part seven. The end or the beginning? The beginning of the end? This has been your cliché & cheese trigger warning
also 14k words
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It started with a dull throb that persisted until it became an angry sharp pain manifesting from his temples to shake his whole being. In short, it was one of the worst headaches Gintoki had ever known, and he hadn't even been drinking the night before! That was wholly unfair. He hadn't caught a good night's rest for much of the week and now on top of the lethargy he felt, there was a nice pounding on his skull. Just sweet.
Seeing Takasugi's ugly mug this early into the day certainly didn't make it any better.
He gets a jab under his ribs for that. "Ow, fuck! I didn't even say that aloud!"
"Your thoughts are written on your face, stupid."
"Now, now! We're backstage at the most prestigious music awards ceremony," Katsura casually inserts himself into the scene and dons Admonishing Mother Mode. "Are you two going to fight on stage too? Honestly, do you not get tired of fighting all the time?"
Two hundred forty six wins to two hundred forty six losses. Evidently they do not.
For the moment, though, they're willing to concede. Gintoki's head is hurting enough without him using it too. Without further hassle they change into their newest stage outfits. The ceremony has already begun, with the TV in their dressing room streaming the opening acts so they can watch the show while they prepare for their turn. They would be among the last of the performers tonight, a huge honour given their recent debut. It serves to show that Houkago Happy Hour was not only a limited time craze but had also grown to be lovable personalities throughout the nation.
Speaking of stage outfits, Gintoki's headpiece was tugging at his scalp. He was made to append a tiny hat to his hair and wore a sparkly knee-length dress of white with emerald green accents. There was constricting bracelet on his wrist and his heeled white boots shone with the jewel appliqué that completed his outfit. Oh, and he had a wand, too. Not that kind of wand. This wand had magical properties. Although of course Gin-san's other wand was magical in its own right, if he could say so himself. But, yeah, not that kind of wand.
Tonight, Houkago Happy Hour would be Mahou Shoujo Houkago Madoka.
Katsura twirls and produces his smartphone he'd become proficient with. "Group selfie! I will upload it to our official Twitter and Instagram accounts," he announces, for the importance of online presences should not be overlooked. It was an easy way to send out messages to stir the hearts of youth. A picture of the sky breaking dawn and When will morning arrive for Edo? #wakeup #newday #dontforgettojointhejoui #paakoisstillasleep #lol; or a photograph of the gorilla in the zoo with #lol #shinsengumi #kondoisao #gorilla #gorillagorilla. Yes, Katsura has even perfected the fine art of writing overly long commentary hashtags for this very purpose.
He extends the phone as far as his arm will reach. They end up taking a photo in which half of Gintoki and Sakamoto are cut off respectively on either sides, Takasugi's chin is out of the shot, and Katsura is the only one captured is his entirety. He uploads the photo without any words for none are needed, and quietly slips the phone away.
Sakamoto is finding much amusement with his wand, which he aims at Takasugi as he calls out random names that sound like they could be magic spells. "Ahahahaha~ Enlarge, Growing Titan! Seeking, High Gate of Babylon! Ex..CALIBUAAAAAH!"
"Pain Packer: Rising Sun!" Takasugi is quick to fire back.
"Ahahaha, target not found! Kintoki, come and form an alliance with me—"
"Don't throw the props!" screeches Katsura.
The room is as noisy as you'd expect, being occupied by a rowdy bunch of kids who were too old to act this way but hadn't a childhood in which they might've dispersed this energy. Gintoki wonders when one of the backstage staff would knock and tell them to shut up. There's a moment when Takasugi brushes by and the scent that lingers does not smell of smoke and danger anymore. 'Course, that could be attributed to the clothes; surely it was hard to smell like a bitter villain in new mahou shoujo outfits. At least Gintoki hoped they were new. There was no telling where Sakamoto got his shit.
The resident loud person is invading his space and pulling at him to join in. His headache has ebbed a bit, and maybe he will. For the first time in days there's a grin on his face as he shoves his wand thing at Zura and calls, "Summoning Hair Scissors!"
Lamentably, nothing happens. There is not enough power to draw from just one magical wand.
"We'll have to combine our wands! You may have my wand, Kintoki. Use it well, ahaha. Yah, Shuusuke, give yours over here too."
"I hope you know this is a waste of MP." Katsura crosses his arms with a pout. Did these children not understand the importance of resource conservation? Even worse, Gintoki would not be able to afford any mana potions of his own. His avatar would turn to Katsura's with a blasé expression to say, 'POTS PLZ'.
Fruits_Punch_Samurai: No. (LOL)
Ginko: cmon ur gonna abandon a comrade in need?
Ginko: remember shouyou-sensei said we all have to look out for each other
Ginko: we're all friends, zura
Ginko: we take turns
Ginko: i got them from takachibi last time
Ginko: cheap bastard only dropped 1
Fruits_Punch_Samurai: Don't twist Sensei's words. (mild anger) Here. (disapproval)
While Katsura fantasizes an MMO gaming session all by himself, the magical girls are launching their combined attack.
Gintoki has to stretch to catch the other wand that was lobbed his way. The brief flash of gold around his neck catches Sakamoto's eye and he leans in.
"Ooh, where'd you get that—"
Ahh, there comes the knock on their door.
A backstage staff peeks in. "You're up next," he says cheerfully, navigating through the general mess of the room to turn on the television set in the back of the room. "It's Nakura-san on stage right now, and we'll have someone fetch you when it's ready for you to set up."
They are left alone again, and the mood in the room returns to its previous comfortable state. Gintoki waves at the TV where Nakura stands and gives her thanks. "It's O-chan! I helped her with her song, be awed by Gin-san's genius, hey."
Oh, they are definitely in awe. Just not in the way any of them could have expected.
...
Someone breaks the silence.
"So."
Gintoki doesn't have anything to say. His mouth is still open, dumbfounded.
Takasugi whirls upon him. "What the fuck is our song doing up there?"
"I don't know!"
"Don't give me that bullshit, we saw you meeting with her the other day. You'd sell our efforts for a lay, huh? Go on, tell us how much you enjoyed it."
"No! I didn't—wait, you guys saw me? I knew I felt—you—you mean you followed me."
Gintoki staggers back at the realization. Takasugi offers no respite.
"Gintoki," Katsura tries to say, but Takasugi is faster.
"We wouldn't have followed you if you weren't suspicious in the first place. And, haah, weren't we right after all? This was just a joke to you. There's nothing more to do here, I'm out."
"Hah? I don't know how she got hold of it but I'm not at fault! What even gives you the right to stalk me and then throw your own misunderstandings at me! Get over your childish overdramatic ass—oi!"
His last lines are only thrown at the door closed on Takasugi's back.
A hand rests on Gintoki's shoulder. Relieved, he turns to the one he knows is there and barks out a terse laugh. "Zura, what's with this ridiculous development, almost as ridiculous as your—"
"I know I forced you into this arc. I apologize."
Gintoki could not even gape. His gut clenches and he stares, blankly, at nothing, though what he'd seen in Katsura's face was something he'd never ever forget. Katsura had looked calm but his eyes had been steel. They sliced through all of Gintoki's defences and now it is all he can do to stand and watch as Katsura follows Takasugi out.
There's no one left in the room but the two loudest people to inhabit it. Gintoki can't fucking look at him. If even Tatsuma is angry, what will he do? He thinks he'll crumble, then. But the silence is telling enough. Tatsuma waits one, two more breaths, and mutters, "I'd better go after them, Gintoki."
If there was ever a glue that binded three headstrong people together into a quartet it was Sakamoto Tatsuma. Sakamoto's easygoing demeanor smoothed over their rough edges and fixed any quarrels they had by redirecting them to his own stupidity. Even after the war when Gintoki had spoken to neither Katsura nor Takasugi in years, he knew Sakamoto still traded with the two of them, and he was still just as prone to landing spaceships on top of Gintoki's residence to drop updates about what they had all been up to, whether Gintoki asked for it or not. He was always in the stars, whenever the three of them looked up at separate points, and just like that their connection stretched out in the expanse of space but never thinned.
