’t help but smile at the pair, shaking his head in disbelief. He didn’t understand how, but those guys always managed to make him feel better.
Kyoto buzzed with rumors about Sakamoto-san’s assassination.
What seemed to be universally known was that on fifteenth of the tenth month, a great revolutionary Sakamoto Ryoma had been murdered and his companion and bodyguard, Nakaoka-san had been mortally wounded. The other Samurai had lingered at the death’s door for two days after the assassination, but even the best medical care hadn’t been able to save him or bring him conscious so that he could confirm or deny any suspicions about the perpetrator.
So now, one knew who was to blame for the grisly deed.
It was a genuine mystery and what was worse, it had been an opportune act a great many could have benefited from which spurred the speculation even more.
…and no matter how it had been tried to keep quiet, one of the more popular theories was that Sakamoto-san’s death was a Choshuu power grab in the alliance, pure and simple and who else could have done it, but the Choshuu’s legendary Hitokiri Battousai? Every time Kenshin overheard that rumor, he paled white as a sheet.
In hindsight, the Ishin Shishi leadership’s decision to try to kill the rumor at its root had been a futile endeavor.
People loved a good mystery and everyone seemed to have their own favorite conspiracy theory about Sakamoto-san’s death. Moreover, there had been too many Satsuma men who had seen Kenshin leave with Sakamoto-san on that fateful night.
To divert the rumor and keep it from gaining legitimacy, Choshuu purposefully used their agents and informants to create a counter theory: one claiming that Bakufu had most to gain from the assassination. The policing force, Shinsengumi were chosen as scapegoats. Albeit they had the right to detain rebels or even slay them on suspicion of rebellious activity, an assassination couldn’t be justified as a method for keeping the peace, especially a flat-out premeditated murder of an individual like Sakamoto-san, who had been too high up the ladder, too respected by everyone. Because of this, the Shinsengumi’s leader, Kondo Isami was accused of being the person responsible for the assassination. Even if he hadn't personally done, it was claimed to have been his responsibility. The man hadn’t yet been convicted by it, but the accusation was quickly spreading and causing chaos among the Bakufu.
The counter-rumors were working to a point, but they didn’t help Kenshin much. The whispers claiming his involvement for the assassination were still in everyone’s minds and Choshuu didn’t want to take any chances with antagonizing Satsuma and Tosa by accident. Because of this, Kenshin didn’t get any jobs that required any collaboration, which of course, meant that suddenly he had much more free time than he was used to having.
It made him feel useless.
Worse, it made him think, truly think. What use was he to the revolution truly? What was he doing that was so important, so unique that no one else could do it? He was a skirmisher, like all the other men in his unit. He did bodyguarding jobs, but so did many others. He had been an hitokiri, but even Choshuu had other hitokiri now. He was a swordsman, a good swordsman but… how important could one sword be in the revolution that concerned the whole country in one way or another?
And funnily, it was Makoto’s words that kept coming back to him: “It isn’t like the whole revolution rests on your shoulders.”
It would be stupid to claim otherwise. Kenshin knew that, and yet – hadn’t he been thinking like that for time and time again? Giving his all, taking chances no one else did, because if he didn’t succeed, the revolution would fail?
But would it really?
Or was it a young man’s brand of arrogance to think so, as Ito-san had said to him once upon a time?
And the truth was… he was tired. Of war, killing, the nightmares of the people he had killed that kept haunting him night after night, of rumors, backstabbing, and politics, of everything. The only things keeping him with the rebels were his oath to Katsura-san and his promise to her that he would see this war to end.
But when would it end?
He didn’t know, but these thoughts were running on his mind and eating up his crumbling resolve a day after day. To make it worse, it felt that people on the streets, in the inn, at the meetings, everywhere he went, kept staring at him and doing their best to avoid him like they could somehow sense how stained he was. Or maybe he was just paranoid and jumping at shadows. He didn’t know. He just didn’t know anything anymore.
It wasn’t like his paranoia counted for much, except to make him stop and stare back at the people who kept looking at him, wondering just how long it would take for them to turn against him, betray him to the Bakufu’s forces or join up with Nakamura’s growing posse in believing that he was insane and needed to be put down like a mad dog, just like they had hunted down Udo Jineh, just like people were muttering of Shishio…
It wasn’t that he truly believed that his own would turn against him.
Rationally, he knew that Nakamura was a small fish in a big pond and it didn’t matter if he could convince a few middle-ranking politicians to his side.
Battousai’s skills were valued. Katsura-san trusted him. Kenshin knew those two things with dead certainty.
But on the other hand, the seed of a nagging doubt had been planted a long time ago. And in the end, his leader was just one man. Hitokiri Battousai was feared and hated, promoted to a horror story of epic proportions for the cause.
Maybe these thoughts were coming to him because he was restless. He didn’t have enough things to do but to wander around and kill time.
The revolution should be over soon, shouldn’t it?
There was just some political fighting, or maybe one last show of force left. If something didn’t go terribly wrong again. What Kenshin knew of the political situation, it seemed that after Shogun Yoshinobu had resigned, his influence had been waning. Soon the emperor would be confirmed to be in power and then, then it would be over. Ishin Shishi and the Satcho alliance were so close, so close to making that happen.
So truly, it didn’t matter what people thought of him.
When Katsura-san would tell him it was over, then Kenshin would gladly give up his sword and walk away.
The restless days melded together into endless autumn of tense waiting, nagging doubts, and general feelings of growing anxiety as the weeks flew and nothing changed. But then, it was like the little red string that had been holding it all together broke and all hell broke loose: the rebels got an order to attack the Imperial palace again.
On the third day of the first month, the combined forces of Satsuma and Choshuu took over the Imperial Palace, a great attack that Kenshin was forbidden from taking part in, to avoid creating disturbance among the allied troops.
The very next day, Emperor Meiji declared restoration of his imperial rule to full power.
Wasn’t the revolution over now?
It had to be, right? The Emperor had decreed that he was the ultimate power in the country; the Ishin Shishi had control of the government… Kyoto was theirs.
Surely this was it?
Finally?
Kenshin didn’t know what to feel, but the other men in their unit were united in their joy over their great victory. Everyone in their unit but Kenshin had been fighting to overtake the imperial palace yesterday. Even Makoto and Hideyoshi were celebrating the victory with unabashed enthusiasm. But Kenshin, he just didn’t know what to feel. Fighting for the revolution was the only thing he had. It was what had kept him going after her death, it was his reason for living… he had hated it, but he had kept fighting for his beliefs, for his abstract hope for the better world, peace and happiness of the common people, for the better future.
But now, when it was time to finally let go… what did he have? What could he do? What did this all mean, really?
That evening, when most men had gone to sleep, Kenshin went through all the personal possessions he had accumulated of the years that he had been part of the revolution. It was something tangible he could do to better understand the realities among all these unknowns he was facing.
He had two haori overcoats of good quality. The other was very expensive, a fine silk blend and the other one was more practical cotton, still fine but not quite as formal.
He had four kimono. Actually, now that he looked at them, most of his clothes were dark colors, dark blues, grays, and greens. Well, except the silly purple kimono with flower patterns that Lady Ikumatsu had gifted him with.
He had two hakama, both in utilitarian grays.
So many clothes, and all of them in such a fine quality. Someone could have thought him a rich man, having so many. Kenshin sighed softly. It had been necessary for him to have good attire when he was at Katsura-san’s side and most of the time, it had been nice to wear such finery. But back when he had been younger, he had only the clothes he wore. He hadn’t needed more. After all, all clothing was expensive.
He had used all those fine clothes while killing.
Every single one of them could have… no, most likely they still had bloodstains.
The very thought turned his stomach.
Well, every garment, but that silly purple kimono. with those bright flowery patterns. That one he hadn’t ever used while working and even in that Satsuma party that had descended into a fist fight, there hadn’t been blood spilled. No, out of all his clothing, that was the only garment that wasn’t tainted by his sins.
Kenshin bit inside his cheek in thought, but then shook his head determinately and returned to his task.
Beside his clothing, there was his sword cleaning kit. He had used it to keep his swords in good shape, and out of all his possessions, it was the one that didn’t have bad memories attached to it. It was a utilitarian toolset. But if he were to give up his sword now that the revolution was over, what need would he have for such tools?
He still had her shawl. Bloodstained and threadbare as it was, that one thing he wouldn’t leave, no matter what.
What else did he have?
He patted down his sleeve pockets, frowning. Oh, her comb. Lacquered in dark shades and painted with plum blossoms, it was a beautiful thing. He had used it to take care of his hair, to keep up the one duty she had so liked.
His money pouch was quite heavy. He had exchanged smaller coins for more valuable gold ryos every now and then, but never had he really counted his savings. He emptied his coins to the floor and stared at the pile in surprise. He actually had a respectable amount of money. With this much… it was about the sum he could have lived for three, maybe four winters with Master?
He had always been careful with his money, he knew that. It was only natural after growing up so poor. For years, he’d had a steady income and he hadn’t spent his money on frivolities or expensive vices like drinking or whoring, not like the other men. His only vice had been gambling, but he had never lost more than he had been able to swindle back. And it wasn’t like it could be counted as a proper vice, not really – he had never been hooked on the game, he had only participated because Makoto and Hideyoshi had wanted him to do something else than brood in silence.
Kenshin paused, staring at all the little things in front of him. These were all his personal belongings: clothing, tools, couple mementos from her, and money. That was it. That was everything he owned.
He really didn’t have much, did he?
Somehow this survey made it painfully clear how sad his life was.
Kenshin swallowed slowly, feeling hollow inside. If the revolution was over, his skills weren’t needed anymore. Out of all these items, the only thing he wanted to take with him was her shawl and comb. The rest… he would be glad to be rid of. Those things would only remind him of all the blood he had spilled. By gods, his hands were stained in blood. His entire being was swamped with blood and sin.
If it wasn’t over…
But was there left to fight after this victory? The Emperor was in power, the Shogun had stepped down, the capital was theirs…
Kenshin gripped his blade, drew the steel from the sheath just enough to see his pale reflection from it. His unnaturally pale eyes were framed by his red hair. His lips were drawn tight, they seemed almost bloodless. His face was gaunt: cheekbones, chin, nose… all his features were pale, nothing but sharp angles.
He almost couldn’t recognize himself.
He wasn’t one to look in mirrors, to glance at reflections, but somehow, judging by those admiring looks he had gotten once upon a time and how Makoto kept flirting with him still, he would have expected to look slightly more pleasing to the eye.
He looked sick and tired.
It was fitting.
On eighteenth of the first month, he finally met with Katsura-san again. His leader had been incredibly busy with the politics and this matter… this was private. Kenshin hadn’t wanted to make an official request, especially as those had to go through Nakamura, so he had waited for two weeks to get this opportunity.
He was escorting Katsura-san to a meeting. For a moment, they were alone, just the two of them, walking in the narrow side streets of the residential district near the palace.
Kenshin cleared his throat softly, and then said: “This unworthy one would like to have a private word, so he would.”
Katsura-san paused, then looked at him for a long moment. The faint emotions flickering in those calculating eyes he had long since learned to read didn’t surprise him: sadness, guilt, anger, disappointment, and exhaustion.
The man Kenshin had been faithfully following for nearly five years nodded slowly, his ki growing softer for a moment before returning to its normal cool shades again. “Tonight, at Gion.”
That evening Kenshin groomed himself from head to toe, dressed in his best clothing and cleaned his both blades so that their steel shone. It seemed right. To do less, on this day, it would be disrespectful.
This was something he would do his head held high, knowing exactly where he stood.
This was his decision.
He had entered the revolution and the war that followed as a hopelessly naïve and stupid child. But even then, he had done that decision out of his own volition, after a careful consideration, because he had thought it was the right thing to do. He had been absolutely sure that joining the Ishin Shishi was the best way to use Hiten Mitsurugi’s legendary strength.
After five years of bloodshed, countless deaths – it truly bothered him that he couldn’t say how many he had killed during all these years – after all those sacrifices for the new era, he would be finally leaving it all behind. Now he was tired and hesitant, all that surety he had once had as a child had abandoned him and the only thing he knew… was that it was time to go.
Hideyoshi had been following his actions curiously from the sidelines, thoughtfully silent.
Makoto on the other hand, he had been nagging at him, hopelessly curious.
Kenshin didn’t talk or try to explain his action to them. There was no need to.
At Gion, Katsura-san and Lady Ikumatsu were waiting for him with somber looks on their faces. His leader’s gaze stopped, noting his groomed looks before he welcomed him in with a single nod. At his signal, Lady Ikumatsu turned and led them both upstairs to their usual meeting room.
The floor was covered in simple but elegant tatami matting, beautifully painted shoji screens and rice paper walls. The pillows they sat on were covered in good fabrics and delicate embroideries. The single table and the tools necessary for the tea ceremony were also simplified fineries. Everything in this room screamed of wealth.
Kenshin had been in this room for countless times, for evenings of relaxation, for evenings of grave discussions and emotional upheavals.
Now, it was just a room.
They exchanged words of greetings and customary pleasantries before Katsura-san gave Lady Ikumatsu a subtle hand signal and she rose gracefully, leaving them alone.
In silence, Katsura-san started the traditional routine of a tea ceremony.
Kenshin was set slightly off-balance by this. He hadn’t been an active participant in tea ceremonies before, even if he theoretically knew all the steps and had seen them in motion many times. As Katsura-san’s bodyguard, he had seen his leader use the ceremony as a method to gauge his enemies, to negotiate with difficult opponents and play political games with influential men, but right now, his leader seemed unusually serene cleaning the tea making utensils, making the fire and setting the ceramics in their place.
Kenshin didn’t know why, but he rather thought Katsura-san had decided to do this ceremony because he had noticed how Kenshin’s had come to prefer the polite routines the samurai routinely engaged in. So that instead of one last power play, this was just a respectful gesture.
The thought brought him comfort, enough that he allowed himself to relax and for the first time, go through the motions of the ceremony, asking the right questions and tasting the tea that was prepared for him.
This formal affair didn’t allow for conversation, not really and it suited Kenshin just fine. It allowed him time to gather his thoughts and resolve, consider the words that he would need tonight.
Then the traditional ceremony was over.
They had been here for over an hour, and they hadn’t exchanged a single word that carried intent… but now, it was time. They were alone, both kneeling in formal seiza, the second cup of tea before them. Katsura-san was assessing him with a shrewd look in his eye, his manner outwardly calm. His ki was moving, not anxiously or in anger, but rather, in silent thoughtfulness. His leader wasn’t going to say anything, give him a convenient prompt or otherwise to break the silence to make this easier.
No, this time… the words were for Kenshin to speak.
He swallowed and hid his eyes behind his long bangs, gripping the cloth of his hakama. He breathed in deeply, tried to find the right words to start with. What should he say? His leader knew him well enough to know what this was about. Should he explain? State out loud his worries, deeply etched guilt, his private hesitations, considerations, and fears? Or simply talk about his tiredness and exhaustion?
These past months he had been thinking constantly, trying to justify this very decision. But now that it was time to speak, it seemed impossible to find the right words.
It was only expected, he had been always bad with words.
So in the end, he simply took his wakizashi from his belt and set it on the floor between them with both hands. He bowed low, held the pose for a moment, then straightened his back and waited.
The wakizashi was a fine blade with an overly decorated handguard that years ago in Hagi had been ridiculously expensive. It was the very same one that Katsura-san had paid for him as a gift because he had needed to find a second blade he could use to pass as samurai when he first arrived in Kyoto.
Katsura-san waited for a moment. Then, he leaned forward and picked up the wakizashi, drew it slightly to admire the steel and remarked calmly. “It’s a beautiful blade.”
Seeing his sword in another man’s hands, it felt odd.
Kenshin nodded slowly. Yes, once upon a time, it had been a beautiful blade. Now though, he couldn’t help but note out loud, “It’s been used badly. It’s stained with blood, so it is.”
“True,” Katsura-san admitted. “I’ll carry it for you from now on.”
Kenshin stared at his leader in astonishment, strange warmth spreading in his chest – a flicker of hope that was blooming into surety.
Katsura-san set the wakizashi to his side. He frowned, and took something from his kimono folds, something thin and long and set it to lie between them.
Kenshin’s eyes widened in shock, his heart starting to race…
“How about a trade?” Katsura-san said lightly. “I have held this for you for three years, but now… yes, I feel that now is the right moment to give it to you. A reminder of a promise.”
It was a tanto – a woman’s knife. A simple, worn blade that looked older than it was, showing that it hadn’t ever been of the finest quality. It had no decoration. It was just a weapon and a tool. Kenshin hadn’t seen it but a few times and even then, he had only seen it at a glance, but he could still recognize that blade anywhere.
“Three years ago you swore that you would never again take a life after the revolution ended. I was hesitant then, but now… I have no doubt that you will keep that promise.” Katsura-san said calmly. “This knife, I received it sometime after we arrived back to Kyoto. At the time, you were grieving and I felt that I should carry this burden for you.”
A burden? Yes, it was a burden, but also a reminder, a promise – it was all that and more, for it was one of the few things that had been hers. It was the same blade that she had used to carve the crossing scar to his cheek with her dying breath.
Kenshin touched the knife hesitantly, his fingers trailing the lacquered surface of the sheath. He gripped it tightly, feeling a terrible weight settle on his heart and something rose to clog his throat. It was hard to breathe. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to cry, to shout and rage. It wasn’t right that this had been kept from him. He had so little left of hers… why had Katsura-san kept this as a secret from him?
Why hadn’t he given this to him earlier?
Kenshin wanted to hate Katsura-san for doing this to him. He truly did. But as he fought to keep breathing, as the worst waves of shock had run through him, he could see why – even if he didn’t like it, he could understand the reasoning behind that decision, if only a little.
If it was this hard to see her tanto now, could he have managed it three years ago? Or would he have been tempted to end it all when the despair had felt too much? Kenshin didn’t have an answer to those questions. He couldn’t say how far in his despair he could have sunk if he had been carrying this burned back then.
“…T-this… this… I…”
“It’s alright, Kenshin,” Katsura-san said. He slipped his hands to his kimono’s folds on his chest again and pulled out a few letters and a small paper bag, setting them to the tatami floor between them.
Kenshin gripped her tanto, squeezed it tightly and slipped it to his belt. The tanto was only a bit shorter than his wakizashi had been and didn’t feel as odd as it should have. It reminded him of how a lifetime ago in Hagi, he had refused even to consider wearing women’s tanto on his belt, no matter how much easier it would have been to find one. How people change.
Katsura-san nodded at him, and then motioned to the paper bag. “This is a gift from lady Ikumatsu. I don't know of the contents, but I assume it has some significance to you." Then he motioned to the letters. "The first one holds a formal dismissal from my services with both my personal and official stamp. If you will face any questions or accusations, you can use this letter to prove that you haven’t deserted from Choshuu samurai. The second letter is a travel permit. It should ease your journeys across the domain borders. It has stamps for all the domains I could influence to gain a free travel permission. The rest, those are simple letters. If there is anything else…”
Kenshin shook his head decisively. He wasn’t one for material goods or large favors. Katsura-san knew and respected it.
So he just took the letters and Lady Ikumatsu's last gift and slipped them all to his sleeve pocket. He took hold of the katana resting by his side and rose to stand, sliding it to his belt right beside the tanto.
As he was leaving, Katsura-san spoke, his voice carrying an oddly reserved tone. “One last thing. I won’t require it, or even ask your help with it, but there is something you should know. Yoshinobu declared yesterday that he won’t respect any of our earlier agreements. Worse, we have reports of his supporters’ movements to gather troops near Osaka castle. It seems that Yoshinobu will try to take back the capital with all men can convince to stand for the Shogun… they outnumber us three to one.”
Those words stirred a dread inside him. So, it wasn’t over. Kenshin closed his eyes and exhaled. “You would let this unworthy one go, to leave the rebellion… even when you knew that?”
“Yes,” Katsura-san said.
It was a powerful thing to hear. Just one word, but it meant so much. Without looking back, Kenshin whispered, “one last battle.”
“This unworthy one attracted quite a bit attention coming back without his wakizashi yesterday, that he did." Kenshin murmured out loud. “Makoto was terribly curious, he behaved like a complete pest. And today, this one heard the men gossiping how someone had seen Katsura-san carrying this unworthy one’s wakizashi on his belt. People kept wondering what it meant, that they did. But how could this unworthy one explain it to them? One would have needed to start from the beginning, and that would be far too personal a tale to tell, so it would.”
Kenshin paused, thinking about it. Yes, it was a private tale that held far too many private meanings for any outsider to grasp, but also, he wasn’t too sure why Katsura-san had publicly decided to carry the blade.
Truly, it would have been better if his wakizashi hadn’t been so easy to recognize, but the fancy gold decorations on its handle just begged for attention. It brought honor to the maker’s skill, but in this case, they roused uncomfortable questions. Far too many eyes had seen Hitokiri Battousai carrying that distinctive wakizashi over the years and it wasn’t like Katsura-san’s close ties with him were a secret among the revolutionaries.
On the other hand, the men in his unit had not missed that he was carrying a women’s tanto on his belt like there was nothing unusual about it. Well, it wasn’t like Kenshin could easily carry it in his pocket and he wouldn’t leave her dagger anywhere. It was his duty to carry it now.
“This one spent all these years thinking that your tanto was lost, that he did. This one hadn’t paid attention where it had gone after that day in the forest of barriers, but now that it was given to him…” Kenshin swallowed and took the blade in his hands. He slid it out of its sheath slowly and trailed his fingers on the naked steel. It was blunted by disuse. Most likely no one had sharpened it after it was first bought.
“You cut this unworthy one’s cheek a reminder so that this one could never forget his shame. Yet, you forgave this one for the murders he committed for the sake of the new world. Now, it’s been three years since then and the new word is coming. Just one more battle and if we win, then it’s over.”
Kenshin struggled to maintain his composure, his hope and exhaustion warring inside him. He didn’t want to fight. He had given up on fighting once already. He thought it had been over, but now...
Ah! He blinked in surprise, staring at a drop of blood that was pooling at the side of his finger. Had he nicked himself on accident? With this blunt blade? How on earth had he managed that?
The blood kept seeping out of the small cut, a droplet after another falling on the cold and bereft dirt on her grave. His tainted blood was falling on her grave, for the first time.
Kenshin stared, haunted by the sight.
She had hated killing.
For his dream, for his belief that he could help to create a better world, she had forgiven him for killing. But now that it was going to be over…
If felt like there was a heavy weight on his chest, it was getting hard to breathe. His ki was flowing around him in fast currents, stirring up dust and dirt around him as his emotions stormed inside him. Kenshin closed his eyes and took a proper hold of the tanto with his right hand, and cut a deep slash across his left palm without a flinch.
He pressed his bleeding hand to her gravestone and spoke with absolute certainty, “I promised you that I wouldn’t kill after the new era would dawn. Now, after this last battle, the moment it’s won, I will hold on to that oath. Never again. Never. Not to save this unworthy life, not to save another’s, not to save the country… not for any purpose, not ever again. There will be nothing in this world that will cause this one to kill and abandon this promise to you.”
It was right.
He had killed so many, broken his heart with the path he had chosen, robbed so many people of their happiness, caused so much suffering with his actions…. after this one last battle, he wouldn’t kill ever again. He had stepped on her wishes and tarnished her beliefs for so long, so now that it would be over, it was time for him to look for another path, one that she had given him a glimpse in Otsu.
Kenshin knelt at her grave for quite a while, letting his palm bleed until it stifled to a mere trickle. With his healthy hand, he spread the bloodied dirt evenly on her grave. This matter, it was between them. He tore a scrap of cotton from his kimono sleeve, tied his wound with the ease of practice and rose to stand.
He trailed his wounded hand on her gravestone, stroking it gently. “This unworthy one doesn’t know when he will be able to visit you again, that he doesn’t. But know this: this unworthy one loves you with all his heart, now and forever.”
Chapter summary: The Shogun has resigned, but the rebellion is far from over. However, with the focus on political infighting, the ordinary rebel soldiers face a new challenge: a standstill, or as they’d call it: boredom. Oh boy, this can’t end well!
Chapter 38 - A night to remember, in which Kenshin's persistent tagalongs convince him to go out to party with them (like the rebels they are.)
Read the chapter in AO3, FF.net or below the cut!
Chapter 38 – A night to remember
The wind was blowing in gently from the south, carrying with it a hint of sea air and the fragrance of incense. There was a sharpness in the air, the early winter frost stinging his nostrils with each inhale. Yet there was not a hint of white lingering on her grave, nor any other color but that of murky dirt, bereft of life.
“At least it’s better than snow,” Kenshin mused out loud, as had become his habit whenever he visited her. “When spring comes again, this unworthy one will bring you flowers, that he will.”
Her gravestone was a comforting weight against his back and he leaned into it, relishing the tranquil quietness of the graveyard. To his far right, a monk was sweeping the lawn. Other than the monk, there was no one nearby.
The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky.
Kenshin closed his eyes and drew in the cool winter air.
It really was a beautiful morning.
“The new era this one has dreamed about, it’s coming – this time, it really is coming, because the Shogun resigned from his power.” Kenshin paused, trying to put his errant thoughts into words. “But, somehow… it’s odd. Everything is changing. This one knows it to be so. One has been in the meetings, listened to the speeches of the men in power. But when this one walks the streets and listens to the people, it seems like nothing has changed at all.”
When he had first heard of the shogun’s resignation, he had felt elated and hopeful. Now though, after following Katsura-san around and watching the people his leader was still negotiating and arguing with, Kenshin knew it wasn’t that simple.
The formal resignation of Shogun Yoshinobu had left behind a void of power in the higher echelons of the government.The bakufu officials, provincial lords, and Tokugawa family still held significant power behind every decree, law, and decision that was made. Katsura-san was aware of this and was of the opinion that the revolution would not end until the government was remade and the highest level of power restored to the Emperor.
So now, the rebels were trying to push the issue with political leverage.
If it didn’t work, there were rumors that higher-ups in the Ishin Shishi were cajoling for a show of force. There was talk of once more trying to take over the Imperial palace.
Kenshin couldn’t say he was particularly enthusiastic about the idea. He remembered all too well how badly the endeavor had gone last time.
Katsura-san agreed with him, as he – along with Sakamoto-san – was firmly in favor of more peaceful tactics. But the ugly truth was that no one could say how long the politicking would take, and the rebels were getting impatient.
“The last thing this unworthy one wants is more needless bloodshed, but at the same time… it’s terrible to be waiting around for the worst.” Kenshin mused. A moment’s thought flitted through his head and he bit the inside of his cheek, before shaking his head firmly. “No. This one has promised to keep fighting until it is all over, and so he will. Soon, this will all be over and then, this one will be able to leave killing behind him.”
“Not that this one knows what he will do afterward.” The admission tasted sour. “This one remembers the promise he gave to you, that he would find a way to protect the happiness of the common people without killing. But how can he do that? This one knows nothing but the sword and… he is stained and broken. Tired.”
Idly, he picked at his frayed sleeves. He really should buy another kimono. The silly purple one Lady Ikumatsu had gifted him was becoming quite worn out. Still, there was something pleasing about the garment, now that he had grown used to it. Its bright colors differed wildly from those of his work clothing, which alone was enough of a reason for him to like it. But he had also noticed that when he wore this kimono, people didn’t take him seriously, instead treating him like a normal youth out on the streets. Sometimes, the illusion was so great that for a moment even he could forget that he was a bloodstained murderer.
“It was quite difficult to ditch Makoto and Hideyoshi and come here alone, that it was.”
“Those two – this one doesn’t quite know what to think of them, that he doesn’t. They insist on spending time with this one and stick to his side whenever the situation allows it, even at work. Neither of them is afraid of this one, and that… well, that feels good, so it does. Maybe it means this one isn’t quite as fearsome as the rumors paint him out to be?”
Another thought sprung to mind. An embarrassed flush rose to his cheeks but he told her about it anyway. “But really, there is something wrong with Makoto, that there is. There is no other way for a man to be so, so… deranged.”
He gnawed on his lip, wondering how to phrase this. She had been a lady, after all. She wouldn’t have approved of Makoto’s vulgarity at all. But at the same time, she had encouraged him to be more open with her about his worries.
“Um, well... last week Makoto attempted to – um, he tried to touch this one again. He has done so often enough that it’s not something to make a fuss about, that it isn’t. But what made this time different was... was that this time it was on this one’s hip.”
And what had made it worse, somehow, was that Makoto had been almost lazy about it.
Maybe that was why it had surprised Kenshin so. He hadn’t expected it. He had simply walked past Makoto, and Chirpy had trailed his hand down Kenshin’s side, to his hip, all the way down to his butt, slowly, as if relishing the touch.
Of course, Kenshin had grown stiff and hissed angry words toward the idiot, but the thing was…
“It was just so odd, so it was. This one knows it was brazen and rude, like an uncouth man touching a cheap yujo in the worst corners of Shimabara. It should have felt disgusting and brought shivers of revulsion to this one’s skin, but… it didn’t.”
He bit his lip, before hastily correcting, “Well, no more than any other touch that the Chirpy idiot has bestowed on this one. It wasn’t that this one liked it, of course he didn’t, but it just didn’t feel any different than someone touching this one on the arm, or shoulder, or back. This one wanted to hate Makoto for it, to be upset about Chirpy’s stupid wandering hands, but this one didn’t, not any more than over the other things the idiot has done.”
Even when spoken out loud, the incident and his feelings about it didn’t make any sense. But…
“Being so close to people, it hasn’t been so bad anymore,” Kenshin admitted. “Casual touches from others at the inn, accidental touches from strangers on the street; those aren’t as off-putting as they used to be. This unworthy one hasn’t had any more panicky spells either. Makoto’s hands wander in this one’s direction so often that this one is getting used to it, to being touched, that he is.”
And as embarrassing as it was to admit, it was the truth.
In a way, it was a good thing.
Even he could see it, because the last time they had played dice, when Fujiwara-san had slapped him on the back to congratulate him for beating Makoto, he hadn’t shied away from the other man’s touch, but rather, had felt good about it. It had felt like he was accepted, like he was just another man in the group, not an insane murderer close to his snapping point that they suffered to exist in their midst.
And sometimes, it seemed like the other men at the inn were starting to see it, too.
“But most often, this one talks to Hideyoshi. He’s an easy person to spend time with. Unlike Chirpy, he doesn’t spout something rude every other sentence, doesn’t try to touch this one or anything of the sort. He is just there. Present. Listening, trying to understand. It’s like, if this unworthy one would want a real friend, Hideyoshi would be the one.”
Kenshin huffed. “Of course, wherever Hideyoshi goes, Makoto follows, so it’s a moot point.”
Also, there was the fact that Kenshin couldn’t understand why Hideyoshi didn’t seem to mind Makoto’s outrageous behavior.
Why didn’t the chirpy idiot’s crazy antics annoy him?
Make him angry?
Or disturbed?
All of Makoto’s blatant flirting, the lingering glances on all the wrong people of either sex, the rude things Makoto said without pausing to consider who might hear him… Hideyoshi rarely, if ever, reacted to any of it. Even though Kenshin had developed something like a friendship with Hideyoshi, the steady-tempered youth only ever stepped between him and Makoto when Kenshin was starting to get genuinely upset.
Huh.
Kenshin blinked as the puzzle pieces snapped into place. “Or maybe… Hideyoshi doesn’t think Makoto is harming anyone with his crazy antics, and only stops him when it’s becoming obvious that Makoto has gone too far? That could be it, couldn’t it?”
The thought made him feel slightly better about it. Though he didn’t really understand the motives of the unlikely duo any better now, three months after their first, terribly embarrassing meeting, even he couldn’t deny that they had given him something to come back to after terrible nights at work.
It was really starting to get late, though.
He couldn’t say how long he had been here, keeping her company, but it must have been hours already. He climbed to his stiff feet and swept the dirt off from his kimono.
“Love, this unworthy one will be going now, that he will. Please, know that this one misses you, every day.” He gently stroked her gravestone in farewell. Then he straightened and faced the breeze, enjoying how it swept his long bangs away from his face.
It felt nice. Refreshing.
Sadly, that good feeling didn’t last long. As soon he hit the streets of the city center, he felt that he was being watched. And there was no surprise as to why: again, people were clearly looking at him. No matter what he wore, how he did his hair, or how girlish he looked, people still noticed him. Worse, they remembered him. His eye-catching hair drew their attention and more often than not, their eyes sought out his face, as if looking for a scar.
While he had yet to find the kind of trouble that turned into violence during these little excursions, it was starting to feel like it was only a matter of time before the inevitable disaster struck.
The Battousai rumors weren’t just idle talk or exaggerated fairytales anymore. No, here in the capital, everyone knew that a monster named Hitokiri Battousai prowled the streets. Hair dyed red by the blood of his victims, eyes yellow as a beast’s, sword as fast as lighting, cutting down as many as five people in one stroke – truly, Battousai was worst of the worst, a monster so fearsome that men only saw him when they were slated to die.
For the most part, Kenshin could see where the fantastic description of him had come from. Well, except for the yellow eyes part. That always threw him. His eyes were strange and pale, a sickly shade of blueish... violet? Something like that. It was a color he had seen in summer flowers and sometimes in women’s clothing, but never on people. Strange and disturbing as it was, the color was very different from what rumors claimed. So where had this story drawn its inspiration?
Even Makoto and Hideyoshi had wondered about it more than once, spending quite a bit of time coming up with crazy theories about the legend’s origin. As usual, Makoto’s ideas ranged from silly to ridiculous, like the theory that Kenshin’s “insane speed” had something to do with magic, and that his eyes changed colors depending on if he was using magic or not.
Kenshin had barely managed to hold back a disbelieving snort at that suggestion.
One of Hideyoshi’s theories, however, actually seemed fairly plausible to Kenshin “We mostly work nights and people carry lanterns that cast yellow light, you know? It reflects pretty well on your pale eyes and makes them look almost yellow.”
And that did make sense, didn’t it? Not that he ever carried a mirror to check, but at least it was something that was humanly possible.
It was certainly more realistic than Makoto’s idea that he used magic, or the common rumor that moonlight revealed Battousai’s true form as a demon.
Kenshin sighed softly, trying to prepare for the tirade he would be forced to endure when he got back to the inn. Makoto would definitely start by commenting on his choice of dress and the fact that he had gone out alone…
As if on cue, Makoto’s face peeked out of the inn. “Pretty! What are you wearing!?! Don’t get me wrong, you look cute and all, but, but... it’s not you! You are all fire and delicate lines, danger and beauty in a single package! And your hair! You shouldn’t tie up your hair like that! How about I help you brush it out, make it all better? I would be only too happy to help! It’s such a good idea, isn’t it, pretty? And why did you go out alone? I was so bored, waiting all day here with nothing else to do but annoy Hideyoshi! Besides, I still need to find out what you do when you go out alone wearing that kimono carrying flowers. Could it be… Oh, no, no, you cannot have a woman on the side! Or maybe you are engaged already and that’s why I am not good enough for you – no, don’t tell me it’s like that! It can’t be possible!”
“Calm down, Makoto.” Hideyoshi’s rumbling voice cut through Makoto’s rambling. “Let Himura-san have some space to breathe at least, would you?”
Kenshin exhaled in relief, watching as Hideyoshi grabbed Makoto by the neck of his kimono and held the overly enthusiastic youth back. Kenshin gave him a slight nod in thanks, and walked past them both, heading upstairs to change. He truly appreciated Hideyoshi’s interference. After the solitude of the graveyard, having to listen and endure Chirpy right off the bat felt particularly arduous.
Sadly, he knew that Hideyoshi’s interference wouldn’t last long.
Today was a rare day where he, as well as rest of their unit, had the whole day off. Nakamura hadn’t been able to find a single miscellaneous errand for him to run, which spoke volumes about the current stalemate they had with Bakufu.
Both sides were waiting to see how the political infighting at the Imperial court turned out. For ordinary soldiers, this meant a respite from fighting. Of course, there was always the chance that disaster might strike and their assistance would be needed on short notice, but tonight that seemed a particularly far-off possibility.
For now, there was nothing to do.
Kenshin couldn’t help but feel restless. Nothing against the men in their unit, even Hideyoshi or Makoto, but they had been cooped up together for months now, gambling and listening to each other telling stories and jokes was becoming… well, not boring, not exactly. It was just that the war had been going on for so long and Kenshin felt like he had met everyone involved, one way or another. Even the Bakufu men were familiar faces to him at this point.
And somehow, the war just wasn’t ending.
Sure, as he’d told Tomoe, he knew that the Ishin Shishi were finally making progress. He had been guarding Katsura-san for several hours every week, so he knew all the advances that had been achieved in the past few months. The rebels were moving troops closer to the capital, armed with Western weapons. He’d been helping to smuggle guns into the city for months, in case they were ordered to attack the capitol en masse, finally bringing their shadow war out into the open.
But even if he knew that a great deal of progress was being made, he didn’t really feel that any change was happening.
What good had all the fighting and killing done for the common people?
Kenshin was starting to fear that the answer was... nothing.
Yet he had given his word that he would fight in this mad war until the end. He had given his word to Katsura-san.
And so he fought. Killed. Night after night, while his convictions crumbled, he endured the guilt that threatened to swallow him alive, bit by bit.
The other fighters in his unit didn’t seem to share his troubles. Their mood was quite positive. Even the unit’s “baby”, the twenty-year-old Hideyoshi, had learned to fight as good as the best of them, able to feel joy from his achievements in battle. Makoto, too, had proven his worth in a fight.
