Chapter 9: Recognition
Morning came, twinkling innocently, revealing nothing of the heinous crime committed the night before. The daily news, on the other hand, did.
Last night, a murderer went to the house of Shindou Tatewaki, a former Patriot, and killed twenty of his guardsmen. While Shindou was left alive, one of his arms were amputated cleanly off and his back and his right knee were broken. Signs of smuggling and theft were found at the scene of the crime, and Shindou confessed to being behind the Sekihoutai's crimes as of late, despite the fact that Shindou himself was the one who executed the false army. There will be an investigation.
When asked of who committed the murders, Shindou-san could only say one word: Sokusai. The police are convinced that the odd response is only a repercussion of Shindou's past traumatic experiences, of which one was his near death by the hands of Sokusai, an infamous hitokiri during the Bakamatsu who targeted Patriots.
Shindou insisted that the killer was Sokusai, giving an even odder description that further strengthened the police's resolution that Shindou was not quite in his right mind. Shindou claimed that Sokusai was an incredibly beautiful woman, middle-aged, and quite dangerous. The police have disregarded his information and are continuing the search. Shindou will be jailed for the recent crimes.
Kikome read the article with unfeigned interest, sipping her tea silently. She had made it back without much clamor; Miyuki sincerely believed that she had simply gone to a local café to drink some tea and hear gossip. Not a speck of blood was on her kimono; the slightly rusty scent of blood had been easily covered up with perfume.
Kikome stood quietly as Miyuki dressed her again, finishing her outfit with an elegantly braided bun and tint of makeup. Dressing her in the morning seemed to be Miyuki's favorite time of day, since she never stopped complimenting on how beautiful Kikome was. It made her embarrassed and self-conscious; she knew that she had grown much more feminine in the last ten years, but to hear, constantly, that she was lovely was unsettling.
The morning passed by without much incident. Kikome had spent it leisurely walking around, buying souvenirs and other pretty objects to suit her fancy. She would buy tea leaves before her departure. She glanced at the sun's position in the sky—she had woken up a bit late after her expedition late last night. It was around one o'clock…and she was a bit hungry. She decided to go back to the inn to eat.
Kikome was surprised to find the receptionist waiting for her. He had not gotten any less overly helpful, so she was taken back to see that he was staring at her with a sour expression on his face.
"Nato-sama," he greeted her.
"Is something amiss?" she asked. Her speech had been quite refined in public, thus giving off the aura of someone well-educated and wealthy. Hence the "-sama" honorific.
"There's a man here looking for you," he said darkly. "By the name of Fujita Goro."
Kikome cocked her head to one side, thinking hard. "Hm…doesn't sound familiar…"
The receptionist's face brightened at the reply. "Well then, I'll just send him away!"
Kikome shook her head. "No, I should go meet him in case he needs something important. Where is he now?"
"In your room. Miyuki led him there."
Kikome left him and strode to her room. Fujita Goro was seriously not a name she could remember, even if she thought as far back as to her training days. She arrived at her room and slid the door open.
She faced the back profile of a strongly built man in dark blue robes, who was conversing socially with Miyuki. Miyuki's eyes lit up upon seeing Kikome, but not as if her guest had been terrible company.
"Fujita-san, this is Nato Kikome-san."
The man turned around to face Kikome. Her stomach lurched.
Squinty eyes, a narrow, wolfish face, covered by thin strands of dark hair. Kikome's eyes widened.
Saitou-san?
He looked at her, neither of them breaking the silence. It seemed as if he were scrutinizing every aspect of her face.
"Pardon me," he said formally. "Are you Nato Kikome?"
"…Yes," was all she could manage.
"Forgive me," he said, standing up and beginning to leave. "I thought that you were an old friend—coincidentally, you two have the same name…"
He bowed and began to walk away. Kikome blinked, and recovered from her shock. She pivoted around and grabbed his sleeve.
"Saitou-san."
He whirled around and stared at her, his squinty eyes finally opening, revealing shimmering golden irises and a flicker of surprise.
"It's me," she said breathlessly. "You're Saitou-san, aren't you?"
His face broke out into a wolfish smirk.
"Impossible," he said, still grinning. "There's no way you would dress up like a…woman."
