4. the resistance
On her off day, Tsukuyo slipped off to the elevators, ostensibly for a "check-up", but in reality it was to figure out whether there was a way to open the ceilings of Yoshiwara. The older courtesans sometimes talked of a time where the city had been glorious above ground, free from Amanto rule, when they still could smell the sweet cherry blossoms and feel the sun on their faces. But not too long after that, it was enough for them to fall silent as Hosen had imprisoned them, never intending for them to escape.
Indeed, Tsukuyo was only too careful to never betray his trust under the shroud of Jiraia, whom had already turned his back on the Oniwabanshuu. Life was too precarious, and sometimes Tsukuyo dreamed of a life above where the scar meant nothing and she could hope for a happier life, one without killing thugs or seeing women dying from childbirth. She felt older than her years, and yet understood she was luckier than most. Either you had to choose a life of constant vigilance, or engage in a continuous cycle of carnal deception.
Carefully making her way through the empty pipes, she took a lantern with her, wary of every step. It was crowded, this city, what with its constant coitus, its noise and the loud bickering of men and women. And neither could it expand in space, for it had been built in an old shipyard underneath the earth. It was only then, in the dim silence, that she finally let out a small sigh of relief.
Quiet. She adored the quiet, could never get enough of the quiet. Perhaps that was why she knew all the secret passageways and of the ancient alleyways that even the oldest inhabitants of the city could never reach on their own. Many a day she had spent exploring, simply walking and taking notes of which entrance led to another. Vividly she had remembered stumbling across the entrance to Edo years ago, after walking four hours straight through a tunnel with only a paper lantern in her hand. For some reason it had never occurred to her to run away.
If I did that I'd start at Point A again, Tsukuyo reminded herself. I wouldn't have a place to belong to, and I wouldn't have anything to eat. And besides, Hinowa would want to know where I've been. She was more rebellious than would have been desired for any member of the Hyakka, yet not enough to take heroic actions worthy of merit.
But these days, Sakata Gintoki was making it hard for her remain obedient to the city, and she hated that. Constantly, she would remember his words.
If you open that ceiling, you're gonna roast him alive.
She made her way into an old, dusty room - a place far from prying eyes. Glancing around, she could spy a few handles, ancient Amanto keyboards, all written in a language she couldn't speak. It'd been caked with dust, completely abandoned. She wondered if this place had been active since the beginning of the Joui war. Had there been spaceships back when she still lived above the surface? She couldn't remember.
Stop it, Tsukuyo. Stop being silly and stop wasting your time. You could be teaching other girls how to defend themselves.
She frowned. It's not as if I'm gonna do it, she argued with herself.
Still. That boy spells danger. He could get you killed if you even slipped for a second.
I know, Tsukuyo replied. Believe me, I know.
And yet, she bookmarks this place in the back of her head for future reference. It's a bitter fantasy anyways, imagining the downfall of Hosen, rather than dreaming of a man to sweep her off her feet.
-x-
Gintoki knows Katsura and Takasugi like the back of his hand. He doesn't think they're complicated people, unlike the vast majority of the soldiers under their command. In fact, he'd say they're simple-headed fools who can't appreciate what life has to offer them now, rather than later.
Katsura is stuck-up, a princely fledgling who still reads the texts of olden samurai philosophers, his notes written neatly in between the pages of the green notebooks all three of them carry under their haoris. Gintoki carries it around as motivation, mostly because he wants to rescue Shoyou-sensei sooner than later. Takasugi carries it as a physical manifestation of his own bushido. They never take it out in front of anybody else, except for maybe Sakamoto when he's being a little too invasive. Somehow, their agenda has gone beyond the pursuit of Shoyou. And while any student would have condemned their teacher for dragging them into a war that is seemingly useless, they can't forget what he's done for all three of them. Because of their teacher, they've had a home to call their own, and a father to rebuke them appropriately. And instead of growing up ill-mannered and undisciplined like other orphans in the streets, they've grown up to be splendid samurai, still blessed with youth and limitless talent. All three of them are magnificent fighters, unaware of the fear they inspire once they step onto the battlefield. The only human being that comes even close to their potential is Sakamoto, who silently acknowledges their presence with special swordsmanship of his own.
Lately, Gintoki has been questioning the point of the war, and can't seem to grasp his head around why the samurai can't allow the Amanto to become allies. In this manner he felt unusually distant from both Katsura and Takasugi.
Part of the reason he had wanted to stay here in Yoshiwara was a desperate want to think, to feel on his own without the pressure of his own reputation. Here was the opposite of death, in copulating, in seduction, of all things ordinary that seemed extraordinary to him. In Yoshiwara it mattered not that he could slay a hundred beasts without injury. This was a city that flourished on vice, far away from the approval of any daimyo or Shogun. Here was a city where some strange semblance of life still went on, untouched by the ravages of hungry soldiers or raging Amantos. Even if it is because the Amanto protects it thoroughly well, he doesn't care about any of that. Just seeing people mingling around is better than everything else he's seen in the war.