So was Kenshin the only one who didn’t see the point in all this anymore?
Maybe he had been fighting in this war for too long.
…Maybe he was just getting old.
He was only eighteen, the youngest in their unit – but he felt ancient.
Not that people realized that he was actually two years younger than Hideyoshi. Even Makoto hadn’t figured it out. He still thought Kenshin was around his age, twenty-two or twenty-three. It was a source of some amusement for Kenshin, a sort of game to distract and mislead Chirpy to the wrong conclusions.
True, he wasn’t one to lie and he still felt compelled to answer direct questions, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be selective about the truth he spoke.
And really, every annoyance he could cause to the Chirpy idiot was entirely justified.
“I am dying!” Makoto declared out loud. “Dying, simply dyiiing of boredom. Hideyoshi, Pretty – you’ve got to help me! You wouldn’t want me to die, would you?”
“Hmm, that’s a tough one,” Hideyoshi mused, pretending to think about it. “I don’t know. What do you think, Himura-san?”
“O, err…” Kenshin mumbled, before giving up and simply shrugging awkwardly with one shoulder.
“Rude! You guys are so rude. What have I ever done to you, huh?” Makoto harrumphed. “But in any case, as I was saying – it’s boring here. Nothing’s happening. Nothing. At all. And I want to do something new. Hey, I know! Hideyoshi, remember that Tanaka fellow from last week when we were guarding that meeting, where he boasted about his skill with dice? How about we go and clear him out of his petty cash? I mean, between Pretty and me, he wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Tanaka…” Hideyoshi frowned. “Tanaka-san was situated in an inn near Sanjo Dori, right?”
Kenshin blinked. He had stopped listening halfway through Makoto’s prattle, but now… there was a spark of enthusiasm in Hideyoshi’s eyes and his lips were curved into an anticipatory smile.
Huh?
Even Steady was interested?
“Yes, he was!” Makoto nodded sagely. “So, what do you think? We can take Pretty with us, can’t we? It’s already late and it’s one of our places, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, think about it! New place, new faces, new plump wallets to empty… It’s perfect, don’t you think? There isn’t anything to stop us from going there and inviting ourselves in!”
Uh oh… Kenshin gulped. “Orr-o, this one is not so sure that is a good idea, that he isn’t,” he said, even if he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Makoto was so caught up with his idea that he wouldn’t listen to him at all, especially now that Hideyoshi was looking like he was in too…
“Why not?” Hideyoshi smiled. “We are all going stir-crazy in here, and anyway, there is nothing scheduled for us. I mean, Himura-san – even you have a free night. If that doesn’t mean that there is nothing going on, then I don’t know what does. We’ve all seen how hard Nakamura is on you and if he couldn’t find a mission for you, there simply are none.”
Well… it wasn’t like Kenshin could deny that. So maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad?
And so it was decided. No matter how stupid of an idea it was, the three of them were going to visit another Ishin Shishi unit to gamble. Kenshin didn’t know which unit they were going to, but given that this excursion wasn’t going to be in an official capacity or connected to his job, he didn’t want to be recognized. So he combed out his long bangs to cover the scar on his left cheek and pinned the rest of his hair up on a loose bun with the comb Lady Ikumatsu had given him. And since he had already done up his hair, it seemed silly to stop halfway – so he changed into his purple kimono. However, he didn’t want to be mistaken for a girl, so he pulled on his gray hakama and slipped both of his swords into their place by his side.
The combination was quite – unique.
But his scar wasn’t showing and he was armed, so it would have to do.
“You really don’t look like Battousai when you do that to your hair,” Hideyoshi commented. “No matter how silly it looks.”
Kenshin looked aside. “It doesn’t work too well anymore, that it doesn’t. The color is too rare.”
They were waiting for Makoto near the entrance. Chirpy was late; apparently he was hunting for his lucky dice.
“Speaking of your hair color, how did that happen?” Hideyoshi asked. “I mean, I have only ever seen foreigners with red hair. Did you perhaps have one in your family?”
“Orr... o, this one doesn’t know,” Kenshin confessed, after a bit of a pause. “This unworthy one was the only odd one.”
“That’s unusual.” Hideyoshi frowned. “Maybe you were adopted? Some foreigner abandoned you as a baby and your folks took you in?”
Kenshin didn’t know how to answer that. There was logic in Steady’s words and it would explain a lot… except for the fact that Kenshin did remember the village where he was born. Well, fragments of it. And it had been too remote a place for any foreigner to come across, even by mistake. But on the other hand, how could he know for sure? His family could have easily moved to the village after taking him in.
What a discouraging thought.
If that was true, he would never learn his ancestors’ names. It would cement that he was alone. No family, no clan, no true name. No roots of any sort. Only himself, alone – adrift on the winds of time.
Maybe that was for the best.
The person he had become would only bring dishonor and shame to any relative.
“I found my dice!” Makoto enthused. “Let’s go, guys! Let’s get going already! It’s time to fleece Takana and his men!”
“Orr o ro, no – this is NOT a good idea, that it isn’t,” Kenshin mumbled, his eyes wide as saucers as he took in the sight of the twenty or so samurai in the inn’s common room, drinking, gambling, joking around and sharing stories. By the sheer volume of the party, most of them were already drunk and there were even a couple of… err, ladies serving them. Hair done up in intricate styles, faces painted white, they could almost have passed for geiko or maiko, but Kenshin had learned enough from Lady Ikumatsu to spot the difference.
No, these ladies mimicked the art of geiko, but they were different. Their slender necks were bare, they flashed the pale skin on their wrists, their lips were curled into coy smiles, and the way they kept touching their patrons, teasing them, all but inviting them to, to…
Kenshin swallowed, feeling faint.
“Why is this a bad idea? Tanaka himself invited us in.” Makoto grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
Chirpy was pouring them all generous servings of sake and smiling like this was the best day of his life.
Even Hideyoshi didn’t seem to realize there was a problem.
For fuck’s sake! Kenshin leaned close to Makoto and hissed in his ear, “These men are from Satsuma!”
“So?” Makoto asked, baffled. “We are from Aki, what’s the issue? Just calm down, Pretty, and relax. This will be a fun night!”
Kenshin buried his face in the crook of his arms, and let out a muffled “oro”. Despite his best attempt to stay calm, his fingers flexed on the handle of his katana where he held it against his left shoulder.
Of course, the chirpy idiot didn’t remember that Kenshin wasn’t from Aki.
Thank god that these last four years in Kyoto’s melting pot had shaved off most of his rural accent, a process that had been helped along by his fascination with the archaic humble speech patterns used by old-fashioned samurai.
But still, everyone knew that Hitokiri Battousai was from Choshuu.
He really, really should leave. He should have left the second he realized that the inn was patronized by Satsuma men, but he had been too shocked to react. And now, how could he leave without causing a scene?
“Ah, Makoto! You did come to visit, just like you promised, and you even brought friends with you! Welcome, welcome!” An older samurai, notably thick in the waist and with a big grin on his face, approached them. “Are you boys ready to show off your skill with the dice?”
“You bet, Tanaka!” Makoto declared loudly, and grabbed Kenshin by the shoulder in a very familiar hold. “Please, sit with us! Me and Pretty are all ready to clean out your pockets!”
The sudden touch made Kenshin sit up, ramrod straight, as shivers of disgust raced down his spine. Thankfully, on Makoto’s other side, Hideyoshi noticed Kenshin’s reaction and poked Makoto. Without a word, Makoto let go and dug into his kimono folds, pulling out his famous lucky dice.
Tanaka-san laughed. “Such enthusiasm! You are definitely welcome to try, boys!
And so, they started playing.
As far as gambling went, the game wasn’t bad. Makoto made for a good show, entertaining the group even as he maintained a winning streak. Kenshin entertained himself by trying to predict the dice the best he could, managing it often enough that he was making more money than he lost.
In a way, Kenshin could now see why people found these sorts of parties enjoyable. Slowly but surely, even he was starting to relax. These people didn’t know him. They didn’t fear him. Most likely they thought that he was Makoto’s… err, companion. At least, given the looks they got whenever Chirpy said something flirty or touched him.
Kenshin didn’t like the idea, but it allowed the men here to dismiss him as unimportant and caused them to ignore the similarities he shared with Kyoto’s most well-known horror story. So, he was desperately trying not to let Makoto’s easy familiarity get to him.
Unfortunately, the sake being served seemed to have no limit, and Makoto was enthusiastically taking advantage of the free booze.
Given the company, Kenshin couldn’t possibly pass on alcohol either, not without risking insulting their host. He took tiny sips, trying to drink as slowly as he could.
So what if people thought him odd and girlish for doing so?
He wasn’t going to get drunk in a situation as unpredictable as this. It certainly didn’t help that it had been ages since he had last drunk anything, and that out of all the people at the party, he was easily the smallest.
A true lightweight, as Makoto had mockingly declared when he had defended his chaste drinking.
“Say, Makoto’s pretty little friend… what was your name again? I never quite caught it?” Tanaka inquired, a benevolent smile on his face.
Kenshin’s heart skipped a beat. This was the first time he’d been directly addressed, so he couldn’t refuse to answer. But what could he say? Among the rebels, Hitokiri Battousai was as commonly known as Himura Battousai. Um, right… Trying to smile, he murmured softly, “This unworthy is called Kenshin, so he is.”
“Kenshin? Like devotion? That’s a nice name. Suits you.” Tanaka nodded absently and took another sip of his sake. “Say, you fight for the cause also? Because, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere, but for the life of me I cannot remember where.”
“…orr o,” Kenshin tensed. “Well, um… this unworthy one does a lot of bodyguard jobs, that he does. Easy work, mainly involving waiting around and looking fancy. Sir Tanaka could have seen this unworthy one during one of those jobs, that he could,” he explained, trying to pass it off. The last thing he needed was to be recognized and forced to fight, so the less these people thought of him, the better.
“Looking fancy?” Tanaka let out an amused guffaw. “I can see that, a pretty little thing like you. And if you can use that toothpick of a sword at all, it probably works marvelously as a surprise tactic.”
Kenshin tried to keep smiling, not letting his growing annoyance show. His expression probably looked terribly fake, but…
“Oh, Tanaka – shut it. Pretty is damn good with a blade. They have him desperately overworked at our unit, the poor thing. It’s stupid, though. I could do a lot of the jobs Pretty runs. It’s very unfair that the higher ups keep giving some people more jobs than the others, don’t you think? We got this weasel of a superior who just loves making our lives difficult. He gives shit hours and we rarely get enough time to rest. Can you imagine having a superior like that?”
Thankfully, Makoto’s intervention was enough to draw Tanaka’s attention to the favorite pastime of all soldiers: grumbling about their superiors. The older Satsuma samurai eagerly took the bait, and so the conversation moved on, needing little input from Kenshin except for a few nods and an agreeing or disagreeing sound at appropriate intervals.
However, as he listened and watched the conversation unfold, Kenshin slowly began to realize something about Makoto.
No matter how outrageous, rude, and loud the Chirpy acted… he wasn’t stupid.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
Whenever people tried to engage Kenshin in conversation, or inquire about something that Kenshin didn’t know how to answer, Makoto would step in and interrupt them, distracting them and guiding the conversation elsewhere.
It was almost like… Makoto’s loud and dramatic acting was just that: an act.
Kenshin simply hadn’t realized it before now.
Sure, a large part of Makoto’s one man show had to be genuine. No one could fake an entire personality, not so consistently, and for such a long time. But it was like with Ito-san’s use of subtle lies and half-truth. Everything was so smoothly mixed together that people couldn’t keep track of where the truth ended and the lie began.
Frowning, Kenshin glanced at Hideyoshi who was following Makoto’s spectacle with a smile.
Steady was probably the only one who could see where Makoto’s act truly began, what was a convenient lie and what was genuine. It was not entirely dissimilar to the morning when Kenshin and Ito-san had been captured by those Mimawarigumi rookies and Kenshin had been the only one who could follow the truth in Ito-san’s speech.
But right here and now – honestly, even in their unit – all anyone else could see in Makoto was a loud and brazen young man whose outrageous behavior was entertaining to follow. They dismissed him as a harmless idiot, not someone to watch out for, and this allowed Makoto to go anywhere, talk to anyone, even people he really had no business talking to. And hadn’t Hideyoshi said that Chirpy swindled him into the rebel troops, despite the fact that Steady wasn’t a samurai?
Huh.
Kenshin bit the inside of his cheek as another thought sprung to his mind: hadn’t Lady Ikumatsu suggested that he do the same thing when he wanted to go out on the town?
She had… hadn’t she?
Looking at it now from the sidelines, Makoto’s act did work like a charm. The samurai he was ripping off of their hard-won pay with his outrageous luck, they were from Satsuma. No matter that Makoto and Hideyoshi were originally from Aki, they had joined Choshuu forces.
By all reason and logic, shouldn’t that cause trouble?
Most definitely.
And yet, Makoto and Hideyoshi had even swindled Kenshin into the party with them, which was pretty remarkable now that he thought about it. But no one here was paying attention to the obvious. These Satsuma samurai should bear a grudge against them, even by association. But they didn’t. Instead, they were cheerfully sharing their party, booze, food, and all, with three strangers, no questions asked.
However, Kenshin wasn’t sure he could do what Makoto was doing.
He just… wasn’t that outgoing.
Talking so easily, letting out the first thought that came to his mind with no consideration to the weight of his words?
Such a thing would be impossible for him.
But that wasn’t the point, was it?
The core of Makoto’s act was to be loud, and therefore, invisible. If Kenshin could learn to do that, if he could make it to work for him, it would solve a lot of his problems. So Kenshin tore his focus away from his musings and to the present, and for the first time, he paid attention to the Chirpy idiot with utter seriousness.
“…but the most hilarious thing I ever saw was when Battousai dropped an entire squad of Shinsengumi into a river. I mean, everyone knows he’s made an art of the trick: just a couple lightning-fast slashes to the wooden flooring and boom! The bridge breaks apart and everyone gets a nice cool dunk! But damn, when I saw it myself, it was just… beautiful. It’s a memory so fond that I’ll cherish it until my dying day. You see, by doing that, Battousai forced the whole squad of Mibu’s wolves to explain their shame to their commanders. I mean, I would love to kill them all, I really would, but in a way… ensuring their humiliation is even better.” Throughout the story, Makoto was waving his hands enthusiastically, his honey-brown eyes sparkling with glee.
Kenshin tensed up. What the hell Makoto was doing? This was just about the worst possible choice of topic for conversation!
“True enough, though I can’t say I care too much for Choshuu or their over-regarded killer.” Tanaka said. “I have been here in the Capital for quite some time now and never once have I seen even a flash of that legendary hitokiri. I bet the rumors of him are exaggerated.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Makoto grinned. “I have seen Battousai. Hey, don’t look at me like that – I have. I really have and that guy, damn can he fight. He is so fast that it’s impossible to see him move. One moment he is there and the next he is across the street and a dozen guys are dead. I don’t know how he does it, but it’s ridiculous. What would I give to learn how to do that?” Makoto grumbled, but a second later, “Aha, and there it is! I win yet again! Pay up, buckos!”
Chirpy leaned in to collect his winnings with deep bows and exaggeratedly polite gestures that were so over the top that it bordered on mocking. But no one was insulted. No one cared. The men simply let the insult pass with a smile and handed over their money to Makoto.
Then one of the… uh, ladies who were there to um, entertain the men decided to move over to their group. The men welcomed her with cheerful catcalls and she smiled amiably, accepting their enthusiasm gracefully, evaluating where to settle down…
“Hey, beautiful,” Tanaka called to her. “I think there is a good place for you over here, next to Makoto’s young friend.” And he pointed directly to the empty space Kenshin had painstakingly tried to create between him and the closest Satsuma samurai to his left. It was where he had taken refuge whenever Makoto’s passes had started to feel too much, but now –
“Thank you! I’d be pleased to sit with you, gentle sirs,” the lady demurred, and moved to kneel delicately right beside Kenshin, arranging her intricate kimono so that it flowed right and wouldn’t get wrinkled.
All her controlled, well-practiced movements, even her cherry perfume, brought up memories. The reminder wasn’t pleasant. No, this lady’s practiced manner, her perfume and carefully chosen garb, were so far from Tomoe’s natural elegance that the difference was jarring, almost violently different from the little bit of happiness Kenshin struggled to harbor in his heart.
His Tomoe… she had been elegant, but reserved. A real lady. But this girl beside him, she was blatant in her intentions.
Kenshin straightened his back, trying not to show his distaste.
Makoto leaned in close to him, whispering in his ear. “Say, Pretty – if you really don’t care for my attentions, then how about hers? Every man should experience some enjoyment. The whole time I’ve known you, you’ve never once looked at a pretty thing. That’s not normal at all.”
Kenshin’s breath caught, and he turned to Chirpy.
Instead of saying more, Makoto gave him a pointed look, nodded towards the entertainer to Kenshin’s left, and raised his brow expectantly.
The weight of Makoto’s not-so-subtle hint, the situation he was in, the social expectations therein… Gods! It felt like a cage settling around him, trapping him tighter than any shackle.
Everyone around him was smiling and enjoying themselves, engaged by the gambling, conversation, and free alcohol.
And here he was on the verge of panicking, just because he had someone sitting on either side of him.
Normal?
It was anything but normal. Kenshin was well aware of that.
Any sane man should be able to handle this. True, he wasn’t a shining example of sanity even on his best day, but he wasn’t mad either. He wasn’t! Not like Nakamura was trying to paint him out to be.
So did Makoto have a point?
All the men Kenshin had ever heard talking about physical intimacy were of the opinion that it was the best thing there was.
And back then, in Otsu… Kenshin, too, had enjoyed those things, with her.
Now, any touch, no matter how well-intentioned, felt off-putting to him. Even when he could stop himself from shying away from casual touches, he certainly didn’t feel any pleasure from them. And yes, he could always reason that when Chirpy touched him it didn’t count – after all, Chirpy was a man and Kenshin didn’t care for men, not like that – but surely he should still be capable of liking a woman’s attention?
…Or was he broken?
Kenshin gave a discreet glance to the girl kneeling on his left. She looked and behaved like as was expected of a girl of her status and profession. Her manner was not the most refined or elegant, nothing like that of the fine courtesans he saw when following Katsura-san to a meeting of Ishin Shishi leadership, nor any of the geiko or maiko he had seen when going to visit Lady Ikumatsu.
Instead, this girl, she was, well… easy with her attentions. Her smile was flirty, her glances assessing, and her gestures inviting, like any of her touches didn’t bear any particular significance to her, but were just a means to an end.
So, as the gambling in their group continued and the girl to his left started to inch closer to him – leaning against him, trailing her fingers on his left arm – Kenshin allowed her touches. He didn’t say anything, didn’t let out a hint of protest, even when she started to grow bolder.
He had no interest in her.
As cruel as it was, he only wanted to find out if he could tolerate her touch. To see if she could bring out even a hint of excitement or desire in him.
With Tomoe, in their little paradise, their physical intimacy had been so easy, natural… the most perfect thing. Gods, how he missed those moments with her, seeing her black eyes grow wide, sweat glisten on her milky skin. And her breasts – oh, he had really loved her breasts; playing with them, feeling their softness in his hands, nibbling on them and teasing her pert nipples until they were glistening with his saliva, all red and stiff.
A gentle curve of bosom pressed against his left arm, and Kenshin closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sensation.
Back then, he hadn’t really needed much to get the liquid fire flowing inside him. All it had really taken was the feel her soft skin, or her breathless moan…
“You are a very handsome man, gentle sir,” the girl whispered huskily in his ear. Her warm breath tickled the side of his neck, and her fingers trailed down his shoulder, sweeping behind his back and reaching to pull him in an embrace. And suddenly, bile rose in his throat, the feeling of thousand disgusting legs crawled over his skin, and the tiny hairs at the back of his neck stood up.
It was hundred times worse than any of Makoto’s frequent attempts.
Kenshin swallowed, trying to keep breathing, trying to chase away the feeling of revulsion.
Gods, why was it like this?
Why was it so much worse than with Makoto?
He had thought he could handle Chirpy because he wasn’t in any way, shape, or form attracted to the idiot. A man’s touch should be more off-putting than a woman’s, shouldn’t it?
“Say, Pretty – I wonder, do you have a girl in town, or who is it that you are always bringing flowers?” Makoto asked from his right, leaning closer to him – boxing him in.
Kenshin gasped, but his throat was tight, like there was something blocking his breath…
And people were looking at him, expecting him to speak.
Cold sweat flowed down his brow, as he fought down the wave of panic threatening to overtake him.
Breathe! Just breathe, you idiot! He told himself firmly. You can’t lose it here. You can’t.
But fuck!
Why in the fucking hells did Makoto have to bring her up now? Fury stirring, he flexed his fingers on his katana, seeking something solid to ground him. He had no intention whatsoever of sharing his most precious memories with any of these people.
“Orr o, it’s nothing.” He hid his eyes behind his long bangs and murmured softly, trying to sound disinterested. “Just someone this one tries to visit as often as he can, that’s all.”
“You buy your lady friend flowers? How romantic! Would you buy flowers for me?” The girl reached over to sweep his long bangs aside coyly, and cradled his left cheek…
Just. Like. She. Had. Always. Done.
The feeling of disgust became far too much to bear and Kenshin shot upright, detangling himself from her slimy touches and snarled, “She was my wife and she is DEAD.”
It was like everything stopped at that moment.
The girl stared at him from the floor where she had fallen, her eyes huge with shock. “That scar…”
“Married?” Makoto’s exclaimed, “You were married?!!”
And Kenshin… just couldn’t deal with it. He simply couldn’t. Not with everyone staring at him like he had gone bat-shit crazy. He had to get away. But he couldn’t. There was no place to run. So he buried his face to his hands and tried to breathe: inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale… desperately struggling to shut out the world and the stares and the people.
But then, Hideyoshi’s faint ki was there, warm but worried. “Kenshin. Hey, are you alright?”
And that presence, somehow it was familiar enough that he could concentrate on it, fight back the panic, enough to face his friend.
Steady was there.
He was not alone.
“I… I’m sorry,” Kenshin whispered, a wave of shame flooding in. He really was a wreck of a human being. But Steady’s presence was enough that he could orient himself and realize that his face was covered in cold sweat. He swept his face dry with his sleeve, numb with embarrassment and shame.
“It’s not a problem,” Hideyoshi assured him, and stepped backwards, giving him room to stand up. “Now come on. Let’s take a breather.”
They found a quiet corner on the inn’s second story balcony, and without further word, they leaned against the railing. The balcony overlooked the backyard, but from this high up they could see past the fence separating the inn’s property from the lively city centre. The winter night was cold, the circle of the moon visible in the cloudless sky. At a distance, the lantern lights danced across the dark rooftops.
Bit by bit, Kenshin found he could breathe easier.
The incident in the common room… he should apologize. Especially to the girl. He had pushed her aside so rudely. He could have hurt her! It wasn’t her fault that he was a freak, a failure, and a terribly selfish idiot on top of that.
It was just that Makoto’s questions had brought up his worst fears and doubts, that’s all.
Hideyoshi cleared his throat awkwardly, cutting through his melancholy, “So your wife died, huh?”
Kenshin closed his eyes, then exhaled softly and whispered, “Yes. Almost three years ago, that she did.” It had been years since her death, and yet, the wound was still raw. Even the simple admission hurt.
He didn’t want to speak about this, but he was ashamed of his outburst earlier, and besides, Hideyoshi had always been reasonable. He was good at just being there when people needed him.
“That’s too bad. I’m sorry for your loss.” Hideyoshi said. “It must be terribly hard to keep fighting when burdened by that kind of loss. I mean, I fight for a girl. I fight to make this world a better place for her… and after everything is settled, I will seek her out. I am not expecting anything, but it would be nice if she had a place for me in her heart, if I could try to win her good regard. Settle down with her, have a home and a family. There’s always after the war...”
It was hard not to be jealous of the picture Hideyoshi had painted with his words. After all, it was not unlike the hesitant hopes Kenshin had entertained himself only… well, a lifetime ago. That beautiful dream was beyond his reach now. He’d had his chance and he had ruined it in the worst way possible.
Kenshin was distantly aware that most people were able to try again, to see beyond the horror of the present and hope for something better. Some people were capable of letting go of their sorrow and finding other lovers…
So it wasn’t like that dream was impossible, not in theory.
But for him?
It felt like far too much to ask.
True, during these three years he, too, had thought about life after the war and the horror, when he could stop killing. The trouble was that he didn’t have any other skills besides his swordsmanship. All he knew was war.
Did it matter?
How sweet would it be to abandon his blade? To leave everything he knew behind him and to settle down in the middle of nowhere, where people had never heard of Battousai, of the Ishin Shishi, and knew nothing of war? There, even a failure like him could start again and live his days in peace, seeking to help others.
It would be a good life.
She would approve of that, of him seeking atonement for his sins by helping others.
The thought ached like salt in an open wound and Kenshin gasped, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.
“When one had found the most perfect person in the world… and then lost her, how could one ever think of another?” he heard his voice speak.
Hideyoshi didn’t answer.
Kenshin didn’t turn to look. He didn’t need to see to know that Steady’s eyes held empathy, compassion. It was his nature.
“I’ll tell Makoto to stop flirting with you.”
“…orr o?”
“It’s okay. He will listen to me, “ Hideyoshi said softly. “But you know, he doesn’t mean it badly.”
Right then, Kenshin knew that if he gave the tiniest acknowledgment, it would all stop. Hideyoshi was good to his word and if there was one person in the world whose good opinion Chirpy didn’t dare to jeopardize, it was him.
Gods, it was one of the most tempting offers Kenshin had ever heard in his life.
No more harassment. No more uncomfortable moments or awkwardness. He would be alone once more, in his own comfortable bubble of numbness that had allowed him to survive thus far.
But he wasn’t numb anymore, was he?
He did his job, weathered the pain in his heart, the nightmares and constant worries… but after that, when he returned to his unit, there were always two persistent tag-alongs waiting for him. He couldn’t say he appreciated most of Makoto’s and Hideyoshi’s chit chat or attempts to draw him into engaging with others. He honestly would prefer to have more peace and quiet in his days.
But at the same time…
“No, it’s alright. This unworthy one can handle it, that he can.”
...He was slowly starting to feel alive again.
It wasn’t a nice or an easy road, but Hideyoshi’s and Makoto’s pushy friendship was helping him.
And as awkward as it was, it was a bit flattering to have such a persistent admirer in Makoto. Not that he reciprocate the feeling, of course he didn’t. But, Makoto was… different. He was nothing like her, not in personality, looks, or mannerism, and nothing he did could threaten to tarnish the memories of her that Kenshin held dear. Not to mention that Makoto’s frequent touches, as annoying and awkward as they were, were helping Kenshin to learn how to handle closeness and touch again.
Maybe it was enough to hope that one day he wouldn’t freak out over such a simple thing anymore?
“Truly?” Hideyoshi gasped in surprise. “I… I wasn’t sure. I mean, Fujiwara did say that you were like that – but that talk about your wife…”
“You mean the rumor that this unworthy one prefers intimacy with men?” Kenshin couldn’t help but snort. “That came from a misunderstanding, that it did. This unworthy one didn’t know what mentoring meant and when Fujiwara-san asked if one was being mentored by our former superior, one admitted to it, when in truth all we ever shared was a few conversations about swordsmanship.”
“…oh.”
Hideyoshi looked so lost.
Kenshin huffed and the corners of his lips tugged upwards in a pale imitation of a smile. “Besides, Makoto would die if he couldn’t flirt, so he would. Better that he does it to someone who isn’t going to punch him in the face.”
“That’s so true it hurts.” Hideyoshi burst into guffaws. “Oh gods, you don’t even know how many fights I’ve seen Makoto get into because of that habit of his.”
Warm fondness spreading inside him, Kenshin smiled, this time for real. “Maybe we should go back and save Chirpy before he gets into another one, that is?”
“Chirpy, eh?” Hideyoshi raised his brow, but his gaze was soft. Genuine.
Kenshin blushed and looked aside. “Orr o, well, that’s what this unworthy one often calls Makoto-san in his head, that he does.”
“I like it. So, who am I?”
“Ah, well, um, this one…Oro! Steady,” Kenshin stammered, hiding his eyes behind his long bangs.
“…I see. Well, if Makoto is Chirpy and I am Steady, then you are definitely Odd.” Hideyoshi huffed, his ki warm with acceptance. And then, he straightened his tall frame and turned, motioning with his hand towards the doorway.
Kenshin took the hint and followed him back inside.
The inn’s second-floor corridors were empty, but he could feel a few presences towards the far end, in private rooms. The light of the oil lamps shone through the rice paper walls, faint voices came through, muffled by the distance. It seemed that the inn hosted more people than just the Satsuma samurai partying in the common room.
Or perhaps some people had gotten tired of the loud party and had sought solace on the upper floors?
Not a bad idea, given that the party downstairs had gotten even louder…
But as they stepped down the stairs, Kenshin realized that all his guesses were wrong – they were already too late, because Makoto’s ability to cause trouble had exceeded their wildest expectations.
Somehow, in the time that he and Hideyoshi had been gone, the cheerful party of twenty samurai had transformed into a honest-to-god drunken brawl.
Oh, dear…
It was an astonishing sight, truly.
Everyone in the room was grabbing, hitting, and wrestling anyone they could reach, shouting and laughing in mad euphoria. At least no one was dead. Well, Kenshin was pretty sure no one was dead – a few people were lying on the floor, unconscious, but there was no blood, nor any missing limbs.
It was dreadfully easy to cut off someone’s extended limb, if not on purpose, then by accident.
…Yet no one had drawn their blades.
Kenshin couldn’t help but stare in disbelief.
Makoto was right in the middle of the mess, wrestling with someone who looked suspiciously like their host, Tanaka-san. Oh, yes – it was Tanaka. Their host had quite a few pounds on the tall, lean Makoto, but they were both drunk off their asses and it seemed that Chirpy had decided he wasn’t going down quietly, because he was howling incoherently and throwing indiscriminate punches.
Hideyoshi shot Kenshin a grin, and charged right into the melee to help his friend.
Kenshin had no idea what to do.
Honestly, as far as fights went, it didn’t look that dangerous. More like an enthusiastic, if somewhat vicious, friendly tumble.
Without his say, his feet took a step into the room.
What could he do to end this madness?
Everyone here had a weapon. If he drew his blade, he would only antagonize them further, likely escalating the situation. He didn’t want to threaten them with his ki, either. It was such a rare skill, and what would happen if they found out he was Battousai?
But what else could he do?
He was five feet one, weighing a bit under ninety pounds. In that brawl, the other men would crush him.
Perhaps he should shout?
In this racket? With his voice?
Ugh, how about no.
Thankfully, Hideyoshi didn’t look like he needed much help with Makoto…
A presence flared on his immediate right and Kenshin turned, only to see a sake bottle flying right at his head. He barely managed to dodge it, only to fall into the brawl, spinning to escape the outreached fists and people and miscellaneous items coming towards him. There was no time to think, he could only react, trusting his deeply ingrained reflexes keep him out of harm’s way.
It was almost… fun?
Sure, there was a definite risk of injury, but this was much less dangerous than a sword fight. So he dodged, jumped, twisted, and danced, trying to make his way to Hideyoshi and Makoto. Both of them were in the heart of this mess, seemingly having the time of their lives – at least if their exhilarated grins were anything to go by. Oh boy. Chirpy was messed up, his lip split and bleeding, his right eye swelling shut. Not that it seemed to slow him down any…
“Pretty! There you are!” Makoto cheered.
“We should get out of here, that we should!” Kenshin shouted in answer, dodging yet another fist coming his way.
Makoto, the brazen idiot, just winked at him. “Sure, sure – lessee if we can manage that.”
“Less chit chat, more action!” Hideyoshi growled and wrestled down another Satsuma samurai. “Let’s just push through. You guys got everything with you?”
“Yes!” Kenshin yelped. “Just move already!”
Hideyoshi grinned and pushed into mass of men like a charging bull, clearing the way for the stumbling Makoto and Kenshin. They had almost gotten through, when a voice shouted from the staircase, “What the fuck is going on here?! You battle-loving idiots, stop it! I said STOP IT!!!”
And then, a wave of ki flared – so sudden and freezing cold, that even the most spiritually numb samurai could feel something. The effect was drastic.
“Oh shit…!”
“FUCK!”
“It’s Sakamoto!!!”
Everyone froze – the Satsuma samurai, Kenshin, Hideyoshi, and Makoto – everyone in the room stopped right in the middle of the fight and turned to stare at him.
The man flaring his ki was Sakamoto Ryoma-san, one of the of the most influential men in the whole capital. The same man who had brokered the peace between Choshuu and Satsuma. He was all red in the face, heaving for breath, his ki unleashed and flaring more intensely than anything Kenshin had felt since he left the mountain and Hiko.
Then Sakamoto took a deep, if ragged breath. “I don’t want to know what you were doing. I truly don’t. But when I leave, this fight – it’s over. Is that clear?”
The men stared, gobsmacked.
Seconds passed, the silence dragging on and on… and slowly people stood up straighter and relaxed their hold on their improvised weapons: pillows, sake jars, even a table that one big guy had grabbed. The few who were still holding their enemies in chokeholds and wrestling poses let go, too. No one said a thing, but the air was awkward.
Sakamoto-san had enough power and say among all the clans who fought for the rebels that disobeying a direct command from him would not only embarrass the perpetrators, but also their clan.
And worse, everyone here knew it.
“Good. Now, I will need someone to escort me back to my lodgings.” Sakamoto-san announced loudly and trailed his gaze across the disheveled crowd.
Men shied away from his stare, ashamed of their sorry state: most of them had bruises swelling on their faces, topknots mussed, their clothing stained with sweat, grime, and sake…
Kenshin too looked aside, but for an entirely different reason.
“Himura-san? What the hell is a Choshuu man doing here?”
Urgh! Kenshin groaned and looked up.
The people around him were staring at him like they had seen a ghost, the fastest of them already stepping backwards to make room.
“Ah, well…” Kenshin cringed. “This unworthy one…”
“No matter. You’ll do.” Sakamoto-san decided. “In fact, you are perfect. You look like you are mostly sober – I wager not a single one of these slouches here would be up to the task, anyway. I assume Kido-san won’t mind if I borrow your sword for a short errand, will he?”
“Orr o – well, no. Not really,” Kenshin stammered.
Around him, whispers sprung to life:
“…Himura?”
“Choshuu?”
“Red hair…?”
“Holy shit, that’s Battousai!”
His stomach twisting with dread, Kenshin turned to Hideyoshi. The tall youth shrugged uncomfortably, which was answer enough.
They both knew that Kenshin couldn’t refuse the command.
Even if he wasn’t in his best form, he was still in better shape than any other available option, and Sakamato-san was too important to go unescorted. After all, Sakamoto-san was among the Bakufu’s most hunted, even now that the fighting had mostly calmed down.
So Kenshin gritted his teeth, slipped his hand into his sleeve, fished out his hair tie, and let his long hair fall loose from the bun. With practiced motions he brushed his bangs away from his face and left cheek, then gathered his long tresses up into his customary high tail. Without looking back, he adjusted the paired swords on his waist and walked to the door.
One never knew when duty would call, and no matter how inconvenient, he was sworn to the cause.
Sakamoto-san nodded at him respectfully, gave a final assessing glance to the crowd behind them, and followed Kenshin out into the night.
Thankfully Sakamoto-san’s hideout wasn’t too far away, only a few miles from the Satsuma rebel inn, within the Kawaramachi district. Apparently he was staying in a soy seller named Omiya’s storehouse. It was not the best place to stay, but it was drabby enough that the Bakufu likely wouldn’t look for him there. All the Bakufu’s most hunted needed to hide out in places like this, at least until the worst of the danger was over. The locations were always a secret, known only by a select few.
A friend named Nakaoka-san was waiting for Sakamoto-san at the storehouse.
“It was fortunate that I happened to come across you over there, Himura-san.” Sakamoto-san smiled to Kenshin knowingly. “It seemed that most of my Satsuma friends were a little under the weather.”
“It wasn’t a problem, so it wasn’t.” Honestly, after their walk, it seemed that Sakamoto himself might be under the weather, given the subtle coughs he’d let out throughout their walk – and no wonder, given the stress he was under. Katsura had also been a little worse for wear in the past few days.
“Well, thank you anyway. I appreciate your help.” Sakamoto-san said. “Though the Shogun has resigned, the rebellion is far from over. It’s going to be a difficult winter for us and I fear this conflict won’t be resolved bloodlessly, despite our best efforts. But I won’t keep you any longer.”
Recognizing a dismissal when he heard it, Kenshin nodded and turned to leave, only to glance once more over his left shoulder…
Sakamoto-san followed his friend in the storehouse.
Kenshin sighed, and left.
It was true what Sakamoto-san had said. No matter what he and many others had hoped, the Shogun’s formal resignation had yet to determine anything. The Tokugawa were still in power, with people who still listened to them and many stalwart supporters.
And the rebels… the rebels were still rebels, not the leaders of a new world.
The next morning, the fifteenth day of the tenth month, Kenshin woke late, with his head aching and exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders.
It was like he hadn’t managed to sleep at all.
Worse, his stomach was protesting at the very thought of rising and moving around. He hadn’t drunk that much, had he? Yet he felt the familiar ache of a hangover, making him unsteady on his feet and thirsty as a horse.
Last night, he had gotten back to the inn just before dawn, where he had found Chirpy and Steady in the lobby of their inn. Both of them were roughed up from the brawl, drunk and all but dozing on their asses, but they had waited for him.
