So this is one of the new plotlines that I have developed and more are currently in progress.

After watching the anime, I had a nagging urge to rewrite Chizuru's character to make her well...less Mary-Sue. I understand that she is more of a placeholder than anything, so I took the liberty to replace her character with one that was slightly more dynamic.

Please enjoy, and pardon my bad Japanese.

Edit: I made some changes to this chapter as well as moved some parts from the next chapter to make the story flow smoother.

The muted light from the two candles in the room cast a warm glow over my reflection in the mirror. I was barely recognizable underneath the almost ghostly powder and the rouge on my lips and cheeks. My dark hair was pinned up into a decorative bun on top of my head, embellished with hair sticks and heavy ornaments. I have long since lost count of how many times I stood in front of this mirror staring down my own reflection, wondering why I was here at all.

"Misora?"

There was a silhouette casted against the thin shoji door from a figure that knelt outside.

I didn't answer. She would always let herself in, anyways. And for some strange reason, I always had an uneasy feeling every time I saw a silhouette against the thin door.

Just as I had thought, the door slowly slid open and one curious lined eye peered in.

"You've been here for ages," said Ayame. "You should be greeting the guests by now."

"You greet them for me," I muttered.

I could start to feel the pout that was beginning to form on her small red lips in the short silence that followed.

"But Misora, Masaki-san is going to be angry with you," she protested. "She'll probably cut your pay again."

"Tell her to give the cut pay to you."

"But..."

I finally looked at her. It almost hurt to move my head. She was a pretty girl who wore a trademark red kimono with a fat white bow tied around her waist. Her hair was always up to the point I worried if it hurt. She was very popular here in this district, and I've heard the other geiko whisper amongst themselves about how she "stole" their guests. And even though she spent most of her time gushing about the men who visited, she was the only one who would bring me onigiri from the kitchen when I refused to leave my room. She knelt at my door with the same anxious expression she would display whenever she was upset.

I sighed and slowly got to my feet. The geiko getup was extremely difficult to move in, which bothered me to no end. The huge sleeves were always, always in the way, and not to mention how heavy the terrifying shoes were. I glared at them as I slid them over my tabi, but seeing Ayame's relieved expression almost made it worth it. I followed her down the wooden stairs to the first floor like a clumsy horse.

Unlike Ayame, I didn't want this life and I was much less cut out for it. But I didn't have a place to go and there was nowhere else for an eighteen-year old woman with no family to be. My eyes narrowed instinctively when I was reminded of why I had no home to return to after each weary day.

It had happened only a short while ago. I had grown up with my father and mother in an ordinary household in Kyoto. I know for a fact that my father was a samurai, despite the fact that he never shared any details about his work. He was the one who taught me about the katana sword and how to fight with one. And on that fateful night, he left for a mission only to never return. Just hours later, my entire house was stormed down. I could still remember the voice of my mother, telling me to run, run far away. So I did. I had made myself a promise ever since – that I would hunt down the killers and claim revenge for the lives of my parents.

"Misora is here, Masaki-san." Ayame's sweet voice somehow managed to force me back into reality. We were standing at the back entrance behind one of the guest rooms, face-to-face with the one and only Masaki-san, who was glaring at me through beady eyes. Although she had a wicked temper, I owed her for letting me stay here and despite her harsh tongue, she did quickly promote me to full geiko status despite the short training period I had passed.

"Misora, you're late to your scheduled event!" she hissed. Her hands were firmly planted against her waist, and one foot was tapping against the floor in agitation. "Hurry up and get inside, otherwise you're not getting paid this week."

"I-I'm sorry, Masaki-san," Ayame quickly apologized in my place.

"It's fine, Ayame-chan," I said and bowed to Masaki-san in apology.

"I will send someone else to bring the sake and the food soon, although keep in mind that it was your job to do that as well. Consider this a favour."

"Sumimasen," I apologized quickly, and stepped out of my shoes before slowly sliding the doors open. Behind it was another set of doors that led to the where the guests would be seated, which was decorated with traditional painted flowers and patterns. There was another set of doors on the opposite side of the room, where the guests would enter from. I dipped my head once more before sliding the first set of doors closed, thankfully blocking Masaki-san's glare. Already I could hear obnoxious laughter characteristic to the men that visited Shimabara, which ceased when I slowly slid open the second set of doors.

"Greetings," I recited as I touched my forehead to the tatami mat, even making sure to pitch my voice slightly. "I will be accompanying you this evening."

I lifted my head and quickly scanned the faces of the crowd. They seemed to be ordinary men, perhaps samurai judging by the swords they carried with them. Luckily for me, it didn't take long for Masaki-san to send someone with the food and sake.

