Hello, everyone~ This is my first ever fan-fic, so you can probably tell that there'll be ups and downs about it. Please be gentle when you criticize, and please leave reviews.

Disclaimers: All characters belong to their respective author and not to me...


A silver waft of smoke arose from an old-fashioned pipe and drifted away into the dark cold evening air. The dark haired man sighed, releasing another puff of smoke from his parted lips. Neither his attire of purple-gold color and dark black haori, nor his katana at his side was what drew people's glances. It was the bandage over his left eye and the dark look of mixed hunger, insanity and hatred in his right.

It had truly been a while since he'd been on such a leisurely walk alone, and on Earth no less. He'd never step a foot back in the place he'd vowed to destroy himself unless it was for business, but…

Closing his right eye, he could see plainly each and every memory he retained in his left of the past. His sensei's kind and stern, unchanging smile; his peers' laughing, smiling faces; his sensei's fist as he bonked him into the ground for punishing his misbehavors; the dark setting sunset and the cold moonlight reflecting on the back of his comrade's sword…

Silently inhaling his pipe and letting out another breath, he stopped on the path and stared up at the cold crescent moon. So many things changed over the ten years since his sensei's death. But he had not. Endeavoring to avenge him, he had sought and decided to destroy everything in the corrupted world. That was the only reason for his living on.

He slowly extinguished his pipe and pocketed it inside his kimono sleeve and walked on.

There weren't very many people walking around during the evening, but there were a few stray samurai and other men who were coming back from the main heart of the city, drunk and tipsy. None would approach him, though, nor prove to be any sort of trouble. If anything, he would have liked for them to give him a reason to cut them down. Useless things should just be rid of from the world, after all.

Just as he began to walk forward, out of the corner of his closed left eye, he could see his sensei smiling at him.

And when he opened his right, there he was, right in front of him.

Dressed in a pale gray blue kimono with a matching haori and a gray scarf that covered his neck, clutching a green book and walking up to him with that smile. Smiling to himself, he blinked, knowing that the sensei in front of him would disappear. But he didn't, and continued to walk forward until they were close enough to touch shoulders.

He didn't need anyone to tell him that the sensei in front of him was not an illusion. The warmth and presence of a human being… that—he could never mistake for a memory.

Unconsciously, the words slipped from his lips, "Sensei…" and his teacher stopped next to him. Turning his head to look up at the man who had called for him, he smiled.

That was right before Takasugi Shinsuke hit his neck with the back of his katana, hard enough to make him faint.


"Oi, you hentai lolicon senpai."

"I'm not a hentai, nor a lolicon, Matako-san. I'm a feminist." The samurai answered with his usual blank face and a scolding glare at the young female.

"Who's the guy Shinsuke-sama brought back?" cocking her guns and reloading the bullets, Matako flipped the twin revolvers in her hands and made a sour face. "I thought that he was going alone on his walk, and since he'd specifically told us to stay back-,"

"Who knows what's going on in his head-gozaru. At the very least, we can tell that Takasugi-dono has his reasons. He wouldn't bring a random stranger on board unless he thought that he was useful-de-gozaru." Behind the two, the Tsunpo of the crew commented, strumming his shamisen softly in rhythm to the music he was listening to.

"That's true…" the blondie pursed her lips and pocketed her guns. If it was anything, it was her feminine instincts alerting her when she saw the unconscious man in Takasugi's arms. Something… was off about him.


He didn't know what had driven him to do such a thing. But there was no way that he could ever mistake sensei's face. Ever. The person on the futon was the striking image of his sensei, in every way. That long gray light brown hair hanging below the shoulder blades; calm and gentle composition of each face feature – most especially the curve of those lips which gently turn up into a smile, and those unwavering soft gray eyes.

But if the person he knew was already dead, then who was this person, who had the same face, nuance and aura of his past sensei?

That digging, uneasy curiosity was burning into him. This person wasn't sensei, but neither was this person nothing at all to have his face. Something spelled out that this wasn't a mere coincidence.