It had felt good.
Now though, Kenshin was wishing he had never even gone to the party. Why had he, anyway? Oh wait – it was because no one had given him the option to refuse.
Argh!
He should have just said no.
He really should have.
Anything would have been better than to suffer through this feeling…
A bland breakfast and lukewarm tea helped to ease his stomach a bit, but he had to force himself to eat. Blergh. He stared ahead numbly, trying hard to keep picking at his food.
“Good morning…” Makoto mumbled and yawned, before adding, “...Pretty.”
Kenshin looked up, blinking blearily.
Makoto’s face was a mess. The entire right side of his face was swollen and covered in purple bruises, and his split lip looked quite nasty. Okay, the Chirpy had woken up – so where was his other half?
...Oh. There.
Hideyoshi lumbered down the stairs, heading towards their table on unsteady feet. Wordlessly, he slumped and sat down with enough force to shake the tea saucers.
People were looking at them, not even bothering to be subtle about their interest.
Not that Kenshin blamed them. He, Makoto, and Hideyoshi were probably quite the sight, all three of them. Thankfully, even Chirpy was too tired to carry on a conversation on a morning like this.
Small blessings.
Kenshin was dozing in and out at the breakfast table, not really paying too much attention to the people around them, when a commotion broke out at the doorway. And then… Oh, hell, what was Nakamura doing here this early in the morning? The weasel was marching directly towards Kenshin, his smile wide, like he had won something.
“Himura!” he shouted.
Kenshin covered his ear with one hand and glowered at Nakamura. Seriously, what was the man’s issue? But he still had enough manners left that he straightened himself, sitting up properly, and faced his superior’s smirk.
“There are summons for you, Himura.” Nakamura announced loudly, for everyone in the common room to hear. “Kido, Saigo, and the rest of the Ishin Shishi leadership demand to hear your account of last night.”
Kenshin blinked. “...Oro?”
“Whatever for?” Makoto demanded to Kenshin’s left. “We didn’t do anything bad! It was just a brawl with some Satsuma fellows. No one even got hurt!”
“No one even got hurt.” Nakamura mimicked mockingly and then smirked at Kenshin. “Well, no one… except for Sakamoto Ryoma-san. He was assassinated last night. And guess what? According to Saigo-san, the last person to see him alive was you, Himura-san.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- AN: Sorry that this is so late! I have been dreadfully busy at work - but I'll promise to make some time in my calendar during my summer vacation and rewrite the next chapter. (So hopefully, the next update wouldn't take quite as long).
As always, betaed by the wonderful @animaniacal in 16.7.2017.
Chapter summary: Against all odds, rebels hold their own against the Bakufu’s massive army, prowing their determination on four battlefronts. But winning the war is not enough, not to bring the revolution - something they all soon find out. Even Kenshin will face new challenges, such as figuring out how to deal with an unavoidable vacation, how to better his disquises and how to deal with difficult people and new rumors.
Chapter 36 - Good and Bad come in pairs, in which rebels take one step forward and two steps back.
Read the chapter in AO3, FF.net or below the cut!
Warnings: angst, politics, and minor character death
Chapter 36. Good and Bad come in pairs
“One more thing,” Katsura said, keeping his expression carefully neutral, not letting his honest puzzlement show. “Why did you decide to order the retreat?”
The Bakufu commander sitting across from him sighed, then leaned back and looked away. “From the start this war was a foolish gambit that weakens us in the eyes of Western powers when we desperately need to appear strong. I know it, you know it – most of my men and fellow commanders know it.”
“True-” Katsura allowed.
The Bakufu commander lifted his hand to request silence and continued, “We joined this war out of loyalty. Despite our warnings, the shogun required it of us – so we fought. But for you, it’s different. I understand that now. You see, when that man of yours, that Hitokiri Battousai, held me at sword point and looked at me, I realized we had already lost. His eyes, they were so sincere. I have never witnessed anything as terrifying as that moment. An insane madman I could have led astray, tricked somehow or struggled against… but a killer who sincerely doesn’t wish to kill, but will do so in the blink of an eye if he needs to?”
The Bakufu commander shook his head. “No matter my actions, he would have fought to the very last. He would have killed me, destroyed my ship’s steering, gone to the deck and slaughtered my men until he fell… that sort of conviction is hard to fight against.” He sighed in half-wonder, half-admiration. “Our army came here poorly outfitted, poorly organized, hoping to intimidate you and snatch an easy victory. Instead, we faced men who are willing to do whatever it takes to win. And since our enemy was like this, there truly was no other reasonable action for us to take than to retreat and rethink the whole campaign.”
Katsura bowed his head, acknowledging the truth in those words. “So, we have a ceasefire?”
“Yes,” the Bakufu commander said firmly. “Our army will retreat to Hiroshima, where we will join with Honjo Masahide’s troops. The final truce can only happen on the Lord Shogun’s orders, but I give you my word that my men will not attack you again and that I’ll do my best to convince Commander Honjo to enter negotiations for an armistice as well.”
“Very good,” Katsura said gravely, “then we are in agreement.”
The Bakufu commander, the expert negotiator Katsu Kaishu, bowed deeply and rose to leave. At the door of the field tent, he stopped briefly to glance over his shoulder and said simply, “Well played, Kido-san.”
Watching him walk away, Katsura exhaled in relief, allowing himself to relax for just a moment. Somehow, they had made it. They had truly made it. And ironically, the act that had broken the paper tiger’s back… had been in the hands, or rather mercy, of his killer.
Katsura scoffed.
It was almost amusing how such a small thing could change so much, he mused, making his way back to the Kiheitai encampment. The commander that Kenshin had spared on the Bakufu’s flagship had been the most opposed to the war in the first place – and after having witnessing true resolution, he had taken over and ordered the retreat of the Bakufu troops who had fought on the beach, and now wanted to help the negotiations for a truce. Somehow, with that one single act, Kenshin had saved far more lives than he could ever imagine.
True, the war was far from over.
The Bakufu still had large armies surrounding Choshuu on three other fronts, but Takasugi had enjoyed great success in taking back the southeastern islands from the Bakufu’s occupation. The army that loomed in Hiroshima and the naval arsenal the Bakufu was organizing in Hikone both seemed particularly unwilling to extend their resources other than as a show of force. That left only the danger coming from the southern straits of Kyushu. Yamagata and his Kiheitai were already packing up, moving to defend Shimonoseki and meet with Takasugi’s men there. Against all expectations, Choshuu was holding their own and not giving an inch.
It just served to show how much Shogun Iemochi had relied on his bluff, hoping that by gathering a large enough army, he could suppress the populist agenda that he could no longer ignore. In this war, the Bakufu had given its all, shown all the tricks up its sleeve… but when those prized warships had been taken over, their land forces crushed by the Kiheitai’s better armaments and unwavering determination, even the Bakufu’s best-prepared armies had turned tail and fled.
Oh, yes. Today, it was good to be a rebel.
If Choshuu could keep this up, the summer would show everyone that the rebellion wasn’t just a bunch of radically minded youths stirring trouble for the sake of a fleeting dream, but a reality the country needed to confront. In order for Japan to become strong, they all needed to unite – something the Bakufu couldn’t command, not anymore. They needed new thinking and unified leadership to bring them into a new era.
The Kiheitai’s command tent loomed ahead, where hurried men rushed back and forth, gathering supplies and packing up. They were set to leave for Shimonoseki tonight. Only the wounded would be left behind, under the care of a few doctors and samurai women volunteering as nurses. Unsurprisingly, Katsura’s thoughts turned sour, worry twisting his gut. One of the Kiheitai men had carried Kenshin back through the battle on the beach, unconscious and half-dead from a gunshot wound to his left abdomen. Thankfully, the bullet hadn’t lodged there nor pierced vital organs. As it was, through sheer luck, the army surgeon had managed to stop the bleeding in time.
It had been five days since then, and no one knew whether or not the boy would make it; Kenshin had lost a terrifying amount of blood. Worse, the doctors still feared he may have blood poisoning from dirt and impurities that could have gone into the wound. If that had happened, there was nothing to be done but to end the boy’s suffering.
No! No, you can’t think like that.
He has a chance. A fighting chance, we just need to give him time.
Katsura took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off a headache from exhaustion.
It had been a truly difficult week, for all of them.
In total, the Kiheitai had lost over one hundred and fifty men in the battle. Of Choshuu samurai, they had lost a hundred. The number of wounded was much higher, which took a lot of resources. The Bakufu’s casualties were still unknown, but their numbers had to be in the several hundreds dead and many more wounded.
When it came to the Kiheitai men who had accompanied Kenshin on the mission, out of fifteen excellent soldiers, only six had returned, most of them wounded. For example, the man who had saved Kenshin’s life, a lauded officer with a good career ahead of him, had been injured badly enough that he had to be discharged.
A sad affair, really.
However, without that man’s courage, Kenshin would have been left to die and that had been enough of a reason for Katsura to step in and provide some compensation for the man, just to show his gratitude.
A loud, carrying voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Kido-san! You are checking on Himura?”
It was Yamagata-san.
Katsura inclined his head, “Ah, yes. I was going that way.”
“I’ll join you,” declared the vice-commander, now the acting commander of the Kiheitai, and settled to walk beside him.
After Takasugi had departed, Yamagata Kyusuke had shown remarkable leadership capability. Without losing his calm, he had faced the Bakufu’s overwhelming odds on the beach and led their troops to a decisive victory. There were good, logical reasons why he would inherit the command of the Kiheitai from Takasugi when the time came… and yet, Katsura couldn’t help but wish things were different.
“How long do you think Takasugi can keep commanding the Kiheitai? Your honest opinion, please,” Katsura asked softly.
“I doubt anything could keep him away from this war, but he won’t make it past the winter. The sickness has spread too far. We have known it for a long time.” Yamagata frowned. He sighed, and added, “The Kiheitai will fall to my responsibility when he goes.”
“I don’t know a better man to continue Takasugi’s work, Yamagata-san. The battle on the beach was your victory,” Katsura complimented. He wasn’t particularly awed by Yamagata, but until he got a better sense of the man, it was best to play it safe.
After all, words of praise didn’t cost him anything, but could grant him much. Especially given how Yamagata seemed to be somewhat at odds with him. Katsura had noticed it on the night of the war council in Hagi, and many times since then – small acts of opposition or protest where he hadn’t expected to encounter any. Of course he realized he couldn’t transfer the implicit trust he shared with Takasugi to Yamagata, but this slight friction between them was… unsettling. He needed Yamagata’s trust and cooperation going forward and to gain that, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t give.
“The Kiheitai won only a part of the battle,” Yamagata denied. “The real victory goes to Battousai and the men who accompanied him to the warships.” He turned his gaze towards the healing ward. “Yasu reported to me how the mission went down. I’m sorry I doubted you, Kido-san. Your man Himura is a true hero.”
“Kenshin couldn’t have done it alone,” Katsura answered, mild as milk. “Takasugi’s insistence that he have a team to support him, and your wisdom in choosing the correct men for the task were a large part of their success. I’d say every man who participated in the mission deserves to be called a hero.”
“True words,” Yamagata’s lips curled into a pleased smile. “However, I must say, Himura is wasted in the Capital. A warrior like him shouldn’t be restricted to assassinations or guarding politicians. You have other men, less honorable men for such tasks. So as a sign of our friendship, won’t you assign Himura back to the Kiheitai? He was once one of us; I’d gladly make a place for him among my men again.”
“I have no doubts about Himura’s suitability for war. I’m sure he could have a great career in the Kiheitai.” Katsura smiled pleasantly, subtly clenching his hands into a white-knuckled fist inside his sleeve. “If he recovers from his injuries, you can suggest the transfer to him. If he so desires, I’ll allow it. However, I do have a great need for his talents and unique reputation in the capital scene.”
Yamagata smiled in satisfaction. “Thank you, Kido-san. I’ll surely do so.”
“By all means,” Katsura allowed, keeping his expression carefully neutral.
Oh, Yamagata-san could try all he wanted to poach his best man, but if there was one thing Katsura knew he could trust, it was Kenshin’s loyalty. However, letting Yamagata try… it was very important for their future working relationship.
Regrettably, it was clear Yamagata was no second-coming of Takasugi. No, Yamagata was a thinker and a cunning man, a marvelous tactician and army commander, but he didn’t share the same vision he and Takasugi had learned together, all those years ago, under Yoshida Shoin’s tutelage.
———————————–
Tomoe’s shawl was ruined.
The delicate pale blue cloth had faded in places to a murky, brownish tan after intensive washing and still, the bloodstains were clearly visible. Even her beautiful embroideries had started to loosen and unravel in places. But it was still hers, one of the very few things he had left of her, and having it with him had saved his life. Somehow, years and miles beyond the grave, Tomoe had sacrificed something of herself and once again, saved his life.
It made him feel unworthy.
Kenshin rubbed his chest, trying to relieve the ache the thought brought. Oh gods, how he missed her.
Yet… He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t sure why.
By all reason and logic, he should be dead. He had pushed past his limits and blacked out in the worst possible moment, when the enemy warship had run aground on the beach. He shouldn’t have made it through the battle onshore, let alone woken up weeks later in a field hospital.
But here he was, alive and breathing, though still very weak.
He was badly anemic and pale, enough so that the doctor had remarked he could pass for a court lady or a maiko without needing to paint his face white. Kenshin hadn’t had the energy to protest, but judging by how ghastly the skin on his hands looked… maybe there was some truth to the words.
His stomach was covered in bandages, but he had seen the small, puckered bullet wound in his left side when the nurse had changed them. Strange, how such a small wound could cause so much trouble. It didn’t look nearly as alarming as some of the other injuries he had suffered before, but then again, what he saw was far from the real extent of the damage. In that one lightning fast thrust, the bullet had gone through his body, breaking through blood vessels and muscles with ease. Just a hint to the right, and his inner organs would have been pierced and with bad enough luck, various bodily fluids could have seeped out of them, poisoning him from the inside.
A disturbing thought.
Kenshin stroked his stomach, trying to imagine it… then shuddered and lifted his left hand for inspection.
His thumb was tightly wrapped, but the doctor had warned him not to trust his grip again. Most likely, the joint would be loose for the rest of his life and could pop out when stressed. It shouldn’t give his daily life much difficulty; he should be able to do most everyday things, maybe even handle sword work after giving his thumb time to heal, but he couldn’t trust his grip, not like he could with his right hand. On the flipside, if he ever needed to escape tight bonds again, dislocating it on purpose should be easy enough.
When it came to anything else… Kenshin didn’t know much. He had woken up two days ago, but all anyone had told him was to take it easy and give his ailing body time to heal. However, given the number of weak, flickering ki presences around him and how the only people moving about seemed to be either doctors, nurses, or a few Choshuu samurai and their women, Kenshin gathered that the Kiheitai and the rest of their troops had packed up and departed.
Apparently, he had fought in a war for a single day and then lay unconscious on his back for the rest of the excitement.
So strange.
Well, most likely Katsura-san would let him know at some point what he wanted him to do, by message or something.
Speaking of messages, the doctor had given him the strangest letter this morning. It was very politely worded, filled with praise for Kenshin’s “heroic achievement” and how “he could have a promising army career” and how “Katsura-san had agreed to transfer him if he so desired.” Even if Kenshin hadn’t had trouble reading the fine calligraphy, the message would have been confusing. Nothing he had done was particularly heroic. And transferring back to the Kiheitai? Why on earth would he want to have an army career?
Adding to his bafflement was that apparently, this message came directly from Yamagata-san, as the acting commander of the Kiheitai. The last he recalled, Yamagata hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic about seeing him. So what had changed? Had something happened when he had been unconscious? Had the commander gotten hit in the head or something, to start spouting such outrageous ideas?
The door flap to his tent was pulled open all of a sudden, and instead of a doctor or nurse, the massive form of Yasu-san peeked inside. “Well, look! The sleeping beauty is awake at last!”
“O… er,” Kenshin gaped at the choice of words, but before he could figure out a proper greeting in turn, Yasu-san hopped inside on a pair of crutches and Kenshin’s gaze fell down the man’s injured leg and even lower, below the knee, which just… wasn’t there.
Kenshin paled. “What happened!”
“Oh, this?” Yasu glanced down, then snorted dryly, “Don’t bother your pretty head about it. The doctor cut it off. Said I’d die of fever otherwise; dirt in the wound or some such. I don’t blame him. I’ve seen people with wound rot. Not a nice death, that.”
“But, but…” Kenshin gaped, his eyes wide with horror.
This… This was beyond his understanding. Sure, no one had told him anything. The only thing he knew of the aftermath came from that letter where Yamagata lauded him as a hero for the success of the mission without actually telling him anything important, like what had happened to the others. The doctors and nurses had given him similar empty compliments. But how could they call him a hero, if this was the price of his stubbornness? He remembered Yasu’s wound. Back in the fourth ship, it hadn’t been more than a hindrance for the man, not worth cutting off his leg. So this, this had to have come later, which meant that the person who had dragged him back through the battle on the beach had to have been…
“…It was you. You saved my life.”
Yasu looked aside. “Eh, someone had to.”
“How can you say that!” Kenshin gasped, his heart thundering in his ribcage. “Your leg… you lost your leg because of me!”
“No, I didn’t.” Yasu turned to him, his voice taking on the hint of a growl. “Don’t kid yourself, son. I did what I had to do, but so did you – and because of your stubbornness, we got that last warship, too. Everyone’s saying it turned the tide of the battle, that we won because of it. We won – against impossible odds, we won. And if my leg was the cost, I paid it gladly.”
“But,” Kenshin swallowed slowly, feeling rather small and insignificant. “But I, ah… um, that is to say, what about your life? The Kiheitai? What will you do?”
“Who knows? I’ll figure something out.” Yasu said dismissively. “I’m alive and that’s more than I expected. Hell, that’s a far better deal than most of my friends got, sinking to a watery grave. Besides, I don’t need to work for my living anymore. I got a nice pension and a place to stay near Hagi. That fancy politician, Kido-san, arranged it for me as thanks.”
“Ah… he did? That’s good,” Kenshin agreed, somewhat dazed. With relief coursing through his body, he slumped down, which of course disagreed rather badly with the wound in his side.
He hissed, pressing his hand against it.
“Tch,” Yasu scoffed, and hobbled closer to him, sitting awkwardly on the stool the doctor had left close to the bed. “You really need to start learning to put things into perspective, son. Here you are, worrying about others when you are pale as a ghost yourself.”
Kenshin reddened a bit at the comment. “This unworthy one’s not that bad, that he isn’t.”
“And there you go again – back to this one and that it is. What’s up with that?” Yasu raised an eyebrow.
“O… er,” Kenshin blinked, “Um… what’s wrong with it?”
Yasu shot him a look. “No one your age speaks like that. Actually, scratch that – the only person I have ever heard using that old-timey speech was the old, sneering samurai who came to claim my farm to settle my debts.”
That explained some things. Mainly, Yasu’s instant dislike of him when they first met, but… “It’s just easier, that it is.” Kenshin looked down at his lap and fiddled with his blankets. “This one isn’t a samurai, he has never been one, but it’s easier to be this unworthy one and use polite address than to look people in the eye, so it is.”
Silence landed between them, but then Yasu groaned tiredly, “There you go again, speaking nonsense. The hell if I understand half of what you say when you get all twisted up like that, boy.”
Kenshin glanced up, but Yasu didn’t elaborate.
Instead, the soldier turned to look at the tent’s door flap and the shadow before it. “Yu, is that you?” Yasu shouted. “Then come in already! The boy is awake and coherent – well, mostly coherent. Maybe you can talk some sense into him!”
“Oh?” The man asked cheerfully, then stepped inside. He was from the fourth ship? “Hello there, Himura-san! You’re finally awake then!”
“Er… Hello,” Kenshin answered, somewhat hesitant.
“Don’t mind the boy, Yu,” Yasu cut in. “Half the time he speaks, it comes out as confusing nonsense wrapped in fancy words.” Then he turned to Kenshin. “Anyways, me and Yu have a couple things to speak to you about. Firstly, there’s a rumor in the camp that Yamagata-san offered you a place in the Kiheitai.”
“…Um, yes? He left this unworthy one a letter about it, so he did.” Kenshin hesitated, but then forged ahead. “Obviously, this one is going to turn him down.”
“Why would you do that?” Yu stared at him. “Isn’t this the best thing that could happen to you?”
Kenshin knew it was a good offer and part of him could understand why Yasu and the stranger, Yu, seemed so baffled. But the thing was, Kenshin hadn’t been able to consider accepting it, even for a second. “This unworthy one… hates killing,” he finally said, avoiding their eyes. “This one’s leader, Kido-san, knows it and respects it, that he does.”
“So you’d rather work as a hitokiri? Murdering people at the beck and call of some shady politician?” Yasu scoffed incredulously. “You know, at first I thought you a glorified killer, someone who had been groomed to it from a young age. But out there on the warships, you fought harder than anyone I’d ever seen. You saved my men and gave us all a victory. True, there were losses – there always are, in war. But it all balances out anyway. So what if I lost my leg and got discharged? Thanks to it, my pal Yu got promoted. So Himura – look up and be proud, or I’ll kick your ass and make your pretty face see sense!”
Yasu finished his tirade by standing up on his crutches proudly, his back straight and his ki flaring in challenge, like a king declaring his will over his domain.
“O… er, that is,” Kenshin stammered. Unable to find the words, he swallowed, closed his eyes briefly and then struggled to sit up, meeting Yasu’s eyes directly. “This one… I, ah… I’m sorry, that I am. And thank you, for everything.”
Yasu smiled.
Then he hobbled closer and clapped Kenshin on the shoulder like a comrade.
The force of the hit made Kenshin almost topple over, but by some miracle, he managed to keep his balance.
“Ah, man… look at you!” Yasu burst into laughter. “The horrible Battousai, slayer of hundreds and destroyer of black ships, weak as a kitten.”
“Yasu, give the boy some slack.” Yu huffed fondly from the sidelines. “He almost died. You have been up on your feet for weeks now, he just woke up two days ago.”
“Sure, Yu – sure,” Yasu said. “But don’t think for a second I didn’t see you grin.”
Kenshin blushed, but nevertheless, tried to sit up straight again. It was mortifying enough to appear so weak in the presence of other men; the last thing he needed was for them to realize how sick he truly was.
A close by ki presence flickered in curiosity and Kenshin looked up, somewhat startled. It was Yu, and for some reason, Yasu’s friend was looking at him a bit strangely, like he had a question on his mind.
“Is something wrong?” Kenshin asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” The man shook his head, but then shrugged and asked, “It’s just… forgive my curiosity, but as a man of faith, I couldn’t help but notice that you use ki internally – or am I mistaken?”
“…That’s true.” Kenshin blinked, thoroughly puzzled. How had Yu known that? And a man of faith, what did that have to do with anything?
“I don’t use ki myself. I never had the talent for it, I’m afraid,” Yu hurried to explain. “But back at the monastery in the Miune mountains in Tosa, some people trained in the principles of it. None of them used it like you do, but I have seen people reinforce their weapons with it. And a few times, I saw someone dabbling in brief internal manipulation to perform impossible feats, but when they failed to control the flow…” Yu grimaced. “It’s a terrible sight to see. People have destroyed organs with it. Yet you use it so casually, like it’s easy, just another ability. I’d bet good money that the sect would be interested in your knowledge.”
Kenshin frowned. “Unfortunately, the way this unworthy one uses ki is one of a kind, that it is. This one doubts anyone could replicate it even if they tried, that he does.” He paused, then continued apologetically, “Also, the logic of it is based on the principles of this one’s sword style… and those secrets are not this one’s to give away, that they aren’t.”
Although obviously puzzled, the former monk didn’t insist, merely inclining his head in acceptance.
Kenshin sighed with relief.
Even now, he believed in his heart that Hiten Mitsurugi’s way of using ki belonged only in the hands of two: the master and apprentice, to be used for the betterment of the people, not for anyone to study or use in the name of some faith. And while Kenshin had abandoned his Master and joined the Ishin Shishi to fight for what he believed would lead to a better era for all people… even after all the terrible choices and failures he had made in the name of that belief, he couldn’t betray the creed of Hiten Mitsurugi.
And more, behind all that… was the knowledge that he was only the apprentice. He wasn’t worthy of sharing anything he knew.
That right belonged only to the Master.
“…Right.” Yasu cleared his throat awkwardly. “Okay, funky spiritual mumbo jumbo stuff aside, what are you gonna do next, son?”
“O… er,” Kenshin hesitated, but thankful for the change in topic, he shrugged awkwardly. “Um, most likely this one will stay here until Kido-san contacts him, that he will.”
“I see.” Yasu nodded. “Then thank him for me as well, will you?”
Kenshin blinked, startled. “…Alright.”
“Hey, don’t look so baffled.” Yasu grinned. “I’m healthy enough to leave, so there’s no way in hell I’m gonna stick around here any longer than I have to. Thanks to that Kido of yours, I have money to blow on drink and ladies… and a good place to crash when I don’t feel like drinking anymore.”
Yasu lopped a lazy salute in his direction, before hobbling to the tent’s door flap that Yu was holding open for him. There, he paused one last time and shot a look over his shoulder. “Son… try to look after yourself, alright? And if you get a chance, come visit me in Hagi. I’ll take you out for the wildest night of your life!”
——————————
The following summer was, in a way, one long victory march for Choshuu and for all the Ishin Shishi. One battle at the time, Choshuu defeated the Bakufu’s armies on four different fronts, showing not only the cunning of their leaders, and determination and battle prowess of the Kiheitai, but also how very weak the Tokugawa Shogunate had become. And now that Satsuma and Choshuu had entered into an alliance, many more provinces were expressing interest in joining the coalition. This all made Katsura-san extremely satisfied, but also extremely busy – too busy to take a side tour to the province to pick up his injured bodyguard.
So, in late June, after Kenshin was finally up on his feet and wondering whether he should go to Hagi along with rest of the hospital crew, he received a message from Katsura-san, calling him back to Kyoto. Katsura-san had arranged everything for the trip; money and passage by ship from Hagi to Osaka.
There was no particular hurry for his return. The doctors had strongly suggested that he convalesce for the summer before even thinking of returning to duty, but the ugly fact was that Kenshin had been getting more and more restless lately. Waiting and fiddling his thumbs didn’t sit right with him.
So while he could have stopped in Hagi for the night and sought out Yasu… he didn’t.
He wasn’t entirely sure why.
It was just, what was there to celebrate? They had held their own, but they hadn’t won – not yet. Despite their successes during the summer, the Bakufu was far from beaten: case in point, despite the unofficial ceasefire, there was no talk of a truce yet. The Bakufu troops had just stopped pressing for an advantage.
So put like that, there was really no question at all. Kenshin passed through Hagi without so much as stopping for a meal, finding the ship Katsura-san had arranged for him as passage to Osaka. From there, he chose to walk, rather than ride, to Kyoto. Given his general weakness, it was not a particularly fast way to travel, but at least he could set the pace himself, without worrying what a four-legged beast of burden might decide to do.
He arrived in Kyoto at the beginning of the seventh month without much fanfare. The conical reed hat he had bought at the harbor hid his hair from casual looks and Tomoe’s scarf, as stained as it was, covered his scar. By all appearances he looked like a penniless ronin down his luck, heading to the capital in search of better opportunities.
Given how none of the Bakufu samurai keeping watch along the roads pulled him aside for questioning, like they did to any suspicious looking character coming into town, Kenshin concluded his sloppy disguise was far more convincing than he had thought.
However, when even Katsura-san paled at the sight of him… perhaps he just looked that sorry.
The doctor Katsura-san called to examine him decided that the gunshot wound was healing as well as could be expected; the stitches had been removed back at the Kiheitai field hospital and it was just a red, ugly, puckered scar in his side. However, his main problem was anemia and the resulting undernourishment. The disgusting diet that was supposed to replenish his blood had robbed him of his appetite and as a result, he had lost a lot of weight.
Honestly, it was no wonder that he felt so weak.
Unfortunately, there was no simple solution to the dilemma. Kenshin had been a picky eater long before this, and thought he tried his best to eat more, it wasn’t easy. The food tasted like ash and blood to him and after a certain point, he just couldn’t force himself to swallow any more or his stomach would rebel on him.
Another worrying thing – one that Kenshin didn’t share with the doctor or Katsura-san – was that his overused ki had been very slow to replenish and even now, his ki-burned muscles felt sore. It was his own problem and compared to the rest of his injuries, Kenshin didn’t think it was much of an issue.
Sadly, there wasn’t anything he could do for the Ishin Shishi or Katsura-san until he was healthy. So in the meantime, Katsura-san took on another bodyguard and ordered Kenshin to recuperate at the Choshuu-patronized inn he had stayed previously, the same one where Ito-san’s men were staying.
He was welcomed back with respectful nods, followed by subtle second looks noting the slight tremors running through his hands, his paleness, and the gauntness of his cheeks.
It stung, a bit.
He wasn’t an invalid! He’d been shot and nearly bled to death, but he was still walking, wasn’t he? The last thing he needed was pity, for fuck’s sake.
If there was one good thing about the uneasy cease-fire back in Choshuu, it was that the Capital had become surprisingly peaceful – for anyone not important enough. The imperial court and political arena were in chaos due to the Bakufu’s shameful defeat. Everyone was vying for favor and busy trying to save face, but all that frantic political backstabbing hadn’t yet come to bother the ordinary folk, or samurai and men like Kenshin, who were waiting at the beck and call of their lords. True, everyone was wary. Things could still go south, but for now, the Bakufu seemed too busy with in-fighting to dedicate much time to hunting rebels.
What that meant in practice… was that for the first time in ages, Kenshin had a lot of free time and nothing to fill it with. He didn’t particularly want to stay in the inn, but most things he usually filled his hours with, such as practicing swordsmanship, were flat out forbidden for him.
So after sitting inside for a couple days, eating as much as he could and resting, he finally had enough of it. Donning his shoddy disguise, Kenshin left for town, bought flowers, and headed to her grave, to spend time with her.
It was stupid, reckless… and altogether just what he had needed.
So despite the danger, Kenshin took to visiting her daily.
He knew the conical reed hat and Tomoe’s shawl weren’t much of a disguise – even in the best case scenario they wouldn’t ward off people’s suspicions for long. Already, people were starting to notice him, and given how bloody Battousai’s reputation was, and how his achievements in battle had merely fed the flames, he really needed to come up with something better.
Part of the problem was that the few options he had tried so far weren’t much of a disguise at all, nor particularly effective at hiding his tell-tale looks. Even when he wrapped his hair in a messy bun at the nape of his neck, the hat didn’t cover all of it. Tomoe’s scarf was so stained, so worn that it just screamed, “look at me, I’m hiding something.” Even when he left it back at the inn and tried passing as an ordinary youth, dressing in his summer yukata and not carrying any visible weapons… well, no one said anything to his face, but he got his fair share of evaluating looks. Worse, given how often he visited the flower vendors or stopped to buy a snack, in hopes that eating outside, and not in front of the suffocating audience at the inn, would make that task easier, the regulars at the marketplace were starting to remember him, greeting him and inquiring after his well-being.
Kenshin was acutely aware how thin the ice was getting.
How long would it take until someone added two and two together and got seven? The Bakufu’s price for aiding Battousai’s capture was still there, up for anyone to claim.
Paranoia driving him, Kenshin began to vary his routes, seeking out other merchants to visit. Kyoto was a large town, the spiritual center of the country, and thus there were several temples and no lack of flower vendors or street stalls selling something to eat or to drink in the sweltering summer heat. All these little purchases were piling up, making his money pouch lighter, but then again – he had been saving his stipend for quite a while. He could afford these little things, if for no other reason than to keep him sane.
Despite his best efforts, Kenshin couldn’t help but feel all these precautions just weren’t enough. But what else could he do to keep people from connecting him to Hitokiri Battousai?
Lady Ikumatsu had once recommended he think what the rumors said and try to subvert them on purpose, to drive people’s gazes away by dressing in a different manner than Battousai ought to.
However, his clothing options were... limited. And even if he could spend money on getting something new to wear into town, what should he buy?
Honestly, Kenshin had no idea.
Most of his clothing was very similar; gray hakama, kimono in dark colors, done in practical cotton or fancy silk. Everything had been picked for work, not for leisure. Come to think of it, had he ever chosen a piece of clothing for himself? What did people his age wear in the streets? And how would that help to protect him from being recognized?
…Gods, why had his life become so difficult?
Kenshin slumped to sit against her grave and buried his face in his hands with frustrated desperation.
If only he hadn’t been so stubborn, things would be much easier now. He groaned, then straightened, eyeing his ragged ponytail darkly. The red shone in the afternoon light like copper tinted with flames. It was so bright, so noticeable, and now that it came down to his buttocks, the sheer length made it really inconvenient. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t hide it under hats properly; some of it always slipped free from his hair ties and tumbled down his back. Despite that, he wasn’t going to cut it.
She had liked it long.
Besides, seeing sunlight was one of the few things he took pleasure in these days, so the sooner he could ditch the hat, the better. But what else could he do to disguise himself?
It was a dilemma, indeed.
Perhaps, it was no wonder that Kenshin turned to Lady Ikumatsu once again for advice.
She was of the opinion that a big part of his problem came from the fact that he didn’t look like a child any longer. Although he was short enough to pass for a boy, he had lost a lot of weight and as a result his features had sharpened, making him look older. Lady Ikumatsu also noted that he had grown taller and gotten broader in the shoulders since the winter. Kenshin didn’t really believe her, but then she boldly wanted to measure his height, and it was true, somehow he had finally passed five feet – if only by an inch.
In a way, it was nice to hear that he had grown.
But on the other hand, it was kinda pathetic, wasn’t it? He was seventeen now. He didn’t have much time left to grow and most ladies were taller than that.
Well, it didn’t help crying over something he couldn’t change. He had been born scrawny, and it seemed that was the way he was going to be for the rest of his life.
However, when it came to his search for a better disguise…
Lady Ikumatsu’s first suggestion was to dye his hair. Wigs used in her work were dyed black and it wouldn’t be difficult to get the color for him. Of course, he would need to keep dyeing his hair every couple weeks, every time his roots began to show. The same went for his eyebrows. If he didn’t want to have ill-matching colors, he would need to attend to those too. Or perhaps he could pluck his brows or paint over them like some geiko and maiko did?
The more she explained her idea, the more hesitant Kenshin became. It wasn’t just how tedious it sounded in practice, but also, what about the moments when he needed to look like Battousai? True, he was on sick leave at the moment, but what if Katsura needed to have a bodyguard bearing the rare and easily recognizable features of Choshuu’s legendary killer? And what about later? When he got back to his duty, he wanted his opponents to know who they were facing, just so they could realize how dire the threat was – that had been the reason why he had let his description become known in the first place!
So really, there was only one answer to her suggestion.
“No,” Kenshin said softly. “Thank you, but it would be better to have a… less permanent solution, that it would.”
“Then…” Lady Ikumatsu hesitated, “Himura-kun, how delicate is your pride?”
Kenshin didn’t know how to answer her. He didn’t think of himself as being particularly prideful, and these days, he didn’t care much what people thought of him. But when Lady Ikumatsu suggested that he either use his feminine looks to his advantage or cultivate foolish and flamboyant behavior to make people dismiss his odd looks...
Well, he wasn’t one to lie, he wasn’t much of an actor and he didn’t have the faintest idea how to go about behaving in a foolish manner, so it seemed he was left with only one option. Admittedly, Kenshin wasn’t too excited about it. He was all too aware how the men he was rooming with would take it, but then again, people had mistaken him for a girl before.
So in all honesty, it wasn’t that much of a stretch.
For the purpose, Lady Ikumatsu gifted him a kimono. It wasn’t exactly lady’s wear, but it came with a wider sash and it was cut with a somewhat closer fit than the kimono he was used to wearing. Men’s clothing was always a bit loosely cut on the chest and stomach, and on him, they tended to sit in a fairly relaxed manner so that quite a bit of his chest was on display. This kimono… didn’t. Or perhaps, it was the wider sash that did the trick?
In any case, it wasn’t a particularly odd look, even if the color was a tad loud: purple background covered with a lighter patterns of maple leaves. Kenshin had seen men wearing such colors before, but on him – well, it did look quite girlish.
So whenever Kenshin wanted to visit her grave, or just spend time in town, he took to pinning his hair up to a messy bun with the comb or plain hair ornaments that Lady Ikumatsu had loaned him. It was fairly easy to arrange the longer strands of his bangs so that they covered the scar on his cheek, and then, he dressed in that silly kimono, the sash tied high. If people mistook him for a girl, a kabuki actor preparing for a role, or an entertainer from Shimabara out on a stroll, he didn’t care.
Though he did carry his wakizashi up his sleeve, for safety and peace of mind.
Not only to defend himself in case things went sour and the Shinsengumi or some other Bakufu member tried to arrest him, but because he was starting to become more and more aware of the admiring glances he was getting.
So no, he wasn’t going anywhere unarmed – period.
What was with people, both men and women, looking at him like that anyway? It made him feel like something unpleasant was crawling on his skin. He didn’t have any interest whatsoever in any sort of intimacy with anyone.
He was hardly functioning, and even now, his heart still ached for her.
The new daytime look was a source of hilarity among the Choshuu men Kenshin roomed with, but because they knew him as… well, one who desired affection from other men, they seemed to think the new clothes and his dabbling with his hairstyle were just part of his quirks, like the old-fashioned speech pattern he insisted on using, or how he slept sitting up.
