Scars were all about equality.
They didn't cared who they marred or disfigured, age and gender meant nothing.
Pain was just as indiscriminate.
But Sanosuke could use pain. They had a long standing relationship.
His first scar wasn't physical.
In fact he couldn't really remember who had said those awful words, or even the actual words.
But they had pieced his heart like a blade and lodged there like a thorn, too deep to get out.
He could remember that he was three.
He could thank the fall for washing away those memories.
That blasted fall.
That was when he realized it wasn't only hearts and bodies that could scar. It was also minds.
He scarred all three that night.
The feeling of Captain Sagara's hands, those tough callused gentle hands he would never feel guiding his own again, grabbing and tossing him over the cliff. The sight of him being shot by the Imperialists, the flash and crack of the guns like lightning from hell, scarred and haunted his heart.
The Captain had saved his life but one of the bullets had caught him in the left arm as he fell, leaving a round white scar he would bare to the end of his days. The river beneath the cliff was also too shallow to completely cushion a fall from that height, the rocks lining its bed tearing his calves and feet to shreds, leaving scars just as permanent as the one on his arm.
Laying wounded half out of the freezing water on the opposite bank as the sun rose overhead, his mind replayed the horrible events of the last few hours in an agonizing loop. Grief at his loss and hate for those responsible growing to the point that it brought bile rising in his throat.
The knowledge of his own helplessness in preventing it was the most scarring though.
It shaped the man he became.
He became a kenkaya. Earning money and strength with each job. Becoming strong enough to even wield a zanbatō and earning himself a name: Zanza.
Being Zanza helped him, at least at first.
It gave him an outlet for his rage and distracted him from a mind determined to drive him insane.
It also taught him.
Stamina won fights more surely then weapons. And fists were the most underrated weapon there was.
Using fists in a sword fight or (heaven forbid!) a gunfight, was seen as the quickest way to get killed and as such was seen as a sign of stupidity.
Sano knew he wasn't smart, that's what came from avoiding thinking. But he'd rather be dumb then deranged so he didn't really care.
He was very blase about walking around a village a bloody mess. Peoples reactions to that were very amusing.
Besides, feeling bones crack and faces mash beneath his knuckles was oddly therapeutic.
He was good enough that what scars he got only stuck around a few weeks.
Until he was fifteen and was hired to go up against a group of pesky bandits.
There were at least twenty and everyone of them was armed to the teeth.
He tore through them like paper.
Until the last one.
Mister Bandit no.20.
The guy was a demon with a sword, forcing him to drop his zanbatō and focus on not getting skewered. In the end he won but he had a nasty cut across his abdomen.
He got his money and used it in the next village for treatment.
He had nearly died that day.
Yet aside from being dumb and tougher then an ox he was also stubborn.
So he trained harder.
He became strong enough carry his zanbatō as if it were a cup of sake.
Strong enough to knock a man off his feet with just the flick of a finger.
He was the strongest man there was.
Then he came to Tokyo and was hired to kill the Battōsai.
He fought like a madman, harnessing all the rage he had built up over the years.
He would never know why he had spilled his guts to Himura during the fight on the beach.
Never know weather it was his pride or some long buried chivalry that made him save the kid and the little miss.
What he did know was that even though he lost that day he had gained something even more precious then victory by crossing blades with the Battōsai.
And he would never have a dearer friend.