Seeing Sakamoto's back moving away from him now; it hurt, physically, as a heavy, choking snake around his neck. His mind is sluggish, and by the time he starts actually noticing his surroundings again he is no longer inside the building but on the road to… Where was he going? It takes him several more moments to realize that he was still decked in magical girl gear. Thankfully, it was getting late and the area was deserted. Everyone was probably warmed up in front of their TVs, having tuned in to watch the performance with the most fanfare of the year. And at this moment, they, Houkago Happy Hour, would be-
Gintoki swallows. He wants to tsukkomi but the words aren't forming as the story ploughs forward in its new melodramatic tone. He has too many questions which only Nakura would be able to answer, but he's not so naive to think that she will. That she'd stolen the music sheets he'd hid within his yukata rather than him having misplaced it should have been surprising to him. Had his instincts really dulled so much..? He didn't feel any surprise, though. If he could muster anything, slowly but surely, it was a bitterness rising like bile in his throat. Was it betrayal, to be assumed the worst of by the ones he thought would have known him best? Yet he doesn't fault them. After all, he was the one who did not deserve them, not ever since then. He'd somehow dared to think otherwise, but he should have known all along.
This bitterness could only be pointed at his loathsome self.
.
(On stage, Nakura finishes her performance looking mildly pleased. Mind you, that is a huge change in expression for someone who is so grave and grim all the time.
Now, amidst the chaos that would soon occur, it was time for her to slip away and bring the arc to its closing notes.)
.
To hell with that. Gintoki could fault himself without end, but this time he felt he had the right to fume at someone else. Did they really have to leave like that without listening to his side of the story? They used to be able to tell without him saying a word. So what if it was kinda his fault for being careless with the papers? He hadn't intended for them to be stolen! What was up with those reactions?
And what was he uselessly stalling on the streets for? He pushes his feet to move. He'll get back to the Yorozuya and they'll continue Gintama like they always have, and Zura and Tatsuma can show up if they want to or piss off and die, Gintoki doesn't care. Wait, no, he doesn't mean that. He can't make sense of his own thoughts when there's a flush of heat starting from the base of his neck. It doesn't help that his headache has rushed back in full force. Suddenly his necklace is too tight and he wretches it off to toss it away.
...The necklace.
The gold chain in his hand is simple, the locket not particularly ornate. Yet removing it had immediately made him feel several times lighter, as if the clouds in his mind just lifted. He can think clearly now.
He tries to force the locket open. It remains stubbornly shut, masking the intentions of its former owner. How could he have forgotten? He'd gotten it that very day, from O-chan herself...
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Some time ago, on TV Tokyo:
Be Cute! Don't Smoke! A Public Safety Infomercial brought to you by Houkago Happy Hour.
"Hello, we are Houkago!"
"Now, everyone, we're going to read off some bullet points off this Powerpoint slide about the cons of smoking, so you can make a smart and informed decision about your lifestyle and your future and Edo's future."
"We each contributed our thoughts to put this together. You can also find this slide on the Edo municipality government's public health and safety website, and we will be holding a raffle draw for autographed copies."
"Right. So, first of all, we have Be Cute! Don't Smoke! Side Paako! Now, dearest viewers, heed this warning. It's a bit disgusting to say on broadcast, no, wait, it's always disgusting—see, if you smoke you'll end up looking like Shin-chan here. Do you want to only show up in OPs and EDs and once every fifty episodes? So, if you're thinking about smoking, don't start. If you're thinking about quitting, just do it. There, see, wasn't that easy? Sorry, guys, I'll be taking the win. I mean, if there was a competition between us for the most effective anti-smoking campaign. Which there definitely isn't, nope."
"Shut up, Paako."
"Hey, it's my turn! Both of you should shush, ahahahaha! Listen closely to Tatsuko's Smart Business Lecture! Smoking is a horrible decision from a business standpoint. A pack of cigarettes costs about 400 yen. That is, by the way, a conservative price, and you'll find places charging way more. Say you smoke a pack a day. For a thirty day month that is 12,000 yen spent on your cigarettes instead of on a limited edition 1/8 scale PVC Tatsuko figure. Ahaha, hahahaha, the choice is clear as the sky when you can see stars."
"Don't shamelessly plug your own merchandise here, oiii. This is a team effort. Please take home Paako's figures too. We get separate commissions for those, you know."
"Does that matter right now!?"
"Ooh, was that a tsukkomi attempt? It was too abrupt but a cute effort nonetheless. Keep at it, Shinsuko!"
"Ahem. Can I go? I'm sure the viewers are waiting to get back to whatever show this commercial was inserted into. Fret not, viewers! Zurako-chan's slide is very succinct. A picture tells a thousand words. You see here this photograph of Edo's beautiful skyline. This is a predictive picture of an Edo when the Shinsengumi no longer exist. You see here, this little gap, this was the location of the Shinsengumi HQ before I removed it with Photoshop. Isn't it a sight to behold? For more pictures like this, please follow our official social media accounts with handle TheReal_HHH_Official. Now I ask you, with much grievance: how can you witness this grand new Edo through the plumes of cigarette smoke? This clear, sweet, oppression-free air is our responsibility to maintain, so our future generations will not know of what we had to suffer, scaling rooftops and hiding in dumpsters to evade the persistent Shinsengumi. Ah, to think of marring Edo's spring breeze with second-hand fumes, littering ash on its fertile soil! It would be cause for divine retribution, a national tragedy, a disease equalling the sins of the Bakufu itself. There is a phrase in Latin to describe the horrors which I will recite to you now. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. Did you call catch that? And, personally, I… I…" and here Katsura turns on the moe to max, "I… I can't stand people who smoke. Don't do it, onii-sama." and he makes the most gigantic pout he can with an upturned nose, and sweeps the nation off its feet.
"Blah blah blah, you're so noisy. What part of this was succinct, bastard?"
"You mustn't interrupt during my turn. What will you do if this skews the result of the competition? I request to redo my speech, especially the end. I can do thirty-two different intonations of 'Onii-sama', enough to blow Shiba Miyuki away."
"It stopped being your turn a long time ago. Forget returning to their show, the viewers are going to find themselves watching a whole different show after this."
"Hahaha, we should end this, right? Thank you for tuning into Be Cute! Don't Smoke!, although you didn't have a choice in that, ahaha, ahahaha! This was Houkago Happy Hour! Have a good morning, or a good afternoon, or good night, depending on whenever this commercial airs!"
"We're definitely late-night."
"Yep! Paako-chan hopes to see you at our events!"
"Hold up, I'm not done with the dissection of Edo's sunrise! What about this haiku I wrote? Die, Shinsengumi. Hi, Bandai Namco ********. No longer Sunrise."
Zurako is shoved off screen. A puff of smoke settles into the air, and then there is a low, deadpan drawl as the screen fades to black. "Smoking… simply destroys."
.
.
.
...Ah. That was the wrong flashback.
Gintoki starts, "Don't just 'Ah'! The mood is gone now, what are you going to do about this?! You were supposed to prove Gin-san's innocence with a flashback to how I got this damn thing!"
Distraught, the very much innocent Gintoki glares at the stupid necklace, only to glimpse the symbol of a mythical crow engraved on the latch.
He paused;
-and throws his head back in derisive laughter. Of course. It could not have been more painfully obvious. He sinks to his knees, suddenly drained by his realization, and continues to laugh. This must be his retribution, for the Yatagarasu to haunt his eyes so.
The Tenshouin Naraku.
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.
A couple of days prior.
~Oboro's Dilemma~ Girl's Side More Sweet Memorial Edition~
Oboro did not know the slightest bit about singing. (Or dancing, or performing, or makeup, or dresses, or charming others.) Unfortunately, his job required him to dabble in all of the above. Actually, it didn't, not really, but Shouyou's students were a pesky bunch that called for more drastic measures. As much as he didn't want to charm the Shiroyasha or anything, it was pertinent to his plan.
But it was the Shiroyasha. What would be sufficient enough to charm him? He was so out of tune with the times that he had no idea whatsoever. And it was not something he could just wing or ask Mukuro for…Ooh.
And so Oboro showed up that day with a box of donuts in hand.
What are we even doing in Oboro's perspective, you ask? Beats me. But since we're here anyway, we'll get to see the main character himself soon, so it all works out!
Speaking of which, here he comes. Oboro waves his donuts in the air and thins his lips in the most jaw maligning grin ever. This one smile has probably made up for his lifetime's lack of them. His facial muscles have been rigorously exercised all in preparation for this day.
Now, his Charisma stat has been maxed. He was sure he could bonk anyone he came across now. He was not here to bonk anyone, but he could if he wanted to. Sex, however, was not something he derived pleasure from. Instead:
"Sorry, I haven't kept you waiting, have I?"
"No, no, I'm delighted you could make it after I asked you out of the blue. Take a seat, have a donut."
The Shiroyasha did as he suggested. Oboro does not miss his guarded glance at the strawberry creme donut he'd chosen. "Relax. If I was out to poison you, don't you suppose I would have gone about it differently?"