The saddest thing about the whole spectacle was that it worked. In the following weeks, Kenshin went anywhere he wanted and lingered as long as he felt like in the crowded streets and not once did he notice even one suspicious second glance, nor catch a whiff of gossip about him looking like Hitokiri Battousai.
At the end of summer, Kenshin was finally deemed healthy again and he went back on the job, guarding Katsura-san when required, as well as protecting their men on missions and running other miscellaneous errands. Given how little trouble they ran across, Kenshin was beginning to believe that the revolution was finally coming to an end. That their dream of a new era would come true and soon, there would come a day when his sword wasn’t needed anymore.
He had no idea what he would do when that happened, but the very thought was enough to make his heart feel lighter.
Sometimes, when visiting her, he even dared to speak out loud about these hesitant hopes, about how soon he could finally keep his promise to her – to never kill again.
Oh, it would be a wonderful day.
Then, at the beginning of the ninth month, everything changed – and not for the better – when it was publically announced that the Shogun, Tokugawa Iemochi, had died from a long-standing illness.
After a brief period of chaos back in Edo, the new Shogun, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, was chosen.
The new Shogun didn’t waste time, immediately setting up negotiations for a formal cease-fire with Choshuu, thus ending Iemochi’s desperate gambit, now called the second Choshuu expedition. With the leader of the Bakufu’s failed war campaign dead, the Bakufu managed to save face and began calming down the provincial politicians and the chaos at the Imperial court, to the rebel’s great misfortune.
The new Shogun didn’t stop there; he began to push for modernization, making one capable decision after another for the sake of strengthening the country. Suddenly, the politicians and men in power who had been swaying towards the rebel agenda were stepping back, biding their time – waiting to see what would happen. Many were looking at the new Shogun Yoshinobu as a chance to save the old governmental system and the Shogun’s position as the leader of the country in these turbulent times.
So only a short while after everything had seemed to be going in the Ishin Shishi’s favor and the taste of victory had been on their tongues… they were back to square one.
The dark mood among the rebels seemed universal.
The political chaos affected Kenshin and the men he was lodging with in the northern quarter of Kyoto, too – albeit in a far more personal manner. Since Ito-san had been transferred back to Choshuu for lighter duties, they lacked a direct superior to lead them on missions, assign them duties, handle their pay, and take care of whatever concerns they might have.
Now, they were finally assigned a replacement.
Even Katsura-san was sorry about the choice. “I don’t much care for the man. He is a sneaky weasel, but unfortunately, he has a slippery tongue and he is very well connected among the higher echelons of Ishin Shishi. I could step in, but not without a significant reason. And as of now, Nakamura is qualified for the post.” Katsura-san noticed Kenshin’s thinly-veiled grimace, then added, “But it something happens... If the situation becomes truly difficult, then tell me. I’ll do something about it then.”
There was little Kenshin could say to that, so he merely nodded and let the matter drop. He had fairly thick skin these days and in general, he didn’t care what people thought of him. But to have a man who was petty enough to carry a grudge against him for their past interactions as his closest superior?
How could he not be worried?
Worse, he could read Katsura-san’s cues well enough to pick up on the fact that for some reason, his leader couldn’t protest Nakamura’s nomination to the post without incurring a significant loss. And that was something Kenshin couldn’t ask from his leader, not for the sake of his comfort. Besides, all he had were fears and doubts based on past transgressions. He didn’t know for certain if Nakamura would be as, ah… difficult a man as he remembered him being.
It could very well be that Nakamura had changed, couldn’t it?
And even he hadn’t, Kenshin thought with no small distaste, he could be the better man and ignore Nakamura’s issues and just focus on the job.
Not a week later, Kenshin and the nine other Choshuu samurai he had been living with on and off for over a year were assigned to guard an Ishin Shishi leadership meeting. The attendance was composed of influential men from three domains; Satsuma, Choshuu and the newly joined Tosa. This was not a formal meeting between provinces, but rather an attempt to collaborate their rebel activities. None of the power players, like Katsura-san, Saigo-san, Okubo-san, or Sakamoto-san were present, but instead, this was a chance for their advisors and middlemen working in Kyoto to get to know each other.
As Choshuu was hosting the meeting in the Northern district, it was Nakamura’s responsibility to see to the arrangements and handle the security. Frankly, quite a few of Nakamura’s decisions seemed over the top for such a simple meeting: for example, his insistence on having Kenshin by his side in the meeting room itself. Most people chalked these things up to Nakamura being overly cautious about his new duty, but Kenshin wasn’t so sure.
Nakamura was a man who took pleasure in displaying his power.
And really, sitting at Nakamura’s side, it reminded him far too much of how Katsura-san had often used Hitokiri Battousai’s legend to his advantage. Even Katsura-san pulling stunts like this had bothered Kenshin on some level, but his leader held his loyalty and it was a tactic that advanced their joint cause.
What Nakamura was doing, though… was just pathetic.
But his superior had given him orders and this meeting was of some importance, so he really couldn’t protest. Besides, what difference did it make if he sat inside the meeting room or outside of it? So Kenshin just sighed, and tried his best to ignore the subtle stares everyone seemed to be shooting at his hair and the scar on his cheek, and how after each and every one of those looks, Nakamura seemed to preen in self-important smugness.
It was nearing midnight when Kenshin felt a squadron of defined ki presences nearing their location. No other rebel units were supposed to come near here tonight and civilians didn’t have defined ki like that, which meant that a Bakufu troop was getting dangerously close. Provincial samurai rarely moved in an organized manner like that, the Mimawarigumi wouldn’t be this far outside of their patrol areas… so that left the Shinsengumi.
…And shit, there was the cold, calculating presence he could recognize in his sleep: the captain of the third squadron, Saito Hajime. Kenshin hurried to mask his own ki. With his fingers on his sword’s handle, he stood up and said, “Nakamura-san… we have to leave.”
Everyone turned to stare at him – one could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed his proclamation.
But then, Nakamura demanded, “Why?”
“The Shinsengumi, the third squadron,” Kenshin bit off, tense as a bowstring, his attention riveted on the flickers of ki nearing them.
“Alright.” Nakamura nodded, rising to his feet as well. “Let’s get ready to retreat. I’ll go prepare the men for battle. Himura, you will escort our guests to safety.”
Kenshin stared, his eyes widening in disbelief. But… That doesn’t make any sense! I’ve always covered the retreats! “Nakamura-san,” he protested. “This one would be a far better suited to defend…”
“You’ll do as I command!” Nakamura bit out. “Our guests’ safety is paramount in this situation. You are the best fighter here and the smaller the group retreating, the better chance you’ll have to escape from the ambush! So move it!”
For a second, Kenshin couldn’t do anything but stand there in stunned confusion, too distracted by the anger stirring in the pit of his belly from having his opinion overridden to even protest.
And then, it was far too late.
Nakamura barked orders to the Choshuu men, commanding them to create a distraction so the guests could escape. It was sheer lunacy. Kenshin knew exactly what Saito’s famous squadron was capable of and these Choshuu samurai couldn’t defeat them. Worse, Saito’s group had more men.
Oh, gods! What should he do?
He couldn’t disobey Nakamura, not in front of all these leaders – it would reflect badly on Katsura-san. But that was Saito! One of the best swordsmen in the whole country! No one here but him could stop Saito, not even if they gave it their all. But at the same time, Kenshin had been ordered to escort the rebel leaders to safety and he didn’t have time to argue.
So he scowled and hurried after the escaping leaders led by Nakamura, knowing he couldn’t afford to look back to count the flickers of ki dying out behind him. A helpless anger stirred inside him, a real rage – no, fury. He hadn’t been friends with these men, but they had respected his boundaries and left him alone. Not even once had they treated him like he was an insane murderer they ought to be wary of, either. No, for them he had been just another rebel; a famous swordsman, yes – but also just a little guy who was odd and somewhat quirky.
In a way, those men… had been his comrades.
And now they were dying, trying to do a job that should by all reason and logic belong to him.
What made it worse was that the escape went without a hitch. They didn’t encounter any other Bakufu men. No one was laying in wait to ambush them on their way to safety. Without a single complication, all the guests made it to the safe house and after they caught their breath, they complimented Nakamura for his leadership and excellent planning, before slipping away into the night.
Kenshin and Nakamura were left alone to wait for the rest of their men, pacing like a pair of moody, anxious cats.
In situations like these, it was customary to stay in the safe house and wait for the stragglers to catch up with them, not to double back and try to help. The defenders either made it to safety or they did not. If they died, there was nothing anyone could do to help them, and if they had gotten captured – without backup, it was considered too dangerous to try to take on the Bakufu squadron that managed the feat. Only when they knew there were survivors, could they attempt to help.
Kenshin had never, ever needed to wait for others. He had always been the last one to get to safety and often, Ito-san had walked him back to the inn. Restlessness and helpless rage churned inside him, threatening to break through the thin veneer of calm he was clinging to. He couldn’t afford to lose his temper, not here. So carefully, he settled to wait by the doorway and concentrated on breathing steadily, trying to keep his emotions under control.
His ki was edgy, ready to respond to the slightest stimuli. This waiting, this tension was nearly unbearable.
Nakamura was pacing just a couple feet from him. Sweat dripped from his brow and he grasped his hands tightly behind his back, trying to look dignified, but at best, projected the demeanor of a rabid weasel.
“Where are they? They should be here by now!” Nakamura snarled, turning on his heels once more.
Kenshin exhaled slowly, letting his breath flow through his teeth. His fingers gripped the cloth of his sleeves as he struggled to hold back his instinctive retort. Nakamura was already agitated. If Kenshin projected his own black mood on him, it would help neither of them. Quite the contrary. If they got into a fight now, they wouldn’t be ready to help the men they were waiting for.
But still, for god’s sake, couldn’t Nakamura stop pacing?
Somehow, that single nervous act was wearing on Kenshin’s already shredded nerves like nothing else.
It was bad enough that he had all but known that this would happen when the self-centered idiot assigned to command them had chosen to send their men to the wolves. Such stupidity, and it could have been so easily avoided! If only Nakamura had listened to him!
Kenshin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. I can’t lose my temper, not here. It would just give Nakamura more ammunition against me.
But really, he should have simply ignored Nakamura’s orders. He had known what would happen. He knew their men would lose against Saito’s, and the Shinsengumi wasn’t known for their mercy. Whoever they didn’t kill, they would capture and torture for information, then execute as traitors.
I should have been there, not here.
He could have been out there, buying time for everyone participating in this blasted guard mission to get to safety, not just the guests.
But that Nakamura… why did Nakamura give such a stupid order? Why? What could he gain from killing off most of his men? Kenshin tensed with the weight of realization. What if Nakamura hadn’t known how he fought? Hadn’t known how to use his men to the best advantage? What if Nakamura had chosen to make such a stupid decision again out of ignorance?
“Nakamura-san,” Kenshin started. “This unworthy one covers the retreats. Even against overwhelming odds or the Shinsengumi’s famous commanders, this unworthy one can buy enough time for our men to get to safety, that he can. However, your orders…”
Before he could finish, Nakamura’s face twisted in an ugly grimace, and then he was right before Kenshin, face to face. “Shut up! You may be Kido’s dog, but now I hold your leash!” Nakamura shouted at him, his spit flying all over Kenshin’s face. “You don’t have the right to question my orders, not now or ever! You are just a murderer, a fucking murderer Kido uses as long as he needs to!”
And Kenshin’s temper snapped.
The anger twisting in his guts bloomed into a red hot rage, spreading through him like wildfire. He gasped, his right hand flying to the hilt of his sword, his fingers clenching around it in a white-knuckled grip as his ki exploded around him in a whirlwind of pure energy, slashing and cutting and gouging the floor, the walls, and Nakamura’s outreached hand—
“AAAAAHHHHHHHH!”
The screeching wail tore through the haze of anger around Kenshin, and eyes wide with panic, he panted, the smell of blood fogging his nostrils.
Blood…
Why is there blood?
Nakamura was lying on the floor, screaming and cradling his hand like a dying thing.
What have I done?
The realization hit him like a stone wall dropped on his shoulders. The sheer weight of his mistake struck him, panic flooding his veins. One by one, Kenshin pried his fingers from the hilt of his katana, dread rising at the back of his throat. He had almost drawn a blade on his superior. He had almost killed one of his fellow rebels. Oh, gods.
As if sleepwalking, Kenshin swallowed and took a hesitant step forward, to see if there was anything he could do to help…
Nakamura looked up at him as he sat up, cradling his wounded hand to his chest, his eyes filled with hate. “Insane…” he gasped. “You’re insane! A mad dog! Just like a mad dog!”
—————————————————–
“Kenshin – an incident like this cannot happen again,” Katsura-san said gravely. “I understand you were sorely provoked by Nakamura’s, ah, unthinking words and didn’t actually draw steel against him, but you both were at fault. I have been instructed to reprimand you, and Nakamura, too, has received criticism. He has been instructed to let you cover the retreats should such a situation arise again. When it comes to the rest… this incident will be brushed aside and forgotten, but you two are expected to work together for now.”
Kenshin nodded slightly, hiding his eyes behind his overlong bangs. He couldn’t remember if he had ever felt as ashamed as he did right now, kneeling in seiza before Katsura-san. They had no audience, but this was the first time Katsura-san had looked at him like this, like he was genuinely disappointed.
A soft sigh pierced the silence.
Kenshin bowed low and whispered, “May this unworthy one be excused?”
“I’ll need you as a bodyguard tomorrow,” Katsura-san informed him. “But for now… yes. You are free to go.”
Kenshin rose to leave. He didn’t look up to meet Katsura-san’s gaze. He didn’t quite dare, not after a failure like this. Instead, he simply turned away and slipped his sword into his sash. He was about to pull the sliding door open, when Katsura-san’s voice called after him. “Kenshin. Just be careful.”
The words echoed in his head all the way back to the inn.
There was trouble among the Ishin Shishi, it was plain as day – and somehow, it was tying even Katsura-san’s hands. Who was pushing Nakamura into a more influential position? What were they gaining from placing Kenshin under Nakamura’s command? Why was Katsura-san so wary? Why was he stepping back and acting as if… as if he needed to distance himself from him?
Kenshin bit the inside of his cheek, an uneasy feeling stirring inside him. Were the Ishin Shishi turning against each other now that the Shogun was gaining influence?
When all was said and done, the disastrous clash against Saito’s men had resulted in only four wounded defenders making it to the safe house, and Kenshin had stepped in to kill the Shinsengumi troops chasing after them. The five other Choshuu men had died. It was a black mark on Nakamura’s record that he had let half of his men get killed during his first important mission, but it brought him no other repercussions. It was chalked up to Nakamura’s inexperience as a leader and a lack of familiarity with the men under his command, not as faulty decision making – no, his orders had been considered logical and well-founded.
The death of five men… was just brushed aside and forgotten.
Nakamura would continue to lead the rebels situated in northeastern Kyoto and Kenshin would continue to work under him. Both of them had been reprimanded. The wound Nakamura had suffered to his hand was both trivial and perplexing – because, for all that he had a cut on the back of his hand, most people seemed to believe Katsura-san’s assurance that Kenshin had never drawn his sword.
Besides, it was just a scratch. Nakamura had been screaming out of fear, not pain.
It didn’t change the fact that Kenshin felt miserable about it.
He couldn’t let his anger guide him. She would have hated seeing him like that. No matter how angry he got, he couldn’t lose it, not ever again. He still had nightmares from the Forest of Barriers and back then, he had been angry just like that.
No matter what the future would bring, no matter who he became, how stained and broken… he refused to be that vicious and cruel ever again.
Never again.
———————————
Thankfully, Nakamura backed off Kenshin’s case and became an almost capable leader. Well, in a way. No one seemed to like him and he didn’t have the same deft touch that Ito-san had, but he got the job done. However, whenever Nakamura saw Kenshin, he tended to flinch. And sometimes, Kenshin caught the man staring at him, eyes glimmering with hate and fear.
Kenshin couldn’t help feeling guilty and ashamed because of it.
The Choshuu rebels suffered another major setback that autumn when Takasugi Shinsaku died. Although it had been a long time coming, Katsura-san was in a dark mood for weeks afterward, burying himself in work.
So did Kenshin.
His life settled into an uneasy routine: he would run one mission after another, kill, kill, and kill. He’d ignore the whispers and gossip-mongering among the men, the looks of fear they directed at him… or the looks of desire. He would visit her grave whenever he could, bringing her little offerings and just talking to her.
Yet, it was becoming harder to keep going, to believe in what they were doing. The shadow war that the revolution had become seemed to continue on and on. Nothing ever changed; politicians plotted and negotiated and the situation took one step forward and then two steps back.
Kenshin was becoming a more efficient killer, managing to do the job with less and less effort. These days, he hardly needed to think when he fought – it was enough to rely on instinct and experience. He wasn’t overpowered by grief or shame or guilt. He was always capable of thought, but it was just… the sheer drudgery of the mindless slaughter dulled him.
Maybe that’s why he couldn’t even enjoy duels with brilliant swordsmen like the Shinsengumi’s Saito-san or Okita-san anymore.
Or notice one perfectly obvious problem he’d been having.
“Your form is off, Himura,” the swordsmith, Arai Shakku-san, remarked one early winter morning after Kenshin had gone to replace his sheath once again. “That toothpick of a sword is too slight for you. You need a heavier blade, preferably one that’s somewhat longer too.”
“O… er,” Kenshin stammered, completely flummoxed by the comment.
The swordsmith shot him a grin and motioned to the sword in Kenshin’s hands. “You have carried the same sword the whole time I have known you, but you have grown and your arms have gotten stronger. Say, when did you get this blade? When you were ten?”
Kenshin froze, thinking back. “This one was eleven,” he whispered, eyes wide with shock.
Had it been so long already?
He still remembered it like it was yesterday, the day his master had gifted him this sword. It had been a cherished gift, a sign that Master accepted and cared for him. He had carried it for years, through failures and bad choices, but now…
Kenshin looked down at the sword and drew it from its sheath. The steel was well-balanced, but everywhere on the steel were signs of its age, little hints of how ill-used a weapon it truly was. He took a step back and started slowly going through a kata, just feeling the movements, observing the details.
The katana felt more like an extension of his arm than a sword, but it was true – he was unconsciously adjusting his form to compensate for the blade’s ill-fit. He hadn’t ever really noticed it, but now his stance had gaps, little openings in his form that most wouldn’t ever see. His style was still good and unique and it worked well – oh, he could attest to how well it really worked in action – but it wasn’t pure.
This wasn’t the swordsmanship Master had taught him all those years ago.
Did it matter?
Kenshin sheathed his sword, then considered. “Sir Arai, there is truth to your words, so there is. But this unworthy one… this sword, it was a gift, that it was. It’s been tainted and used badly, but it will suffice for this unworthy one until the madness of the revolution is over, that it will.”
The swordsmith raised an eyebrow.
“Well, do as you like,” Arai-san finally said. “But it’s an unsuitable weapon for you.”
“So it is.” Kenshin nodded. “But this unworthy one won’t taint another blade with blood.” He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, looking away. “When the revolution is over and done with… this one will never take another life. It’s unnecessary for another blade to suffer through this unworthy one’s work.”
“The katana is a swordsman’s soul, so it is.” Kenshin trailed his fingers on his sword’s handle. “This sword... has seen it all. It’s too short in reach, yes. The weight is too slight for this one to attain perfect form in his kata, but it works well enough.”
“Never take another life?” The swordsmith scoffed. “Those are some fancy words for a manslayer. What are you going to do when that day comes?”
Kenshin tilted his face to feel the faint warmth of the winter sun, not bothering to open his eyes. “This one doesn’t know, that one doesn’t. One has no other skills other than swordsmanship, and in truth, that is what he is in his soul: a swordsman. But this one has made a vow. A killer’s blade… This unworthy one doesn’t want one on that day.”
When Kenshin turned back to Arai-san, the swordsmith was looking at him thoughtfully.
Then, suddenly, a real, warm smile bloomed on the smith’s gruff face. “Well, well – we will see about that, won’t we? There are plenty of battles to be fought before that day comes. But Himura, in the meantime, let’s figure out what we can do about that toothpick of yours.”
It was perplexing.
In all the years he had known the Ishin Shishi’s prized swordsmith, the man had always been tense, gruff in both words and manner. The man had never liked him, never hesitated to make his disdain clear, and he had never once offered to do more than what was ordered. Even then, most discussions they’d had came down to Arai-san admonishing him for the bad care of his sword.
But after that discussion, Arai-san willingly offered his help for the first time. He thought over Kenshin’s dilemma, and then finally refitted his sword with a new handle, one that was longer than average, but lighter, so that the balance wouldn’t tip.
To be perfectly honest, Kenshin didn’t know what to make of this development. Arai-san was viewed as something of an odd heretic among swordsmiths because he had designed many unusual, even cruel swords that didn’t fit with what was considered proper Japanese swordcraft.
Kenshin had heard rumors that Choshuu’s current manslayer, a man named Shishio, used one of Arai’s blades that was downright mythical. The rumor mill claimed it could spark fire.
However, despite his hesitations, Kenshin found that it didn’t take long for him to get used to the new handle. Actually, he quickly saw to the heart of Arai-san’s vision. This little change… It was far from a perfect solution as it didn’t change the fact that his sword was far too light for him. Of course it didn’t, his katana had originally been made for a child. But now that he had a couple inches of additional reach, half the problems he hadn’t even realized he’d been having in fights were no longer an issue.
And for some reason, that made Kenshin finally understand that he had grown up, matured. He would never be a large man, true, but he was a man, both in mind and body.
————————————————
On the day of the New Year, Kenshin was again kneeling at her grave. He was wearing that silly purple kimono, but this time, he had pulled one of his lighter gray hakama over it for warmth. It was a cold morning. Water had frozen in buckets and frost had taken over the ground. The snow hadn’t reached the lowlands, but up in the mountains, everything was covered in white, like the nature gods had pulled on a mourning shroud.
Kenshin hated the winter.
Today, exactly two years ago… Tomoe had left for that cursed forest, only to die there in the snow.
It felt like it had happened only yesterday.
And nothing, no matter how many he had killed for the cause, nothing had changed since then. Rebels were still pursued as enemies of the government. He still worked as a bodyguard and helped to protect men in missions.
As had become a habit of his, Kenshin spoke to her. She was his only confidante. There was no one else he could call his friend, no one else to whom he could speak freely. “Love, you forgave this unworthy one, wrote that this one should survive, should continue to fight because it was right. But how could this mad war be right? It just doesn’t end.”
“And this one… this unworthy one is so tired. At times, it feels like he is nothing but a wet rag wrung out to dry. There is nothing left, nothing but killing. This one’s dreams have contained nothing but misery and horror, and every night, they still end with your last breaths. The days are nothing but emptiness, screams, and the smell of blood that clings to this one like a fog. There is nothing left for this one, that there isn’t.”
His eyes falling shut, Kenshin tried to keep breathing, but there was something squeezing his throat. So instead, he clenched his hands on the cloth of his hakama, took a hard swallow and whispered, “It’s never ending. It just doesn’t end. This one… I, ah… I just miss you so much, Tomoe, my love. If you were here, I could handle this. But I’m alone, all alone and it’s so heavy, this burden…”
He inhaled sharply, then let it out.
“Tomoe, I love you. Please! Please… I’m so sorry.”
And the thread holding him upright broke.
He fell down into a deep begging bow; forehead on the ground, hands curled close to his body, seeing nothing, just smelling the cold earth and dirt of her grave. The weight on his chest was overpowering, but he couldn’t cry.
There were simply no tears left in him.
Only emptiness.
————————————————–
“You have been very withdrawn lately, far more so than usual.”
Kenshin glanced up at Katsura-san walking beside him, then frowned. His leader looked exhausted. There was a notable slouch in his posture and shadows ringed his eyes. Kenshin had never seen him looking so tired and worn out.
But then again, they all were.
“This one… is tired of killing,” Kenshin admitted. “The revolution seemed so plausible, so near to success last summer, but now – it’s as if nothing even happened, or so it seems.”
Katsura-san sighed tiredly. “The situation is very difficult, and I can understand your weariness. Yoshinobu took us all by surprise, proving to be a crafty and capable leader. However, not everyone is supporting his reforms. Even among Bakufu loyalists, there is resistance.”
“So there is hope, then?” Kenshin asked.
“Yes and no.” Katsura-san shook his head mutely. “The government is nearly bankrupt and the Westerners are upping the pressure. Even the most ignorant are starting to realize that we need to stand united against them. However, many see our rebellion as weakening the country. Even worse, now one of our staunchest allies, Emperor Komei himself, seems to be leaning towards supporting the Shogun’s reforms.”
Those words felt like nothing less than a prophecy foretelling doom, and Kenshin’s heart skipped a beat, his veins flooding with horror. “Then this all will have been for nothing.”
Katsura-san didn’t answer. His left fist clenched in a white-knuckled fist, his ki moving in dangerous currents.
Silence fell between them.
They walked through the quiet, shadow-cast streets, heading to a safe-house where Katsura-san had been staying for a week. The cold had driven most city-dwellers indoors this late at night. The New Year had been just two weeks ago and for the first time in weeks, Kenshin had been called to escort Katsura-san to a heated council with Satsuma leadership. It seemed that among everything else that was going wrong, there had been multiple incidents of infighting among the rebels. No matter how they tried to get their samurai to collaborate on assignments, it was becoming obvious that Satsuma and Choshuu men didn’t mix well.
They needed to stand together, everyone knew it.
Getting the lower ranks used to one another and unite against a common enemy seemed a great idea in theory, very nice and encouraging for their shared agenda. However, in practice… demanding cooperation from bitter enemies wasn’t easy. So for now, it had been agreed that the Choshuu and Satsuma ranks would be kept separate.
“Have there been any further problems with Nakamura?” Katsura-san broke the silence.
“O… er… that is, not as such,” Kenshin stammered, looking away in shame. His difficulties with his direct superior hadn’t come to violence again, but the man had been getting bolder with his dislike. For the last couple months, Kenshin’s pay had been late. When everyone else got their stipend, Nakamura had acted surprised that he seemed to have one purse too few with him, and there was nothing to be done, so Kenshin just had to wait…
On top of that, Nakamura had developed a habit of hand-picking the most time-consuming tasks for Kenshin, making sure that they always came at the most annoying hours. It was petty mischief, something everyone in the inn noticed. Perhaps, someone else would have protested, or brought the matter up with another, higher ranked rebel, but the fact was that Kenshin was capable of performing the missions and Nakamura was entitled to assign them to him.
So what if he couldn’t manage proper sleep, having to resort to cat-napping whenever he had the slightest opportunity? It wasn’t like Kenshin had managed proper sleep in years, even when given ample opportunity for it. And the pay, well, he hadn’t cared about money for quite some time. He didn’t have much else besides work in his life anyhow. He had no friends, no lovers, no family… it wasn’t like anyone was left wanting because his stipend was late or went missing in delivery.
The thing that bothered Kenshin more, was something he had heard from another Choshuu man, Fujiwara-san. Apparently, Nakamura had been telling some higher-ups that Battousai was insane, his bloodlust making him uncontrollable. It was hardly the first time such rumors had been said about him, but lately, Kenshin had heard similar talk about Hitokiri Shishio. And if their own were talking about manslayers as men driven insane by bloodlust, so that they became nothing but mad dogs that needed to be put down…
Could it mean that he, and any other manslayer – men doing the most thankless job among the rebels – were in danger from their own?
The thought was unsettling.
It certainly didn’t help Kenshin’s peace of mind that those rumors had caused some of the newer men transferred into Nakamura’s unit to avoid him.
True, there were still some of the old crew left at the inn, men from Ito-san’s time. Fujiwara-san was one of them. However, Nakamura had been making sure that all the new guys in their unit came from diverse circumstances and home domains. So far they had guys from Tosa, Bizen, and two from Setsu. These men had only heard of Hitokiri Battousai as a fearsome demon, not as a rebel fighting for Choshuu’s freedom. So perhaps, it was understandable that they were wary of him.
And it wasn’t like it was a big thing. Kenshin wasn’t one to socialize; he much preferred to be left alone. However, he didn’t particularly like to be treated like he was an insane murderer that one needed to be extra careful of. It reminded him too much of the early days.
Shaking his head, Kenshin focused on the matter at hand.
Katsura-san was looking at him strangely, a glimmer of concern in his gaze.
“…There are rumors.” Kenshin said slowly, hiding his eyes with his long bangs. “They say hitokiri should be brought down after they run out of their usefulness.” He hated to bring this matter up with Katsura-san. He knew how much Katsura-san valued him, but at the same time, he wasn’t particularly liked among the Ishin Shishi, or even all that sane anymore. He just… he just needed to know.
The ki beside him stilled, becoming cold as ice.
Shocked by the reaction, Kenshin glanced up out of the corner of his eye.
Katsura-san’s gaze had turned cool, his lips drawn white. “Kenshin,” he said. “If there comes a day when you feel like you cannot do this anymore… come to me.”
Kenshin looked aside.
So, it was true.
———————————
A fortnight later, Emperor Komei died suddenly.
The young prince Mutsuhito was only fourteen years old when he was chosen to ascend to the divine throne as Emperor Meiji.
Chapter summary: They had done the preparations the best they could, but now the war is upon them as Bakufu marches for the Choshuu the second time. For the first time in three years, Kenshin returns to Hagi... to defend it against the terrifying force come to crush them.
Chapter 35 - The Expendables, in which all hell breaks loose.
Read the chapter in AO3, FF.net or below the cut!
AN: Sorry for the delay between updates. There were couple of other projects that took my time during the summer. However, as an apology, this chapter is extra long - so enjoy. :)
Warnings: Violence, bad language and description of warfare
Chapter 35. The Expendables
The less said about the episode with the Mimawarigumi the better, but afterward, even Kenshin had to admit that there was a sliver of truth to the claim that Himura Battousai dropped his pants for Ito-san. The men joked about it relentlessly in the following weeks, but thankfully the talk didn't spread further. In a way, it was their unit's personal gag, and no one else's. Besides, even if no one said anything, everyone knew that the daring return through the town’s mid-morning rush had saved the old man's life.
Not his career, though.
Takahashi’s kicks had broken a few of Ito-san’s ribs, cracked more, and riddled his whole torso with bruises. Worse, Kenshin’s fears were true and the old man had bled internally. The doctor had been of the opinion that Ito-san had only survived through sheer luck and any further excitement or physical exertion would threaten his life. So no one was surprised when Katsura-san dismissed Ito-san back to Choshuu, to handle clan matters back in the province.
However, Kenshin couldn’t help but feel guilty about it. Not just because of his friendship with Ito-san, but also because everybody had genuinely liked the old man. Ito-san was the sort of superior who not only got results, but to whom people could talk freely.
The episode plagued Kenshin’s thoughts for weeks and made Ito-san’s constant lectures about his wastefulness with ki finally sink in. If he hadn’t been so proud, so committed to his morals, he would have listened to Ito-san’s advice. He would have been more careful, more efficient, and they wouldn’t have been captured in the first place.
Yes, it was all his fault. Because he’d screwed up… they had almost died.
When it came to his own health, well, his broken rib was wrapped tight and healing well enough. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of his left hand. The broken skin from the rope burns was still raw, easily irritated, and an infection risk. His attempt at popping his thumb joint back into its socket had been passably good, but the doctor had still wanted to redo it, just to make sure it healed right. Apparently, his stunt could have easily ruined his hand; if it wasn’t allowed to heal right, the joint could either heal too loose or knot too tight. Because of this, Kenshin was firmly forbidden from gripping anything with his left hand, practicing swordsmanship, or doing anything that might hamper his healing.
In a couple days, his headaches and the burning feel in his muscles had faded away on their own. Those had come from ki overuse – pure and simple. Even Kenshin had realized that without asking the doctor. Besides, what could a mere doctor do about it? Nothing. While ki was known among swordsmen, no one else used it internally like Kenshin and as such, there was nothing the doctor could do to help him with it. No, the best he could do was to avoid using ki while he was recovering, unless it was absolutely necessary.
Kenshin had finally begun to understand that he had become overly dependent on using the internal ki-enhancement trick. He could fight perfectly well without it, better than most. True, he wasn’t the fastest or strongest. He was small, his short arms limited his range, and his natural speed wasn’t up to the abilities of prodigies like Okita Souji, but he was still agile and his style was solid, unique. Honestly, he was good enough to handle most fights without needing to use ki at all. So, if he was on the verge of using too much ki, he could easily manage without.
It was a valuable lesson – one that he had needed, if he was perfectly honest with himself.
Unfortunately, the increased tension with the Bakufu and the hurried preparations for the coming war made it impossible for him to take sick leave. So, after only two days of leave, he was back on bodyguard duty, sitting in on meetings as a fancy threatening tool for Katsura-san. As long as he kept his injured hand out of sight, covered by his gauntlet, no one was the wiser and Hitokiri Battousai’s reputation as an invincible warrior wasn’t tarnished. It wasn’t exactly comfortable to sit there with his muscles aching from ki overuse, his broken rib smarting from the slightest movement, the raw wounds and contusions chafing against subtly wrapped bandages, but he tried not to let his discomfort show by distancing himself with his thoughts. He was getting quite good at it, too.
Besides, it was far better to guard meetings than to sit uselessly at the inn. It was better this way, truly. After all, everyone was struggling to prepare for war and he had gone and made himself next to useless with his failures.
Then, at the beginning of the fifth month, Bakufu finally started their march on Choshuu.
It was time.
Kenshin and Katsura rode to Osaka and from there, sailed to Hagi. They had done all they could in the Capital, and now Katsura-san was needed to help with defense preparations and making sure everything went as planned.
And when it came to Kenshin, well…
"Kenshin, the Bakufu’s warships are the key. If we can take them, the Bakufu will lose their courage. Will you lend your strength against them?"
It wasn’t a question, not really. Katsura-san knew his resolve, knew how much he was willing to sacrifice. They both knew all too well how much was riding on this battle.
So he nodded, and that was it – no further discussion necessary.
For Kenshin, sailing was a new experience. He had never been on the sea before and even though it was only for a couple days, he found the trip far more pleasant than riding, if for no other reason than that it didn’t jostle his injuries as badly. Honestly, he had come to the conclusion that if he had to choose, he would take a broken rib over a busted hand any day. Bones were easy enough to bind and keep still, but hands… who knew that trying to live with only one hand was so damn annoying? Since he got the injury, even the most ordinary routines in his life had become troublesome – from dressing, eating, and bathing, not to mention riding one-handed. And still, despite his best efforts to allow it to heal, his thumb joint smarted at the slightest provocation. Annoying, indeed.
Kenshin was pleasantly surprised to find out he wasn’t the seasick sort. It was a huge relief. Especially after he had been forced to watch as a few of the other Choshuu men travelling with them puked over the railing every now and then, or moaned pitifully through the night. What was so off-setting about the swaying of the ship? Why did it affect them so badly? It wasn’t that bad. Kenshin had even been doing kata on the deck a few times a day, trying to get used to the feel of a moving surface beneath his feet. He had even come to enjoy the challenge it set for him. Though, admittedly, he could have done without the audience. Just what was so interesting about seeing someone do basic sword drills? It wasn’t like swords were rare. Every samurai had them and at least rudimentary training to use them.
Or were they staring at him, again?
Kenshin frowned in annoyance and adjusted her shawl a bit higher up around his face, to cover his scar more thoroughly. It the only thing he had taken with him on this journey and he kept it with him at all times. He’d heard some men comment about the color and the beautiful, flowery embroidery, saying that wearing such an item made him look girlish, but what did it matter? It had been one of her most treasured possessions and it was meant to be used. It was comforting. And if Choshuu lost this war and he died – a real possibility, for the enemy force was overwhelming and there were so many things that could go wrong with their plans – he wanted to have her shawl with him when the time came.
She had died wearing it.
She had bled on it, and even now, seeing the stains reminded him of his failures.
Yes, to die wearing this shawl… it was only fitting.
Not that Kenshin exactly planned on dying – it just didn't hurt to be prepared, that was all. Besides, samurai went into battle knowing they were already dead, or so he had heard. Bushido didn't really make much sense to him. He wasn't a samurai, had never been one. But he knew most of their philosophy, etiquette, and mannerisms by heart these days. How could he not? He had been playing the role and living with the warrior caste almost exclusively for years, meeting people and listening to their conversations. Truly, these three years with the Choshuu rebels had changed him.
He would be turning seventeen this summer.
An odd thought.
In a way, he was returning to the only home he had ever known, going back to Hagi with Katsura-san.
Choshuu was where he and his master had spent their winters in his youth. It was the only stable place he’d had, ever since sickness had taken his family and he had been sold to the procurer. What was Master doing now? Writing poetry? Drinking sake? Keeping true to the principles of Hiten Mitsurugi?
Leaning his arms against the ship’s railing, Kenshin frowned in thought. Truthfully speaking, it was only partially true to say he was from Choshuu.
Even now he didn't have the faintest idea of where he had been born. As a child, names hadn't made any sense to him. From what little he remembered about his family and the little village by the mountain side, it could have been just about anywhere in Japan. Well, at least anywhere in the southwest. The procurer's caravan couldn't have travelled that far during the autumn and he knew they must have been heading for the major entertainment districts, which meant Kyoto, Osaka or Edo. Maybe he should take some time to seek answers when all this was over? That is, if he survived to see the revolution come true. It would be nice to pray for his family and ancestors during Obon Matsuri at least once.
