a/n: Thank you all for waiting patiently for this chapter.
Tsukuyo studied her appearance the next morning in the mirror, having gotten her customary six hours of sleep.
It would be crucial that she wouldn't be recognized.
She couldn't remember what she looked like six years ago. Enough had of her had physically changed that she was aware that she could get away with some things. But it was best to be careful than to take too many liberties.
Her curves had gotten to a point where she was routinely exasperated with them. Before she had left, she'd been a stick, with only hints that she would develop into her mature state of now. She hadn't been scrawny when she was fourteen, but her blossoming womanhood then was more of a promise than the reality that it became in its current form.
Her hair was now cut short and pinned back out of convenience. It had been a source of pride for her in the past, with its unusual golden luster, length, and silkiness. Hinowa used to comb it at night, carefully and gently with a hundred strokes, and would then smooth camellia oil into her locks to make it glisten underneath the moonlight.
A pretty girl should take care of herself, she would say fondly, and cup Tsukuyo's chin before wishing her good night. Tsukuyo would smile back, carelessly before blowing out the paper lantern in their rooms where they retired after their nights of entertainment.
The woman that stared back in the mirror wouldn't be able to replicate that sort of guileless smile anymore. She doubted that she could pretend such acts of affection, even if she was under duress.
Her hands were no longer soft and smooth - not the kind of hands that a samurai or lord would want to hold. Her body had been completely stripped of baby fat, leaving behind hardened muscle and toned limbs. Her face had been described as elegant as she matured into adulthood, but she doubted it possessed the femininity of most courtesans typically desired in Yoshiwara.
She supposed her best features were her eyes, but even the luster of optimism had been worn away with the years. They held a fire in them that would alienate others, a determination to succeed, unyielding in whatever she needed to do to survive.
She would need to tint her hair a shade slightly more common than her original blonde. The hue of gold would attract too much attention. A straw hat would cover it sufficiently during the day, but in close quarters and indoors, it would be practical to blend in as she would be at higher risk of being recognized. Such a mishap would mark doom for a shinobi, especially when working undercover.
Finally turning away from the mirror, Tsukuyo looked at the rations that she had prepared for a week, and began to assess what else she might need.
Her traveling cloak would disguise her figure, and it could be readily transformed into a makeshift tent if needed. The route that she would be taking would be different from the main roads other merchants normally took, in order to maintain anonymity.
Medicinal herbs would provide an alibi. Her tea basket, stuffed with leaves near the top, would be able to hold a few of her puppets as she traveled from village to village.
Tsukuyo put on her sandals and slipped out of the house. There were other tasks that she would need to finish before she left for good.
The village of Shiranui was cool and windy - nothing like the humid and swampy summers of Edo. But it was a good climate for cultivating tea leaves, and with a practiced step, she quickly made her way to the plantation where a young woman would be working. Her long auburn hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she was in the middle of plucking a tea shrub when her head turned at the sound of footsteps.
"Tsukuyo!" she called out, spotting her before Tsukuyo could wave to her.
With agility so common to the civilians living in Shiranui, she leapt up to where Tsukuyo was standing. "You're leaving again for a mission, aren't you?"
Tsukuyo nodded.
"How long do you think this one will take you?"
"Probably a long time," she said. "I don't think anyone else could replace me... So I think they'll want me to be there for a while."
The young woman looked at her and nodded. "I see. Well, that would be a shame. You only took a break for two weeks since your last assignment... "
"They can't help it," Tsukuyo said. "The nation is low on manpower, especially when there's been guerrilla warfare happening across the leylines."
"I wish I could take your place," she murmured wistfully. Tsukuyo only smiled.
What was funny about her statement was she probably could fit into the culture of Yoshiwara, if she really tried. Tobita Shizuka, the last living female of her clan, had been educated at one point. In a past life, she had been a noblewomen, familiar with the arts and culture, whose role would have been to bear children to further the lineage of what once had been a powerful family in Iga.
Now, she had been reduced to a simple agricultural worker, without any property or husband to call of her own. When pressed about it, she would simply laugh and say that things could have turned out far worse, although Tsukuyo wasn't sure if living through a family massacre, of all things, could have really been better than the alternative which was death.
Momochi had tried to train her years ago - the assumption had been that her vengeance would replace the gap of talent in the shinobi arts that she lacked - but it wasn't of any use. Shizuka hadn't taken it personally, though. She had claimed that her brother was talented enough for the two of them, especially in the world of the shinobi, and had made her peace with her past in a way that Tsukuyo admired.
"You know your brother wouldn't want that," Tsukuyo said.