Gintoki can't remember the last time he stumbled across a village that hadn't burned to the ground. And his throat seizes up for a second, because he's lived through several hells before, the Kansai Purge being one of them. Some of his classmates had been hung, flayed. Their carcasses had been left for the dogs, with nobody there brave (or insane) enough to give them a proper burial.
His argument, he thinks, is that only a certain group of Amanto is to blame. Takasugi will flat out disagree, and tell him that all Amanto is to blame for the downfall of Japan. Furthermore, the samurai are patriotic to their home; they are all old-fashioned in the way that won't allow them to fully assimilate into a new society. After all, every soldier has lost somebody in the Purge, vowing to extract vengeance on those who deserve it.
"Lost in thought, sir?" A man offers to pour him another cup of tea, and he nods. Gintoki likes these tea houses, where servant girls will play their shamisens and old merchants will haggle the price of boiling water and crack watermelon seeds in between their teeth. It reminds him of the countryside, of where he used to roam freely as a boy long ago. It's a place where a man can think. So think he does.
Half a cup of tea later, he rises onwards to Edo. There's someone he has to meet before he goes back to the old business of making war all over again.
-x-
Seita isn't much older than the age where Shoyou took him in. He figures that's why this kid out of all the other kids strike him as unusually resilient. Pickpocketing strangers to see a parent? He finds this strangely endearing. Gintoki's glad that he hasn't yet lost his sense of empathy yet, like it has for some other men.
"You ready?" Gintoki asks.
Seita nods. "Yeah."
"Alright, then." Kid's been saving up but Gintoki knows that those guards are robbing him. It's almost as heinous as taking candy away from a baby.
The elevator closes behind them, Gintoki's sword tucked into his belt. He's in a mood to kick some ass, but restrains himself. Then he grins once he realizes that causing trouble in the city means that Tsukuyo will show up. Oh sure, maybe some troublesome fellows will catch up to him, but it'd be worth it to catch a glimpse of her face. For Gintoki, having a beautiful woman never stopped him from wanting another.
When they finally enter the gates of Yoshiwara, he decides to head straight to the tower where everyone sees Hinowa, day in and day out. There are guards in front, and they relax when they see Seita. Kids usually don't roam all that often, not in a place like this. Then Gintoki spies two paramilitary soldiers, standing close by near the ceiling. Unlike the two blokes in front, he can tell they are way more professional. Their eyes are trained on him, suspicious - he figures it might have been his fault for asking Tsukuyo of something she can't deliver. No matter.
"Wait, kid, don't give them your money."
Seita looked up, questioning Gintoki. "Eh? Why?"
"Because they've been swindling you all this time," he replied, and punches a guard in the temple. A split second later, he expertly kicks another in the stomach. Both of them keel over, nearly unconscious. Grinning, he looks up and unsheathes his sword, ready to fight with all the bravado the White Demon can afford him.
-x-
"There's been a... disruption, at the Sun Tower," Hosen said dryly, in the midst of chaos. Jiraia had been summoned. "Take care of it, won't you?"
"Yes, my lord." The ninja bowed and then leapt out of the window, gone with the wind. Hosen poured himself a double shot of plum sake, and rubbed his temples, irritated. Lately he'd been having trouble, not in terms of physical ailments, but there had been threats of it burning down due to insurgents. Again, the temptation to close Yoshiwara from human patrons was a thought that resurfaced over and over. But then people would riot, and he couldn't have that, tempting as it was to go on a mass killing rage.
Hosen was getting closer to becoming a hundred years old. Frankly, it was unnatural for a Yato to live that long, even if he was a male, and blessed with strength exceeding his peers. Yatos weren't supposed to live longer than human beings - the high consumption and usage of energy in their muscles quickly wore out their bodies. He settled in Yoshiwara for a quiet retirement, away from battle hardened Yatos itching to reclaim the title of King. Not that he was a coward - he justifiably felt that he deserved a few decades of quiet and peace before dying as a decrepit old man.
And now the humans would never stop resisting against the conquered. For almost twenty years, the Japanese samurai had been staging sieges and violent revolts against the Amanto. It was their name for the foreign species, inhumane and incomprehensible to their narrow minded thinking, and to them, barbarians.
He scoffed at this. He believed it was only a matter of time before the last vestiges of rebellion would die out.
-x-
"I'm here to request the most beautiful woman in this city," Gintoki said grandly, pointing his sword at the receptionists sitting behind the front desk. "I want her to pour me a cup of sake while we discuss poetry - and I'd also like to show her son."
The lady in front of him assessed him with a cool eye. "She's off limits."
"Heh, so even women are cold-hearted in this city?"
"You won't get far," the woman replied. And as soon as she'd spoken, several kunai were thrown behind his back. Gintoki fended them off effortlessly with his sword, turning his head around and thoroughly expecting Tsukuyo to stand behind him.
He was disappointed when she wasn't there. Now he was a bit hurt.
"Oi, what's this sort of grand welcome?" he asked, frowning, grasping Seita by the boy's shoulder. "I suppose you all are underestimating who I am, but that's cold."
"Do you know who you're fighting against?" another member of the Hyakka asked, her voice muffled by her mask.
"Absolutely," Gintoki said, and now he begun to smile, reminded of what he must do. "And I intend on destroying him completely."
-x-
to be continued
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