Yes, I should do that, Kenshin decided, and tilted his face to meet the refreshing breeze blowing in from the ocean. The sea was vast, unknown, and almost terrifying, but there was something beautiful and mysterious about is as well.
They arrived at the harbor at Hagi the next day, where Takasugi-san and his second-in-command, Yamagata-san, were waiting with four horses. Takasugi-san was looking remarkably pale and thin, almost sickly.
Seeing his friend, Katsura-san frowned.
So did Kenshin.
However, the man in question was jovial and just as energetic as always when addressing them. “Kido-san, glad you are finally here.” He grinned and turned to Kenshin. “And Himura-san, long time no see! I almost didn’t recognize you, boy! You have grown!”
Kenshin couldn’t help but blink at him in puzzlement. Grown? Who? He was as short as ever, wasn’t he? But then again, it had been three years since he had last seen Takasugi-san, enough time for him to change even if he hadn’t noticed any particular difference himself… Thankfully, no one had waited for an answer and his awkward silence wasn’t commented on. Instead, Takasugi-san and Katsura-san had started a lively conversation as they mounted their horses.
They were going to spend the night at Takasugi-san's estate, one of the larger houses in the residential area at the edge of town. However, riding through the streets, Kenshin couldn't help but wonder at how small Hagi had become. He remembered it as a bustling city, full of people and exciting sights. But now, somehow, it seemed old-fashioned, almost frozen in time, and – well, like a tightly packed, poor, backwoods town.
Kenshin couldn’t help but scoff at the sheer ridiculousness of his thoughts.
He had been born in a small hut on a packed mud floor. His family hadn’t had money to buy even the simplest of toys for him or his brothers, not to mention anything finer. And now, he had the gall to criticize Choshuu’s capital? Hah! Truly, living on a stipend and working closely with Katsura-san had made him blind to wealth.
Even now, he was dressed in simplified finery: an expensive, high-quality silk kimono, hakama, and haori in a formal but discreet style. He was dressed far better than the majority of people around him, as was expected of the honorable Kido Takayoshi's bodyguard. He got to eat good food, carry the best armor and weaponry, have the best medical care… meet influential and powerful people, listen to their conversations and observe them. True, he didn't care for material wealth – he never had – but realizing how well things really were for him made him feel somewhat ashamed, and well, humbled.
After a multiple course dinner, they set to discuss the coming war with Takasugi-san and Yamagata-san. At first, Kenshin was surprised to see that Takasugi-san's second-in-command was included in the private meeting. He had thought Yamagata-san too direct, too much a soldier to be interested in Katsura-san’s politics. However, Kenshin was beginning to suspect that Takasugi-san was dying and grooming Yamagata-san as his successor, not only in the Kiheitai, but also in his work with the Ishin Shishi.
Even odder was Katsura-san’s insistence that Kenshin partake in this meeting as well. They were among friends tonight; Katsura-san had no need for a bodyguard. So why would his presence be necessary? Surely no one expected him to comment on the defense plans? He didn’t know anything about war! His understanding was rudimentary at best, born out of a few discussions with his Master as a child and having fought the Bakufu’s squads in Kyoto – nothing that qualified him to discuss the movements of thousands of men!
Yet, despite his quiet protests, here he was, sitting with Katsura-san, Takasugi-san, and Yamagata-san, avoiding the fine sake they had cracked open, trying not to let his awkwardness show.
“The alliance with Satsuma is all but sealed. If we can hold our own, Saigo and Okubo will push the domain officials to agree to a formal alliance with Choshuu,” Katsura-san was saying. “We have negotiated fairly good terms for us, and they have agreed not to join the conflict, on either side. Because of this, the only battle-hardened troops the Bakufu has in the campaign are from Aizu. I managed to encourage the last few straggling domains to stay back, too. So now, the total tally coming against us is about one hundred thousand samurai and their new warships.”
“How many ships are there? How many men can they carry?” asked Yamagata-san, his eyes narrowed intently, “And what about their weaponry?”
“The fleet’s flagship is Kanrin Maru. It carries about sixty men and has twelve cannons on the side.” Katsura-san peered down at his sake saucer thoughtfully, swirling the translucent drink idly. “They have five ships of that caliber.”
“What about the rest of the fleet?” Takasugi-san asked.
“None of this is for certain, but the intel I have suggests they will try to take the islands first.”
Takasugi-san grimaced and spat in a bowl kept by his side.
The slime was tinted red, Kenshin noticed with increasing worry. So the illness was affecting his lungs… damn. Most likely it was the quiet death. Tuberculosis.
"Well, this will be an interesting war," Takasugi-san said finally. "That army is so large that their options for attack are limited. Either they will launch an attack on several fronts, or try to take us by force." He scoffed dryly. "For the first time, I'm glad that Choshuu is such a remote and mountainous piece of shitty land. It's kept us poor and out of the way for centuries, but it will serve us well in this conflict. Where do you think they will attack?"
“They want to crush us, but I sincerely doubt that even the most foolhardy commander will try to attack Hagi straight on.” Katsura-san murmured thoughtfully. “No… they will seek to isolate us, bleed us dry, and make an example of us.”
“So, Suo coastal line it is,” Yamagata-san said decisively. “The main force will attack the Oshima area and march from there. Given how many men they have, they'll benefit from blocking us from outside support by taking the smaller islands in the area as well.”
“Yes, most likely.” Katsura inclined his head. “You have a solid sense of strategy, Yamagata-san.”
“If that’s going to be their plan… they will seek to soften our resistance with bombardment from their new naval arsenal and give their army a chance to regroup after the march.” Takasugi-san nodded, “Yes, it’s only logical. They will seek to demoralize us by showing off the might of the legendary black ships. A weak bastard like Iemochi would love the irony.”
“If they get us running it will save them the confrontation. In fact, I bet they are relying on that – trying to threaten us with numbers and odds, make us desperate.” Katsura-san observed coolly. “But the fact of the matter is that most of their army doesn’t want to fight. They are here out of obligation and duty, not because of sincere conviction. They are armed with old-fashioned weaponry, bows and arrows, spears and swords. More damningly, most of them have never seen war. Samurai these days are mostly bureaucrats, cushioned by hereditary right. When they are asked to fight alongside their rivals, can they put aside their differences? I think not. No, our men have seen conflict, they know how much is at stake – it’s a critical difference.”
Takasugi-san scoffed in amusement, his eyes glinting darkly, “Oh boy, will they be surprised. My Kiheitai will crush them.” Then he hummed and continued more somberly. “The main force at the beach, the warships and their attack on the islands, the Kiheitai could face any one of those – but not all at once. It's a dilemma. Our supplementary samurai and ronin troops aren't as well trained. Should we split our forces and reduce their effectiveness? Or should we make a gamble? And even then, those damn warships are going to be a problem. Going against them will be difficult. We would need to lure them close to the shoreline to sink them with our field cannons, or send men to board them with smaller vessels. However, their cannons are better than ours and those steam engines make them dangerously fast and maneuverable.”
A thoughtful silence landed on them as they took in the dilemma.
Then, Katsura-san glanced at Kenshin and remarked to Takasugi-san, “I was thinking of sending Himura against them.”
Takasugi-san raised an eyebrow.
But before he could say anything, Yamagata-san burst out, “One man? Are you insane?”
Katsura-san gave Yamagata-san a pointed look which stifled his protests and said, “No. I was thinking… attacking those ships with a large force is too noticeable; they would sink our ships before our men could get close enough to board them. However, a small team could attempt to take them one by one under the cover of night.”
Takasugi-san rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then looked aside and poured himself more sake.
However, Yamagata-san was staring at Katsura-san and Kenshin in disbelief, taken aback by the suggestion.
Even Kenshin could admit that Katsura-san's idea was reckless. By any sane calculation, it wouldn't have even the slightest chance of working: five warships, each with twelve cannons and sixty men, against a single team? However, the enemy would be distracted by the battle on the shoreline, and if they could sneak in, it wouldn’t be about numbers anymore. He had fought against horrible odds before, killing whole Bakufu squads alone, and in this case, most of the targets wouldn’t be battle-hardened Shinsengumi or Mimawarigumi, but ordinary sailors.
Finally, Takasugi-san broke the silence, asking simply, “Is Himura that good?”
“Yes,” Katsura-san answered confidently.
Honestly, it felt good to be trusted by his leader, but Kenshin felt the need to mention a slight problem, “The numbers aren’t that much of an issue, that they aren’t. This unworthy one has handled such odd before. However, the same can’t be said for the length of the fight or getting to the ships unnoticed.”
Takasugi-san turned to look at him, seeking his eyes. Then, he nodded, as if he had seen something – determination, perhaps? “Very well,” he said. “’I’ll detach a squad of my best men with you. The Bakufu’s main force will attack in the early morning, so the warships should take advantage of dusk to cover their approach. If possible, you’ll use it as well, to take them one by one through stealth. I don’t expect miracles, but every ship you manage to overtake will be a victory for us.”
Then he turned to look at his second-in-command. “Yamagata-san, you will lead half of the Kiheitai and the supplementary troops against the main force – your priority is to block the passes and flank them at the shoreline. Keep your artillery on the hills overlooking the shore. If Himura’s attack fails, you will need to deal with the ships that get too close.”
“Yes, sir,” Yamagata-san nodded gravely, “but what about you?”
Takasugi-san spat to his side and wiped his bloodstained lips with his sleeve. "I'll take the rest of the troops and ships and stop their attack on the islands."
“But…” Yamagata-san protested.
“It’s not ideal.” Takasugi-san grimaced. “It never is – all our plans depend on their actions. But, this way, we stand a chance.”
The following days were a rush of arranging defenses and gathering troops. The Kiheitai had been mobilized to Suo early on, to set up artillery along the coast and blockades on the roads and mountain passes. The rest of the three thousand Choshuu samurai were organized and ready to march at the end of the fifth month. The Bakufu’s troops were moving at a pace that met their expectations; the attack would come during the first week of the sixth month.
It was fascinating to see how the conversation between friends, shared over sake and a good meal, was the deciding factor behind Choshuu's movements. Katsura-san was widely respected, but he had no grand title, acting more like a spider pulling at strings within the web, influencing other players to dance to his tune.
Kenshin's days were spent escorting Katsura-san, sitting in on his meetings, and trying to look like he actually had some reason to be there. Well, other than being the fearsome "Hitokiri Battosai." Oh yes, the Battousai's legend had reached the province, at least judging by the number of stares and whispered comments behind his back. He tried to ignore them the best he could, but honestly, it wasn’t easy. In a way, he had gotten used to the attention his looks and questionable reputation had attracted in Kyoto because it was fleeting; there was always something more interesting to stare at, such as Westerners, loud and colorful entertainers, or even religious revelers. However, here in the countryside? He stuck out like a sore thumb.
It didn’t help that he couldn’t retreat to secluded spots or try wearing a disguise of some sort. No, Katsura-san needed to use his fearsome reputation to bolster morale, just like before.
It was tiring.
How nice would it be to just be one among many? Just a normal man instead of this celebrity, place on a pedestal for the cause?
Truly, Kenshin missed his anonymity.
However, it had been his decision to let his description become known. If he had just hidden his face, used a hat or a scarf or something, he could still be useful to the cause and get a breather from the fame whenever he wanted. But no, he just had to be a stubborn idiot back then. Not that he exactly regretted his decision, but still…
Then, finally, they got the confirmation from their spies about the Bakufu's movements: the attack was going to come just as predicted. The main force would gather on the Suo-Oshima coast and was expected to attack on the morning of the seventh day of the sixth month.
Suddenly, everything started moving and Kenshin was placed under Yamagata-san’s command, told to get ready to assault the warships.
They rode to the coast together. The Kiheitai commander was in a dark, pensive mood and every now and then, he glanced at Kenshin out of the corner of his eye. Kenshin tried not to let those evaluating looks get to him. Once upon a time, this man had been a friend of sorts, the only man in the Kiheitai who believed in him.
Now… it didn’t seem to be so.
Was it because he had become the Hitokiri Battousai? Kenshin frowned, tilting his head in consideration as he took in Yamagata-san. No, it couldn’t be that. They both understood hard choices, believed in the same cause.
Perhaps, it was because Yamagata-san didn’t believe that Katsura’s mad gambit against the warships could succeed?
...Maybe it couldn’t, but it was the best chance they had.
Katsura-san had given him this task, believed in him, so Kenshin would give it his all. He knew exactly how important winning this war was for Choshuu, for the Ishin Shishi, even for his dream of the new era. Those warships were an important, game-changing piece in this delicate game – they had the power to wreck all their plans if they weren't stopped. So many things could go wrong tomorrow, but the key to victory had been thrust on the shoulders of a small group of Kiheitai soldiers... and himself.
Suddenly, Kenshin had no trouble understanding Yamagata-san’s dark mood.
He swallowed slowly.
Yeah… No pressure.
If you fail, not only will you die – but so will hundreds of men, and there is no telling whether Choshuu can stop the Bakufu after that.
It was well after midnight when they finally reached the coastal hills where the Kiheitai were camping, and even at first sight, he couldn't help but think that the Kiheitai had come a long way since he had been a recruit. Back then, they hadn't been much more than Takasugi-san's vision of a unified paramilitary troop tailored after Western concepts. Now, the Kiheitai was a heavily armed, diligent, and experienced troop, hardened for war in the Battle of Shimonoseki Strait. The boast that they were the best fighting force in the country wasn't just empty talk, but rang true even to his inexperienced eye.
Yamagata-san led him past the tents, down to the beach where a small squadron of men was waiting by two row boats. Fifteen men, all armed with their new Western rifles, wearing Kiheitai uniforms and white headbands.
As they dismounted, the men stood at attention out of respect for Yamagata-san, though quite a few of them shot Kenshin questioning glances. Well, undoubtedly he was an odd sight: small, young, dressed in traditional kimono and hakama, wearing a pale shawl around his neck. Thankfully, it was dark enough that none of them could see the red in his hair.
Yamagata-san nodded at the men promptly and raised his voice, “You might be wondering why you have been taken out of your normal units. Never fear – it doesn't mean that we don't have an enemy for you to fight.”
The joke raised tense chuckles.
Everybody knew the odds they were facing. Even the most foolhardy of men would be unsure when facing the terrifying numbers Bakufu had gathered. A hundred thousand men – that was thirty times more than their forces.
Kenshin stood a few steps behind Yamagata-san, obscured by darkness. Watching, but not really participating. He was a bit hesitant as well. He wasn't good with people; he didn't have the faintest idea about how to break the ice and introduce himself to these men. Usually, he didn't have to. Everybody knew him or about him, at least enough to stay out of his way…
Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option this time. He knew his limits and no matter how efficient he tried to be, facing hundreds of opponents in subsequent fights all on his own was sheer madness. No, somehow, these Kiheitai men would have to buy him time to recover and figure out how to pace himself in the fight. In essence, for the first time, he couldn’t fight alone – he had to rely on a team.
“You have already proven your capabilities to us, each and every one of you,” Yamagata-san was saying. “So naturally, we have set out for you the best reward such honorable service merits: a more difficult task. Out there, the Bakufu has brought along their deadliest arsenal: five modern warships, each with a crew of sixty men and twelve cannons along their sides.”
A stunned silence landed on the group, but then one of them snorted loudly, “Twenty Bakufu dogs for each of us? My, my – Commander Yamagata, you are in a generous mood!”
“You’re welcome, Yasu-san.” Yamagata-san inclined his head as if he was a gracious host giving a gift.
The men burst into laughter, breaking the tense mood that had overtaken them.
It was admirable, in a way, to use humor to fend off their fear.
Yamagata-san continued, "You will use darkness as a cover and row to the warships when they slow down or anchor in preparation to bombard the shoreline and soften our forces, much like the legendary Black Ships. Your task will be to prevent that at any cost. Take those ships one by one, kill the defenders, and make sure they cannot fire on us. I don't care how, simply make it happen. However, if possible, we would like to capture some of those ships. They are valuable tools of war we could use later on."
“So… an easy task: kill the men, stop the bombardment, but don’t sink the goods?” One of the men laughed mockingly, the very same one who had questioned Yamagata-san earlier – Yasu-san? Then, the man grew quiet, shooting an outright glower at Yamagata-san. “It’s a suicide mission.”
“Just about so,” Yamagata-san admitted. “However, you are not going alone. In fact, your job will not be so much about killing the enemy, but rather, creating cover and supporting the real deal. We’ve brought one of our own back from Kyoto for this. You might have heard of him.” Yamagata-san turned to him, motioning with his hand. “Come closer, Himura. Don’t skulk on the sidelines.”
Kenshin sighed but stepped closer anyway.
“This young man here is Himura-san,” Yamagata-san started with a flourish, “but most people know him as Hitokiri Battousai.”
The whispered comments and disbelieving stares directed at him started right after Yamagata-san left. It was to be expected. He was used to such a reaction, Kenshin tried to tell himself. However, there was a certain skeptical feel to their gossip that annoyed him, especially when they saw his tightly-wrapped left hand. True, his left thumb hurt whenever he moved it too much and the joint felt looser than it should be, so he had decided to go for the safest option and had wrapped his hand once more as they waited for the go signal. But why did people feel the need to comment on it? It wasn't like he was an invalid or even injured anymore. His thumb was as well as it could be, considering everything.
Then, all of a sudden, the whispers stilled as a large man, the very same one who had talked back to Yamagata-san, approached him with a dark glower on his face. Kenshin tensed, eyeing the marks of an officer on the man’s uniform and resolved to keep calm. He needed these men's help and support, and if that meant he needed to prove himself to them, he would. He had done so before. Not in a long while, but it was hardly a new experience for him.
Yasu-san – what an odd name, Kenshin noted – looked like a true soldier. His face was weather-beaten and hardened in a manner that made it hard to pinpoint his age: more than twenty, less than fifty. His hair was cropped short, his face was wide, his nose crooked – most likely it had been broken several times, but he also had deep laugh lines etched in his cheeks and around his eyes. There was a certain feel of maturity to his gaze, not in a refined sense, but like he had seen much and was still laughing despite it. His ki was uncontrolled, moving like a vortex beneath a still surface. Ah! A thinker with an agitated temper.
Interesting.
Yet, for all that… it was obvious that he wasn’t a swordsman.
Kenshin’s eyes widened slightly as he took in the details and the picture they formed: this man was not a samurai.
The Kiheitai had recruited peasants, hadn’t it? And given Yasu-san’s brutish manners, his rough speech, the name that everyone called him by even though it couldn’t be a clan name… everything about him screamed “unrefined”. It was an odd thing to notice. Kenshin had fought solely among the samurai caste for so long that he never thought about people’s origins anymore, but this man was a little bit like himself, wasn’t he? Yasu-san, too, must have chosen to fight for his beliefs and done well, despite his origins.
With that in mind, Kenshin exhaled slowly and evenly met Yasu-san’s gaze, trying to bury his hesitations and seem a bit more welcoming.
“So, Himura…” Yasu-san started, forgoing all politeness and addressing him directly without any suffixes, like a close friend or particularly straightforward superior would have dared. “Yamagata said our first priority is to support you while you do the killing. So, what will it be? What do you need from us?”
Kenshin blinked, somewhat taken aback by his brusque manner. “Er… this unworthy one hasn’t really fought together with others before, that he hasn’t. Um, that is to say, mostly he covers others’ retreats, or goes first. However, for this mission, this unworthy one cannot kill so many by himself without respite, that he can’t.”
“Huh.” Yasu-san’s brows climbed up near his hairline. “Well, that’s fair enough,” he agreed non-committedly, but then, his voice gained a slightly mocking quality, “So we will take over whenever you get tired, is that right? Do you have a signal for us, or whatever those fancy words meant?”
“O… er…” Fancy words? I didn’t use any fancy words! Kenshin thought in growing befuddlement. “Ah, perhaps, this unworthy one will go first and when he slows down, your men will take over?”
“Slows down?”
“Er, that’s how this one fights – fast, that’s so,” Kenshin hedged. “Um, unfortunately, it’s difficult to keep it up for long, so that is why this unworthy one needs to take breaks, that he does.”
“What the hell are you telling me, son?” Yasu-san accused, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Kenshin tried not to let the aggressive glower get to him. Most people had never heard of ki. There was a good reason why he never spoke about his difficulties with other men. Even if they tried, they just wouldn’t understand. So he looked down at his hands and fiddled with the bandages. “It’s not important, that it isn’t.” He swallowed dryly. “When it happens – you will see the difference, that you will. The number of enemies is not an issue for this unworthy one; he can handle the odds, that he can. The problem is the length of the fight, so it is.”
“…Alright. I guess we will see your worth out there,” Yasu said, a clear challenge in his tone. His wide brows furrowed in thought and he glanced at Kenshin’s left hand. “What’s wrong with your hand, boy?”
“This unworthy one had to dislocate his thumb some weeks ago. It’s not an issue, that it isn’t.”
“Not an issue? The hell!” Yasu-san scoffed. “Can you even use a blade with that hand?”
Kenshin wasn’t sure why, but something in Yasu-san’s abrasive manner dug under his skin like burdock burrs, so he bit back, somewhat defensively, “It’s fine, that it is. If need be, this unworthy one can handle a blade with it. Would be better if not, but it’s not a problem, that it isn’t.”
"And what's with the "this unworthy one" and "that it is" crap? You trying to make yourself out to be one of those old-fashioned, rich clan brats, boy?"
"N-no…" Kenshin stammered, confused enough by the accusation that his eyes widened in shock and he leaned back instinctively.
“Well, son – I don’t know what those rich lords in the Capital think, but let me tell you one thing. Me and my men will go on this suicide mission and cover your back, but don’t think for a second that your fine name, fame, or fancy sword style is going to merit you any ass-kissing out here. We in the Kiheitai are soldiers. The caste you were born in, your wealth, fame, none of those things are important to us. Only actions matter. So, pretty boy – you will not get my men killed out there, is that clear?” Yasu-san spat the whole speech out angrily and turned to leave, only to shoot one more pointed glare over his shoulder.
On the side lines, some men nearby snickered at Kenshin’s flummoxed expression. “Yasu’s going at it again… Oh man, look! Even the famous Battousai…”
Kenshin blinked slowly. What had that been about? Obviously, he had managed to anger Yasu-san, but… he hadn’t even done anything! Quite the opposite, actually! He had done his best to be polite and accepting! And yeah, he could understand the older man doubting his skills, but Yasu-san had all but accused him of expecting to have things handed to him like some rich clan brat. And what was the problem with how he spoke? His phrasings were a perfectly acceptable way of addressing oneself!
Before he could think things through, a Kiheitai messenger raced down the slope, waving his hands towards the bay like a madman. Whispers and mumbled shouts rose from the group on the beach as a black ship slid into view, slipping past the island overlooking the bay.
….They are here.
Kenshin’s heart skipped a beat, terror flooding his veins.
Everyone in Japan had heard of the black ships. In his childhood, wandering in the countryside with Master, people had talked about them with fear-stained hatred, talking of them as if they were demons out of fairytales. They were impossible to defend against, capable of raining fire, iron, and destruction at the wave of a sneering foreigner's hand.
Objectively, Kenshin knew they were just tools of war, but somehow, at that moment, he understood far more than he had ever wanted why ordinary folk saw them as monsters. It was that bulky, powerful foreign shape, how fast and steadily they moved, uncaring of the currents or wind. It was almost magical. Eerie. Unnatural to the core. A mechanical marvel moving by the power of steam-powered engines, Katsura-san had explained to him once. Though what steam had to do with that eerie movement, he could not say.
More ships followed the first. How could something so large move so fast?
Even at a distance, Kenshin could tell that each of them was at least twice the size of the vessel that he and Katsura-san had sailed on from Osaka to Hagi. In all honesty, he had never seen anything so frightening. He swallowed dryly, trying to calm his racing heart.
…We need to go against those?
The thought made him feel light-headed, like he was in a waking nightmare.
No!
Stop it!
Take a deep breath and focus! he told himself firmly. It’s not about the ships, but the men controlling them. And men… you know men. You know exactly how fragile they are, how little it takes to kill them.
That helped, somewhat. At least, enough so that he could hear Yasu-san shouting, “Alright boys! Let’s get ready for this!” A mocking tone entered his voice, as he continued, “And remember, if they notice us coming – they’ll fire at us. So let’s make this nice and quiet, like ninja out of legend!”
The men clambered to their feet and shouldered their rifles.
Kenshin checked he had everything he needed: both of his swords, gauntlets, her shawl, and yes, his left hand was wrapped properly.
And then, people were getting on the boats. There were two rowboats prepared for them, which meant eight men per boat. Kenshin was hedging which one he should take as neither of the crews looked particularly inviting and the crafts themselves less so: the boats were small and rickety. Just a medium-sized wave and they would fall right over and this early in the summer, the sea water would be still cold.
Urgh… Kenshin wrinkled his nose in distaste. Thankfully, he knew how to swim.
However, before he could decide, Yasu-san was there, looming beside him, “One last thing, boys – don’t shoot until shit pours our way! We need to give our bright star here a chance to shine, don’t we?”
The comment raised guffaws from the men.
Kenshin would have stepped back just to avoid the spotlight he had been inevitably thrust into, but he was too busy gaping, his eyes wandering to Yasu’s arms, thick as tree trunks. Gods, the man could lift him with one hand and chuck him wherever he wanted!
“And you, son,” Yasu bared his teeth, “you’re coming with me.”
And that was that, no matter how much Kenshin wanted to shy away with an ‘eep.’
It surprised Kenshin how smoothly Katsura’s madcap plan worked; they took over the first two ships with minimal trouble. Obviously the Bakufu hadn’t expected the rebels would launch such a fast counter attack. Or, more accurately, they hadn’t thought anyone crazy enough to row next to them in darkness, climb on board and storm the deck, cutting the unsuspecting crew down before they could even raise an alarm.
Admittedly, no fight was exactly quiet – but when they made it on board, the first warships had already opened fire on the shore, making enough noise to drown out a little scuffle behind them.
With ki to speed him, Kenshin hadn’t had any trouble bringing the armed guards down in record time. He had kept Ito-san’s advice in mind and concentrated on efficiency, taking as many as three or four men with a single, lightning fast slash. It was far from his usual style, but served to emphasize Master’s claim that Hiten Mitsurugi was the absolute power in the land, created to pit one against many. Even fighting whole squads in Kyoto hadn’t been like this. In Kyoto’s narrow streets, he’d always had the option of running, forcing his targets to chase after him, then going at them one by one. Here, the enemy surrounded him and came from all directions, not waiting their turn, simply seeing an opportunity and taking it.
Battoujutsu wasn’t a good move for this sort of fighting, so he only used it when there was a sign of hesitation among his targets, a slightest of break that allowed him to flick away the excess blood from his blade and re-sheathe.
After he had dealt with the guards on the deck, he immediately let go of his internal ki-enhancement and let the Kiheitai men take care of the rest of the crew: the sailors, engineers, and gunners below deck.
Frankly, he was glad that he didn’t have to participate in the slaughter of the defenseless.
After only two fights, a familiar throbbing was forming between his eyes. Yes, a breather seemed reasonable at this point. He stood there, close to the railing, trying to keep breathing, in and out, deep but steady motions to slow his racing heart. Close to the shore, a third ship was sliding forward, about to join the first two bombarding the shoreline.
Two down, three to go.
In one word: ouch.
Kenshin rubbed his brow idly, hoping to chase away the flickers of pain.
“I see now what you meant by speed,” a low, rumbling voice commented behind his back.
Huh? Kenshin froze, and turned to look over his shoulder. Ah, Yasu-san. But of course. None of the other Kiheitai men seemed willing to converse with him. He shook off his dazed thoughts, focusing on the present. “Are the gunners and sailors taken care of?”
He had hoped to have a bit more time, just to minimize his trouble with ki… but there really wasn’t any. Soon, the remaining ships would start to wonder why the two they had already taken care of weren’t joining in the bombardment, and worse, with every moment they spent here, people were getting hurt on the shore.
“Just about done, I wager. We should be ready to head to the third ship soon,” Yasu-san rumbled, before pausing to look at him, a strange expression taking over his weather-beaten, wrinkled face. “Say, son… how can you kill like that? That speed of yours, it’s almost godlike. When you go out there and kill, it’s not a fight – you squash them. I mean, I’m a soldier. I have seen killing, damn ugly killing at that, but what you do…” He shook his head numbly.
Kenshin looked aside. It was true, what Yasu-san was saying, and he hated it. He had always hated it. It made him feel filthy, like he was stained with blood. No, worse than that, he was drenched in blood and guts throughout. He gritted his teeth – now was not the time for guilt and regrets.
He turned to Yasu-san. “This unworthy one-“
However, before he could say more, an explosion shook the ship, the unholy racket coming from somewhere below deck. Kenshin grabbed the railing to keep his balance. Shit! Shit, fucking shit! There was no chance in the eight great hells that the explosion had gone unnoticed by the Bakufu ships! And then the Kiheitai men stumbled on deck, scrambling like rats pouring from a tunnel, shouting over each other:
“Gunpowder!”
“The ship is sinking!”
“Fire!”
“Yasu, we need to go!”
Yasu-san stepped past him, tall and unmoving as a massive tree in the middle of a field. “What the hell happened?” he shouted. Beneath their feet the ship shook, the broken support beams groaning, and Yasu-san gritted his teeth. “No matter, we need to go! Let’s go! Let’s go, men! Three more ships to go!”
There was no time to argue. They all knew that the element of surprise was lost, and all they had left was speed. They were climbing down to the row boats when the first cannon fired on them.
It missed them by a few feet, hitting the sinking warship’s side, peppering them with shrapnel and splashing water. Oh, god – they were like sitting ducks out here! Shouts and screams echoed around him. But there was no other choice but to go forward. If they slowed down, they would only give the Bakufu’s warships a better chance to get their aim right. The men he was with were rowing for their lives, panting desperately, their eyes wild with panic.
The cannons kept firing on them.
One after another.
Whenever high-pitched whistling pierced the air, the only thing they could do was pray it wouldn’t hit them.
And the worst, the absolutely worst part was that there was nothing Kenshin could do to help. There was no room on the rower’s bench, no additional oar for him to use. He was the passenger. The one these men were tasked with helping. He could only watch and wait through the nerve-wracking heartbeats, wishing, hoping their luck would continue to hold.
Of course, it wasn’t meant to be.
The next boom echoed out from a distance, the cannonball’s howl piercing the air, and he could see it coming. The world stopped; the mess of noises, shouts, and blood rushing in his veins deafened him, the flickers of ki around him blending into a mess of fear and panic, and Kenshin realized there was no avoiding death.
The cannonball struck, crushing through the rickety rowboat to the left of them, the iron ball bursting through flesh and wood with unstoppable force. People, pieces of them, blood, splinters of wood, and foamy water splashed, knocked back from the force of the explosion and forming a wave that nearly tipped over Kenshin's boat as well.
Oh, gods…
Eight Kiheitai men, half their group – their comrades, they were dead, just like that?
“Keep rowing, you sons of bitches!” Yasu howled. “Keep rowing, goddammit!”
They just… they are dead. Just like that. Kenshin gaped, unable to do anything but stare at the foamy spot, marked by pieces of wood in the water. A single shot, and they, they… Oh, gods.
“Himura! Wake up, son! You need to clear the way! Go, go!”
Kenshin blinked dazedly, turning to look upwards, only to see Yasu looming over him, holding him by the shoulders and shaking him. The soldier’s face was red with anger and he was yelling, his spit spewing everywhere. Yet Kenshin couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t make out the words – couldn’t focus enough.
Then, all of a sudden pain bloomed in his left cheek, echoing down to his jaw, and Kenshin gasped, the world aligning again. Fucking hell, the bastard had slapped him! He jumped to his feet, snarling, “You fucker!”
“Can it, son, and move!” Yasu growled, grabbing him by the neck of his kimono and hauling him forward, pointing him towards the deck. “They are on to us!”
The warship was just in front of them and the Kihetai men were slinging ropes to board the ship. The Bakufu’s men were on the railing, shooting at them or cutting through their ropes.
They were fucked if they didn’t move now!
Another rope was thrown and Kenshin focused his ki, felt the coldness spread through him, and dashed forward, running on the rope and then climbing on it like a squirrel. The Bakufu samurai nearest him didn’t manage to cut it, not before he was dead, his head separated from his body with one clean quick draw. Another man charged. Too slow, he too fell from a single strike and then Kenshin was on them, slashing his way through, clearing the way and defending the railing. The throbbing behind his eyes was growing, becoming deeper, more urgent with each passing second. His muscles were starting to burn, his breath came faster, but it didn’t matter. Kenshin gritted his teeth and killed.
Clean strikes, one, two, and three; feel your opponent’s moment of hesitation – use it to shake off the blood and re-sheathe.
Quick draw, and again.
He was a whirlwind of death and destruction, cutting through anyone who came at him, killing and killing. He couldn't even tell how many lay dead at his feet; body parts, blood, and entrails covered the deck and made it slippery, but then there was no one else coming at him. The throbbing behind his eyes had turned into a terrible ache and finally, he let go of his ki. His knees wobbled under him, his stomach lurching with nausea, but he stayed on his feet through sheer force of will.
Behind him, the six remaining Kiheitai men and Yasu were shouting something, holding out their rifles – no, shooting over the railing?
But why would they…
Oh.
The fourth ship was gliding towards them.
…But this ship wasn’t taken yet! There were still men below deck, and the cannons weren’t disarmed, and–
“Himura! Move it!” Yasu shouted. “We will take over the helm, but you need to take care of the men below deck!”
Kenshin swallowed dryly, trying to force down his panic – then, he ran.
It was dark below deck, the oil lamp light a stark change from the darkness of dusk. He felt like he was submerged in another world, the chaos above deck morphing into something unrecognizable, the odd, almost suffocating smell of smoke, fire, gunpowder, and sweat taking over his senses. The humid warmth around him swallowed him, disgusting and overpowering.
A scream rang out close by and then, he was not alone on the staircase.
A sailor charged at him, trying to drive a knife into his gut. He saw it coming. He did. But his headache was spiking, nausea brought on by pain, exhaustion, and the horrible smells was making him feel wobbly… Gods, how was he supposed to use ki like this?
Simple: he couldn’t. There was no way.
At the last possible moment, Kenshin grunted and twisted sideways, dodging the strike by the skin of his teeth, and stepped behind the sailor, slashing his throat open from behind. The man fell to his knees, trying to cradle his gaping throat in vain, blood gushing out in torrents, painting his chest red.
Kenshin stepped past him, flicked the excess blood from his sword, and sheathed it.
A group of presences was nearing him, a blurred mess that amounted to three or four men, he wagered. The corridor was narrow, and worse, the ceiling was so low that he didn’t have any room to jump or maneuver in the air. His katana would be next to useless in conditions like these. He dashed forward past the hallway into the wider space where gunners and sailors had been preparing their defense, drew out his wakizashi and attacked.
There was no time to think, no time for regrets or guilt. He danced on instinct and carefully honed reflexes, letting his training and experience take over. He was slower, weaker than he was used to. But these men, they weren’t any better than him; they were specialists, sailors and gunmen, cooks and galley boys, men and youths who knew little of swordfights. Once upon a time he would have abhorred the thought of killing them, but in this one endless moment, there was nothing but us versus them – the knowledge that if he showed mercy, he would die. So he used his agility to his advantage in the limited space, reading their projected attacks and dancing around them, jumping, rolling, twisting, and somersaulting away from their daggers and blades of variant lengths and even a few bullets fired from handguns.
One by one, the flickers around him died out, the wall of enemies dwindling down to few terrified men standing on a floor riddled with corpses.
Kenshin was sweating like a pig, desperately panting for breath, trying to gauge which of his targets would attack next… when a terrible crash hit the ship, swaying the hull worse than any earthquake. As luck would have it, he was close enough to a wall to lean against it, and he stayed on his feet through the tremors. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the remainder of his targets, and when the worst was over, he was on them, ending their struggle with a cruel efficiency: a single stab to the heart or throat.
He wasn’t exactly sure what had struck them, but he had a good guess. And if he was right, the Kiheitai men couldn’t handle them on their own...
He exhaled softly, focusing on the swarm of ki presences flooding the deck.
…For fuck’s sake.
He ran.
The fresh sea air burned in his lungs, but he gulped it regardless, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of a couple dozen guardsmen attacking the Kiheitai men, surrounding them with six to one odds. Yasu and his men had no chance, not without him. Kenshin didn't even hesitate before digging deep into the flow of ki inside him, gathering and pushing it down his limbs. The pain flared, just like a warning sign from hell. He didn't care. This wasn't going to kill him. It was just pain and he knew pain, he thought with reckless abandon, chanting in his head: you can do this – if you focus enough, you can ignore anything, pain, nausea, the color show in your eyes, can't you?
And then the world slowed to a halt and he was dancing among the enemy.
Strike, dodge, look for the path, get between them, and cut through all three!
Good!
Feel the flicker behind you, turn around and parry, slice his belly open. Ignore the slippery mess. Let his friends be enraged by his pain and attack you at once, then you can get them at the same time!
Don’t think! Flick your wrist, sheathe your blade, and draw again!
Yes, just like that – let your strikes flow.
One, two, three, and four.
Don’t mind the pain, it’s your friend. It shows that you are alive and as long as you live, you can fight.
Notice how he charges at you, yes – good, just like that. Slide under his attack, grab your wakizashi with your left hand and stab him through the underside of his jaw.
Don’t mind how your hands shake, how your muscles burn. It just shows that you are alive.
Just keep breathing…
And kill.