"Yes, of course... " Shizuka smiled ruefully. Her eyes lowered for a moment before meeting Tsukuyo's. "Well, if you see him on this mission, tell him to come visit me soon, yes?"
The request was the same every time Tsukuyo came to say goodbye. Please tell my brother to visit me. I miss him.
This time... it was quite possible she could make it a reality.
And so, Tsukuyo nodded. As she always had.
-x-
The organization believed in survival of the fittest.
Gintoki rolled up his sleeves, and centered himself in the circle drawn in the dirt, taking a deep breath. His red eyes glittered in amusement.
Opposite him stood Takasugi Shinsuke.
There was a line of opponents waiting to dethrone the strongest of the Tenshoin. For the past decade, Sakata Gintoki had stood, indisputably, as the first Wing of the Naraku, and while most of the current recruits would initially challenge the second-in-command, they would learn soon enough that the Shiroyasha would not be bested.
Although Gintoki was admittedly... lax, especially when it came to his duties, no one other than the organization's leader had managed to successfully defeat him in combat.
Takasugi was the only one who kept trying over the years. The rules of the battle commenced - three defeats in a row meant you could move up rank. No weapons were permitted, but the policy existed only because the leader wished not to see them on the brink of death... yet.
There were certainly rounds where Takasugi had managed to land blows on him. But he'd never advanced past three in a row.
There was a look of determination in him as green met red.
"What's the matter, Chibisugi? Cat got your tongue?" Gintoki asked good-naturedly, drawing some snickers from the crowd that surrounded the two of them.
"You wish, Gintoki."
They stared at each other for a split second before Takasugi lunged forward, tackling Gintoki with both arms, pushing him the edge of the marked circle.
But Gintoki didn't budge. A bead of sweat trickled down from his neck, causing his tattoo of the Naraku crest to glisten in the morning sun.
Takasugi kept his stance, concentrating all of his strength into pushing Gintoki out of the ring.
They were almost evenly matched, but there was a moment when Gintoki blinked, and that was enough time for Takasugi to make a quick retreat. He grabbed a fistful of dirt, tossing it into Gintoki's face.
"Cheater!" Gintoki yelled, scrambling to scrub his eyes, but it was too late. Takasugi had already pinned him down to the ground, grinning in feral triumph.
"Yield," Takasugi ordered, holding Gintoki with a grip tighter than a pince.
He loomed over him as if he was a wolf, about to devour him whole. And for a moment, Gintoki, eyes redder than they normally were - saw the black beast coming out of him, before blinking away the dust.
With his magnitude of strength and a vicious snarl, he kicked Takasugi's legs out of the way, causing his opponent to fall.
Gripping the back of Takasugi's throat with the same chokehold that had trapped him seconds ago, it was now Gintoki's time to grin. Both of Takasugi's wrists were twisted behind his back, rendering him unable to move.
Hitsugi began the ten second countdown.
"Well well," Gintoki breathed, eyes flashing in cruel amusement. "Looks like I'll be staying as number one for today, Chibisugi ~ "
Takasugi could hardly choke out the words, but his eyes showed enough rage for Gintoki to back off once Hitsugi had declared him the iminent winner.
He wasn't scared of him, per se, but there was always a streak of viciousness in the other man that Gintoki could never predict would come out at the best of times.
"Next week, then," Takasugi sneered, but it was barely enough to cover his own, slight expression of disappointment.
"Boys," a voice drawled lazily, and the two of them turned their heads.
Utsuro stood from his throne, and descended slowly. The cloak billowed behind him, the black feathers fluttering in the wind. The two of them bowed slightly, before making eye contact.
"Father," Gintoki said softly. A look of thoughtfulness came across Utsuro's maroon eyes, and he removed his mask.
With an impatient wave of his hand, Utsuro bade his crow away from his shoulder, letting it fly away. Only four others stood behind Takasugi.
Katsura Kotarou.
Oboro.
Hitsugi.
And last but not least, Mukuro.
"I've never understood why you two can't get along," Utsuro said, his mouth stretched tight in an amused smile. "Compared to Kotarou, I can never turn my back without seeing the two of you fighting like cats and dogs."
"Unlike Zura, this bastard's a cheater," Gintoki retorted. His eyes were still irritated. "He can't win without resorting to cheap tricks."
Takasugi remained silent and unapologetic.
Utsuro's gaze held steady in the face of mutiny. "Gintoki, when you are fighting on the battleground, will your enemies play fair?"
"No," Gintoki grudgingly admitted. "But - "
"Then see this fight as proof of your strength," Utsuro said. "And I must say, Shinsuke, your form was rather poor this week. Last week, you won two rounds against Gintoki. I will see to your training this afternoon."
