Hero
"I want to be their savior!"
He regarded the teenager blankly, reining in his shock, even though he knew the boy could sense the reaction through the slight change in his ki. To want respect was one thing-All samurai who followed in the code of bushido must maintain their dignity and pride, their swords bound by the ways of honor.
But…To desire reverence? Such a thing was impossible, even for a skilled swordsman. Even for him, the man who'd saved him from death.
And that's how pure he really is. He mused bitterly. So innocent that he believes in the most absurd of ideas. So wrapped up in his own values that he fails to comprehend the tactics many have taken before him.
So confident in his own skills that he considers himself a god.
He turned away, heading towards the cabin, the shout of his baka deshi falling upon deaf ears.
Stupid pupil. He would not listen to reason.
There was no other choice. He had to let him go, let him experience the impact of his philosophy firsthand, let him realize what he had done and grasp that, throughout the war, his Shishou was right all along.
It was better to free a caged bird, then to hear it tweet and cry for liberty.
His words were harsh, bitter, commanding, tinged with carelessness and regret. "I am wasting my breath on a simpleton like you! Go! Go wherever you want to go!"
Enough was enough. He had given him the truth. No more, no less.
And the response he got was so naïve, so empty of all hatred and disgust and scorn normally reserved for him and him only, so grateful his tone, it made him want to puke.
Months pass, and snow continues to fall upon the mountain. He was gone now, lost to the chaos of the Bakumatsu, at the mercy of brainless public officials and greedy politicians. No doubt the officers, complete idiots that they were, had seen his ability with a sword, the potential in his eyes, and accepted him into their ranks. He was probably one of their top hitokiri, always crouched in the shadows, illuminated only by the light of the streetlamps and paper lanterns, a fleeting flash of red and gold authorities saw before their lives were snuffed out with one slash of his deadly blade. His morals were now tainted by blood, the dedication locked away in his heart, the praise of politicians dead on stained lips. The boy that was once his willing apprentice erased, replaced by a man with such indifference that the mere notion of it sent shudders coursing down his spine.
As he sat in his home, reflecting upon these thoughts, a cup of sake in his hand and a warm, blazing fire at his feet, he wondered:
Is that what he thought of me?
Author's Note:
EDIT: I decided to repost this due to constructive criticism provided by The Wandering Pen. Of course, that means I'll probably lose all of the precious reviews for this from my earlier draft (Sighs), but what the heck...If you want to improve, some things must be sacrificed.
The quote at the very beginning was an actual one Kenshin said in Tsuiokuhen (aka Trust and Betrayal), and it really struck me as something unexpected, so I decided to write a little piece about it. This is the first time I've written in Hiko's POV, and I'm not quite sure I captured his character correctly, but overall, I'm pleased with the way the whole story came out. Reviews are always welcomed, though flames aren't. And like everyone else, I do NOT own Rurouni Kenshin. It belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki.