Then there was no one bearing Bakufu colors left. He let go of his ki, feeling nothing but the painstaking numbness of hanging on by a thread, fighting for survival. His legs felt like they were made out of sticky rice and he wobbled forward, not sure why staying upright seemed so very difficult. Yet, he couldn't stop now. There were still remaining enemies on the fourth ship's deck, the one that had collided with them, and even if the Bakufu men were hurrying to retreat, they were still a threat. If they got some distance, how easy would it be for them to open fire and sink the ship Kenshin and Yasu's team had struggled to overtake?
No, for them to survive, the remaining ships had to be taken care of. The guys on the shore, fighting against the Bakufu’s main force, depended on the success of this mission.
Kenshin ran.
A bunch of boarding hooks and ropes that the Bakufu had slung to board them were still tying the two ships together. One of them in particular grabbed his attention: a rope, hanging from the fourth ship’s mast, the free end hanging loosely between the ships. He didn't think twice before jumping towards it, his sword at the ready – but when he grabbed the rope with his left hand, he realized his mistake a second too late.
Momentum and gravity worked in his favor as he swung forward, but the rope kept slipping through his grip, tearing at the skin of his palm, his weight too much for his injured hand to hold. By some miracle, he managed to cross the gap, but the enemy was there, firing on him and the enticing target he provided. The shots echoed all around him and suddenly, it felt like someone kicked him in the stomach, pushing out all the air from his lungs.
He gasped breathlessly, gripping the rope even harder by instinct, trying to land in a good spot – but it was too much; his thumb popped out of its joint. For fuck’s sake! His fall was anything but smooth, but he was right where he intended to be and that was all that mattered. Drawing on his ki, he fought past the terrible burning pain that flared in every inch of his body, narrowed his eyes to look past double vision mirages, and climbed to his feet. He felt the flickers of ki around him, saw the blurry figures and knew he had to kill them. There was no other way.
He charged towards them, slashing through them like a drunken rice farmer swinging a scythe. There was no time for elaborate kata, for fancy acrobatics – no, all he had was the speed and strength that ki-enhancement brought him and his pig-headed stubbornness not to give up.
Then there was only one last man standing, cradling his rifle in his arms like a talisman to ward off evil. “Demon,” he gasped, staring in utter horror at Kenshin’s mid-drift. “You’re a demon. No man could…”
Kenshin grimaced, a sick parody of a grin. What else could he do? It was what he was, and he had no choice but to kill them all. He cut the man in half, rifle and all, before throwing his head back and laughing breathlessly. Oh gods, the pain! The burn! Was this what the fires of the eight great hells felt like?
...But what was the wetness running down his thighs and stomach? Surely there was no water in hell?
His irreverent thoughts were interrupted by a feeling like nothing else, a deep, piercing stab radiating everywhere from a tiny spot on the left side of his stomach. He pressed his right hand there in dazed wonder, feeling it become slick with blood… and then, his legs gave out under him and he saw nothing but darkness.
He woke to a terrible ache, feeling like he had died and been slung out of hell after the demons had chewed on him for a while. Gods, he hurt. There were two ki presences near him, engaged in a low-voiced conversation. They didn’t feel exactly familiar, but neither did they feel threatening – and case in point, he was still alive.
Or, at least, he thought this was still the living world.
“They are backed into a corner now,” the first voice remarked. Pleasant tone, if quite unremarkable, could belong to any guy in his twenties. “Problem is; they have barricaded themselves down there. They have enough gunpowder to blow up half the ship if they get desperate, but they want that outcome as little as we do, so I’d wager we can keep them busy for hours.”
“And by then, we can get reinforcements,” a low, rumbling voice finished for him. “Well done, Yu.”
"Eh, don't thank me. It can still go badly – not to mention, I don't like how the battle is turning out on the beach," the younger man, Yu, remarked, before continuing in a quieter tone. "I feel bad about the boy, though. Hard to believe he became the Battousai. You know, last I saw him, he was a real cute kid."
“…What are you talking about?”
“It was before your time, all the way back when Takasugi was just founding the troop. About three years ago? I was recruited then, but that boy was there, too, and he was already brilliant with a blade,” the younger voice explained. “So, how is he, really? Do you think he’ll make it?”
There was a low groan, heavy footsteps creaking on the deck, and then someone slapped him on the cheek. Kenshin whimpered but managed to open his eyes in slits, just enough that the large shape before him cleared into the unrepentant form of Yasu.
“Ha! Well, this is a surprise – the boy’s still alive.” Yasu let out a breathy chuckle, glancing over his shoulder to his companion. “Can’t say for how long that’s gonna be, though. That’s a bleeder right there in his gut. I packed it good and wrapped it, but it needs stitches desperately. Thank god he had that silly scarf with him.” Yasu snorted. “I swear, at first I mistook him for a shy girl hiding her face behind it, but it sure worked as an emergency bandage.”
Kenshin took in a deep, ragged breath, trying to get the world back in order. The conversation above him didn't matter; he just needed to fight past the burning pain, the disorientating headache, the color show in his vision.
“I see,” the younger man said. “How’s your leg?”
Yasu guffawed. “Oh, it’s just peachy. Ain’t good for much, but it won’t kill me either. Say, Yu… are my eyes deceiving me, or is that last black ship moving?”
“Hmm, I think so,” Yu murmured. “I’d say it’s heading for the first ship we dealt with.”
“Fuck.” Yasu summed up all their thoughts. “If they can rearm those cannons, they’ll have two fully operational warships right there. Yamagata’s reinforcements haven’t boarded it yet; no doubt they are all tied up defending the shore. That whole beach is in chaos, there’s no telling if we are winning or losing… but I’d hate for the Bakufu to turn the tables now with another set of cannons.”
Yu hummed softly. “I wouldn’t worry about them getting the first ship back in working order any time soon. Me and my boys spread their gunpowder all over the lower deck, smashed any delicate parts we could find, and I took personal responsibility for wrecking their steering.”
"Yu…" Yasu said slowly. "Have I ever told you I love you and your dastardly ways? A former monk or not, you have an evil streak a mile wide."
“I do, eh?” the younger man huffed. “I might have heard that once or twice.”
Kenshin coughed and pressed his hand against his bandaged mid-drift, and hoping that pressure would ease the pain, he struggled to sit up. “The last ship?” he rasped, looking up at Yasu and his companion.
Yasu laid a massive hand on his shoulder, looking at him with the strangest expression. “It’s a lost cause, son,” he said gently. “We did good, but we can’t finish the job.”
The words stung.
They had come this far, and yet they could still fail? The last ship was still fully operational, it could just as easily come for them directly and take over this ship, and then what? They would just roll over and die? No, there had to be something they could still do. Something. Anything. Kenshin took a deep breath and grunted, sitting up, leaning his back against the railing and ever so slowly, gathered his legs underneath him. He felt weak as a newborn, but somehow, he managed to stand and turn against the railing, to see for himself.
The last warship was gliding slowly towards the one they had stopped near the island, overlooking Oshima bay.
A threat.
With the last ship still in the game, Yamagata couldn't send reinforcement to take over the ships they had worked so hard to neutralize. Worse, that warship was still fully operational, capable of causing terrifying damage to the ground forces on the beach. Their cannons were far superior to the field guns the Kiheitai had set on the hills…
Kenshin gripped the railing, racking his mind frantically. There had to be something they could do, but what?
How could they disable the last warship’s cannons? Even if he could magically transport himself to the ship, he had no chance of killing the crew, not like this... but wait, what had that Yu said about steering? Kenshin frowned, thinking; a ship was still a vehicle, obviously it had to be controlled from somewhere.
“Yasu-san,” he began, “is it necessary to overtake the last ship? Could we direct it to hills, to our field guns?”
The older man’s eyes narrowed. “Son… what are you talking about?”
Kenshin leaned his weight against the railing and turned to look at the two soldiers. “Finishing the job,” he said simply, his determination shining through. Katsura-san had given him this one task, trusted it to him. He couldn’t fail, not when so much relied on them neutralizing the Bakufu’s new warships. No, for him – failure wasn’t an option.
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, clenching his hands tightly. His useless left hand flared with pain, his loosely lurching, swollen left thumb throbbing miserably.
Even if he knew how, rowing like this would be impossible. Could he jump into the water and swim there? He snorted bitterly, trailing his left hand back to his bandaged stomach. Even if his wound was packed and wrapped tightly to stifle the bleeding, he remembered the last time he had taken a swim while injured. He had nearly bled to death before he’d noticed anything was wrong.
Yet, what did it matter?
His pain, his guilt and shame at being useless, even the impossible odds they had been handed, what did those matter? Not a damn thing, because… "Choshuu is fighting against impossible odds. Not just us, but everyone we know. We were given this one task, a key to victory," he hissed, low and angry. "We can’t give up now.”
If they didn’t get this done, Choshuu’s chances to defend against the Bakufu’s main force would be even worse. No, as long as there was still breath left in him, he couldn’t give up. This war was where his dreams for the new era would soar, or be crushed. If they won here, the revolution could happen. All the lives he had taken wouldn’t be for nothing…
I have already failed so many times. I can’t fail again. I can’t.
A low, hacking – disbelieving? – laugh tore him from his thoughts. “Son, you really think you can do it? If you get there, can you do it?” Yasu asked.
Kenshin met those dark, skeptical, and angry eyes that had seen so much and still had the capability to mock anyone, no matter their fame or status, and inclined his head.
“Yu, can you hold the enemy pinned down below and keep this ship under your control?”
“Yes,” the younger soldier nodded.
Then Yasu turned to Kenshin and his mouth widened into a smile, not a nice one – a chilling, eerie smile that promised pain and death. “Son, I may not be of much use like this.” He motioned to his injured leg. “Hell, I think you are a crazy piece of shit for even wanting to try. It’s suicide, plain and simple, and practical men like me know there is nothing heroic in death. But you are right – that damn ship is a threat. So the least I can do is row you there.”
A million things racing through his mind, Kenshin stared, but in the end, there was only one answer to an offer like that – he nodded, sealing their agreement.
They didn’t have time to waste; dawn was coming fast and with the rising sun, their chances of getting to the last ship would plummet to hell. The warship had anchored near the first ship they had taken, far out of the reach of Choshuu’s field cannons. They seemed to be busy, boats going between the ships, both decks bustling with crew members scurrying back and forth. Given their inattention, there was a good chance they wouldn’t notice anyone approaching them from the open sea.
With his busted leg, Yasu had trouble climbing down to the rowboat they had left tied to the fourth warship’s side.
Not that Kenshin had it much easier – his left hand was next to useless, and each and every movement send a wave of throbbing pain from his abdomen. He was acutely aware how her pale blue scarf was getting more and more soaked with his blood.
The first thing he did as he got to the boat was to sit down and try moving his swollen thumb. It kept aching in the most annoying manner. Ah, of course – the joint was badly aligned. He held his breath and pulled. The joint lurched, dropping back into the socket. Yes, that was better. Strange, how easy such a thing was to do now. It didn’t even hurt that badly, not compared to the rest of his pains.
Judging by the look Yasu gave him, the older man thought he was out of his mind.
Maybe he was.
It would certainly explain some things. Kenshin sighed softly and leaned backwards, taking advantage of the moment of peace to redo the wrappings around his left hand. He had a bad feeling that his thumb would never heal quite right, but at this point, he just needed to do his best to get the joint up to handling some stress. At least enough to handle climbing…
Yasu rowed forward at a steady pace, his massive arms bulging with each pull on the oars. There was no hesitation, no fumbling in his movements. Right here and now, he looked like the lord of his domain, calmly going on a stroll.
It was remarkable.
How could a mere farmer be so at peace with himself, with his decisions? Was there no fear in the man?
The warship loomed ahead of them like a quiet mountain. Quiet and insignificant as a pair of mice, they approached it from behind. Kenshin tried his best to feel out the presences on the deck, but his ki was acting strange, edgy. It was difficult to sort out the mess of untrained flickers, especially when they felt so hurried and stressed. Adding to the general air of confusion was the fact that the ship hadn’t anchored yet, but the engines weren’t on either.
Kenshin signaled Yasu to pull up near the back, close to the engine ports.
The older man cocked his brow, but didn't comment – he merely threw the rope over the railing. It landed with a loud enough clatter that Kenshin swore his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. He held up his finger to his lips, struggling to mask his ki as well as he could into something that resembled the blurry presences of the crew, but no one came to check the noise.
Alright. He exhaled slowly and began to climb. It was hard work, made much more difficult by his injuries and general exhaustion. Worse, he couldn’t afford to make noise – surprise was the only advantage he had at this point. If he lost it, he would be dead, and so would the man who had helped him get here. So he kept pausing, gritting his teeth and hissing whenever his wounds smarted.
Finally, he was over the railing, near the massive exhaust ports for the steam engines. Just across him, men were gathered to watch the battle onshore – their attention riveted by the spectacle and the cannon roars echoing on the horizon. Kenshin withdrew from sight, noting their agitated pacing and their hushed, low-key arguments.
If there was one mixed blessing, it was that they didn’t seem to know how the battle was going any better than he did. So, Choshuu was holding its own – at least enough to keep the Bakufu guessing, too.
Kenshin swallowed, then sneaked forward, sticking to the shadows.
Every now and then he paused, waiting for the crewmembers or guards to pass him by, but as he was trying to sort out the situation, his attention kept being drawn to a cluster of presences, flickering temperamentally – inside the cabins? Could that be where this beast of a ship was steered from? Following the suspicion, Kenshin noted the people nearby and when they weren’t looking his way, slipped around the corner and into the hallway. The nook was out of the direct line of sight from the deck, giving him cover as he stopped to listen by the door.
“We must continue to bombard the shore! Our artillery can still bolster our armies in the battle!”
“Are you insane, General? The rebel dogs have already attacked four of our ships! We must immediately set out to assist them!”
“You are both right – but for now, our priority is to rearm Kanrin Maru’s cannons. With two ships, one can act as a sentry against rebel ambushes, while the other attacks.”
“But Katsu-san… the damage the rebels did to the Kanrin Maru, can we even repair it on such short notice?” the second voice questioned, disgruntled.
It seemed that Kenshin had found exactly what he was looking for, but he couldn't help but feel slightly taken aback. What did it mean, if even the commanders of this weapon of war were confused by the situation?
No, don’t stop to think about useless things, he told himself firmly, and took a deep breath, reaching for his ki – only to pause midway. Being this close to his limit, could he risk it? The answer was obvious. For now, it was better to save the internal enhancement trick for when he had no other choice left. Besides, there were only three men inside. He could handle three. Or so he hoped. Steeling his nerve, he took hold of the strange knob on the door and slowly tested its range of motion: pulling didn’t budge it, but twisting did – so strange, these Western inventions. The door opened and he ghosted inside, trailing his good hand on his sword, readying himself to draw. The commanders were in such a deep argument that they hadn’t noticed him yet.
Three men, each of them wearing uniforms with varying amounts of fancy decorations that no doubt held some meaning to them. A tall youth stood right across him, facing away from him. A sour looking older man was on his left – the same one who had argued about continuing the bombardment? And on the right, a short man who both of the others seemed defer to regardless of his modest, efficient garb.
For this ploy to work, Kenshin only needed one man with authority. The other two would be an unnecessary complication.
Given the narrow space, his katana would be too cumbersome a choice – so he took hold of his wakizashi, soundlessly slid it out of its sheath, and quick as lightning stabbed the tall youth in the back. The other two shouted in alarm, but Kenshin was already on the move, pulling his blade free and stepping around the dying man to attack the older general. The man tried to punch him, a feeble, desperate strike that was easy enough to predict and Kenshin sidestepped it, cutting the man’s throat with single, efficient slash.
And then, there was only one.
The short man, the one the other two had deferred to.
Kenshin stalked closer, pointing his blade at the man, and said softly, "This unworthy one doesn't wish to kill you – but he will, if you don't give in."
“So I see,” The man said softly, meeting his eyes fearlessly. He held out his hands in surrender, but his gaze was remarkably shrewd, even calculating. “What is it that you want from me, then?”
“To direct this ship towards the shore.”
In silence, they stared at each other: a commander of one of the Bakufu’s brand new Western warships and a beaten and exhausted rebel assassin. Kenshin couldn’t tell how long the tense moment lasted, seconds or minutes. He couldn’t even tell if the captain realized how desperate a gamble this truly was for him, but then – the man dipped his chin and said, “I will do as you say, but only if my men can leave the ship.”
“When we get moving, your men can leave whenever they want; to retreat or to join the main army if they so wish,” Kenshin countered easily, a tight knot at the pit of his stomach uncoiling in private relief.
However, before he could continue, an uncontrolled and agitated presence neared them, a remarkably familiar presence at that. Kenshin paused in disbelief, unable to believe his senses, but then the door burst open and Yasu stumbled in, limping heavily as he dragged along a Bakufu man in a chokehold. His massive arms bulged, his captive ceasing his struggling as his face turned red from lack of air. With an ugly grunt, Yasu dropped the man to the floor like a rag doll and stepped over his prone body.
“What the hell are you waiting for, Himura?” he growled. “I’ll hold them off, just get us moving!”
Kenshin couldn’t do anything but gape at him for a moment, completely speechless. The last thing he had expected was for Yasu to follow him! But somehow, he didn’t know how, he managed to shake off his surprise and direct his attention back to his captive.
The Bakufu commander sighed. “Don’t you have any idea what it takes to get a warship of this size moving? No, of course not, that would be too much to ask, wouldn’t it?” he grumbled. “You know, I can’t do what you ask by just pushing a button or twisting a knob. At the very least, I need to give commands to the engine room.”
“Then why aren’t you doing so already?” Yasu bit off.
But Kenshin held up his arm at Yasu, looking pointedly at the captain. “Is this ship worth your life? Worth your men’s lives?” he asked, his voice soft as a whisper and twice as cutting for it. “If I have to, I’ll kill every single one of you to neutralize the threat this ship poses for us.”
The captain paused, his eyes widening slightly. “You really would, wouldn’t you?”
"Yes," Kenshin said, dead serious.
His hands shaking slightly, the captain took hold of an odd device, a metallic cone, and shot off a row of commands in an incomprehensible language into it. Kenshin had no idea what was said, but there was something in the Bakufu captain’s manner that told him the man was worth his word, at least to a point.
The ship started moving and if he wasn’t entirely mistaken, the direction was about right.
He nodded at the captain, motioning with his sword for the man to step aside. Yasu limped to the control table and using his rifle butt, started to wreck havoc on the delicate instruments on it. With each strike, each clang and spark, the Bakufu captain flinched, as if it physically pained him to see a lumbering giant violate his fancy ship, yet he didn’t otherwise protest or even let his face betray him, even if his ki was flaring in helpless fury.
It was almost admirable, yet Kenshin couldn’t afford to pity the man.
He was starting to feel increasingly light-headed, slight tremors running through his body. The loud noises of Yasu’s wanton destruction were making his headache worse. Quite honestly, he couldn’t say if he had ever felt quite as sick as at this moment. Something wet was trailing down his stomach, towards his inner thigh. He was quite sure it was blood. Had the scarf binding the bullet wound in his stomach loosened, or had it just soaked through? At this point, the only thing keeping him standing was the knowledge that this ploy would only work as long as he could look threatening.
With all the control table’s instruments destroyed, they had no way of telling where they were going. Had the captain pulled one final heist, ordering them to head for the sea instead of the shore?
The silence was nerve-wracking.
At a distance, the crew members’ ki presences were becoming more and more stressed, almost panicked… and then, someone was beating on the cabin door, howling, “Commander! Generals! What is happening in there? Where are we going? What is our task?”
The Bakufu captain glanced at Kenshin expectantly, but Kenshin shook his head and made a cutting motion to his throat. The message was clear: shout and die.
The captain paled.
“Commander!” The man at the door shouted again, even more distressed. “Answer us!”
But then another voice cursed, “Shit! Is that blood?”
“Oh fuck, it is!”
"Help! Someone has taken over the commander's cabin!" they screamed, and began to slam the door with all their strength, trying to push it open.
Yasu rushed to hold them off, leaning all his bodyweight against it to keep it from coming off its hinges. The cannon fire from the beach was becoming louder, more pronounced, but even that was a vain comfort against the growing feeling of entrapment. Yasu grunted desperately, snarling at him, “Fuck it all to hell! You’ve killed us both with this stunt, son!”
A terrible crash echoed around them, the ship shaking miserably as it took a direct hit – enough to shake off Yasu’s bodily barricade, causing him to stumble and fall. Faster than Kenshin could register what had happened, all hell broke loose as the door burst open and Bakufu soldiers stormed inside. There was no thought involved, merely desperation and instinct as Kenshin dipped into his waning ki and attacked, slashing into the wall of bodies pushing inside. Blood splayed, howls filled the air, and there was nothing but chaos, far too many things going on at the same time for him to see or understand them.
The only thing in his mind was the need to cut through the enemy, carve a pathway out of the hellhole that the captain’s cabin had turned into. In this narrow space, in the bloodiest battlefield he had ever been, even his wakizashi felt too long, too awkward to handle, and by god, never before had he felt so grateful to be small and agile.
The ship shook and groaned, the wood and metal singing a song of destruction around them as the hits kept coming, one cannon blast after another. Somehow, he didn’t know how, Kenshin managed to make it outside, onto the deck that had descended into pure, unrivaled chaos: left and right, men were scurrying in panic, screaming and jumping over the railing and into the sea.
Leaning against the corridor wall, Kenshin couldn’t do anything but gulp for air. His ki fiddled, the pain between his eyes spiked – and his knees buckled out from under him. He knew he should hurry. If he could just climb back to his feet and jump over the railing, he had a chance of escaping. The shore was near enough that even in this state; he should be able to swim to shore…
But his feet refused to obey him.
So this was his limit?
This is how it ends?
He huffed softly, a wheezy, breathless laughter.
The shore neared at rapid speed; the field cannons in the hills shot at a rapid pace, one after another… and then, there was a terrible crash, the world tilted sideways, and he saw nothing more.
----------------
AN: But sadly, there's a cliffhanger. Because I'm evil like that. ^^*
Chapter summary: The Bakufu is upping the stakes, trying desperately to hunt down the rebels hiding in the Capital before the coming attack on Choshuu. On top of their most wanted list – with an impressive bounty promised for any piece of information aiding his capture – stands Choshuu’s demon, the legendary Hitokiri Battousai. How long can Kenshin avoid capture, especially as everyone seems to know about his red hair and the cross-shaped scar on his left cheek?
Chapter 34 - Trouble follows the unprepared, in which Kenshin’s luck runs out.
Read the chapter in AO3, FF.net or below the cut!
Chapter 34. Trouble follows the unprepared
Spring hit the Ishin Shishi with full force and suddenly they all were busier than ever. Katsura-san was elbows-deep in negotiations with everyone. He was trying to wrest as much information as possible from Satsuma, as well as blackmailing, threatening, and doing whatever he could to convince the weaker domains to back off from the Bakufu’s call to war. Katsura-san had already managed to reduce the force marching on Choshuu by tens of thousands of men. It was a respectable feat, even if it did little to even the odds that were pitted against them. According to Satsuma’s information, the Bakufu’s army was still over one hundred thousand strong, and worse, they had managed to outfit several of their new battleships.
Hitokiri Battousai had been a valuable tool for Katsura-san in his quest to demoralize the domain leaders and because of it, Kenshin had been accompanying his leader from one negotiation to the next, shown around like a menacing show dog. Look, the most terrifying legend in the country is on our leash!
Kenshin endured it with as much dignity as he could. He knew better than most how difficult the situation truly was. If propaganda would help, he wouldn’t protest, no matter how he felt about it. Besides, if Choshuu survived this battle, if they won… the revolution would no longer consist of only a few hundred determined samurai and ronin fighting for a remote dream. No, they would be able to unify entire domains to stand against the Bakufu.
The problem was that Katsura-san’s and the other Ishin Shishi’s efforts to prepare for war had caused the Bakufu to unleash an overwhelming manhunt for rebels in Kyoto. More and more samurai were pouring in by the day as the capital had become the gathering point for all the great and powerful before they marched on the southwest.
And yet, not many were happy about the war.
It was going to be a massive show of force, more expensive than any other effort the Bakufu had undertaken to quash the rebels. It was going to drain everyone’s coffers dry: the government, the Shogun, the countryside domains… and Choshuu, too. There was no payoff for anyone in this mess. Choshuu was now poorer than ever, putting their all into surviving this war. Their earlier clashes with the Bakufu had been hard on their resources and without funding, the West certainly wasn’t going to supply them with weapons.
The Bakufu’s manhunt was focused on catching the suspected rebel leaders and those in influential positions. They were hoping to cut off the head of the snake before the war. Thankfully, the Choshuu Ishin Shishi had managed to keep secret Katsura-san’s role as their leader, and so far, his leader had been able to evade capture with relative ease. However, the same couldn’t be said for all Ishin Shishi and at the top of the wanted list – with an impressive bounty promised for any piece of information aiding his capture – stood Choshuu’s demon, the Hitokiri Battousai.
It worried Kenshin. He had done his best to avoid being seen, wearing disguises and sticking to shadows, but he couldn’t help being haunted by his fears and doubts. What if someone saw a bit too much? What would stop them from ratting him out? The money the Bakufu promised for aiding his capture was had gotten too good to be ignored.
Unfortunately, despite the danger, he was needed, and so Kenshin had found himself working longer and longer days. He would escort Katsura-san for hours, then run off to save rebel fighters from Bakufu ambushes, or help secure weapons shipments… he could be called to duty at any time. Sleep was becoming a valuable commodity, as was any form of rest. Worse, he had been having even more trouble with his ki; headaches and an exhausted burn in his muscles were becoming a daily struggle for him. He just didn’t have enough time to rest and replenish his energy.
When it came to the, err, troublesome situation with Ito-san… at first, Kenshin had hesitated to spend any time with his superior. He hadn’t been able to avoid feeling awkward, remembering the rumors. However, it hadn’t taken long for him to realize that seeking to distance himself from his superior this late in the game was quite ridiculous and wouldn’t help in any way. Quite the opposite, actually. Besides, the whole mess had been his fault in the first place. So, Kenshin swallowed his unease and apologized to Ito-san.
The old man just laughed and dismissed it, saying that it wasn’t any trouble.
And that was that.
Now, after a particularly long day, Kenshin was walking back to the inn along a quiet street by the riverbank. Ito-san was by his side, as was the older man’s habit after particularly tricky jobs. Securing this latest weapons shipment certainly fit into that category. However, this time, it was difficult to say which one of them was escorting the other. Kenshin was completely wiped out; his balance was shaky, his legs refused to walk straight, and the bright spots of light dancing across his field of vision certainly weren’t helping. Every single step hurt. His muscles felt like they were on fire, aching with a raw, exhausted burn now that adrenaline had left him. Frankly, he was staying on his feet through nothing but sheer willpower.
“You know, boy – you really look miserable,” Ito-san commented, his tone jovial even if his eyes were rather piercing, full of reprisal.
Kenshin didn’t have any trouble guessing why. Lately, Ito-san had been criticizing him constantly about the wastefulness of his ki-use. Speaking of which, he started into the familiar lecture again:
“Surely you realize that if you were more efficient in your movements, you wouldn’t be so tired after days like these?” Ito-san said. “With ki boosting your speed, you are so fast that you could cut down multiple targets with the same strike.”
It was true enough. Kenshin could see the logic behind the suggestion, but, it was just... “Killing like that would cause needless suffering, that it would,” he murmured. “If this unworthy one needs to kill them, it’s better to make it quick, make it as painless as possible, that is is.”
Ito-san’s face twisted with barely held back frustration and he opened his mouth to protest, but Kenshin continued steadily, dutifully repeating his much-practiced counter-argument. “It’s true what you say. It would even be easy. Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu was designed to pit one against many, that it was. Killing three or four men with one strike wouldn’t take much, especially the way the Bakufu troops keep trying to overwhelm this unworthy one with their numbers… but some of them would be cut apart in a manner that would be needlessly painful. It would be a slaughter, not a fight.”
“You are too soft, boy.” Ito-san scoffed. “It’s a nice thought, but they all die when you cut them apart. If it takes one blink of an eye, or two – what does it matter? The pain is equal. You are wasting yourself like this. Look at you, you are barely able to walk!”
Kenshin just sighed.
Well, at least the early spring morning was nice and warm. It was now the beginning of the fourth month. The wind was blowing up from the south, bringing moist air from the sea, and the sun was rising steadily between the mountains. The rays of light were painful to look at and intensified the color show peppering his field of vision. Kenshin shielded his eyes with the back of his hand and looked aside. It didn’t help much. The colors kept moving, reflected on the surface of the river beside them.
Fuck it all! He cursed inwardly and swayed, his knees threatening to give way under him but a steady, warm hand grabbed his shoulder and righted him just in time. Kenshin shuddered, leaning with his hands on his knees for a moment. Damn it if he didn’t feel like falling down and not moving for a week.
“Boy… maybe we should take a moment to rest,” Ito-san said gently. “You really don’t look too good.”
“If this unworthy one stops now…” Kenshin swallowed, “I… I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk again.”
The admission stung badly, but it was true – dammit all. The last job of the night had been quite a distance from the city proper, up in the northern mountain passes they used to smuggle in shipments of weapons. Usually, Kenshin wouldn’t have minded the distance because it was a chance to get away from the painfully familiar streets of Kyoto… but he was just so tired; the stress, little sleep, and erratic schedule had worn his nerves thin, pushing him to overestimate his limits with ki, and now he was paying the price for it. Honestly, his only wish was to reach his corner of their inn and curl up in a pile of blankets and sleep. Hopefully without nightmares – he certainly was tired enough for it to be possible, but if not, well, he wasn’t picky, any form of sleep would be a blessing right about now.
It was so hard to concentrate, to stay on his feet. Was it just him or were the spots splayed across his vision moving?
“Hey!” A shout rang out behind them.
Kenshin blinked slowly, so out of it that he couldn’t even distinguish the individual presences from the flickering mass approaching them. As a group, however, they felt more curious than angry… huh.
Ito-san’s hand tightened on his shoulder and Kenshin sighed softly, lifting his head enough to glance at the group of blurry figures approaching them.
“What is it, lads?” Ito-san raised his voice, greeting them jovially, even if his underlying tenseness was painfully clear. Something had set him on edge, but what? Then the newcomers came close enough for Kenshin to make out which blurry spots were the colors in their outfits… oh fuck, they were Kyoto Mimawarigumi!
It felt like his heart had stopped for a moment. Kenshin swallowed dryly, lifting his shaky hand to his sword hilt… only to adjust his arm so that his wide sleeve fell to cover his weapons. He couldn’t fight like this, not if he had any other option. He let his eyes fall back to the cobblestones along the riverbank, carefully tilting his head so that his long, ragged bangs fell to cover his pale eyes and scar.
Please, let there be no bloodstains on my clothes. Please, let it be dark enough that my hair doesn’t look too obviously red…
The footsteps approached until they heard a man call out to them, “Sorry to interrupt you, gentlemen, but unfortunately we find ourselves in need of assistance. This is somewhat embarrassing, but could you give us directions to Nijo castle? We would be most grateful.”
“Nijo castle?” Ito-san inquired, his surprise obvious.
“Ah, yes.” The Mimawarigumi samurai cleared his throat awkwardly. “We are new recruits. Tonight was our first patrol, but then our captain was alerted to a potential location of terrorists. He thought it prudent to break up the squad and sent the six of us back without a guide and now we are quite lost.”
Kenshin tried to stifle his incredulous snort by holding his hand in front of his mouth, which, of course, swayed his balance. Only Ito-san’s steady grip on his shoulder kept him on his feet, but it didn’t keep him from staggering awkwardly. Kenshin cursed, trying to make it look like he was drunk or ill. Both of those were perfectly acceptable excuses, weren’t they?
Thank god, these Mimawarigumi rookies didn’t seem particularly bright. Seriously, getting lost on duty? Misplacing Nijo castle? How was that even possible? The castle was one of the best-known landmarks in the capital, it was just a few blocks distance from the Imperial castle grounds, and that was just across the river from here! But then again, their spokesman’s accent had a familiar eastern tinge, the same as she had had… so maybe they were new recruits from Edo who had never been here before?
Ito-san was far more diplomatic than him and didn’t have any trouble keeping his cool. He stepped in front of Kenshin to shield him from the rookies’ wandering eyes and started happily giving them directions. “Ah, lads! That could happen to anyone! Kyoto is a big city. It’s no problem at all. Just follow the river south, and where the river forks, take the closest bridge over it. Then ahead you will see…”
“Hey, is he alright?” One of the rookies asked worriedly, stepping closer to them.
“Oh, he is fine enough!” Ito-san was quick to assure. “The poor lad had a bit too much sake, that’s all. He is lightweight as you can see…”
The joke raised polite laughter from the rookies. Ito-san led the conversation back to the topic at hand and it was almost enough, but then… maybe the sun rose enough to shine on his damning hair, or one of them got a bit too close, because then someone asked, “Is his hair red?”
“Oh shit! It is!”
And Kenshin knew that the ruse was over. He gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes to see past the spots of light in his eyes to focus on his targets. There were six of them, barely half a squadron, and they were all inexperienced rookies. He concentrated on his ki, the freezing coldness inside him, directing it to his burning muscles as he charged, cutting through the closest blurry shape, the spokesperson among the rookies. He was going for the second one when the pain behind his eyes spiked and then he didn’t see anything at all.
———————–
When Kenshin finally came to consciousness again, his head felt like it was splitting open and his stomach was lurching with overwhelming nausea. The fierce bickering echoing all around him didn’t help.
“We should head left!”
“But the old man told us to follow the river…”
“I sure did!” Ito-san’s voice confirmed with forced cheer.
“Be quiet or I will gag you!” the first voice snarled.
Urgently, Kenshin tried to shift his hands, only to realize that they were tightly tied behind his back. Worse, not only was he upside down, but he was moving. Someone was carrying him over their shoulder, fireman style? Ugh… Kenshin moaned weakly, trying desperately to keep his bile down, or more accurately, up.
“Shut up, Ishin Shishi scum! You are lying or trying to lead us into an ambush, I know you are. The last thing we’ll do is go where these traitorous bastards say we should,” one of the Mimawarigumi rookies declared. “So I say we head left.”
The rest muttered their agreement.
“Guys, guys… look!” one of them yelped. “I think Battousai is waking up!”
“Quiet! Don’t go around yelling that name!” the first man hissed. “Even the walls have ears these days. What if some Ishin Shishi supporter hears you? What if they alert their men and come after us before we find our way back?”
“…Uh, I think we should tie him better. I don’t want him to get loose,” a third man murmured hesitantly, his voice quivering with doubt.
“Ha! My knots are tight. No one can get free of them, least of all some skinny Choshuu rat,” the one who was carrying Kenshin said over his shoulder, turning just enough that the swaying motion made Kenshin’s stomach lurch. The pain, the noises, being upside down… it was just too much, and Kenshin vomited.
“Fucking hell!”
And the problem of being carried upside down? The disgusting bile went straight up his nose, suffocating him. Eyes watering from the sting of it, Kenshin gagged and sputtered desperately, trying to get air… much to the disgust of the guy who was carrying him. Without further warning, Kenshin was dropped to the ground.
He hit the cobblestones shoulder first, landing on his side and gods, the pain, the pain! His left arm felt like it had been dipped into red hot coals… but still, the need to draw breath was stronger. Kenshin coughed, gasped and writhed on the ground, not caring about anything but breathing.
“Man, that’s just sad,” someone commented. “Are you sure that is Battousai? Just look at him! A pretty boy like that.... And he is a total mess.”
A hard kick hit Kenshin’s stomach and all the air was driven out of his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a ball, focusing on nothing other than inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling. Yes, breathe. Nothing else matter. Just keep breathing.
“Who cares was he looks like!” the gruff-voiced man, the one who had carried him, declared. “That bastard killed Suzuki! He has killed more of our comrades than any other terrorist!” The man spat, the disgusting slime hitting Kenshin’s face.
Unfortunately, at this point, Kenshin didn’t have time to care about the mortal insult. Mastering his pain was far more important. His arms were locked painfully behind his back, but if he tried, he could still move his shoulder, so it was not broken. Thank the gods.
“I still say it would be far easier to carry just his head. Think what heroes we would be if we came back to headquarters with Battousai’s head?”
“The orders are to capture when possible,” a firm voice disagreed. The same one who had been quick to assume command earlier? “As nice and easy as it would be to cut off his head, we are not savages like these rebel dogs. We will obey the creed of the Mimawarigumi. Besides, if we return with two prisoners, no matter who the old man is, the Captain will have to forgive our lateness. So let’s move it! And cover that damn hair!”
Without further ado, Kenshin was heaved up and slung over the largest man’s shoulder once again. Someone wrapped their haori clumsily over his head, covering his eye-catching hair. Unfortunately, his nausea returned with fervor, but this time, he didn’t have anything left to gag up. Worse, with all that cloth obscuring his face, it was hard to breathe or make any sense of the world around him. He didn’t know if minutes or hours had passed, the time blurred into a simple repetition of horrible sensations. Uncontrollable shakes wracked through his body, his headache and well, everything throbbed in pace with the steps of the lumbering oaf who carried him.
When Kenshin finally got used to the pain, well, at least enough to start listening to the bickering around him… it dawned on him that these five Mimawarigumi samurai weren’t just lost, they had no real leadership between them. Every single decision had to be argued and contradicted and negotiated until all five of them could agree on it. Even though Ito-san was tied up and at their mercy, just as Kenshin was, the old man was eagerly taking advantage of this weakness, joining the rookies’ bickering every now and then with oh-so-helpful suggestions.