He nonchalantly takes a bite out of it as a gesture of goodwill. Fool. The very purpose of his little excursion right now was because no lethal poison of his could take down the Shiroyasha. He'd learned that the hard way. No, he had to strike at something different. But in the name of the Heavens, these donuts were disgusting.
The Shiroyasha hesitates before breaking off into a good natured laugh. "You've convinced me. I can't pass the opportunity for free sweets anyway. Have you tried the parfaits here? They're great."
He sprays crumbs everywhere as he talks and finishes the box within a minute. Disgusting, Oboro thinks again. This was the demon he'd fought doused in carnage. "I'll treat. It's I who called you out here for a favour, after all."
The waitress appears by their side as if summoned. "How many parfaits would you like to order?"
The default is four. Oboro looks at Gintoki's face, which brightens up with every increment of the counter. At seven, his eyes are glowing. Oboro goes one up to be on the safe side.
"Eight," he orders. The waitress nods and shuffles away.
"What's your name?"
Score. Who knew the Shiroyasha was this easy to charm? Oboro feigns to startle at the sudden question; inside, he is feeling the beginning coils of pleasure. "Jeeeez, and I'd thought I was a bit famous around here! It's Nakura, whom you might recognize from that interruption on your show. Which I'd like to sincerely apologize for, that was my PR team getting a bit overexcited, you see."
"Don't sweat it, there was no harm done, Nakura-chan."
"O. Call me O."
"Sorry, I didn't catch that. Was it O, or OOO or OOOOOO?"
"..Just O, like the letter 'O'."
"Huh? Which letter? O? O? Damn it, I can't tell at all. Do you think we'll have to wait for the uncensored BDs to go on sale? Although if you ask me, those BDs are such a rip off. With our flimsy budget, whether it's BD or HD or SD it's all the same."
"No, I said it's just O—"
"—Oh, my parfaits are here! Your name can wait, right? I'll be really quick."
To his credit, he finishes the parfaits long before Oboro lost his patience. Oboro looks at the Shiroyasha's lean form and cannot guess where all of those calories go. Maybe he should stop stabbing the guy in the stomach. He has probably broken something in that digestive system of his.
He is lucky, then. This time, Oboro aims not for his flesh. He too knows where the bone of a samurai's sword lies. Not flesh, nor blood. This time, Oboro will have his prided silver soul.
"Ahh, that was a good meal. So, what were we talking about again?"
Having finally gotten the Shiroyasha's attention again, he won't allow the topic to deviate anymore. "I have a favour to ask. I'm making presumptions here, but since all of your names were listed in the lyric composition for your song, you must have a lot of insight on writing lyrics! I simply wanted to get some input on the new song I've been working on. It's odd to ask a rival for advice, but Paako is a source of inspiration for me. Here is a proof of my sincerity."
He offers the gift he has prepared. It's a necklace, a locket and chain which he reaches over to clasp around the Shiroyasha's neck. He relishes in how stiff the Shiroyasha sits; how on edge he must be, to have a stranger's hands brush against his neck. It must take all of his self control to not push Oboro away. He knows it because he is exercising the same constraint; he could break it so easily, such a lithe and fragile neck. But it would not be a true conquest.
His true conquest would be the scrolls of music sheets on the Shiroyasha's body.
He takes out his own sheets of paper. Together, they attempt to analyze what he has written, which mostly consists of lines about fleas who keep escaping and refuse to die and Edo needs a Heiwajima Shizuo too. Evidently, much discussion was needed on the art of bleeping out words.
"Hm, oh yeah, you could try this—"
Oboro drones him out, putting his replies on autopilot and giggling from time to time. The Shiroyasha's little clique has been watching them the whole while. Oboro makes sure the demon sitting across the table is sufficiently distracted when they send someone over to gather information. Predictably, The Young Noble of Fury, Katsura Kotarou. The pieces have now fallen into place, the stage set.
At a natural break in their conversation, he sends the donut box flying into the Shiroyasha's lap, sending crumbs and bits all over his clothes. "Oh, dear! How clumsy of me," Oboro jumps up to his side and, with the box concealing his movements from the Shiroyasha and his entourage's lines of sight, slips his hand into the folds of his clothes and retrieves his goal in the guise of dusting him off.
"Ah, it's fine, it's fine! Say, do you feel something cold at my back...?"
The Kiheitai leader, was it. He was openly displaying his wrath in chilling black aura. Could he have seen? No, Oboro's execution had been perfect. There was not a need to second guess himself.
"I assure you it's insignificant, just your shinigami or wife or something. Are they not all the same? Anyway, an idea has come to me. What do you think about this..."
Oboro takes much greater participation in the discussion this time around. With the papers he needed tucked into his own sleeve, he is in no rush for Sunday. So he will play nice for a bit. He will grant the Shiroyasha these final hours to create the memories that will follow him to his grave.
.
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The ding for the arrival of a new message sounds and this time, Gintoki has been expecting it. He knows what it will say.
[I will be waiting at the Shabby as Fuck Warehouse no.17 at That Pier, You Know Which Pier I'm Talking About There's Only, Like, One
when you're ready to end everything.]
Oh, you can bet he's ready. Gintoki runs; he doesn't exactly know where, so that bastard had better have left some signs. Sure enough, as he got to the pier, a trail of light beckons at him to follow. He's too tired to question the incredulity of it and it doesn't matter anyway, he'll take whatever trap Oboro has prepared and with these hands he will put their longstanding feud to an end.
He finds Oboro standing in the dark confines of the warehouse.
"Yo, it seems I made you wait again. You can turn the lights on now, the main character has arrived."
Oboro is turned away but Gintoki can sense his smile. Psychotic, unnerving, fuckheshouldhaverealized.
Having not received an actual response, Gintoki continues on in even steps. The darkness swallows him gradually, dyes him with the shadows of the crates under the moon's cast from whence he'd come. "Oi, what's with the Nakura or O or whatever? Trying for an image change now?"
"I'm glad you asked."
In the same golden light that had led Gintoki here, Oboro spells out the letters to his pseudonyms.
Nakura slash O-chan desu!
And with a flick of his staff, the characters rearrange themselves.
I am Oboro of the Naraku~
"...O..kay?"
"I am disappointed, Shiroyasha. Has Shouyou not taught you anything besides your sword? It is the oldest trick in the book. Have you not read Harry Potter?"
Oh. Gintoki scratches his head sheepishly. "Uh, no? I'm not sure where that would exactly fit into a budding samurai's curriculum."
"It's all about the breadths in university, Shiroyasha. You have to learn about things not related to your discipline and expand your horizons to become a well-rounded student. See, 'I am Oboro of the Naraku~' is 'Nakura slash O-chan desu!' scrambled, aka. an anagram."
"That's impossible! They don't even contain the same characters! 'aka. an anagram' my ass! And for the record, do I look like someone who'd survive a semester of university?!"
At Gintoki's yells, Oboro can only shake his head with a pitying expression. "Do you have time to worry about doing the straight man routine in your position? You could not recognize a horcrux when you wore one, nor had you read Harry Potter in the first place. I am beginning to question whether you were a student of Shouyou's, after all."
"..Okay, so I didn't pay so much attention in class. I was a growing boy, okay? I was simply getting a healthy amount of sleep! If you want to know about sensei's teachings, you should've talked to Zura instead. The guy copied down everything sensei said, word for word, until Shouyou-sensei said to him, ahem, 'Kotarou-kun, down the path you have chosen is mogigraphia. It's enough to keep my words in your heart, mkay?' but Zura was already busy writing down mogigraphia ten times."
Even now, he reminisces about his so-called friends with a faint smile on his face. This is not the dying face Oboro wants to see, swathed in blood and blazing fire. This Shiroyasha is abhorrently weak, grasping at straws that pretend to be bonds. Oboro will correct this soon. "Have you figured it out yet? The reason you will lose. Why do you think poisons do not work on me? Why do you think I carry a staff around all the time or wear these magic beads around my neck?"
"Uh, I don't think that's what the gorilla was intending for your character design, but… yer a wizard now, is that it?"
Oboro closes his eyes. After a pause, he answers, "How naive. I will say that it is not truly magic but merely the way the Tendoshuu is. They are not human. Magic is what humans deem inhuman, yet human confines do not apply to them. They… have a different system of doing things."
"Hey," Gintoki says. His tone betrays nothing, and Oboro has no need to look upon him. He will only see a disgrace. "You keep saying 'they', but what about you? Aren't you one of them?"