As per expected, the conversation was rowdy and quite loud. One man with shaggy black hair that fell halfway into his eyes smiled at me as I approached him with his food.

"Misora-chan," he said as I set down the tray.

I immediately swiveled to meet his gaze. "How do you know my name?" I demanded, abandoning any pretense of polite geiko behaviour.

The man dipped his head. "My name is Takahiro Suzuki. I was a comrade of Kazuo-san's."

There were no other words he could have said to shock me more.

"I have come to bring you this." He took the one of the two katanas that were resting by his side and presented it to me. I recognized it immediately, the simple black sheath, the plated hilt with the red and black patterning, the decorative end that I had spent hours admiring when it was not in use by my father.

I swallowed, trying to force a fresh wave of tears back down my throat. "T-thank you, Suzuki-san."

He smiled a sad smile at me. "I suppose you do not know about the men that killed your father?"

I shook my head automatically and wiped at my eyes.

Another man spoke up before Suzuki-san had a chance to. "They're called the Shinsengumi, but you probably know them as the Mibu Wolves."

The name did ring a bell somehow.

"They dress in blue haoris," another one added, "and they're completely heartless. They are trained to kill whoever stands in their way as long as it benefits them."

"Yes," Suzuki-san agreed. "But they really do nothing but slay the innocent and disrupt Kyoto's peace." Murmurs of agreement broke out.

I felt something stir inside me then. It was a wild thrumming that spread throughout my entire being.

"Where do I find these people?"

Chuckles broke out from around the room at my question.

"It might not be wise to go rushing in on them," Suzuki-san said patiently. "Despite their terrible reputation, the Mibu Wolves always work in packs."

"But it might be wise to know the name of their commander," another man said.

"And who would that be?" I said.

"Toshizo Hijikata," Suzuki-san replied instantly. His lips twisted around the name. "He is only the vice commander of the Shinsengumi, but he is essentially the person behind all of the Wolves' actions. And I'm willing to bet my samurai's honour that he was the one who ordered the death of your family."

I could feel my hands subconsciously clenching into fists. So I just needed to hunt down this Toshizo Hijikata to avenge my family. Now the only problem was finding a smart way to do it.

"I hear that they visit Shimabara on occasion as well," one man with a nearly bald head piped up.

"Don't be ridiculous," another retorted. "If that were true, then they might as well commit honourable suicide."

"They don't count as samurai warriors though, would they? Honourable suicide doesn't apply to them."

Their conversation had moved on, but I had not. My mind was a whirling mess of red. Perhaps being a geiko wasn't such a bad move after all. If it gave me a chance to kill this Toshizo Hijikata, then I would do anything.

"You might want to keep your father's katana hidden." Suzuki-san's voice said from beside me. He gave me a wink. "Wouldn't want the other geiko to know what you're capable of, would you?"

"Not at all," I agreed. "Please excuse me while I hide this."

Suzuki-san chuckled. "Of course."

After Suzuki-san and his friends had drunk themselves silly and decided it was time to leave, I returned back upstairs to my temporary quarters. I had scoured the small room for a good hiding spot and eventually settled for placing the katana temporarily in the small gap behind the mirror. I would have to switch to living in the okiya with everyone else soon enough anyways. But if someone else found the sword, I would be in big trouble. Masaki-san was already disappointed in me. But I couldn't always leave the sword in this room either, I realized with a frown.

I undid the obi that secured my colourful kimono and made sure no one was outside before pulling out the katana. If I could just conceal it within my clothing, it would solve most of my problems. I held the katana against my side and tried to retie the obi without letting it slip out. The hilt of the katana was able to hold the sword upright with help from the obi, and if I kept my arms at my sides and moved in a rather precarious way, the long sleeves would conceal it almost flawlessly.

I felt a small smile of triumph make its way to my lips. Perhaps being a geiko wasn't too bad if I had a chance at vengeance. Now I could only hope that my sword skills were still sharp enough to deliver a smooth killing blow.

I reached inside my kimono and felt a twinge of satisfaction that I was able to draw out the unsheathed blade rather smoothly. To my surprise, the katana was clean and polished, the silver gleam of the blade sharp and deadly. I shifted it into the basic position and swung it around a couple of times. The first few practice strikes were shaky, but eventually gained confidence and within a few moments I could swing with ease.

I brought the katana's blade to my shoulder as if preparing to deliver the final blow.

You'd better watch your back, Toshizo Hijikata of the Shinsengumi, I thought as I thrust the blade forward in one fluid movement. From now on, I am your worst enemy.