What was ironic was that the rookies were so sure that everything Ito-san said to them was a lie, that whenever – and it was practically all the time – the old man gave them good advice, tips, or what Kenshin suspected to be correct directions, the rookies decided to do the polar opposite.
If he had the energy, Kenshin would have laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all.
In a way, what Ito-san was doing was brilliant; he kept peppering enough truth into his words that he seemed completely sincere, but the poor Mimawarigumi rookies couldn’t read him at all. So little by little, the old man was manipulating them to move away from the town. Which, of course, was the only logical thing he could do at this point. The Ishin Shishi had safe houses in the area, but this early in the morning, it wasn’t guaranteed they would reach one before running into a Bakufu patrol. Worse, if the rookies managed to get them to their Nijo castle headquarters, they wouldn’t have any chance of escaping.
After all, the Kyoto Mimawarigumi consisted entirely of high-ranking samurai and their headquarters was in the middle of town, in the center of Tokugawa power in Kyoto. Nijo castle was a fortress guaranteed to be crawling with hundreds of Bakufu samurai. Given how valuable Kenshin and Ito-san were as prisoners, arranging their escape from a tightly secured stronghold like that would be next to impossible. Hell, even in his best fighting condition, rested and alone, Kenshin didn’t think he could do it. He was good, yes… but not crazy.
Another angle to this mess was that though it was early in the morning and there were few people out, the rookies couldn’t exactly stop and ask for directions. It wasn’t just about losing face or the risk of being found by the Ishin Shishi, either… no, at this point, they had a serious problem: they were late. Apparently, they had wandered around for several hours before running across Kenshin and Ito-san and the clock kept ticking. If they didn’t return with a viable excuse for their lateness, they would risk being punished as a rule-breakers or in the worst case scenario, they could be branded as deserters.
It didn’t help that the city was full of samurai. Mostly Bakufu troops, true… but the public was getting quite divided about who they supported. They could just as easily to run across an Ishin Shishi supporter, or a competing Bakufu group. So who could these Mimawarigumi rookies trust now?
The sad fact was that everyone wanted Battousai.
There was a significant bounty promised for even a hint of Battousai’s location. The tale of the murderer with red hair and a cross-shaped scar was on everyone’s lips. So what would stop another Bakufu troop from taking him from these rookies or even killing them, just so that they could claim the honor of having caught the feared Hitokiri Battousai instead?
Somehow, during the course of this unfortunate morning, having prisoners was starting to seem like a lifeline for the rookies. Without them, they would face certain punishment… but if they successfully delivered their prisoners, they would be lauded as heroes.
However, that didn’t mean that the rookies were happy about being forced to drag a pair of Choshuu rebels around with them. As the sun kept rising, Kenshin and Ito-san got kicked and smacked with increasing frequency, in step with the rookies growing frustration.
It had been a long night for all of them.
Every single one of them, rookies and rebels both, were dead tired.
“Oh man… how lost are we?” someone whined. “Look! Those treetops aren’t in the Imperial gardens, that’s a forest! Takahashi, you idiot! We are at the edge of town again!”
“Hmmph! Like you would have known any better!” The man who was carrying him huffed in exasperation. “Man, I’m wiped out. I can’t think while I am this tired… let’s take a break, guys? There is no one here to see.” He grunted and unceremoniously dropped his burden to the ground.
Urgh, for fuck’s sake... Kenshin grunted pitifully. Thankfully, though, the rookies were too tired to care and just let him lie on the ground.
This suited Kenshin fine, even this small respite was a relief.
After repeated falls, his arms and shoulders felt like they were bruised pretty badly. To be honest, it was something of a miracle that neither of his collarbones was broken and that his shoulders hadn’t popped out of their sockets. What wasn’t good was the fact that he couldn’t feel his fingers properly. The rope tying his hands behind his back was unreasonably tight.
He needed to find a way to escape… but using ki was straight out. Even if he could focus enough to pull together his depleted reserves, he couldn’t risk passing out again.
However, if there was one good thing about having been carried like a sack and having his head covered for the whole morning, it was that his headache was mostly gone. He didn’t have the faintest idea why, but it seemed like the prolonged period in darkness had eased off the color show from his field of vision. Most of his disorientation was simply from having been carried with his head upside down, not from his ki-related trouble. However, his muscles still ached and he couldn’t keep from shaking, so he was far from decent fighting condition.
But where was Ito-san? He hadn’t heard even a cough from the old man for a while… Kenshin tried to sort out the mess of practically indistinguishable flickers of ki near him. Oh, there! Close by was the familiar presence he had learned to recognize with ease. The rookies had gotten fed up with Ito-san’s commentary a while ago and they had gagged him. Unfortunately for them, at that point it had been far too late, because they had been led completely astray.
“Say guys… what’s up with Battousai?” someone with a nice, mellow voice asked. “I didn’t see any blood or wounds on him when we tied him up. And I don’t believe for a second that story about him being drunk.”
“Yeah, it’s weird,” another agreed. “Why is he like that?”
“I don’t care,” the gruff voice that Kenshin had been starting to recognize as belonging to the oaf who had carried him, bit off angrily. “As long as he is alive, they can question him at headquarters.”
“But aren’t you even a little bit curious?” the mellow voice asked again.
“No.”
“Well, if it’s alright by you… I am. So let me just check?”
“Awwwh, softie Akio-chan…” the others cooed mockingly.
But the gruff voice just huffed. “Feh, do as you like.”
The footsteps approached Kenshin and then, all of a sudden the haori covering his face was tugged away. The light was so bright that it made Kenshin’s eyes water, despite him trying to squeeze them shut. He blinked dazedly, trying to get rid of the wetness as he shied away from the light, turning his face to the ground.
An insistent hand grabbed his chin and prodded at his eyelids, forcing his eyes open.
Gah! It’s so bright! Kenshin groaned pitifully.
“Guys… didn’t all the rumors say that he has yellow eyes?” The mellow voice raised his voice. “This boy’s eyes are violet.”
“Really? Violet eyes?” someone piped up. His voice was full of a youth's curiosity. “I have never heard of anyone having violet eyes. Not even the foreigners in Yokohama had those. Green, yes. Blue, yes. And different shades of those, but never violet.”
“Yeah, I know,” the mellow voice, softie Akio, murmured. “But still… come and look.”
And then, there were two blurry shapes peering down at him.
“Well, damn. Right you are!” the youth said incredulously. “Are we sure this is the Battousai? I mean, he has the scar on his cheek and his hair is really freaky red, but still, this little fella…”
Kenshin tried to blink the tears away from his eyes to clear his vision… and then, he could finally make out the details. The doubtful youth was a tall man in his late teens or so, but he had an impressive beard for his age. He couldn’t be much older than Kenshin, it was clear by his gangling height and the touch of guileless innocence in his eyes.
The man who was holding Kenshin’s chin was somewhat older. In his early to mid-twenties. He had a kind face, with soft brown eyes. He didn’t look like he was capable of harming a mouse, let alone a man – obviously a scholarly type. No wonder he had earned the nickname “softie Akio” from his peers. However, his ki felt steady enough, which hinted at some training in swordsmanship.
“Mmm, the rumors are always exaggerated,” softie Akio murmured thoughtfully. “The looks don’t always match the person. All I know is what I saw and what I didn’t see. You saw it the same as I, didn’t you? First, he was there, looking weak as a newborn kitten and then all of a sudden Suzuki dropped dead in two pieces and this guy collapsed right before my feet.”
He let go of Kenshin’s face and allowed him to curl into a ball again, to avoid the uncomfortable brightness of the morning sun. The worst of Kenshin’s shock was wearing away, leaving room for the more pressing concern: he needed to figure out a way to escape before this rookie squad got their act together. Despite Ito-san’s effective misdirection, their luck had to run out sooner than later.
“Say, Akio… why aren’t you angrier at him?” the bearded youth asked. “I heard your brother was killed by Battousai.”
“I don’t know,” Akio said. “I trained in Maekawa-sensei’s Chuetsu Ryu, defied my family, abandoned my work at the clinic… I spent all that effort just to get here. But now that I have Battosai here at my feet, just lying there helplessly… I don’t know.”
“Softie Akio-chaaaan!” someone called out from the distance. “What's up with Battousai? Did you get to play doctor enough?”
Akio huffed and raised his voice. “He isn’t wounded, not that I can see… but he is clearly in pain. He is still shaking and sweating, yet it isn’t fever, either. I don’t know. It’s rather bizarre. The best I can guess is some internal injury, but you guys didn’t kick him that hard, did you?”
Kenshin sighed softly, relieved not to be the object of their curiosity anymore. It was perfectly alright if they thought him weak. He was. Not that he was exactly useless anymore, but they didn’t need to know that. Subtly, he prodded at the ties holding his arms back, testing the strength and resilience of the knots. The rope was tight and strong around his bony wrists. No matter how hard he tugged, there was no way to get enough slack to slip his hands through. So what should he do? He didn’t have anything to cut the rope with and the nearest blade that he could see was at Akio’s waist.
Then heavy footsteps stomped nearby him and clothes rustled before someone grunted as if in pain. “Do you know what’s up with Battousai?” a gruff voice asked¨dangerously. Not to Kenshin, but…. Oh no.
“No, I don’t.” Ito-san rasped tiredly.
Kenshin glanced up hastily between his lashes, only to see Ito-san on the ground just a few feet from him. The old man noticed it and gave him a rather nasty look, one that conveyed a clear message: Why the hell are you worrying about me?! Let me handle these idiots and stop drawing their attention! Immediately Kenshin closed his eyes and fell slack, trying to pretend he was barely hanging on to consciousness. It wasn’t much of a show, but hopefully, it was convincing enough.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Sick or not, Battousai isn’t going to die on us anytime soon. Now, our priority is to get back to headquarters,” another voice declared. “So guys, wait here. I’ll double back to town and get us some directions or maybe even a map. You can camp out here in the meanwhile. When I’m back, let’s just cover the bastard’s hair and slip through. No one will question us if we look like we know where we are going.” The man paused. “And Takahashi… don’t get too excited. Remember, we want them alive.”
Then there were only four rookies left. The angry one, Takahashi, who had been carrying Kenshin and delivering kicks and punches with enthusiasm throughout the morning. Softie Akio, the bearded youth… and the fourth guy who never said much. Four tired rookie Mimawarigumi guarding two tied up and thoroughly beaten rebels.
Kenshin was completely helpless like this and he didn’t dare to move much. The rookies didn’t need much encouragement to vent their frustration on their prisoners. And what if they realized that it wasn’t worth the risk to take them back alive? Sure, he and Ito-san knew a lot – but these guys, they didn’t know that. For them, they were only an assassin and a random old man. Most of the rookies’ problems would quickly disappear if they were to take only his head with them…
Besides, Ito-san didn’t look too good: the rough handling they had suffered through this morning had been harder on the old man. And yet, even now he could see Ito-san testing his ropes, trying to find a way to get his hands free. If only they had something to cut them! Kenshin glanced at the nearest rookie and the swords at his sash. It was useless. He would have to pull the sword out with his teeth or feet, and while he could maybe, possibly, do so tied like he was… after that? There were still four guys and he was weak and without ki.
But at the same time… now was the best chance they had to escape.
There were only four of them left.
There was no telling when the last one would return with a map and directions, and then it would be too late for anything other than to wistfully hope that some rebel supporter would see them and alert their men… it was a fool’s hope at best. Kenshin didn’t want to rely on that. The ropes around his wrists kept nagging at him. He knew there was no chance for him to escape with his hands tied up like this, but honestly speaking, the ropes wouldn’t be much of an issue if he could somehow make his thumb disappear…
For some reason, that was the only thing he could focus on.
His hands were bony and slender, they had always been so. If only he could somehow displace his thumb joint, he could slip his hands through. But forcing it could ruin his hands and without his hands, he would be useless as a swordsman. Always protect your hands, Master had bellowed at him, ever since that night when he had found him at the graveyard.
“I don’t know about you guys… but just looking at that bastard makes me angry,” the gruff voice, Takashi said. and his ki presence flared with anger, no, fury. “I don’t care how pathetic he looks. I had to carry him and he puked on me. He is a killer, a terrorist… total and utter scum. I say I deserve some revenge.”
Clothes rustled and then the heavy footsteps approached.
Uh oh…
“Takahashi…” Akio muttered worriedly.
And then a terrible, strong kick hit his ribs and they all heard the sound of bone snapping.
Kenshin grunted against the sheer agony that burst on his left side, wheezing for breath… but then the next kick landed and all the air escaped his lungs again. His eyes teared up, and he gritted his teeth, trying to keep from crying out loud. The last thing he wanted was to give these guys was the pleasure of seeing how much this hurt.
“Stop it!” Akio screamed. “Didn’t you hear what Iwahashi said? We need them alive!”
“Shut up, Kiyosa–”
A loud laughter interrupted Takahashi’s words as another rookie jeered. “Yeah, shut up, Softie Akio-chan! Iwahashi isn’t our leader, and neither are you! We are all the same rank here and Takahashi has a point!”
Another kick landed on Kenshin’s chest and he couldn’t focus on anything but trying to curl up and avoid the hits as best he could.
“You like that, scum? How about some more?” Takahashi huffed in excitement, kicking him again, this time in the stomach…
Oh gods, oh gods… how the hell am I going to survive this? Kenshin thought madly, turning on his stomach and burying his face in the ground. He coughed up dirt and dust, just trying to breathe, hoping against all hope that they wouldn’t break his arms now that his midriff was relatively safe…
“Hey, lad! Yes, you, Takahashi! What are you kicking Himura-kun for? He just kills who I order him to!”
Shocked exclamations spurred forth from the rookies, but then, one of them, the bearded youth, focused on Ito-san and asked dangerously, “You order him to…?”
No way, no, this can’t be happening… Kenshin’s eyes widened in shock.
Ito-san lifted his chin proudly. “Yes, that’s right. I’m Ito Juzo, the head of the Choshuu Ishin Shishi. Just why do you think Battousai was escorting me? I am too important to go alone!”
Those boasting words were… half-true. Ito-san was important, but he wasn’t up to Katsura-san’s level. However, it was a good bet that these rookies didn’t have any idea who the real power players were among the Ishin Shishi. Kenshin swallowed in panic, realizing what the old man was intending with this stunt: Ito-san had concluded he couldn’t get rid of his bonds on his own, so he was trying to create a distraction, giving Kenshin a chance to work out an escape.
Takahashi grinned nastily. “Well, I don’t mind delivering some payback on you either!”
And all of a sudden, Kenshin’s need for an escape became urgent. There was no time to think through his options and calculate the risks while waiting for a better chance. No… that brute Takahashi, his ki was so angry. He didn’t mind dishing out pain and Ito-san was an old man. He wouldn’t be able to stand it. And what if they found out Ito-san was leading them on again? They would beat him to death from sheer anger and excitement!
No, there was no better chance coming his way… not in time. Kenshin swallowed dryly, feeling dread rising on his tongue. The four rookies gathered around Ito-san, all of their attention caught by the spectacle of Takahashi kicking him and shouting insults and questions. No one was watching Kenshin. If he could slip his hands free, he wouldn’t need his ki to kill them, not if he just could grab the nearest sword by surprise…
And really, the only thing that was keeping his hands secured was that pesky thumb joint. Without it in the way, the ropes wouldn’t give him any trouble… and what did the pain matter, really? At this point, he already hurt everywhere. And Ito-san… the old man wouldn’t last much longer. The old man was frail. He wasn’t a fighter. That damn Takahashi had to know it and he was still kicking him just for fun!
Kenshin took hold of his left hand, feeling out his wrist and how the thumb joint worked. It was better to start with the less important hand. He took a deep breath and twisted, then pulled. The thumb popped right of the socket and he hissed, biting his lips to keep silent. He drew his injured hand against the ropes, pushing the freely lurching thumb inwards to lie against his palm, and pulled. It wasn’t easy, but like this, yes, it was working. The rough hemp rope bit into his skin nastily, but it just didn’t matter enough.
He knew pain and this was nothing.
Then suddenly, his left hand was free, and the ropes slacked around his right wrist, enough for him to slip it free without causing himself more harm. Lying still, keeping his hands behind his back, he gritted his teeth and pulled his left thumb back into the socket. It hurt like hell and his grip was slick with blood…he really couldn’t feel anything else but the pain in his left hand. He flexed his fingers...
Oh, fuck it.
Just his luck, the whole hand was completely useless.
Thankfully, no one was watching him. Kenshin gathered his feet under him slowly, eyes locked on his targets. The nearest man was the bearded youth. His back was to him and he was asking Ito-san something… not bothered by Takahashi’s brutality. The mousy softie Akio was on the sidelines, gnawing at his knuckles, his entire attention caught by the spectacle. The last guy was cheering Takahashi on…
I’ll kill them all.
Fury storming inside him, Kenshin dashed forward, grabbed hold of the bearded youth’s sword with his only good hand and pulled it free. He didn’t have time to think, he moved on reflex. The big guy, the most dangerous one Takahashi went down first – Kenshin slashed his throat all the way to the spine. The bearded youth was frozen in shock, his stance open and defenseless when Kenshin cut him open from right hip to left shoulder. It was a cruel and weak strike, it didn’t have the strength to cut him apart and guarantee a fast death, but the bleeding would kill him soon enough.
The silent one who had cheered Takahashi on was next, and he had managed to recover from his surprise enough to pull out his own sword. He screamed in anger and attacked Kenshin out of pure desperation. Kenshin parried the strike weakly, his right hand wavering from the stress of holding up such a heavy katana one-handed, but he managed to misdirect it to the side and then he slipped around the rookie, stabbing him through the back. The rookie dropped to his knees and tried to grab the blade that was skewering him, but his hands didn’t have enough strength to hold the blade back as Kenshin put his foot on the boy’s back and pulled it free.
And then, there was only one.
The mousy, scholarly, desperately out of his league Softie Akio was shaking in fright, holding his sword out in a perfect defensive stance. Yes, it was clear – Akio had trained for years in swordsmanship, honing his skills until he could hold his own in a fight.
However, despite everything on the surface; the fact that Kenshin was about to collapse from his wounds and exhaustion, and that the Mimawarigumi samurai was mostly fresh… Kenshin didn’t have a single moment’s doubt that he could kill this man. It was all in the eyes. Despite his polished sword style, Softie Akio wasn’t a killer. He doubted this Akio had ever hurt anyone.
Kenshin’s hand shook as he held up the loaned sword at the ready. It was long and awkward to handle, far too heavy for him to use one-handed. And fuck, he was tired. Kenshin narrowed his eyes and whispered softly. “Please, leave.”
Softie Akio’s eyes widened at his words… and then, it was like something broke. The scholarly Mimawarigumi rookie dropped his sword and took a step back, then another, and turned to run.
Kenshin closed his eyes and sighed, utterly weary.
He walked to Ito-san, cut the rope that bound the old man’s hands, and knelt by his side. Ito-san was still conscious, but barely. His face was a mess. Bruises were darkening and swelling, his right eye was already swollen shut and his lips were bloodied, and he coughed weakly. Given all the kicks to the mid-drift, it was a good bet that the old man was also bleeding internally and most likely, he had a concussion as well.
“Ito-san, please – wake up,” said Kenshin softly. He gently slapped the old man on the cheek, trying to rouse him. “Please, we have to go.”
The old man pried his eyes open agonizingly slowly. “Huh… Himura-kun. Is it over?”
“Yes,” Kenshin confirmed, before glancing around the clearing. There were three dead samurai... and yes, there were the swords the rookies had taken from them. “Wait a moment, please.”
Kenshin awkwardly gathered up their swords under his otherwise useless left arm as he thought about how to carry everything. By the position of sun, it was now mid-morning – far too late for him to be out in the open without a disguise. Worse, the last Mimawarigumi man would be coming back any moment now. They really needed to get moving.
But how could they move through the streets to the nearest safehouse?
Perhaps, it would be better to hide in the woods for the night and then slip back into town under the cover of darkness… but Ito-san wasn’t looking too good. They needed to get him to a doctor. And if Kenshin was being entirely honest with himself, he wasn’t up to camping either. His left hand was swelling and bleeding sluggishly where the hemp rope had bit into the skin, he had at least one broken rib, countless bruises, not to mention the rest of his issues…
But if he went into town looking like this, everyone with a working pair of eyes could figure out who he was.
Kenshin sighed.
Fuck it all to hell.
Without allowing himself to hesitate, Kenshin untied his hakama and stepped out it, laying the swords on the pleated, wide-legged trousers and rolling the fabric around them. He secured his hakama sash around them, in the manner of a makeshift traveling bundle. He tugged his hair loose from its high tail, combed it with his fingers so that most of his long bangs fell to cover his cross-shaped scar, and arranged the rest to tumble down his shoulder to his chest. He adjusted his kimono, smoothing out the creases as best he could and securing his sash higher, a lot higher than usual, tying it in a somewhat awkward knot in the front, something like he had seen cheap yujo do to market their availability.
Preparations done, he strapped the sword bundle to his back and heaved Ito-san up on his feet, propping the old man’s left arm around his shoulder, and started to limp forward determinedly. It was slow going; every single step hurt, but the old man could walk well enough with a little assistance and this would work. This had to work. There was no other choice.
“Himura-kun… do I want to know what you are planning?” Ito-san wheezed.
“No,” Kenshin grunted and kept going, absolutely refusing to blush, because right now, his girly and youthful looks just might save their lives. After all, if people figured he was nothing more than a rentboy from Shimabara, they wouldn’t question them and with any luck, it would look like he was merely helping his beaten patron back home.
Ito-san guffawed loudly and then groaned. “Ah, gods… even laughing hurts.”
Are there fanarts for chapter 33 of "This one"? Kenshin with flowing hair like a girl - it would be funny.
Oh, it’s such a good look for Kenshin - he would look absolutely adorable! I 100% agree. <3
As of yet, This One has only one fanart, (this super cute drawing by Animaniacal), though of course, like any other writer, I’d love to see more! So in case inspiration strikes, I’d be overjoyed to see it!
Chapter summary: Kenshin’s life settles into a comfortable rhythm when he is assigned under Ito-san’s command and for a moment it looks like things are finally... well, if not exactly good, then at least okay. But then Kenshin answers a seemingly innocent question about his close relationship with his commanding officer and then nothing is the same anymore...
Chapter 33 - A trap of his own making, in which Kenshin’s ignorance bites him.
Read the chapter in AO3, FF.net or below the cut!
Warnings: discussion of period typical pederasty. It’s only mentioned. Nothing happens.
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Chapter 33. A trap of his own making
Some weeks later, Kenshin was cleared for light duties. So his time was spent escorting and guarding Katsura-san and whenever the need arose, he would run miscellaneous errands. As long as he didn’t push it, the doctor said that his thigh should heal without complications. Likewise, his anemia had all but disappeared and he was given permission to eat normal foods. Well, except that there was always a lot of it and there was always someone to remind him to eat more. Even Katsura-san kept commenting on his eating habits, which was rather embarrassing. However, if there was one good thing that came out of it, it was that Kenshin managed to gain some good, healthy weight and the muscles in his arms and chest got some definition.
Another bit of good news was that the negotiations between Satsuma and Choshuu had progressed to the point that the first shipment of western rifles was sent to Choshuu as a show of good faith. If everything went as planned and Takasugi-san gave his approval, the negotiations for an alliance would proceed and more people could be brought into the dealings.
However, the successes that Katsura-san had achieved had solidified his position within the Ishin Shishi leadership and as a result, there was really no point for him to keep a good resource like Hitokiri Battousai on simple bodyguard duty.
So in midsummer, Kenshin was placed under Ito-san’s command, to participate in missions as a skirmisher and to protect their men as need be. This of course meant that Kenshin was again rooming with other rebel samurai and ronin in a Choshuu-patronized inn. The men were pleasant enough folk and they welcomed him into their ranks with only slight reservation. They all seemed to be aware of his work at Katsura-san’s side and of his identity as Hitokiri Battousai, but instead of being outright wary of him based on hearsay, they seemed to be willing to take him on his own merits.
Some of them even made an effort to invite him into their company during the first few evenings and Kenshin, well, he did try… but despite his best effort, whenever he needed to converse with a group of people or even spend time with them, he got exhausted. It was far easier to be alone. So after a while, Kenshin just gave up on it.
His days settled into a routine; he would spend his nights working, escorting men or shipments or just guarding meetings. His days were spent napping against the wall, curled around his sword. Whenever he was awake and not needed, he would retreat to a private corner and simply stare into space, remembering her. In the morning, he would run through his katas with tireless, mechanical grace, well, up until he gained an audience. For some reason the admiring glances he got from his comrades didn’t sit right with him. He was a killer, pure and simple. Why would anyone want to look up to him?
Every now and then, Ito-san would visit the inn to give them instructions for a job. For some reason, though, he would always seek Kenshin out and engage him in a conversation, sharing humorous tidbits, news, and just generally talking with him. Kenshin didn’t rebuff him. For one, Ito-san was his superior and it was very different to turn down a man who was responsible for your missions and pay, and reported to Katsura-san, than to turn down just another samurai with whom you happened to room… and, well, he did like the old man.
Ito-san didn’t hesitate to call out him for stupidity or to criticize him, but the way the old man did it reminded him a bit of Master – well, without the sarcasm and cynical tone. So yes, if he was perfectly honest, Kenshin could admit he enjoyed these occasional friendly visits. And the thing was, it wasn’t special treatment or anything. It was just Ito-san’s leadership style; he talked with everybody and despite it… or maybe because of it, all the men at the inn seemed to like Ito-san.
One evening after his bath, Kenshin was working her comb through his long hair, trying to make some order of the mess. It was getting a bit too long, and quite ratty. The ends were split multiple times, dry, and he kept finding annoying, matted knots. Just how had she made his hair so nice back then? Her elegant hands had made this simple duty feel good and comforting, but he couldn’t even manage to do it without causing himself pain. Kenshin sighed morosely, somewhat annoyed by the sheer number of tangles his comb seemed to find. Perhaps he should try to remember to do this more often?
“…be that Ito-san is mentoring you?” A low, rumbling voice asked.
Kenshin looked up in surprise. A tall, broad-shouldered samurai – what was his name again? Oh yes, Fujiwara-san – was crouching right beside him, looking at him somewhat oddly.
When did he come in? I didn’t even notice! “O…” Kenshin paused, “Err…” And what had Fujiwara-san even asked? Something about Ito-san being his mentor? Like a teacher?
“Err, well, that is to say… Yes, Ito-san had been kind enough to share his wisdom with this unworthy one, that he has,” Kenshin finally managed to stammer, looking aside awkwardly. How come he hadn’t even noticed Fujiwara-san’s presence? Was he becoming so numb that he didn’t care enough to pay attention to the people close to him? Not that they should have a reason to harm him, these men were his comrades, but still… when had he become so careless?
However, instead of leaving him alone after getting an answer, Fujiwara-san hummed in consideration. “So, he is your mentor? But you are already an adult, aren’t you?”
Kenshin blinked. What does my age have to do with anything?
But before he could even begin puzzle it through, Fujiwara-san nodded, seemingly coming to a decision and smiled warmly. “Ito-san has seemed quite busy lately. If he doesn’t mind, would you like another?”
What?
Why would he...
And what is with that look? Kenshin paused, the tiny hairs at the back of his neck standing up. There was something going on here that he didn’t get at all… and while Fujiwara-san seemed like a nice enough man, friendly, out-going and all around a good, loyal samurai, what exactly would he have to teach to him?
And whatever for?
Kenshin didn’t need nor particularly want any help or teaching. In general, he preferred to be left alone. So it was better to make it clear. “No, thank you. Ito-san is enough for this unworthy one, that he is.”
Fujiwara-san frowned, but nodded his acceptance. He seemed disappointed, but he left without insisting.
To be perfectly honest, Kenshin didn’t think anything of the encounter and pushed it to the back of his mind to be forgotten. He didn’t think there was anything particularly odd about how the men left him alone after that. Well, except for one thing: whenever Ito-san visited, and sought him out, the men would stare and whisper. Kenshin surmised it was just like before and promptly proceeded to do his best to ignore them. If the men wanted to spend their time gossiping about what a terrible murderer he was or how ugly and foreign he looked with his pale eyes and red hair, they could do so for all that he cared.
However, for whatever reason their stares and gossip-mongering was spreading to also include Ito-san. Not in a bad way, per se – it seemed closer to bewildered respect, like Ito-san had done something incredibly brave.
Kenshin sighed in exasperation and shook his head.
Well, it wasn’t like it mattered.
———————
Kenshin duty as protector of their men was becoming more and more important, because at the end of summer, the Bakufu started hunting rebels with renewed enthusiasm. So he spent his night guarding meetings, escorting groups and individuals and whenever they were spotted by Bakufu patrols, covering the retreat while the other men in his unit escorted the targets to safety. Sometimes Katsura-san would require his help for one reason or another, but those calls were getting rarer.
He had taken to heart Ito-san’s advice about learning to pace his ki-use, using it only in short bursts when it was truly needed. The method seemed to work most of the time. Yes, sometimes he overdid it and gave himself a magnificent headache, but altogether he was beginning to learn his limitations and work around them the best he could.
As his description was clearly known among the Bakufu’s men, there had been a few times that his opponents had taken his offer and fled from the confrontation. It was a relief, truly. It meant that his choice had been worth it, and made the fact that he couldn’t go outside in broad daylight a bit more bearable. Every life that was spared in this madness was a balm to his aching heart.
The summer turned into the harvest season and then, it was the night of Obon Matsuri, the festival for remembrance of ancestors and the dead. The great daimonji fire was lit on the mountain to the east of Kyoto to guide the spirits. It was an impressive sight. Earlier in the day, Kenshin had hidden his hair under a large hat, covered his face with a scarf, and had sneaked out to visit her grave. It had been stupid and all together dangerous, as there was nothing quite as suspicious as a man who wore such an obvious disguise, but still, Kenshin had thought it worth the risk.
Most people used the event to honor their ancestors, but for Kenshin… well, he didn’t even know his parents names or their faces. As sad as it was, his family was long gone and they bore little meaning to him anymore.
But Tomoe… she was his everything, so he had prayed for her.
Now it was late at night and he was laying in wait. A messenger had alerted him that a Shinsengumi patrol had tried to raid a rebel meeting so he had rushed to cover their retreat. The secluded side-alley, where he was waiting, was completely abandoned and if he had guessed right, the rebels should take this route on their way to the safe-house.
Ah, and there they were: five ki-presences nearing fast… followed by a patrol. However, among them, there was one very defined, strong presence he didn’t recognize.
Shit.
He hadn’t fought against the Shinsengumi’s finest since he had dunked Saito to the Katsuragawa river, but still, this new presence couldn’t be him. But a strong, defined presence like that – this new guy had to know ki, too. Just how many swordsman of that caliber were there in the Shinsengumi? Clearly, their reputation as vicious and capable fighters wasn’t exaggerated. The Shinsengumi truly was the toughest troop the Bakufu had in Kyoto.
“Over there!”
“Get the rebels!”
“Don’t let them escape!”
Kenshin focused on masking his ki, not letting the shouts waver his concentration.
“We are gaining on them!”
“Get them!”
Then the rebel group passed him… and Kenshin stepped out of the shadows to block the street. “Please, let these men go.”
The Shinsengumi patrol came to a halt, the men in the front raising their lanterns to see him better, and paled. “You!”
Kenshin sighed. It was a useless effort trying to convince Shinsengumi members to escape, he knew that from a bitter experience, but still he uttered the words, hoping against all hope that even one of them would see sense. “Please, if you withdraw now, your lives will be saved. If you do not…”
However, instead of their usual curses and brave words, these Shinsengumi men didn’t rebuke him, but instead turned to look behind them, letting someone through. Ah, the man with the strong, defined ki.
“He has red-hair and cross-shaped scar, sir,” the lantern holder said.
“I see,” answered a clear voice. “So, we face Hitokiri Battousai tonight.” And then, a notably young man stepped forward. He was only a couple years older than Kenshin and he had a nice face, gentle eyes… but his ki, it flared like a storm, drowning out his comrades tiny flickers with ease.
Even Kenshin had to pause in consideration; that ki was one of the most remarkable presences he had ever felt, rivaling even Master’s in sheer ferocity. This young commander was dangerous, potentially an even more difficult enemy than Saito had been… Tracing his fingers along the hilt of his sword, Kenshin narrowed his eyes and crouched into a stance.
The young man smiled kindly, drew his sword slowly… and charged.
Kenshin let the world slow to a halt.
Gods, this guy was fast! Faster than anyone he had ever fought with, and Kenshin gasped, falling back to defense out of sheer shock. He dodged and sidestepped lightning fast strikes, trying not to let himself be overwhelmed, but the guy kept pressing on him relentlessly, delivering one flurry of strikes after another, not giving him a chance to even blink. Dodge, dodge, parry…
No, it was worse than that – he wasn’t given a chance to think!
In this dance of steel, all he had was his experience and carefully honed instincts, and he let them take over, reacting on reflex – desperately dodging and defending as he tried to get into the rhythm this terrifying swordsman set. The narrow side-alley didn’t give him much room to maneuver and it took all his agility just to keep from getting hit.
This fight… it really was something else.
Kenshin gasped for breath, his pulse racing. Gods, this feeling – it was like he had emerged from the murky depths to a world that was full of colors, sensations, where there was nothing but this moment when he was utterly, thoroughly, and indisputably alive.
I love this.
This young man wasn’t faster than him, no… not exactly, but he was experienced and his style was very solid. More than that, the aggressive way he projected his ki made it difficult to read him. However, with each passing second Kenshin was getting the hang of it and he was finally ready to push back. After all, defending didn’t win battles, only attacking did.
So he grinned in exhilaration and charged forward, for the first time turning the tables, and then the Shinsengumi’s Demon was finally on the defense.
Now it’s just a matter of creating a distraction… Kenshin grinned, shoving his blade against the other man’s, and spotted a slight opening in the stance. Oh yes, there! Now go for the kill!
…But why?
The thought struck him like a lighting bolt and made him hesitate just enough that the moment was gone as quickly as it had appeared. The Shinsengumi’s Demon stopped too, only to curl over and start coughing… blood?
Kenshin let go of ki and took his time gathering his breath too. It was just as well, he had been getting near his limit.
A break was a good thing.
And yes, while he could use the Shinsengumi’s obvious distraction to finish him, he really didn’t want to. This kind of fight, where he felt utterly alive, it was so rare. When had he last had a true challenge? How long had it been since he had felt as good as this? His days were spent in numbness, lost in the memories of her. Even the fight with Saito on the bridge hadn’t been as good as this, because he had been fearing and despairing over Nakamura’s survival.
But now, he was alone.
He didn’t need to protect anyone. The only reason he was here was to buy time for their men to make it to the safe-house.
And this, right here, Kenshin realized… was just that; buying time.
So he let the Shinsengumi’s Demon catch his breath, noting how the rest of the patrol moved in uncertainty, unsure whether they should step forward and try to protect their commander. The Demon noticed it too and waved them back. Then he raised his gaze and looked at him.
Here they were, two swordsman, sweating, breathing heavily in ready stances, holding their swords close… just waiting.
A sense of curiosity nibbled at him and Kenshin paused. He couldn’t remember when he had last been curious about anything. However, now there was the moment and he had the opportunity, so he wet his lips and asked softly, “Might this unworthy one have the honor of knowing your name?”
The Demon paused his wheezing too, only to grin. “Okita Souji, commander of the Shinsengumi’s first squadron.” Then he dipped his head slightly, prompting him in turn.
Well, it was only polite to answer. Kenshin nodded, “Himura Battousai, Choshuu Ishin Shishi.”
At a distance he could feel another group of ki presences nearing them. The Shinsengumi men behind Okita-san noticed the newcomers soon after, seeing their lanterns and flags. “Reinforcements!”
However, among the new group was yet another strong ki presence. A familiar ki presence. Kenshin grimaced.
Okita-san closed his eyes and sighed in disappointment.
The Shinsengumi patrol made way for a tall, lanky man with greasy bangs and an intent, narrowed gaze. He barked harshly, “Okita, stand back!”
It was indeed the same man Kenshin had dropped into the Katsuragawa a couple months ago, and given the way Saito Hajime, the Wolf of Mibu, scowled at him, it was clear that he remembered Kenshin too. Those eyes held such hate and contempt that it was almost impressive.
“Saito-san…” Okita-san protested.
“I am very sensitive to the smell of blood, boy.” Saito scowled. “You cannot defeat him in your current condition.“ Then he crouched, drew his blade, and held it in front of his face in that odd, left-handed stance.
“Let’s go.”
And Saito charged.
Kenshin let his ki enhance his movements once again.
This time, Saito’s odd style was somewhat easier to handle, not quite as unpredictable and strange, yet Kenshin didn’t press his advantage. His first priority tonight was to buy time and this, fighting one on one against the Shinsengumi’s best, was a very nice way of doing that. But how long had it been already? Were his comrades safe yet?
Gah! Focus, you idiot!
Just in time Kenshin dodged and then parried Saito’s follow-up, jumping high and coming down with an overhead strike, his favourite of Hiten Mitsurugi’s specialties: the Ryuutsuisen.
Saito managed to misdirect his strike at the last second, just enough to get out of harm’s way.