"My affinity for it is limited. I cannot cast anything complex, but I can send you to hell. I have humoured you long enough with this pointless chatter. Prepare yourself, Shiroyasha!"
Oboro grips his staff and takes his fighting stance. He could not afford to let down his guard; he had done so too many times in the past with regards to the Shiroyasha and the result is evident before him. The man escaped his reaper every time by a bewildering combination of skill and luck, broken body and iron will.
Gintoki instinctively reaches for his sword, too, until it hits him. "H-hey, wait a second! You're not going to use magic, are you? This is a show about samurai, that's totally cheating!"
"Unfair is what the weak use to justify their weakness and blame the heavens. Besides, Gintama has mecha and light sabers and talking demonic swords that devour the souls of their wielders. You truly did not deserve to be the protagonist if you didn't expect magic. Nevertheless, this will be your last scene. Farewell, Shiroyasha."
A green light shoots out from his staff. Straight and true, the spell will not miss. But the Shiroyasha defies his expectations as always, throws his wooden sword and brings the ceiling down upon him in an earth-shattering clang.
Gintoki coughs as the dust about him settles. There's movement to his right and he has just enough time to twist and brace himself for impact before Oboro's staff guts him. Ah, oops. That might have been yet another direct hit to his stomach.
Gintoki clenches his teeth and swings forward with his magical wand prop, but Oboro is already gone. When Gintoki straightens, he finds the crow several feet away looking mutedly at the wreckage.
"You always have the best luck, Shiroyasha."
"Hah?" Gintoki looks for his sword in the rubble and picks up the familiar weight. He finds the golden locket beside it, half shattered under some block of metal, and nudges a piece with his foot. "Oh, right, what was with this thing?"
"I suppose in the end it completed its job. I had no use for it beyond this point. However, I will say this-" Oboro springs forward without warning; Gintoki's sword comes up to block the blow and it's all he can do to dig his feet into the ground and answer this contest of strength. "That rather hurt."
"You're that upset about breaking your necklace?" Gintoki pulls off a strained smirk as he wills the muscles in his arms to hold for another second and then another second again. Their weapons are locked in a deadly stalemate, sparks building, and whoever relinquishes even an inch of ground will lose. If he falters in the slightest here, he's sure his sword will break. "I'm sorry, were you serious about that image change after all?"
Gintoki sees through Oboro's next course of action from the point where he opens his mouth. He leaps back to put in as much distance as possible but Oboro is faster. The moment the spell makes contact, Gintoki's world turns red. He does not hear himself scream; could feel nothing but pain. Yet neither was prepared for a third party, who in the same moment would have taken Oboro's head had he not escaped the full clip of the blade.
The pale light streaming from the hole in the ceiling desaturates the splatter of blood. Almost disbelievingly, Oboro reaches at his face and feels that it is his own, a warmth he could not see with his left eye. Again, before his right eye, stood unwavering students of Shouyou.
"You sonuvabitch," Takasugi growled.
Gintoki trembled on the ground behind him. Katsura was by his side in the next second, gently coaxing his haori beneath his head to cradle it from the ground as he spasmed and writhed.
It would be a few seconds more before he calmed. His breathing is still ragged but he pulls himself up to a sitting position with some help. "H-Hey… What-"
"Shh, Gintoki. Let us handle this."
Oboro. Where was Oboro? Gintoki catches sight of Takasugi then, with his back towards him as he engages Oboro in a bitter fight. It takes a bit longer to process this in his disorientation, and then he tries to shout over the clash of steel on steel, "Watch out!"
"In the end, I underestimated your bonds. This was part of your plan, to lure me into believing you were alone, Shiroyasha."
"Of course there was a plan," Katsura shoots back briskly. He stands up now from his position of fretting over Gintoki, and draws himself up to the full height of his crackling ire.
"Of course there was a plan," Gintoki echoes. Then: "Eh? There was a plan?"
"Shiroyasha," Oboro says, before the tip of a sword finds its way to his throat.
"You sonuvabitch," Takasugi reiterates. "Stop talking to him. I am your opponent."
"...noying," mutters Oboro. He stills, as if deliberating something, remembering something, and in a fit of lost composure he grits out, "Annoying!"
A blast of air shoots out of his palm and shoves the air out of Takasugi's lungs. He comes upon a wall at his bruised back and haphazardly rolls away as Oboro sends an onslaught of needles upon it. It's an opening that Oboro takes, until he finds his right arm unresponsive to his heed.
Bullets did not work on him, but it would take a while to regenerate an arm ridden with holes. So the fourth one lurking in the corner had finally decided to make himself known. Oboro has traced the exact position where the bullets had come from and will not make the same mistake; however he did not know what to call the man there since he had not been a student of Shouyou's. Now if he just addressed them collectively as 'students of Shouyou', wouldn't that be quite rude? He would hate to exclude anyone. They will all perish here.
Takasugi is marvellously quick on his feet. Oboro's own attacks have had to be pulled in tighter; it was certainly worth commending. The moment he missteps there will be a hawk of a sharpshooter to catch him in a web of bullets. They have successfully limited his movements. It might have even been enough.
But it's a mistake. They are not allowing him to do anything more than stand there and block, wave his staff and move his mouth. They thought to push him, to exhaust his moveset, but.
The arc of his staff echoes the voiceless curse leaving his lips like moving pictures on silent screens.
Takasugi is simply one step too slow.
The sole greatest cause of pain in his life;
The last face he ever saw with his left eye.
How ironic, that he should see it again here.
It hits him square in his chest, but that's not where it hurts.
In his mind, he sees the face that has never stopped haunting him, hellish nightmare just before dawn.
Don't.
Don't do it.
Please..!
Don't... don't make him do it.
Someone stop him, SenseiGodAnyoneplease,
########## stop, stOP IT NO-&&&&&
&%***!%%1$$$$1######**&&&&**!
&&!&!&!&!&&!&!&!&!&!&!000&!&!&!&
%%&&#&##&&&&&!11&&%%#
&&&&&&#&&&&&&111&&&&&#%%
&%&%&%0&%&%1&%&%&%&%&%&%
(He did not really hate the world. Only himself, he who could not protect a thing. Yet when he lost everything, a single thought pressed him onwards: I can still save him. The soul of his other half that was crying out in anguish even if no one could hear it; Takasugi alone heard it. If he just laid this world to rest, then he would be saved.
This was his belief and resolve.)
He is blind in the pitch blackness and deaf to the cries of his name. He can't feel his legs and it's like he's floating in eternal limbo, or maybe he's falling.
Maybe he was wrong, all this time. Maybe he was the one who needed saving. He reaches out. Steady arms catch him before he hits the ground.
Gintoki had been clambering over to where he was and lets out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He hurries the rest of the way. Tatsuma had come out of his strategic hiding place and now arranges Takasugi in a propped up position by a crate. He rather looks like he's having fun with a limp doll but Gintoki knows better, that his grin is a premonition to storm.
Oboro doesn't see it. He sees the two most dangerous of Shouyou's students on their knees and draws up another long winded speech because his favourite pastime after being immortal is being condescending to Shouyou's failures.
And Gintoki must still be out of it because he almost misses it, too.
"Students of Shouyou (and the extraneous company they have brought), hear my words decreed from the Heavens and lament your weakness that has cost (except for said extraneous company) your master Shou-"
Oboro's one good eye stares openly in shock after it sinks in that it too had almost been lost. To this impossible speed that blows apart the confines of the warehouse, unable to bear the brunt of the storm as he stands in the false calm of the eye. Lost, to the student who finally takes off his sheep's clothing and looks to eat him whole.
"You are not fit to utter that name."
There is only one word to describe the intent in the air, hissing and crackling, sharp and crazy. Fury; the true form of Katsura Kotarou's sword style which had earned him his alias in battle sent all before him crumbling to their knees. It ran so contrary to his usual soft-spoken demeanor that it was incredibly disarming, how frightening a truly furious Katsura could be. His long hair is flaring with static and ice.
What monsters Yoshida Shouyou had raised.
It was the thought rampant in his mind when Katsura flew at him. No, more than that, it was his one thought before everything became a whirl of instinct and instant reflexes.
Katsura's sword is an art of deadly precision. Oboro can feel the heat as steel skims his skin, dancing to the furious tempo of his heart, had he still had one that worked, har har. For the first time since he gained immortality he feels an inkling of fear, the telltale goosebumps rising under the swing of Katsura's blade even when he dodges each neat and calculated slice.