She scowled. "Keep your impertinent comments to yourself." She turned to Miyuki, who looked genuinely confused and surprised.
"Miyuki-chan, can you leave us alone for a while?" she smiled. "And perhaps bring us lunch?"
"Certainly," she replied, still bemused. She disappeared quickly into the hallway.
Kikome beckoned Saitou to sit down again, smiling broadly and sitting across from him. He looked the same, perhaps a few more deep contours around his already narrow cheeks. His golden eyes were the same as ever, hiding a coldness that only she would know.
"I can't believe you're in Tokyo," she said, pleased. "It's been a whirlwind of old faces recently."
"Of course," he said. "With Shindou and all, I'm quite surprised that you aren't sick of the strange coincidences that Tokyo holds for you."
She smirked. "Is that how you found me? I'm not too surprised."
He laughed. "Of course, no one else really believed what he was saying. But I knew."
His voice was a deep, soothing bass tone. Kikome had forgotten how much she missed it. Her eyes closed unconsciously, listening to the low voice continue speaking.
"The other policemen were very surprised. Twenty men massacred with deathly skill and Shindou in considerable pain. We're going to be looking for the perpetrator for a while."
Kikome's eyes snapped open.
"We're?" she said questioningly. "What are you?"
"A policeman," he smirked.
She slammed her hand down on the tatami mat forcefully.
"What?" she said fiercely. "You're a policeman? What the hell are you thinking? Weren't you one of the Miburo? Why are you working for the Meiji government?"
"Looks like you don't know me very well," Saitou replied lightly, not surprised with her reaction. "I intend to protect Japan to the very end, regardless of her ruler. Despite the problems, Japan's people are in, if not tenuous, time of peace. I will guard that."
"But why?" she said exasperatedly. "Just leave it alone! It doesn't matter—why are you helping the side that you were enemies with ten years ago? Is Okita-kun doing the same thing? Would Okita-kun—"
"Okita is dead."
The words felt like she had slammed into a ton of steel. Her eyes widened as she found that she could no longer speak.
"Dead?" she repeated to herself. Kikome resumed her sitting position and stared at her pale hands, gripping her kimono tightly. Her eyes closed as she tried to find the memories etched in her mind of Okita. Okita, with his ever-smiling face and cheery laughter, despite his sickness and the gruesome scenes he saw constantly. Optimistic Okita-kun, dead. A wave of grief washed over her.
"How long ago?" she asked, straining to keep her voice steady.
"About eight years," Saitou said, somewhat gently. "He lived the Boshin Wars but the tuberculosis eventually got to him."
So it was by disease. Kikome felt a bit relieved; at least he had not died by someone else's hand.
"Are you alright?" she heard Saitou ask.
"Yes," she forced herself to reply. "Yes, I'm fine." She stared at Saitou's golden eyes, shrewd and unyielding.
"So then…continue with your story," Kikome said, recovering her composure and once again charming. "How did you find me?"
Saitou's smirk was once again fixated on his face. "Let's see…"
*************
The murder at Shindou's had surprised Saitou greatly. Having arrived at the scene, he felt chills run down his spine as he surveyed the perfectly executed death blows on the corpses. Most men had their throats impeccably slit—it was accurate to the exact centimeter of depth to ensure painless death. Saitou had not been aware of anyone in Tokyo who could have achieved this feat except for Battousai, not as if that made any sense since the ex-hitokiri had sworn not to kill. His skill probably would not match up to the execution anyway, he'd become so weak.
The others had simply seen a flash of red, gone so fast that they couldn't be sure if it had existed. But Saitou had seen more. A red ribbon from a loose obi, a slim profile disappear into the night. He had had no idea who the killer might be, until Shindou began babbling.
At first, Saitou had simply ignored the man—he was in excruciating pain and therefore his words were a string of curses at the police for not getting there in time. Saitou had instead studied the open room behind Shindou, signs of criminal activity strewn across the floor, a stack of the Sekihoutai captain's portrait amongst them.
Then Shindou had yelled the name Sokusai. Saitou's interest was immediately piqued. He listened intently as Shindou had described her—red kimono, incredibly beautiful, and eyes as dark as coals, flashing red when she smiled cruelly. The description was accurate enough—Sokusai was definitely in Tokyo.