The only reason that he'd brought this person along onto his ship was because he needed to ascertain whether this person was a fake or not. Afterwards, he would just as easily get rid of—

The rustling movement drew him out of his thoughts. Puffing out another sliver of smoke, Takasugi watched the person silently from his place near the window.

The sensei look-alike slowly got up, blinking, then turned to look around the room. While it was on a ship and mechanized, Takasugi had had it shaped to his own Japanese tastes, so the floor was adorned with tatami mats; the walls had screens placed in front of them, and there was very little of what one would call furniture in the room at all.

"You're awake." Takasugi said, continuing to observe the stranger as he got out of the futon and patted his kimono, seeming to search for something before glancing up at him.

Smiling, he motioned the character for write in the air. His eye narrowing just the slightest bit, Takasugi bit on his pipe and inhaled, frowning. "What would you need that for-,"

The sensei look-alike deftly unraveled his scarf to reveal the ragged, vicious scars surrounding his neck. As if… someone had tried to lop of his head very sloppily but failed. That explained why he hadn't spoken up even once. He literally couldn't.

"Your things are on the shelf over there."

Smiling, he retrieved his things and began to quickly write out something in the booklet and held it out to Takasugi.

You shouldn't kidnap someone like this with no warning, my little samurai. He barely finished reading the sentence when he looked up and saw a familiar fist slam down on his head.

His face rammed into the ground with a shocking realization of déjà vu – no one other than his sensei would do such a thing and call him by that nickname.

The tremor of the hit made the ship's floor tremble just a bit, and alarmed voices called out for him outside of his door.

"Shinsuke-sama, Shinsuke-sama! Are you alright?"

"Takasugi-sama, are you safe?! What's going on?!" the door promptly opened, and a large group of the Kiheitai came swarming in, looking for the cause of the ruckus.

What they saw was their leader sprawled on the ground with a huge dent where his head had been, and the young man standing right in front of him, holding onto a notebook and smiling.

"You bastard, you did in Shinsuke-sama-!" Matako was the first one to draw her guns and point them at the calmly standing man while the rest of them surrounded the stranger and tried to help Takasugi. But before she could pull the triggers, a familiar small dagger lodged right into the wall, throwing off the direction of her weapons. Two stray bullets ended up in the ceiling and in a crew's shoulder, soliciting a loud cry.

"—n't touch."

"Sh-Shinsuke-sama?" The rest of the crew stepped back hesitantly at the order of their leader, who was crouching up and wiping the blood off his forehead with a dark look. He had been the one to throw the dagger as well.

"Don't you dare touch this person."

"Shinsuke?" The shamisen musician/assassin/vice-captain stepped up with a rather puzzled voice. This kind of behavior was rather unusual for their leader to take. He had never bothered with anything in this world, much less worry this much about another person unless he or she was useful to him.

"Alright, then everyone. As long as Takasugi-dono says it's alright, then he's alright. Go back to your stations." The lolicon feminist clapped his hands and shooed everyone else out. Begrudgingly so, the members sheathed their katanas and left quietly, leaving the five of the remaining people in the room.

Matako pocketed her guns and ran to Takasugi, trying to help him up. "Shinsuke-sama, are you-," she was cut off by a sudden chain of mad chuckles coming from her leader.

The young man in question who had been observing them quietly crouched down and gently patted Takasugi's head, then started brushing off the rubble. He wrote something down and held it up. Are you alright?

"You attacked Shinsuke-sama and yet you say such a thing, you bastard—," Matako retorted hotly, when Takeshi Henpeita stopped her from going near him.

Even if I did scold him, it's only natural that I would concern myself for his well being, no? That's what it means to care for someone.

"Shinsuke, who is this-gozaru? Another Yato? To have busted your head through the ground-,"

"That's right. You haven't introduced yourself…" Takasugi slowly got up, brushing off the dust from his kimono. Before any of them could respond, he had his sword drawn and held against the other's scarred throat. "Who might you be, to have his face and approach me like this? What are you?"

Despite having a blade at his throat, the person calmly picked up his brush and wrote, My name is Yoshida Shuyo. Your teacher, Yoshida Shouyou was my elder twin brother.


So... please leave reviews and like it if you did!