Oboro struggles to understand how it could have come this, that he could be pressured in both strength and skill. In his rage Katsura had not lost sight of his sword; far from it, the song of rage fuels his bones and his every movement is controlled to perfection—a perfect imitation of the original.
Not rage. Oboro's staff snaps into two between blows but in exchange he has the Nobleman of Fury read. That had been a misnaming by those who had never crossed swords with him. They watched his savage form and saw insanity, believed he was casting aside his life in reckless anger. But that could not be further from the truth. It was everything he staked that his movements channeled, his own conviction and every emotion he felt—hope, loss, trust, pride, fury and joy. Love and hate. Every strike feels like it'd come from a different man, and everything was staked because he wanted to survive.
Oboro had been prepared. To anyone who would listen he'd said like a broken record that their greatest enemy would be Shouyou's students, but he hadn't quite anticipated this.
In focusing his attention on the two students of Shouyou who led contrasting lives surrounding Shouyou's legacy on either ends of the spectrum, he had neglected the third possibility.
One protected Shouyou's legacy.
One destroyed Shouyou's legacy.
One is Shouyou('s legacy).
Oboro disarms Katsura and loses his left arm in the same blow. They draw closer, retracing steps as blood pools on the ground around them.
Katsura is blazing and unstoppable. He could probably choke Oboro with his bare hands, veins twisting and unfurling in soft pretty hands, and Oboro might have been powerless to stop him. But Oboro has drawn a thin stick from his sleeve, and he kicks Katsura's legs out from under him.
Neither moves. The wand is jabbed between Katsura's brows. Katsura doesn't spare it a glance. His vision has always been expansive and distant, doing incomprehensible things that snowball into avalanches and by that time it's too late to try to avoid a collision.
His eyes are alight. Beyond this current predicament, there was a tomorrow that was surely within their reach.
In a sudden lunge, Katsura extends his hands to grab hold of it, meeting the trajectory where Gintoki had tossed over his wand (the fake magical girl one, he's still not up to par with this whole crossover business) and Sakamoto threw a—what the hell, Sakamoto—a paintball, and Takasugi threw something too but Katsura only has two hands and it flies past him, but that's okay because his insoles hit Oboro square in the face.
Oboro doesn't flinch away, but the careful standstill between him and Katsura breaks. Katsura's fingers are slick with blood (but later finds out it is red paint, because Sakamoto started running out of actual ammo halfway through and had to still look like he was doing something) as they grip around the handle of the wand and plunges it into Oboro's chest.
Oboro has a curse gurgling past his lips as Katsura knocks away the (10 and 1/2 inches, pine and an empty core) wand in his hand. It rolls away harmlessly, quickly lost amongst the wreckage, and for a moment he looks to reach for it.
But they don't need it anymore.
It's over.
Katsura opens his mouth to speak.
"WHO IS EXTRANEOUS COMPANY, HAHAHAHAHA."
"Tatsuma! You ruined my cool speech of victory," Katsura has his arms crossed as he tries to appear Upset.
"You took all the spotlight already. This was supposed to be my fight," Gintoki shoots back, slowly feeling the pain in his back blossom as he stands shoulder to shoulder with the other two. He was getting too old to be in these fights; fatigue tugs at his consciousness and it takes some effort to push it back. Yep, he was definitely going to sleep for a full day no matter how hard Shinpachi tries to wake him up. "You're the sidekick, remember? What kind of sidekick are you, huh? Zura, you're fired."
"Tsk." Zura has a phone in hand which he shoves in Gintoki's face. "The Hero Association has recognized my recent efforts and I now outrank you as S-class rank 13. Not to mention I'm the author's favourite."
"Dude, scroll up a bit. S-class rank 12, that's obviously Sadaharu and I. You're a hundred years too early to try to surpass me."
"it's our fight," Sakamoto's grin is cheesy but placates them both for the time being.
They turn their attention to the body at their feet.
"So, what do we do about that bastard?"
Oboro smirks despite the thin trickle of blood running down the side of his face. He could already feel his superhuman healing kicking into effect. In a few moments, he'll have recovered enough to secure an escape.
"Students of Shouyou," he says, almost as if he was drawing his last breath, but there is more life than ever swirling in the pits of his one good eye as he whispers a prophecy. "He will come for you soon."
"Oh yeah?" Gintoki fists Oboro's yukata, tugs him upwards and and leans in close, their noses only some hairs' breadth away. "We'll make sure to properly greet this him when he comes. But in the meantime, shouldn't we have some fun?"
Gintoki grins like the wolves eying their meal. This is the Shiroyasha, Oboro thinks belatedly. Oboro has managed to drag him out out of his shell, after all. He thinks to smirk in satisfaction, but Gintoki is already leaning in again.
"You wanted a song battle? Alright, let's do it right now."
And without warning, Gintoki takes a deep breath and blasts the lyrics to their song as loudly as he can, right into Oboro's ear.
The sound is something so dastardly and horrible, so out-of-this-world dissonant that even with Oboro's otherworldly regenerative abilities, he cannot regenerate from.
RIP, Oboro.
.
.
When Katsura deems it safe to withdraw his hands from his ears again, he steps over to where Takasugi was resting against a box and pokes at him.
"He passed out," he announces, and soon the other two join him in looming over a defenseless Takasugi.
The sight is something so familiar to them, in the deepest reaches of their minds, and yet they hadn't thought they'd see it again—not like this, anyway.
Seeing Takasugi's features up close after however long it has been… The man had definitely regressed. He has eye bags now, and weary lines along his brow and in the creases of his eyes, and he'd lost weight too and there went all of his baby fat. Plus, even his lips were chapped.
Gintoki snorts. Just how in the hell is this guy attractive to Gintama's female fans?
Obviously because he doesn't have many close ups. Don't be fooled, guys.
But then he leans in and the musky scent is still familiar to him, conjuring images of striking bamboo swords, as they charge at each other and roll around and don't stop until they're both completely out of breath and sweaty and gross but Gintoki's heart has never beat so hard-and he gently presses their lips together.
"Wake up, sleeping beauty," he breathes.
In his next breath, he finds himself rolling around on the ground, grabbing at his private regions as he attempts to alleviate the sudden onslaught of pain.
But it was worth it, to see bright green focus on him again.
The fog in those eyes had been cleared away, and a new horizon beckoned.
"My, Gintoki," Takasugi slowly ambles over and peers down at him with a sneer, and Gintoki keeps his hands protecting his Very Important Part just in case he's here to kick him some more when he's down.
But Takasugi is extending his hand with a lopsided grin. "Need some help?" He's mocking and sincere all at the same time, and that's when Gintoki thinks that maybe, everything would be alright.
.
.
"Ahem, ahem! In the words of the current youth of Edo, I would tell you both to get a room," says Katsura when they finally straighten up and pull their eyes away from each other again, but no one cares about his input.
Sakamoto claps enthusiastically. "Yay! This warehouse is a goner, but you guys can shackle up together in the next one over."
They beat him up for that. Katsura is both indignated at having been ignored and proud that he was recognized as a true leader since they didn't ever beat him up, so he joins in, too. Thanks, Zura.
They do that for a while, because by now they've kind of forgotten why they were here in the first place. It's just kind of, you know, fooling around in a destroyed warehouse. They did that a lot in the past; war was very destructive and destroyed warehouses were aplenty. Back then, though, there were no fancy police sirens telling people when to get the fuck away.
"So, we should get out of here before the cops show up, right?"
"To the HQ!"
Yes, everything would be alright.
.
.
.
Even as the plot begins to wrap itself up, much of the city was still in chaos. Rather than any physical, economic, or political turmoil, this ran much deeper on an emotional level, dividing the city up into fiercely opposing groups.
To the outcries of their fans, who had bought tickets to see them, and viewers back home who forwent sleep to catch them live, an irresponsible group failed to show up when they were headlined as the biggest group of the night. Worst of all, a certain member had been photographed in blurry pictures, where she had left the venue and looked crazy as she stood alone on the street.
Who could have predicted that After School Happy Hour would become Ditch Class Happy Hour? Parent advisory complaints rose to historically high levels after that. All sorts of other agendas began to pop up, like an anti-bullying campaign by those who insisted that Paako had been bullied out of the group. Someone acting high and mighty in another country even accused them of being pro-separatist just because they could. Thankfully, that dose of stupidity in particular did not carry far, but what could be agreed upon was this:
In one night, the popularity of Houkago Happy Hour had washed away.
It was no wonder, when fans became embroiled in online wars and riots during meetups, divided into as many factions as there are in a war.