Well, it didn’t matter. It was just as well, because it proved he could enjoy this bout a little longer, give his everything, even Hiten Mitsurugi’s special strikes, and not to be disappointed. Now he was able to fight for real, not just mindlessly slaughter anything that stood in his way. Oh, how he hated that sort of a mockery of a fight. Just killing men like bugs was mind-numbing and heartbreaking. It wasn’t what swordsmanship was about.
No, it was like night and day, to compare those fights to this neverending moment.
Right now he felt so alive, his muscles and lungs burned out of exertion and it felt so good, the simple joy of movement, finally being able to test his strength and resolve against a worthy opponent. This Saito, while he wasn’t quite as good as Okita-san, he was indeed good enough to stand against him on even ground and his strange style gave him a lot of leeway.
Oh yes…
Kenshin grinned, enjoying how his blood rushed in his ears and how his kimono stuck to his sweaty back, how it was difficult to draw breath and how his left thigh ached after one hasty, uneven landing.
…This is so good.
Saito was breathing heavier too, his narrow eyes completely focused, his ki utterly under control, as he tried to get a good read on him, trying to come up with an opening. Saito too, knew that this wasn’t a simple match at all.
There weren’t equals, not exactly, their styles were too different for such a comparison… but nevertheless they were closely matched. The difference was that Kenshin wasn’t even trying to find a way to finish the fight, because he didn’t want this moment to end.
Yet his muscles were burning and the pain behind his eyes was starting to become unbearable. Despite the few breaks he had managed to steal during the course of these two duels, it was clear that he was near his limit. Kenshin gritted his teeth: why the fuck does this have to keep happening?
He scowled and glanced around him. The Shinsengumi men behind Saito were just watching their fight. Why? Was this spectacle too interesting to pass up? Or…
No, fuck! They had split up; in front of him was only a small group, the rest having split up, and now that he noticed it, their ki presences were circling him, trying to surround him through all the side-streets. Yes, or course – they were waiting for when he ran out of steam and then they would try to capture him.
Kenshin hesitated.
He didn’t know how long he had been here, but surely the rebels had gotten to safety by now? Surely his job was already done? Yes, it had to be. So now, he only needed to escape… But how?
Sadly, there was no river nearby. It would have been fitting to lead Saito over to a bridge and drop him in the cool water again. That glare would only improve after a second involuntary swim, Kenshin thought in dry humor as he blocked yet another of Saito’s left-handed charging thrusts. The Wolf of Mibu was coming at him again with renewed vigor. But no matter how tempting, he really couldn’t stay here any longer.
Kenshin glanced up. Oh yes, that will work… and so he concentrated last of his ki to his legs and jumped. The roof tiles made an uneven landing and damn, his thigh smarted like a bitch, but he hobbled along, sheathing his sword in a dead run. Letting go of his ki-enhancement trick, he began masking it, spreading his already depleted reserves thinner. He heard the Shinsengumi’s shouts down below as they tried to follow him on the ground.
Thank god it was dark enough that they wouldn’t be able to see him well…
The throbbing pain between his eyes was getting more insistent, the flashes of pain making it hard to concentrate. Nrrggh, fucking hells! Kenshin cursed inwardly. He needed to lose his tail before he passed out. But how?
It took some doing, but it turned out that retreating to the rooftops had been a good idea. The men following him were blinded by their lanterns and had trouble spotting him. The few daring men who climbed to the roofs after him, well, it was obvious that they weren’t very practiced in running on slippery, uneven surfaces. For Kenshin, this wasn’t any more difficult than sparring on wet rocks by the waterfall with Master. Kyoto was build quite tightly and most of the roofs in his path were covered in clay stones, not in thatch or reed, and they supported his meager weight easily.
Once he got his ki masked, he couldn’t hear any shouts following him. However, it didn’t hurt to be careful. He slowed down and began watching his steps, just like Master had taught him as a child, so that even he couldn’t hear his own footsteps on the tiles anymore.
And then, he was alone.
Kenshin sat down in a shadowed nook on the roof of a two-story building to gather his breath. It was a clear night. The moon was large and round, and the stars shone brightly. It was a beautiful sight, and his exhaustion, feeling the burn from overusing ki and the strain in his muscles… it felt rather good.
Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly and laid down on his back.
I am alive.
It was such a simple thing to realize, but it felt absolutely wonderful.
He had been lost in his memories, sunk deep in his guilt and self-loathing for so long, that the only thing that had kept him sane was the numbness he had shrouded himself in. Kenta’s last gift to him. But as useful as it had been…
It was not a way to live.
In fact, clinging to the numbness and trying to distance himself from everything was an injustice to her. She had taught him how to enjoy the little happinesses of life. And right now, at this moment… he could finally see a glimpse of her teachings once again.
With all his heart, he wished that she was here beside him, to see how beautiful the moon and the stars looked tonight. If she were here right now, she would touch his cheek, guide his eyes to meet hers… and then, looking at him with her black, large eyes, she would have smiled at him warmly and told him how she loved him, because her lips didn’t know how to smile even half as well as her eyes did.
He had loved her eyes.
Kenshin swallowed softly, only to notice in surprise that the looming hurt in his heart didn’t rise up to overwhelm him.
…Maybe, he was finally letting go of his pain? Not completely, not even nearly – his heart still ached like it always did, but it wasn’t quite as bad as it used to be. Perhaps, it meant that he was getting used to his loss, learning to bear it?
Yes.
She’d wanted me to live.
Kenshin sighed slowly… and smiled.
He let himself relax and closed his eyes, rubbing idly at his aching brow with the back of his hand. Even now, some spots of light danced in his vision, but they weren’t more than an annoyance. Altogether, this headache was just a minor trouble at the moment. The exhausted burn in his legs and arms was more pressing, restricting his movements and making him tremble, but then again it felt almost nice. Nothing worse than he had felt after a good long training bout with Master, Kenshin huffed softly and then slowly, climbed back to his wavering feet.
He looked up at the moon and whispered, “Thank you.”
—————————————–
“As a sign of trust, I am willing to tell you that we have received orders to begin preparations to mobilize our troops. The Bakufu’s attack will come next spring, when the snows melt and the mountain passes will open.”
“I see,” Katsura-san said calmly, but his ki was fluctuating, as if in anxiety?
“Thank you for the information, Saigo-san,” Sakamoto-san said, and inclined his head to the Satsuma samurai.
Saigo, however, wasn’t done. “Another thing – according to our spies, the Bakufu is planning to deploy their entire arsenal, even the new warships they have been desperately scrambling to assemble in Edo, with Western assistance. So you’ll be facing off against every domain, with all their samurai, about eighteen hundred thousand men.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Say, Kido-san… how many men do you and Takasugi-san have in total?”
“About three thousand, give or take a few hundred. Most of them samurai, but also some ronin and commoners we may be able to depend on.”
“Horrible odds,” Okubo-san noted coolly, a calculating look in his eyes.
Silence fell in the room.
It had been a while since Kenshin had been at these negotiations, but for some reason Katsura-san had decided to bring him along this time. It was somewhat perplexing. Hadn’t they already gotten past the power-plays and threats they had flung about in the beginning? Surely Katsura-san couldn’t fear violence anymore?
But then again, this was the first meeting that the leaders of Satsuma and Choshuu had arranged since the first successful weapons delivery. Katsura-san had already offered his gratitude for Satsuma’s aid as a middleman, and now, because of the first success, the Brits had tentatively agreed to trade with Choshuu directly. Takasugi-san was dealing with them, hurriedly trying to get the Kiheitai outfitted with new weapons.
Perhaps, now that Choshuu had gotten confirmation of Satsuma’s willingness to co-operate, maybe they could begin to broker an alliance? Kenshin’s eyes widened. Oh, so that was why Saigo-san and Okubo-san were both so insistent that Choshuu was helpless. The more desperately their help was needed, the more concessions they could demand. This was yet another power-play!
Katsura’s ki was calming down and he subtly flexed the fingers of his left hand, before remarking, “The threat the Bakufu poses is a paper tiger. Their numbers are frightening, yes – but in truth, their men come from dozens of different domains and they have little coherence or organization. Most of them are poorly outfitted and know little of warfare. They are samurai in name only. More damnably, most of the domains aren’t obeying the Bakufu’s commands willingly. Already, many of them are hesitating about participating in this campaign.”
Saigo nodded, but his eyes became more intent. “What about their new warships? The Western weapons? The Bakufu has been buying those too.”
“Takasugi’s Kiheitai has gone against a Western navy, at the Shimonoseki strait. Back then he had outdated weapons. Now, it will be different. His army is the best in the country: better armed and more disciplined. Moreover, we will be be fighting in our own land. Choshuu is far to the southwest, poor and mountainous land that is difficult to travel through except by way of a few main passes. The only area they can attack with most of their strength is the coastline – especially if they wish to threaten us with a bombardment from their warships. If we crush their attack there, their forces will lose their courage and flee.”
“Confident words,” Okubo said, raising his brow skeptically.
But then, all of a sudden Saigo burst into loud guffaws, piercing the tense silence with ease. Sakamoto-san frowned, but his obvious disapproval didn’t rein in Saigo’s hilarity – no, it only spurred him to laugh more.
Kenshin didn’t know if should he be amused or scandalized by Sakamoto-san and Okubo-san’s expressions, or to be offended on behalf of his leader.
Katsura-san’s face looked like it was carved out of stone as he waited for Saigo’s mocking mirth to run out.
“Kido-san, you are a comedian. You are saying that Choshuu can win this war? Is that what my ears are hearing?” Saigo-san finally managed to wheeze out, his wide brows high, displaying exaggerated disbelief.
Sakamoto-san cleared his throat and held up his hands in a calming gesture, trying to keep peace between two volatile men. “Saigo-san, please – we are here to discuss an alliance to bring down a common enemy...”
It was useless. Already, Katsura-san’s ki was rising and his left hand was clenched in a fist so tight that his knuckles whitened.
“For the revolution to come, Choshuu will be willing to accept Satsuma’s assistance… but only as equal partners. We will not bow to your power, as impressive as it is.” Katsura-san said softly, his voice utterly even and rested his hands on his knees. “Step back from the coming war and we will show you our strength. Choshuu will stand alone against the Bakufu’s paper tiger… and win.”
And with those chilling words, the meeting came to an end. Satsuma’s leaders left with a thoughtful look on their faces and even Sakamoto-san seemed stunned by Katsura-san’s proclamation.
To be perfectly honest, Kenshin didn’t know what to think.
Though he could follow Katsura-san’s logic to a point, the bare numbers presented were frightening. And now, they hadn’t even requested assistance from Satsuma? If they had Satsuma’s samurai on their side, they could have easily tripled their numbers. But then again, could Choshuu’s men trust Satsuma at this point? Or would they suffer from a similar dilemma that Katsura-san claimed the Bakufu’s troops had?
Kenshin frowned, yet another aspect of this tangled mess coming to his mind.
Any alliance with a domain that was so much bigger, wealthier, and more powerful than Choshuu… if there was no respect between them, it would be doomed from the start. If they wanted to form an alliance strong enough to overthrow the Bakufu with a bitter enemy like Satsuma, they needed to be seen as equals, just like Katsura-san had said.
And this war to come, this expedition that the Bakufu’s forces were going to make in the Choshuu, it wasn’t the end of the revolution. No…. not by any stretch of the imagination. However, this was where the Choshuu rebels’ vision would be made, or broken. If they lost, it would be the Ikeda-ya and Hamaguri gate disasters all over again, but with an aftermath that was ten times worse.
But if they won… after that, how could the other domains believe in the Shogun’s power?
Kenshin glanced at Katsura-san from the corner of his eye and swallowed dryly, realizing that yes, there was a reason why he had put his faith in this man.
After that meeting, instead of returning to his lodgings, Katsura-san opted to head to Gion to see Lady Ikumatsu once again. Kenshin offered to wait on the first floor, as not to disturb their privacy. However, Katsura-san simply shook his head and said, “Please, join me, Kenshin. An evening of relaxation will do both of us good.”
And that was that.
All things considered, it was a surprisingly nice night. They ate good food, tasted some sake, listened to Lady Ikumatsu’s beautiful songs, and watched her dance with her fans. Somehow, even Kenshin found himself relaxing a bit.
The sake tasted sweet.
It was the first time in a long while that he actually enjoyed sake. The last time had been with Tomoe, after they had harvested their field. It had been about a year ago. Strange. He hadn’t even noticed how fast the time had gone.
Their conversations didn’t include anything about work or the revolution. The topics were simple observations, opinions, and amusing tales. It was almost... nice? He didn’t feel exhausted by Lady Ikumatsu and Katsura-san’s company, either, not like he would be with the other men that he roomed with. No, somehow Lady Ikumatsu and Katsura-san gave him space when he needed it and didn’t press him beyond his limits. He didn’t feel trapped or particularly awkward in their sophisticated company, not even when he knew he should.
Later in the evening, after he had drunk quite a bit of sake, Lady Ikumatsu jokingly pushed him to try out her shamisen. For some reason he didn’t quite understand, he did try. It was no surprise to him that he was absolutely terrible at it. Despite Lady Ikumatsu’s best attempts at teaching him, he simply didn’t have an ear for the correct tone. However, it had amused Katsura-san greatly to see him try and Lady Ikumatsu had looked at him warmly, so perhaps it had been worth the embarrassment.
Well after midnight, when he escorted Katsura-san home and was finally dismissed… he had felt alright.
—————–
There was a rhythm to his days now, a certain order that made his life a bit more bearable. Sometimes he even found something to be curious about, or noticed something amusing. It wasn’t a big improvement, but it was something – a tiny ray of light shining into his bleak existence.
His jobs had him protecting their men, guarding meetings, or ensuring the safety of weapon shipments and other relevant items to rebels safe-houses. All necessary things, but no matter how he wished it were different, he couldn’t avoid killing. The sheer amount of blood on his conscience was so great that he couldn’t even begin to count all the lives he had taken.
Honestly, the best nights were those when he could lead his hunters on a merry chase around the town, or when he managed to drop them into a river. Like that one Mimawarigumi patrol that had followed him to a slightly smaller river than the Katsuragawa. Because of how they had stopped to threaten him, their weight evenly distributed in the middle, a single Douryuusen had been enough to totally destroy the bridge, dropping them all into the river for a nice, refreshing swim.
And then there were the duels with Okita Souji-san and Saito Haijime-san.
For all the times Kenshin had clashed blades with them, there had been no definite conclusion to their matches. By the end, they would be gasping for breath, grins of delight on their faces… but neither party would take advantage of the other’s weakness in a dishonorable manner, despite ample opportunity. It was something that was beginning to bother Saito-san especially.
“Why aren’t you pressing for an advantage?” Saito-san asked him one night.
Kenshin only grinned, but didn’t even try to explain. The truth was that though technically, he should be trying to kill both Saito-san and Okita-san… he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. If he tried his best and forgot all the swordsman’s manners, perhaps he could make the killing blow, but… he was improving just by fighting them. Saito-san and Okita-san were both brilliant swordsmen and they pushed him to his limit. Fighting at a higher level like this was making him use Hiten Mitsurugi’s specialties more ingeniously, solidified his personal style, and kicked off all the rust and bad habits he had gathered over the years.
And the thing was… no one needed him to kill them. It was enough that he bought time.
However, Ito-san pulled him aside one evening, taking him to the backyard of the inn for a private talk. “Himura-kun. I have two questions for you.”
The first question turned out to be why he hadn’t killed either of the famous Shinsengumi. After some hesitation, Kenshin admitted the truth, explaining, “It’s just… the Shinsengumi are not our enemy, the Bakufu is.” He stammered, “Like us, they are fighting for their beliefs. They police the town and keep the peace for the good of the common people. It isn’t necessary for this unworthy one to kill them, that it isn’t.”
Ito-san gave him a look. “Killing the Demon Child Okita, or the Wolf of Mibu Saito, would bring great fame to Hitokiri Battousai.”
“O…” That is… Kenshin reddened. “Err, that is so – but Battousai is already feared. There is no need for more, that there isn’t.”
“You rascal,” Ito-san scoffed fondly and raised his hand, as if to ruffled his hair like he was a boy, or pat his shoulder like he had done dozens of times. But he didn’t do either, he simply lowered his hand and shook his head. “I will look aside in this matter. So far your work has been remarkable. What is one or two famous samurai among all the dead Bakufu to Battousai’s name?”
Kenshin looked aside, feeling the blush on his cheeks burn and spread lower, to his neck and ears. That was just about the clearest admonishment he had gotten from Ito-san so far. However, even if he had made something of a habit out of dueling with the Shinsengumi’s best and brightest, that didn’t mean there hadn’t been any accidents or injuries. He had gotten a few cuts and his scabbard had been broken just last month. The swordsmith, Arai Shakku-san, hadn’t been happy, but then again, he never was.
So yes, there was some truth to Ito-san’s words.
But the thing was, even if it was stupid and reckless, Kenshin loved how alive he felt in those duels. It felt so good, almost intoxicating.
“About the other matter I wished to bring up with you today…” Ito-san cleared his throat awkwardly.
Huh? Kenshin paused, somewhat taken aback. He had never seen the older man look so hesitant, and that look in his eyes, it was… strange, to say the least.
“You are, of course, aware of the rumor among the men that I am mentoring you?” Ito-san asked slowly and looked at him, his eyes hooded and considering.
Kenshin tilted his head curiously. “…Are you not?” After all, the old man had been giving him very good advice, admonished him for his stupidity, and all together had taken him under his wing a bit like Master had done. Wasn’t that what mentoring was all about?
But instead of answering him, Ito-san raised his hand and slowly, ever so slowly, traced Kenshin’s left cheek, exactly the same way she had. The gentle touch made all the hairs on his body stand up and not in a good way. A shiver raced down his spine and Kenshin felt his eyes widen, his heart skip a beat… and he recoiled, dashing backwards until his back hit the wooden wall surrounding the private backyard.
Breathing hard, his eyes wild, he couldn’t do anything but stare.
What the hell?
That was, that was… oh gods, what the hell?!
And Ito-san nodded, before shaking his head and looking at him, smiling with a certain self-deprecating humor. “Himura-kun… I had, of course, suspected it before, but now it is painfully clear: you weren’t born to the samurai class.”
Kenshin froze.
“You have absolutely no idea what this is all about, do you boy?”
He shook his head numbly, completely overtaken by shock.
Ito-san smiled in good humor. “What a mess,” he said and let out a short, barking laugh. “Ah well, it is a fairly simple matter in truth. Among samurai, it’s an old, commonly accepted practice for a young adolescent samurai to be mentored by an older man. The mentoring allows the younger man to learn by example all the many subjects required of him: martial arts, etiquette, code of honor, and many more… but in return, it’s usually expected for the younger man to accept the mentor’s physical affections out of loyalty and respect.”
Urgh… affections? Kenshin’s eyes widened and he sputtered dazedly, suddenly realizing what that meant.
“I see you understand.” Ito-san inclined his head and then sighed, looking aside. “Another aspect of this practise is that the mentoring should end when the boy comes to an age… as should all sexual obligations. However, some young men come to desire such affection and want to continue the relationship even after reaching manhood. It’s not very common, but it’s accepted, as long as the boy retains a suitably youthful appearance.”
Kenshin felt the mortified blush take over his face as Ito-san gave him a pointed glance. He trembled, leaning against the wall, feeling a bit lightheaded. The Choshuu men he roomed with… Fujiwara-san and others, they all thought he was having sex with Ito-san? That he wanted such attention? He had even admitted to being in such a relationship with Ito-san?
“Well, there isn’t much to be done about the rumors at this late date and it isn’t that bad,” Ito-san murmured thoughtfully. “I don’t mind. And frankly, it’s even flattering that they would think so.” He huffed fondly. “You know, Himura-kun – you are not bad-looking. Those pale eyes and that bright hair aside, you would be a wonderful boy for such things.”
Was it possible to sink deep into the earth and never return? Kenshin wondered, utterly and thoroughly mortified. This was the worst thing people had ever rumored about him! And here he had thought that the stares and whispers had been about him being a killer or a foreigner, like always! But all this time, they had been thinking that, that, that… oh gods!
“Well, I’ll leave you to your thoughts now.” Ito-san laughed and bade his farewells, leaving him alone.
It didn’t help much.
All through the summer and the long autumn, he had been ignoring the rumors because he thought he didn’t care… but maybe he should have. Oh gods! He covered his face with his hands and tried to keep breathing as his knees gave way and he slid down to sit in the flower patch by the wall.
What a mess, indeed.
————————————-
It was like after that discussion, Kenshin couldn’t help but listen to what the men in the inn were gossiping about behind his back. It was just as Ito-san had claimed and even worse, it wasn’t just that everyone thought he wanted such affections from other men, but… well, some of them seemed to think that he was attractive. No one cared for his foreign colors, but apparently his face was youthful and feminine. That he was fine-boned and on the shorter side simply enforced the image of an adolescent, girly boy in their minds. And his reputation as the terrible Battousai? Even better! Bedding such a famous figure seemed to be a very desirable thought for many of them!
The more Kenshin heard, the more mortified he became.
It was no wonder that he started to feel trapped in the inn. Unfortunately, his description was well-known in the town and he couldn’t exactly risk going out without a very good reason… but staying inside with the others wasn’t an option either. He began to stay out late after work; sitting on the rooftops and staring at the sky, or walking in the empty streets and riverbanks, anything to stay away from the inn until he was certain the rest of the men were asleep. He spent his daylight hours sleeping or catnapping, or if that wasn’t working, he sought out secluded places to the best of his ability.
It wasn’t enough.
The whispers, the stares, the rumors seemed to haunt him no matter what he did. There was no escape. He couldn’t go outside. It was too big of a risk. If he got caught, the consequences would be devastating for the Ishin Shishi. It hadn’t been that big of an issue to him before, his isolation had been entirely voluntary… but now, somehow he couldn’t help but feel like he was going stir-crazy.
It felt like someone’s eyes were always following him, making him feel self-conscious. Every single look caused shivers to run down his spine, made all the tiny hairs at the back of his neck stand up and his skin to itch like he had gotten a sudden rash.
What made it even worse, in a way, was that they weren’t wrong.
Kenshin knew what he looked like and for the longest time, he had thought he had accepted it because there was next to nothing he could do to look any older or manlier. Yet now, he began to fantasize about growing a beard. With that, no one would think him feminine and it would hide the cross-shaped scar on his cheek so that he could get the fuck out of here.
Too bad there was no way whatsoever to encourage his cheeks to start to sprouting red hair.
It was unfair.
Quite a few young men his age had facial hair. Why didn’t he?
However, after spending a few weeks avoiding the men in the inn and trying to keep himself from even thinking about the whole mess, Kenshin’s initial panic cooled down enough for him to start looking at his dilemma objectively. Even if the rumors were rather dirty and made him feel uncomfortable, no one had sought out his company after Fujiwara-san. Why? If they thought he was, ugh… desirable like a woman, why hadn’t they acted on it? Kenshin had heard more stories than he could count about his fellow rebels’ romantic conquests. It was a popular topic. He could easily recall a dozen stories of how they had gotten their girlfriends and wives. He hadn’t been able to avoid hearing their boasting about their trips to Shimabara, either. So yes, he knew pretty well how insistent most men could be towards people they found attractive.
So what was different now?
Was it connected to what Ito-san had said earlier, that they thought he was being exclusive with his superior? Kenshin bit the inside of his cheek, feeling his stomach twist at the thought. But if it was so, then it could explain their behavior. Ito-san was a very well-liked, respected leader… no one would want to bother anyone connected to him. Well, not counting looks and rumors, and Kenshin had endured those all his life.
Did it matter what people thought?
Not really… but at the same time, yes, it did, Kenshin admitted to himself. This whole thing was just too strange and new.
He had always been ugly, weird, and foreign. It had been astonishing to him that she had come to want him. That he was an undesirable freak of nature was something he had learned to understand and even accept… but these rumors? They threw him for a loop. He just couldn’t understand why all of a sudden people could think he was even remotely desirable and more agonizingly, he had no idea what to do about it.
Back when he had roomed with other samurai in Okami-san’s inn, people had feared him and thought him insane. Part of the reason had been Furutaka’s rumor mongering, but mostly it had been caused by his own actions and inaction. Even now, it couldn’t be that hard to make people back away from him in fear and make them avoid him. For a moment, Kenshin felt tempted to try it. But the thing was, no one was doing anything to him; they just looked, whispered, and thought about him like he was a... Ugh!
But at the same time, Kenshin liked living with these regular Choshuu men, who acted like he wasn’t anything special. They had been welcoming enough to him, they respected his wishes and left him alone without making him feel like he was someone to be avoided, like a leper or an insane murderer out to kill everyone in sight. No, for them he was just a man among others, well, except for being… gaaah!
He just didn’t know what to do.
With these rumors, and being stuck indoors, he felt like he was a demon straight out of children’s horror stories, a creature of the night that was only allowed to see moonlight.
It wasn’t right.
He wanted to visit her like he used to, to buy her flowers, light incense by her grave and talk to her. He hadn’t been able to do any of those things since Obon Matsuri. He couldn’t risk it, not when people could so easily recognize him as Battousai. After all, what would stop them from pointing him out to the policing forces right in the middle of the marketplace? Or worse, take notice of the places he frequented and sell that information to the Bakufu?
No, something had to change and soon.
This whole mess was his fault, caused by his stupidity and his choices… but still, there had to be something he could do to get out of the inn and the web he had so foolishly woven around himself.
One winter evening, Katsura-san took him to a meeting with some domain officials, who his leader was trying to convince them to step aside from the Bakufu’s call to war against Choshuu in the coming summer… and afterwards, they headed to meet with Lady Ikumatsu, to relax and unwind after a difficult week.
However, looking at the lovely Geiko, Kenshin began to think: Lady Ikumatsu had spent years in the spotlight, dealing with fame, being known and desired for her looks. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind answering a few questions?
His face must have reflected his curiosity, because Lady Ikumatsu-san invited him to visit her later for a private talk. Katsura-san didn’t seem to mind her invitation – in fact, he encouraged it. However, his leader couldn’t wait in such a public place for long without protection, nor could he travel alone. After all, if Katsura-san was captured, the revolution would fall to pieces. So they agreed that Kenshin would first escort Katsura-san back to his lodgings, then return alone.
When he met up with Lady Ikumatsu again, it was rather late and instead of heading the private rooms Katsura-san had reserved for their use, she decided to forgo all resemblance of propriety and take him to her quarters. It was quite scandalous, but she didn’t seem bothered by the implications and well, Katsura-san had agreed to it. It was a well-kept secret, but apparently his leader was her patron. She entertained others as need be, but she was committed to Katsura-san and the formalized agreement gave this meeting at least the illusion of propriety.
So with only slight hesitation, Kenshin sat by the door, leaning his katana against his shoulder in a comfortable pose. In silence, Lady Ikumatsu began removing her heavy hair ornaments and her white face-paint.
It was fascinating to see, truly. He had always found Geiko and Maiko beautiful, odd but elegant… but now, it was like she was allowing him to see her beneath the role she played.
“Tonight, you had a question in your eyes,” Lady Ikumatsu remarked, peering into a mirror as she dabbed her face with a wet towel.
Kenshin looked aside, feeling heat rise on his cheeks. She was the best option he had of trying to make sense of his dilemma, he couldn’t help but be embarrassed. “It’s, err…” he started awkwardly, “that is to say, this unworthy one has found himself in a little predicament regarding his reputation, that he has.”
“Oh?” She raised her brow, looking at his reflection in her mirror.
“Ah, well…” he stammered, “there seems to be… a misconception that this unworthy one, err, desires affection from other men.” And then he promptly covered his face with his hands out of sheer mortification from actually saying it out loud.
However, she didn’t gasp in surprise or exclaim her shock, far from it. “Hmmm, and how did that happen?” she inquired easily, like there was nothing scandalous in what he had just said. “Surely nothing untoward has happened? I sincerely doubt that you can’t defend yourself against unwelcome advances.“
Well, that was true enough, but the thing was… Kenshin cleared his throat awkwardly. “This unworthy one, ah, misunderstood a question and claimed he was being mentored by Ito-san… which is true in a sense, but not for affection. But now people think this unworthy one desires such attention from other men and wants to be mentored despite being of age, and, and… this one couldn’t help but overhear that some men think he is desirable!”
A stifled giggle followed his tirade and Kenshin raised his gaze, only to see her covering her mouth with her hands.
It felt like a betrayal.
This whole matter was horrible, it had troubled his every free moment for several weeks now and he didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t funny! He had come to her for help, not to be laughed at!
All of a sudden, her torrent of hilarity cut off and she drew breath sharply, looking at him with softness in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice utterly sincere. “I’m terribly sorry, Himura-san. That truly is a predicament.”
That look of hers, it deflated his ire in the blink of an eye, like she had dumped a bucketful of water on a fire. Those soft eyes, they reminded him of her… and it was utterly unfair. Kenshin hid his eyes behind his long, ragged bangs and clenched his hands on his hakama.
Lady Ikumatsu sighed plaintively. “The problem is that such a blow to one’s reputation is very difficult to deflect, Himura-san. Especially if the rumors have been running for some time and have some basis in truth… and have been admitted to, even if in error. Protesting against them will not change people’s thoughts at this late date, it will only confirm them. And truly, has there been trouble for you or Ito-san? Have you had to suffer any untoward advances?”
“No,” Kenshin whispered, clenching his fingers tight and then forcing them to relax one by one. Because, the truth was… “Ito-san didn’t mind it at all, he even found it flattering. And the men at the inn, they respect Ito-san. No one has done or even said anything to this unworthy one, not since that one man who wanted to confirm the rumors about Ito-san’s mentoring last summer.”
“So no one has said anything to you?” Lady Ikumatsu repeated. “And this matter, it doesn’t affect your work?”
Kenshin shook his head. Put like that, it made his trouble seem rather foolish. “It’s just… the stares.“ He tried to explain. “This unworthy one has always been ugly and odd, that he has. How could they suddenly find this one attractive?”
She sighed.
Clothes rustled and her soft footsteps approached him.
She knelt by his side and gripped his chin firmly, lifting it and forcing him to meet her gaze. Her eyes were brown, kind… and full of compassion.
“You truly do not know it?” she asked softly.
Speechless, Kenshin could only stare at her with his eyes wide open.
She smiled a little, her thumb trailing his chin gently. “You are beautiful. These foreign colors in your eyes, in your hair, even the pale tint to your skin, they can be difficult for most people to accept, but it doesn’t change the fact that your features are unique. Even that ugly scar on your cheek doesn’t diminish it. I have seen many adolescent boys, feminine boys… but none of them had such a pure face as you. It’s remarkable, really. No wonder at all those people are starting to find you desirable.” She paused to frown thoughtfully. “Last spring when I first met you, you were filled with grief, almost mad with it. You were thin and sickly. I wanted to ease your pain and asked dear Kido-san to allow me to try and help you. Now, you are growing into your own. I’m glad that you have found your balance, but it’s becoming easier and easier to see past your odd colors and scars.”
She fell silent, letting her hand fall.
He didn’t know what to say.
“If you didn’t have your swordsmanship, I wouldn’t have any trouble imagining you working in Shimabara,” she continued with a thoughtful look. “It’s a wonder that you aren’t, actually. From what I understand from dear Kido-san, you weren’t born to a name, you have no family, no clan… and these are difficult times.”
Why should he bother denying it?
She knew about hard choices and how people come to work in entertainment far better than he could even imagine. “I, ah… I was sold as a child,” Kenshin admitted quietly, staring at his hands. He hadn’t really thought about it for years, but back then, all the other slaves had been girls, hadn’t they? And now, he had seen and heard enough to know that slavery hadn’t been legal in ages, except in the form of indenture contracts in the red light districts. So, in truth… he really should have realized it before.
She just hummed.
Kenshin sighed and then, the questions he had really wanted to ask her just flowed out, no matter how rude they were. “How can you deal with it? The stares, they make this one’s skin itch and send shivers running down his spine. This one is mourning, he doesn’t want any attention. And even if he did… not from other men.”
“It’s something one learns to accept,” Lady Ikumatsu said to him with an even voice, her gaze serious. “You don’t need to, nor should you accept any unwanted attention, but thoughts and looks, a few comments every now and then? What can one do about those? Nothing. There are far too many directed at those born to beauty. People admire, fantasize… dream, envy, lust. It’s a fight one cannot win. And really, what harm is there from them? You have endured stares before, don’t claim you haven’t! Being from Choshuu, with those foreign colors, you’ve heard bad words and ill-spoken rumors countless times. Accept that you have something most people will never have and learn to endure. Find your balance.”
Kenshin swallowed. So it was hopeless? This attention… it would just continue and if she was right, then it would start happening more and more often. The thought twisted his stomach and he gritted his teeth, gripping his hakama tightly…
But really, wasn’t this something he had already learned to endure? Was it causing him any harm?
He knew the answer to that question just as well as she did. He swallowed dryly, before looking up at her between his lashes.
Her eyes were calm. Utterly steady, confident, and strong in a manner that he could only hope to reach someday.
He inhaled deeply and let out a slow exhale.
Perhaps… I can learn to do it.
Finally, he nodded.
She inclined her head in approval, a hint of steel gleaming in her gaze, and then she rose, returning to her mirror.
Silence landed between them, but unlike before it wasn’t heavy or oppressive. More like a comfortable pause that let him gather his thoughts. She removed the rest of her work ornaments and the rest of the white paint from her neck and wrists in an idle, well practiced manner. She let her hair down and started to comb her long, luxurious dark hair. It shone beautifully and grabbed his interest, enough that he dared to ask her about it. She didn’t hesitate to answer his questions, starting up a light-hearted discussion with him about the topic. It was comfortable to lighten up the mood by talking about such nonsense. Well, not exactly nonsense… after all, Kenshin had something of a vested interest in his hair.
Tomoe had liked his hair long and he had tried to keep it well-cared for in her memory, but his attempts had been rather sad so far. However, Lady Ikumatsu had a few good tips for him, nothing major or ground-breaking, but things he could definitely try out: tackling the tangles and mats in his hair when it was still wet after his bath, handling them with patience and not letting them go unattended for so long, using a bit of oil on the dry ends, combing his hair daily, tying his hair with a ribbon instead of a leather string, or even letting it down every now and then…
It was some time later that Kenshin was finally relaxed enough to ask about the other matter that had been bothering him. “The fame of Battousai… this unworthy one would like to have some freedom from it, at least enough to visit his wife’s grave by daylight. But the whole town knows about his hair and scar…”
“Well, I remember warning you about that,” Lady Ikumatsu said wryly.
“..Err, that is true. But is there a way?”
“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully. “When I desire to go to town discreetly, I just wear humble clothes instead of my work ensemble. People see my face, but without the paint, ornaments, and fine clothes, they don’t think of Geiko – especially not the attractive and desirable Ikumatsu. For them I am just a woman, a beautiful woman, but a normal woman nevertheless.” She paused, glancing over her shoulder. “So, my advice to you would be… think, who is Battousai?”
Kenshin frowned. “A swordsman. A murderer… a samurai. A Choshuu rebel.”
Lady Ikumatsu inclined her head. “Yes, those are all true. But I guess you haven’t listened to the rumors in the city for some time.” She saw his puzzlement and traced her finger on her cheek, a ghostly imitation of his scar. “Hitokiri Battousai is a demon, his hair is colored red by the blood spilt by his countless victims. His eyes gleam yellow in dark, allowing him to hunt down his targets without fail. He is an invincible warrior; tall, strong… manly, like all terrible foes in stories.”
She glanced at him and the corner of her lips lifted into a smirk. “The image people paint in their minds is quite different from the truth. I dare say it won’t be all that difficult for you to lead them astray every now and then. However, the more time you give people to think, the more likely it is that they will see through the illusions and exaggerations that make up Battousai’s legend.”
So when Kenshin finally returned to his lodgings late that night, or more accurately, early the next morning… he was pensive. Lady Ikumatsu had answered his questions, but rarely had she given straight answers and now, it felt like all he had gotten was a whole set of new questions. But then again, maybe it was just as well.
A few days later, he decided to take a risk.
He woke up unusually early. Well, early for him these days: an hour before noon. He combed his hair until it flowed down his back in a smooth, red torrent and let it stay down, without any ties holding it back. It was truly getting too long, he noticed with a grimace – it was down to his buttocks now. He dressed in his yukata and his less used, simple blue cotton kimono, just like he had used to in Otsu. Thick long socks covered his feet and mittens protected his hands. He wrapped her pale blue, embroidered shawl around his neck, high enough to cover his cheeks – for warmth and as subtle coverage for his scar.
All in all, he didn’t look much like he usually did and even less like a fighter to be taken seriously. It wasn’t a very practical outfit. If something happened, he could imagine how easily his overly long hair or her shawl would get in the way.
Even worse, he felt naked without his swords.
But as he trudged through the town to her grave, he kept his eyes and ears open for the slightest hint of suspicion among the townsfolk… and nothing happened. He was unarmed and idiotically open to all attacks, more vulnerable than he had been in ages, and not a single person commented about his hair being like the famous Battousai’s. Sure, some people remarked that his colors were odd, some mistook him for a foreigner or a pretty girl wearing men's clothing, but no one, absolutely no one paid attention to the obvious.
When Kenshin got back to the inn that afternoon, he received stunned stares and surprised exclamations about his choice of dress and about him having gone to town without anything to protect himself with. And yes, even he could admit it had been stupid to go out unarmed. He didn’t particularly want to take such a risk again, either. Without his swords, he had been tense and nerve-wreckingly alert the whole time and hadn’t been able to enjoy his stroll.