The first thing Saitou had done in the morning was ask around town, repeating her description to shopkeepers. It hadn't been hard to find her; the rumors of a gorgeous, youthful woman had been circulating around. They believed that she was the daughter of a rich household, with the elegant way she carried herself and her seemingly endless supply of money. A shop owner had pointed out which way to her hotel and the receptionist had received him, though not cordially, but civil enough.
The moment she had walked in the room, Saitou immediately thought that he was mistaken. The Sokusai he knew had been attractive, true, but not extraordinary. This woman was a beauty. An expensive yukata, elegantly woven hair, a tint of crimson lipstick. Perhaps she really was just a rich mistress.
But as he passed by, she had grabbed his arm and said his name softly, in a voice that had become almost musical. It was her. The one aspect that had not changed was her unyielding eyes, a bottomless pit of darkness and coldness. But she had smiled. She had laughed. Things Sokusai would never do. She had changed.
Saitou had been even more taken back when pain and regret flashed through her eyes and elegant features upon hearing about Okita's death. All of a sudden, she seemed like a true…woman, capable of weakness in emotions and sorrow. Sokusai's emotions had softened over the years, but unlike Battousai, her skill had not dulled. On the other hand, she seemed to have gotten better, no longer driven by revenge and able to fight with a clear and level head.
Nevertheless, it had been awkward when she was reminiscing about Okita. Saitou was relieved when she had regained her composure; he didn't know what he would have done if she had continued her sorrowful expression.
He finished explaining how he found her; she did not interrupt once, instead listening with rapt interest and occasionally laughing. Lunch had been brought and served; they were now drinking tea.
"Why not sake?" she asked, swirling her teacup.
"You should know that I tend to feel like killing people when I drink too much," he said easily.
"Low alcohol tolerance?" she said, the barest trace of a smirk tugging on her lips. "That's a bit sad."
She sipped her tea for a few silent minutes. Saitou had to admit: she had undoubtedly gotten…sexier. Her feminine features were certainly accentuated by the flirtatious-colored lipstick, but she had somewhat of an alluring aura about her. Saitou decided not to comment about it.
"So what exactly are you in Tokyo for, Saitou-san?" Sokusai questioned.
"I'm tailing Battousai."
"Why?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "You're not surprised that he's here?"
"I actually saw him yesterday," she said dryly. "He didn't recognize me though." She gestured at her clothes. "Perhaps the same reason you didn't?"
"I admit, it was very surprising to realize that you could look feminine. You enjoy wearing your gender's clothing now?"
She scoffed. "Of course not. I still can't figure how to tie which sash with what robe; it's too confusing. I only wanted to blend in during my stay. Believe me, it's much more comfortable in men's clothing."
"But you managed to kill twenty people in a yukata?"
"It was a bit difficult not getting blood on the silk," Sokusai shrugged. "But not too bad. It was satisfying hearing Shindou scream like that though…perhaps I should have cut a leg off too…"
Saitou barked in laughter. She was so incredibly amusing, still thinking about what she could have done to make the man feel anymore pain than he was already.
"So you are here just for a social visit, right?" said she, a bit worried. "Not to arrest me? Because I'm afraid I won't let you do that…"
"Relax, Sokusai," Saitou said reassuringly. "I'm not in my police uniform, am I?"
"I suppose you couldn't arrest an old friend anyway?" she smiled wryly. "So what are you tailing Battousai for?"
"The government has somewhat of a…dilemma in Kyoto," Saitou said lightly, ignoring her frown at hearing the word 'government.' "They need me to test Battousai's power to see if he can be of assistance."
"Hm…" she mused. "A dilemma so large they need both of you to help? Willing to reconcile two natural enemies?"
"Not reconcile," he corrected. "Just…cooperate."
"Do I get to know the dilemma?"
"If you're willing to help."
She snickered. "You really think I'm going to help the Meiji government?"
"Well…how about you come help me test Battousai?" he offered as an alternative.
He was quite eager to keep her close to him, for some particular reason.
"I might need someone to stop us in case we get…too carried away." His eyes glittered like gold ingots at the possibility.
She laughed. "You want to fight him? I highly doubt he could keep up." Her grin grew bitter. "I heard he's weak now."
"From who?"
"An acquaintance," she said grimly. "But yes, do call me when you're ready. I'll come with you."