There are the radical, angry ones (rally slogan: 'IF YOU STANNED OTSUU NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED'), the self-proclaimed moderate ones offering objective criticism from the sidelines ('Paako is a two-timing traitorous bitch with an ugly perm and All You Need is Zurako'), and the ones who don't really care because they're not ugly enough can we please get uglier ppl back on air ('ow, Sarutobi, stop hitting me').
There are also the defendants, the loyal ones who continue to believe in the best of their idols. 'A two-timing traitorous bitch. I love it,' says one, turning over a riding crop in his palm.
What can you say, people have varied tastes.
We move to where Shinpachi is currently recounting the tale to his sister, having barged into her room unannounced because he was bringing news that definitely couldn't wait a second longer.
"Aneue, they're breaking up!"
Kyuubei, who was hanging out at Otae's place, pauses, fingers still tangled in Tae's hair. "Shinpachi-kun, a samurai must always have the manners to knock."
"Don't stop, Kyuu-chan," Otae commands, and closes her eyes with a sigh as the ministrations continued.
Shinpachi splutters. "What's with this scene, like I interrupted something? Don't make an innocent massage seem like something else! Anyway, as I was saying, Houkago Happy Hour is over! Finished! Done! Everyone's going around saying that they had a disagreement and the team is split up now. Do you hear that? They were saying how they were such a good team with their bonds, but it turned out to be all fake in the end."
Otae considers that with a hum, and then straightens up and regards Shinpachi's delighted frame. "Don't be ridiculous," she starts, leaning into Kyuubei's lap again as Shinpachi shoots her a quizzical look.
"Eh, but aneue-"
"Take this as musings from someone who was in a girl band. Once in a girl band, always in a girl band. Didn't you know? Certain events, like growing up together in the same temple school or fighting a losing war for your shared mentor or sharing your mentor's last moments or burying your now-dead mentor's head together or forming a girl band bind you together in ways even the persons themselves don't understand, beyond any of their control. That's why they're rotten bonds."
Shinpachi tries to process this, while Kyuubei comes to a realization.
"Ahh, Tae-chan, we haven't done all of those things yet," Kyuubei frowns.
"Oh? Kyuu-chan, don't worry about it. We don't need a rotten bond."
Kyuubei wasn't listening.
"We don't have the same sensei but how about a brother? Shinpachi is just like my brother, right, Shinpachi-kun? Do not worry, the Yagyuu style may not be as clean as a reaper's but I will not waste your sacrifice."
"Wait, Kyuubei-san!"
.
.
.
As blood is splattered outside its walls, our Joui Four are protected from the elements in Zura's mayonnaise factory-converted-HQ.
Their very grave injuries heal in under a day. After all, a dashing, silver-haired and silver-souled shounen manga protagonist and his extraneous sidekicks cannot be deterred by pedestrian setbacks like broken arms or ribs or bloody stomach-gaping gashes. The show must go on!
("If someone calls me extraneous one more time...")
At the crux of all life-changing events is the change part. It was time to consider their new direction. Katsura writes one word on the whiteboard and circles it in red twice.
"Let's have a concert," he exclaims. It came with certainty that the mishap of their scheduled live performance can only be covered by scheduling another live performance.
And so it was back to the drawing board.
.
.
.
The news comes out the next day. Across all newspapers big and small, Houkago announces a free concert. It's free, the kind of free that's bolder than the rest of the text on the page but usually comes with lots of fine print. There is lots of fine print, but it's newspaper fine print which is the point of one anyway and all it does is reiterate that yes, it's free.
People generally like free things, so they might be starting to like Houkago again. Shinpachi crushes the newspaper with surprising force.
"DONDAKE?!"
"What did I tell you, Shin-chan? It sure is exhausting being so beautiful and right about everything all the time." Otae tucks strands of hair behind her ear and exhales a lofty sigh.
Under the floorboards, Kondo claps appreciatively before Otae comes to stamps him out.
.
.
.
D-0 DAY OF THE CONCERT, PRE-CONCERT PRESS CONFERENCE
"We had an emergency," Katsura takes the hem of explaining things honestly to the media while the cameras flash in their faces. "A family emergency so it could not be helped, and we hope for your forgiveness by holding this free concert and STOP USING FLASH IN MY FACE GRAWR."
A reporter raises a hand as she gestures at the photographer beside her to continue to snap shots. "But it helps to accentuate the features of your best angles, Zurako-san."
"Oh. You may continue, in that case."
Katsura poses a V-sign as concession; Gintoki sighs a terrible grim sigh.
"Could you elaborate on the emergency? Who was involved?" Another reporter speaks up, this one looking particularly difficult to please as he pushes the bridge of his glasses up and up and up.
"It's deeply a private matter between Paako and her cousin who has the most despicable personality and tried to pick apart our group with cheap tricks due to her jealousy at our success, so I cannot reveal anything."
Uh, you just revealed everything, Gintoki thinks. Hold on. "Cousin?" he whispers over, "Why is that bastard my cousin?"
"Please, you look alike. Manga readers cannot even tell the two of you apart," Katsura whispers back.
Takasugi in the next seat is littering Yakult on the ground like an offering to the dead. He did not take well to the termination of their contract as Yakult spokespersons in light of the scandal. It was a betrayal unlike any other, so he may have bought all of the Yakult on the market before a series of bizarre accidents at the factories forced half of them to shut down. The ceremony now is Takasugi's way of bidding farewell to his only identity, his short lived character trait. Goodbye, nasty Yakult. Hello, Strawberry Milk-get out of the narration, Gintoki.
Gintoki deftly tilts his head to the side to allow a bottle of Yakult to whizz by.
All in all, Sakamoto is probably having the best time since he had sunglasses on and the continuous flashing didn't bother him. Sunglasses are mankind's best invention, he thinks contently. You could fall asleep behind them and no one would be the wiser. Right, guys?
...Guys?
He jolts up. They left him in his seat when the press conference ended, ahahahah. They're such funny friends. He doesn't need to feel for his face to know they've drawn on it. In fact, it's probably the argument over what to draw that ends up being drawn on his face. And they even trusted him to wake up before the concert, ahaha, hahaha!
That, my friends, is the shining example of friendship goals and of Sakamoto's boundless optimism.
.
.
D-0 DAY OF THE CONCERT, CONCERT HALL
Saigou and her ladies settle in comfortable front row seats.
"Remember, we're here to cheer for Paako-chan and Zurako-chan. Did we bring the big ass banners?"
"They're right here, Mama," Agomi pipes up. The big ass banners really befit their name and covers everyone sitting behind them, aka. the whole floor.
The okama are struggling to hold them up when the security detail for the night come over to confiscate them.
"Be thankful I'm not throwing you out, you lot are an eyesore." Clad in the Shinsengumi uniform, Hijikata orders his men stash the posters away. He'd have wanted to wear his Zurako merch but work duties came first. It was of course his priority to ensure a safe concert environment for all.
Saigou puffs out his shoulders and towers over him. Hijikata isn't impressed. "What? Boy, are you discriminating against us okama? How would you like to turn into a demoness in my club?"
"No, I'm just this close to arresting you for putting Zurako-chan and Paako on the same banner."
They glare at each other, as the rest of the okama watch the tension with some popcorn.
Sougo, the aggravating little shit, takes the moment to stride over. He swings his legs up and he takes a seat in the front and helps himself to popcorn. As payment, he points into the distance where the Zurako fanclub is waving their 'Paako is a two-timing traitorous bitch and All We Need Is Zurako' banners. "What about Hijikata-san's own banners?" he bats his eyelashes, the picture of innocence, and the okama coo at him.
"How cute!"
"As expected of the demon vice commander, training such a cute kid for sadism and murder."
"Come to our bar instead, boy. We'll take better care of you~"
Hijikata tries to contain the number of ticks on his forehead, gripping Sougo's arm to drag him out of his seat if he had to.
"Go away. You're supposed to stand by the entrance."
"Shinsengumi First Squad Captain Okita Sougo reporting for duty. The front row is a mess, omnomnom. I think I'll need to stay there."
Hijikata is about to retort "No, you can't," but music begins to blare out of the speakers, and the front row does become a mess. As does the rest of the stadium. The Shinsengumi have their hands full trying to keep order and stop people from pushing as the crowd surges forward. There are people propping up phones on selfie sticks and DSLRs, too; Hijikata considers it free territory to run his sword through those gigantic fancy-schmancy lenses.
Houkago! Houkago! Houkago! The crowd's chanting sweeps over the stadium and Hijikata is pulled in to cheer with them. It was also his priority to ensure an exciting atmosphere for the concert, or so he rationalizes himself before all his worries fly with the wind as three angels (Hijikata continues to stubbornly minus one) descend upon the stage.