Takasugi finally had the good sense to look abashed. "Yes, sir."
Seeing that the matter was resolved, Utsuro moved onto more pressing issues. "How is the front doing?"
Now Katsura stepped forward. "We've been chipping away at the Nagasaki port, but they've countered our attacks with cannons. We've decided to starve them out, and then launch an attack when their supplies have sufficiently run out."
Utsuro frowned. "That ancient technology? I thought you would have already taken care of it by now, Kotarou."
Katsura sighed. "They've finally figured out how to use Altana in conjunction with gunpowder."
Utsuro's lips curled in disdain. "Be as it may, these rats will not hold out forever. Inform me if it is necessary for me, or Gintoki to visit the ports in a week."
"Yes, Father."
He finally walked to Mukuro, who was standing as usual next to Oboro. Thirteen years of age and still loathe to speak even with five years of service to the organization under her belt, she remained expressionless.
Not that Gintoki cared, but in some ways as one of the strongest, he was cautious of people who climbed rank quickly. It was impressive that a girl had been able to get to where Mukuro stood, but no one knew much about her beyond a peerless record of secret assassinations under the cover of the Tenshoin Naraku.
He supposed that Oboro had been responsible for that - he and Takasugi were both brooding assholes at the best of times - but was also reflective of Oboro's excellent training. Utsuro barely had to lay a single finger on Mukuro if he needed to correct something.
Utsuro patted Mukuro on the head. "Oboro has told me of the excellent job you inflicted on the Mito clan. You've done so well on your own, haven't you?"
Her eyes looked up at him, expression still unchanging. "Thank you, Utsuro-sama," she said quietly.
He lifted his hand and walked to Hitsugi and Oboro. At this point, Gintoki was more interested in looking at the sky, observing the patterns of the clouds that wafted by in the morning.
He didn't care about the war. Not to the extent that would have been expected from him, but having been Utsuro's favorite for some time had afforded him a few leeways. As long as he did what he was told to do, people left him alone.
In the organization, everyone aspired to something. Power. Strength. Acceptance. A place to belong.
But Gintoki had no desire for any of those acquisitions.
He was aware that his strength was one of the reasons that Utsuro allowed him to remain in the Naraku. His lack of ambition to overthrow Utsuro as the absolute leader probably played a part in it too, but politics had never been Gintoki's strong suit.
Still... favoritism had its benefits.
Utsuro had finally dismissed the others, who had left the grounds, going to their own spaceships that would take them back to their rightful places on the battlefield. Takasugi had walked into the main vessel, awaiting his personal training.
Now they stood alone.
Gintoki simply waited for the other man to speak.
Utsuro smiled. "How does your neck feel?"
"I'm fine."
"Gintoki."
"I'm not lying - I said I'm fine!"
Utsuro sighed, and simply placed a hand on Gintoki's neck. The thrum of Altana buzzed through his skin as his muscles unknotted, giving him a brief sensation of relief.
The pain had vanished. It was the miracle of healing energy.
"My stubborn son," he said softly, lifting his hand. "Why won't you admit that this war is taking a toll on you?"
"I'm fine," Gintoki repeated.
"You won't take my blood," Utsuro said, and Gintoki looked at the ground, knowing that he was still disappointed. "But at least you ought to refuse ranking challenges if you're injured."
"And let that asshole call me a coward? No thanks," Gintoki said.
Despite his refusal, Utsuro couldn't help but to smile. "Well, you did win, so there is that. What's the count now?"
"Two hundred and forty seven to two hundred forty six," Gintoki muttered. Takasugi wouldn't let him ever forget the number.
"He's behind you again, I see."
"He won't give up," Gintoki complained. "I've tried to beat it out of him, but he won't get the message!"
"He's not like you. Although I do notice that you won't let him win, either - "
"Are you kidding?" Gintoki exclaimed. "That would make it worse! Then he would get angrier and challenge me even more often than he already does! No, it's best that I keep doing this. At least it'll give him something to focus on."
Utsuro laughed. "I suppose so."
He finally turned away, his cloak of feathers rising in the wind once again. The Tengu mask resumed its usual place on the lower half of his face. "Take a week off, Gintoki. See to it that your body heals properly before I ask you to fight again."
Gintoki nodded.
Neither Katsura and Takasugi would have stood for such a reward, but they were different than him. Utsuro would have delegated them more missions - which to Gintoki was no incentive to work at all, but the two of them always seemed motivated after such commands. There were always newer heights to reach, it seemed.
When the ship lifted from the surface, Gintoki watched it fly into the horizon, and waited five minutes before climbing into his own spaceship.
It was time for him to visit Edo.
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- tbc
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