Hijikata just about forgets everything. Zurako is… Zurako is less than ten feet away, and Hijikata can see the shine of her hair and the gloss of her lips and the gracefulness of her fingers as she deftly navigates the keyboard.
(In his mind, a little devil voice that sounded suspiciously like Sougo decides to comment. "You're drooling, Hijikata-san." It clears his head a little, but damn it, Sougo.)
If anyone could hear anything at all over the deafening screams, they may note that the instruments sound a bit off as they come together. In their defence, they had, what, two and a half days to practice?
Finally, the melody gives way for Shinsuko to come in and sing and save them
(for Takasugi Shinsuke was never meant to be a villain).
She barely gets through two lines.
The lights dim, casting everyone in sudden darkness. Not again...
From high above on the balcony level, five cloaked bandits appear illuminated by a mysterious light source. One of them steps forward, slams a foot on the railing and with his cloak billowing impressively behind him, declares,
"Houkago Happy Hour! We of the Otsuu Justice Coalition challenge y-"
Forgoing disguises, Kagura knocks Shinpachi aside. "GIVE GIN-CHAN'S SOUL BACK, EVIL SPACE VILLAIN DUDES!"
Matako's hood falls to her shoulders as she jumps in. "I won't let you have Shinsuke-sama's soul either!"
KATSURA, says Elizabeth's sign.
The last bandit, Actual Bandit Mutsu has actual composure as she stares at the stage down below. "Return the money you extorted out of my idiot captain. You can keep his soul, though."
The crowd goes wilder. On the stage, where the mics have been turned off, Gintoki drops his guitar. "Haah? What are you lot doing?!"
His shouts go unheard in the resulting chaos.
"ATTACK!" Matako shoots her twin pistols in the air and the group of five concert crashers leaps down on our defenseless maidens.
"PROTECT ZURAKOOOO!" Hijikata screeches, and the Shinsengumi jump into action, crowding onto the stage.
"YOU ARE ALL IDIOTS!" Gintoki screams, and everyone freezes at the sound of Sugita Tomokazu's throat in anguish.
He detaches his twin-tails. Beside him, the rest of the Joui assume their old countenances. Zura crosses his arms in a huff, Tatsuma takes out his melon boobs, and Takasugi dangles his pipe in his fingers.
"It's us," Gintoki finishes.
.
.
"Oh," says Shinpachi.
If even the straightest of straight mans have nothing to add, then what hope do the others have?
Hjikata blinks. He stares, uncomprehending, and blinks some more at the place where Zurako had stood just seconds ago and where now someone else was standing.
"So, can you guys get off the stage and let us continue?"
With the Shinsengumi swarming the stage in their black uniforms and the stage unlit, the audience is still blissfully unaware of the revelations that had transpired. Houkago Happy Hour plans to keep it that way for these last hours. Back in goes those melon boobs, and Zurako appears before Hijikata's disbelieving eyes once again.
"You're still… going to…"
"OUT!" Zurako shoos everyone away. Hijikata, still in a daze, stumbles off, and the rest eventually follow suit.
When only four people are left onstage, the hall is shushed to silence as Zurako looks to be preparing to speak.
"Ahem, hello, everyone! Shinsuko will now speak."
Shinsuko takes the mic. Actually, she already had one, but it was better to take Zurako's too and prevent pointless interruptions. "We were going to make these announcements later, but due to unforeseen circumstances we'll just do it now. This will be Houkago Happy Hour's first and last concert." Over the sudden waves of shock in the audience, she grins sardonically, "That's right. Houkago Happy Hour will be disbanding tonight."
The reactions are overwhelmingly negative as the audience transitions from the shock and denial stage into anger.
"I told you guys to do this after," Paako side-eyes the two of them. "We're not gonna get them to listen to anything nowmmphf-"
Paako's eyes widen. There are two thick layers of drugstore lipstick between them but the rough lips against his own fit together so tightly that he can't fathom how they were ever apart. Shinsuko, no, Takasugi is kissing him. It's messy and ten thousand people are watching stupid, spontaneous, exhibitionist Takasugi pulling him into a kiss and somehow Gintoki found that he was kissing back, and save from the pressure on his lips he was surely dead to the world.
Too quickly, they pull away. As sights and sounds rush back to Gintoki's awareness, his brain beginning to function again, the stillness of the stadium takes him off guard. Frozen in their seats, everyone sharing this moment collectively understood that the first one to break the silence would be affirming whether this was a dream.
Someone with a DSLR focusing right on him would have missed the quick swipe of Takasugi's tongue over his lower lip before he transforms it into a smirk. "So there u have it. The concert will start now. Shut up and watch it.''
Someone whistles obnoxiously in the crowd. Takasugi shoots the finger at the vermillion bob of hair in the crowd and is practically able to hear the titter of laughter in response.
Any remaining agitation in the crowd washes away with the opening beats. Tatsuko sets the rhythm louder and steadier than anyone else.
Shinsuko looks out into the sea of faces staring at her expectantly, faces blurring together until they were but another headcount like the faces on battlefields past, and turns to look back at her team. They look… well, a bit different. Obvious makeup aside, there are differences Takasugi cannot account for. In the years he hasn't seen them save for dropping by once in a while to test their vigilance in sensing his bloodlust from afar (Gintoki failed in this greatly), in the years they've drifted apart despite him mailing death threats on every major holiday (Gintoki also did not make an effort to reply), they've taken on different evolutions to climb onto this stage. There will always be this gap between them—ten years are a gargantuan chunk to miss out on in someone's life. Takasugi had his own conviction and it had been necessary at the time, to take on the world that he did. Even now, he had an inkling far greater than anyone of the true nightmare that was heading their way. But he'll use the next ten years to learn the differences that time has wrought upon them.
Zura too is watching the crowd, a smile on his face that Takasugi isn't sure he's even conscious of. Gintoki looks distracted as he adjusts and readjusts his grip on his guitar, and Takasugi's heart doesn't do a little skip, not at all, when he thinks about how he might have something to do with that. And Tatsuma, whose hands are getting really tired of hitting the same beat now, can you hurry the fuck up?
They'll talk later.
to the tune of: Samurai Heart (SPYAIR) TV size.
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(Hey hey first on the charts!
Hey hey sweep all the charts!)
Come to the end of this fanfiction
Let's recap all that we've done
In this corrupt society we were the ones to (change)
So now's the time to roll out all our improvements for revised Edo
We present the Jouishishi's last four commandments
First on the list is national free parfait day
Every Sunday Monday Tuesday and so on
Who let this idiot waste it on garbage
Number two is free BEE-EEEP
Ha ha aren't you missing some important things here
Should you not fight for justice, pass some gay marriage laws
Hey hey revolution in Edo starts right here
Now all fine print on coupons must be in strong twelve point serif font
Hey hey we've still got room to fill before this ends
Let's censor everything that loud person tries to say here
Ha ha BEEP BEEP BEEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP guys! T_T'''
Now let's start a campaign boycotting chains that scam innocent hearts
Hey hey Oedo Mart!
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-Shimaru's adventures 1-
The barracks are quiet. Everyone is at the concert right now, providing security and fan support. Saitou who does not like loud places and would not scream anyway was excused from this, and he indulges in the unusual silence of the barracks as he does some paperwork.
It was under a stack of paperwork that he'd forgotten about; a small rectangular package wrapped in kraft paper. He uses his blades to quickly (read: flashily) slice the paper-thin wrapping apart, being careful to make not a scratch on the stuff within.
A piece of paper floated out, along with… a CD? Saitou would recognize that CD anywhere. The Shinsengumi compound, most noticeably in the vice-chief's room, was full of them. They really didn't need another.
Saitou reads the fallen note hoping to find a return address somewhere. Instead, he finds:
To my good friend Wolfro,
How was your day? I am glad it went Z. Mine was not Z, I am very busy nowadays, communicating Jouishishi ideals with the world.
But I write not to talk about myself, but to discuss your dilemma. I have thought much about it in my spare time (which I do not have) and wonder if you have considered communicating via the world of music. There are neither boundaries nor borders to music, and I am sure whoever listens can be touched by your words translated into music notes. Regardless of the instrument you choose to pursue (piano), your listeners will surely come to realize the messages held in your heart this way.
I have attached a CD to inspire you as it has inspired countless others.
Sincerely,
Your good friend Afuro. Z.
z
z
z
-Shimaru's adventures 2-
The bell chimes as Saitou enters the music store.
The man at the counter seems less than delighted to see a uniformed officer come in. Saitou abandons his pursuit of the language of music to question the suspicious man, flipping his notebook to his default interrogation on shopkeepers.
[What are you selling?]
"Musical instruments! Nothing more, nothing less! Unless there's something you're looking for in my humble music store?"
Saitou is clueless about musical instruments. Something sparks in his mind at that moment, a subliminal message picked up from somewhere that drives his hand to write,
[Piano].
The shopkeeper grumpily starts his well-rehearsed sales pitch. "All our pianos are authentic! Finest grade! Pianos made locally, pianos imported from other planets, we carry only the finest in our catalog. May I suggest the new Galaxy Series? The E-Piano is the average beginner's piano which we do not carry, but might I point you over to our A-Piano and S-Piano lines."
There… there are so many options. Saitou tries his best to keep up but his confusion only grows as the shopkeeper points at a whole bunch of vaguely different pianos.
"-and then the S7, waterproof so you can put it out in the open in your homey headquarters on land funded by our taxes. Did you get it all, or must I repeat everything again?"
"Z." comes out before Saitou can stop himself.
The man freezes. Slowly, he rises to his feet, countenance choked with emotion. "Th-the Z? You should have said so earlier!"
He stalks off to the back of the store, and beckons at Saitou when he sees that he hadn't followed. He leads Saitou into the backroom and further down a flight of stairs, until they stopped before a brass door.
Saitou cracks his knuckles in preparation for whatever was coming. Was he about to discover underground illegal operations? A drug bust? Gambling ring? What should he do? How was he going to explain himself later? He was here because he didn't know how to express himself in the first place!
The door swings open before he can launder all his worries. He soon finds himself face to face with... the fukuchou's paradise. There are Zurako posters everywhere, and in the middle of the Zurako temple is a pedestal that beheld a keyboard unlike any other.
The shopkeeper takes his hands. "This is the pride of the store. It's a modified keyboard that has lit up keys to guide you through all of Zurako's parts in Houkago Happy Hour songs. You don't know how bitter I was that I had to man the store instead of going to the concert tonight, but your enthusiasm about their music despite being a part of the Shinsengumi they hate so much has brightened my night. You have shown me that that love knows no boundaries.
The Z-Piano is all yours, friend."
Saitou doesn't think anyone has ever said something like this to him. He has never made a friend so quickly. Already Afuro was proving to be right.
Fanning these initial sparks of hope, Saitou accepts the keyboard with a bow.
z
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-Shimaru's adventures 3-
Saitou lugs home the keyboard on a makeshift sling on his back. The elongated package looks rather like he'd splurged on a third sword. He'd always been reliant on his swords speaking for him, but maybe this time he has found something more promising.
The barracks are still empty when he returns to his room. He estimates there is an hour before the rest of the Shinsengumi will return, which leaves him with only an hour to decipher this new language.
Thankfully, the keys really do light up like his new friend had described. One by one, sometimes a couple at a time, he presses them, gradually establishing his own pace. His excitement grows all the while, at the prospect of this medium of communication that could finally speak for him everything he's been unable to say for so long.
When the vice-chief returns to the barracks that night, Saitou giddily drags him to his room. The vice-chief offered less resistance than usual, which spurred Saitou on greater for he knew the perfect way to ease his obvious Post Concert Depression.
There was no need for a warning before he starts presenting his heartfelt rendition of the Houkago Happy Hour debut song; his music would say it all for him. The vice-chief had always been so understanding with him, making adjustments for him and accepting Saitou's many differences (most of the time, anyway).
He wanted to show his gratitude. What was better than playing the vice-chief's favourite song of his favourite idol right after coming back from the concert? Saitou would help him relive the beautiful memories he was sure to have made.
He's engrossed with his performance, and without looking he's positive that the vice-chief must be, too. He finally lifts his eyes from the keys after the last note and musters his most sincere smile, only to fall off his seat at the absolutely livid look on Hijikata's face.
z
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z
Dear Afuro Z,
It was a good try Z.
But I don't think I can communicate with music either, Z.
-Shimaru's adventures, END-
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CONTEST TALLY RESULTS, ie. The State of Edo After HHH's Infomercial
1) Plastic surgery + smoking = a dream of looking like Shinsuko, and maybe achieving some of her distantly haughty air.
Smoking goes up 3%.
Paako = FAIL.
2) Snack Smile (courtesy of Otae) starts respectfully requesting customers to try their newest menu item, Don Perignon in Mayoboro in Don Perignon.
Cigarette sales rise 1.4%.
Tatsuko = FAIL.
3) People go for a smoke break during Zurako's long-winded speech. They come back, and he's still at it, so they go for a second smoke break.
Smoking goes up 100%.
Zurako = FAIL.
4) People didn't make it back in time from their second smoke breaks to listen to Shinsuko's 2-second campaign.
Nothing changes. The world goes on, as it always has, as it always will.
Shinsuko = WIN.
As per the rules of the contest, Shinsuko can now collect debts in the form of ordering around any member to do her bidding. They have to listen to her demand, no questions asked.
So Takasugi calls Gintoki over. "On your knees," he says. "No, not like that. Get on one knee. Hold this."
Gintoki grumbles but obliges him. He had lost, after all, so he would uphold his side of the bargain. Gintoki was not going to lose to him ever again, so this would be the only time he'd cradle a tiny velvet box in his hands.
Takasugi is watching him with the oddest expression. Dare he say it, it's like he was almost shy. Gintoki opens his mouth to snide at him-
"Marry me."
And so Katsura became best man at their wedding because it was his impassioned, overly long speech that made the wedding possible. (Another impassioned and overly long speech was used to make a case for this.)
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Sakamoto takes one last look at the terminal from above. You could scarcely see the tip of the monument that towered so greatly over Edo as he rapidly ascended into the sky, past the exosphere and out into the vast space that stretched beyond anything Sakamoto can reach in his lifetime.
The space had once been unknown. Life on earth had been self-contained though what lay beyond it must have been marvelled about. The sun during the day, the moon and the littering of stars at night. Perhaps in another timeline mankind might venture out into space on its own terms and test its bounds slowly. They had not been granted such grace in this one. In Edo especially, the restrictions in foreign relations of kaikin policy had only made the sudden intrusion of the Amanto all the more daunting.
It was these foreign life forms that had brought them together, when they were young and naive and thought they could banish the invaders with their own strength; torn them apart, when they aged beyond their years and realized how the earth was less than a speck of dust in the scheme of the galaxy; and finally brought them back together again.
The wars were something Sakamoto never ever wanted to repeat. The blood shed on all sides is something Sakamoto is ashamed of to this day. Even so, he's grateful to the aliens, who had chosen this planet in particular to colonize.
It's because of this recognition that he can never hate the root of it all. Space, with its infinite possibilities. He'll never see everything it has to offer, but it's already offered him enough. He lives in space despite his debilitating motion sickness because that is his repayment.
He's never met Yoshida Shouyou. He knows next to nothing about this man who the other three hold the highest in their hearts. Yet he, too, treasures this man. It was Shouyou who had brought the three of them together, and Shouyou who led them to the path that Sakamoto would meet them on one day.
He's never known Shouyou. But could he see? Wherever he was, Sakamoto bets he's still watching his three students closely. Whatever he's doing now, Sakamoto bets he's swelling with pride at the students he'd spent his life nurturing.
Sakamoto can leave Edo behind today because Shouyou was there yesterday. This, he thinks, is something he will never be able to pay back.
"Y'should worry about yourself first, capt'n."
What Sakamoto had to be thankful for stretched as deep and wide as space itself, and his regret would be leaving the payments dangling like how he currently dangled off the side of his ship.
"I've reflected, I've reflected! Can you let me onboard again? Mutsuuuuuublergkhpskfhdzp."
/fin.
a/n; hey yo so it's been over a year. Anyone who's still around, this is for you. ❤❤❤
Adjksfhdk I'm finally done with this fic! I tried to make it fit back into the timeline, basically replacing the Shogun Assassination arc with something.. Lighter? Haha... And because things did diverge, the events in later arcs too will alter their course, and I'll leave how things will turn out in this alternate universe up to the reader's imagination. :')
A last huge thank you for reading, and commenting, and waiting patiently till the end. Writing this has been a lot of fun and sharing even more so; it took a long time to completion but as it stands it's the longest thing I've ever finished ;;; Please look out for my future works and we will meet again!
/but wait! short epilogue coming shortly (actually guaranteeable this time, seeing as I've already written it)
-06/11/16
