Disclaimer: If I owned Rurouni Kenshin, I wouldn't be buying its merchandise! I'd be wallowing in them.
Chapter Six
"Enjoying yourself de gozaru ka?"
Himura glared at the samurai from his post at the washtub. Lunch had ended too quickly and the men were back at work. Nuhiro was currently keeping him company as he tended the brothel's back gardens. Frankly, Himura felt he could do without the chatter; especially when most of it was made at his expense.
"I'm just doing the chore you gave me," he muttered back, trying to put most of his attention on the garment he was washing. It was a kimono. He'd decided to wait a while before he started washing anything more… personal.
"You seem to like it though," the elder replied. "Probably more than a man should, but I've come to accept that about you."
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
"In any case, I've convinced Yuiishi-dono to give us a couple of hours off this afternoon," Nuhiro said, ignoring Himura's irritation. "I'll teach you some of the sword techniques I promised you then."
Unwittingly, the young man exhaled in relief. "Finally, some real training," he muttered.
"What was that, Himura-dono?"
Oops, was that my out-loud voice? "Er, that sounds great de gozaru."
"Yosh! Next lesson starts at 2 then. Oh, hello Yuiishi-dono, Asuka-dono."
Turning around, Himura found the head mistress and one of her more vibrant girls walking out of the back kitchen area with large baskets in their hands. Although the contents could not be seen, the two men guessed that there was food packed away in them judging by the smell.
"Going out for a picnic?" Nuhiro asked in curiosity.
"No, just visiting," their landlady replied, Asuka keeping unusually quiet and reserved beside her. The younger girl shifted her weight under her heavy load.
"Do you need any help?" Himura inquired, rising to his feet, ready to offer his assistance but Yuiishi quickly waved him off.
"No, no, Himura-san. We can manage. Please continue with the chores."
"…Yes ma'am."
The two ladies headed towards the far back gate of the gardens that was shrouded by the surrounding vegetation. In fact, it was the first time such a gate had been brought to Himura's attention. He'd hardly noticed it at all since it disappeared behind a curtain of bamboo shoots and a tall gate made up of the very same plant. The path to the door itself was barely noticeable.
…It was almost as if it were hiding something.
A moment later, both ladies were out of sight and the only departing note they gave was the clicking sound of the gate shutting. After a pause the two men turned to look at each other.
"That was… odd de gozaru," Himura said at last.
"Indeed." Nuhiro calmly looked back at their exit. "Asuka-dono didn't flirt with either one of us once. Quite strange…"
Himura hit the ground, face-first. "Is that all you can think about?!"
Obaga blinked. "Is there anything else to think about?"
"Nevermind," he muttered, taking his place again at the wash. "I have laundry to do." There was a line he never thought he'd hear himself say.
"Aa," Nuhiro grinned. "I think I know what you're thinking about…"
The day just kept getting longer, and longer, and longer…
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Two 'o clock was nearing and Himura was hastily putting the latest batch of laundry on the line. He estimated that they should be dried by the time he came back.
Thankfully, his instructor was off sweeping some other region of the house, but as long as it wasn't bothering him, he didn't frankly care where he was. And without anyone's presence to bother him, Himura didn't mind allowing himself to step back and admire his work.
A few extra lines had been set up, running from the roof of the back porch to the fence due to the loads being so huge. It was to this effect that half of the backyard looked like it was celebrating some sort of festival with all of the colorful cloths flapping through the air. Strangely, Himura felt quite satisfied and proud of his work. As well he should have! While it was just short of being half the done job, he had still accomplished most of it within a handful of hours! The task hadn't been as difficult as he'd first thought. At this rate, he could probably get that entire laundry room done if he worked through dinner!
Ha! Not many men, or war veterans for that matter, could claim to have that ability!
…
…And probably for very healthy and masculine reasons…
A bead of sweat appeared on Himura's brow. Maybe I should just take the rest of the day off, he thought.
"They look much more fascinating when they're being worn de gozaru."
Yelping in surprise, Himura spun around to find Nuhiro standing on the veranda, arms folded, head slightly bowed, and looking somewhat wise. …In a twisted, perverted way. The redhead turned red-faced as he realized he'd been staring off into space again. Unfortunately that space was being occupied by women's clothing. …Some clothing being articles that men should not see unless married.
Cripes, this just wasn't his day. …Week… Heck, he was having a bad life.
"Catch," Nuhiro called.
Himura was expecting his sakabatou to be tossed to him, hence why he caught it neatly. Himura, however, was not expecting a dikon radish to be thrown immediately afterwards, hence why it smacked him square in the face.
"What's this de gozaru ka?" he asked bitterly after dislodging it.
"Part of the training, of course!" was the obvious answer. At least the way Nuhiro said it, it sounded like it was obvious. The former hitokiri noticed that the taller man had a bucket of other various edible plants tucked under his left arm.
"Follow me, Himura-dono. We'll be heading for the river for this training."
"For seclusion?"
"For the water! I figure we'll wash the vegetables as long as we're using them."
Asking tended to hurt his brain too much, so Himura decided not to.
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"…Anou…"
"Now, first off, the key to fighting with a dull blade is knowing not only how to strike, but where to strike de gozaru."
"…Anou…"
"You are already an excellent swordsman Himura-dono, so I don't think we'll need to worry over any basics. I think I can just give you the jist of things and you'll be fine."
"…Anou…"
"Now, before we begin, let me just clarify that since this is only our first training session, there's no need to fight full force or get all 'Hiten Mitsurugi' on me, okay? I pride myself on being a skilled swordsman, but let's not get messy here."
"…Anou…"
"Oro? You have a question Himura-dono?"
"Hai." The 19-year old stared at Obaga solemnly. And then he broke out into a hissy fit. "Why in the world are we dressed up like salad bars de gozaru ka?!"
At first, Obaga found this a very strange thing for Himura to say. Not because it didn't make some warped sense, because they did indeed have radishes strapped onto the shoulders and arms and eggplants tied around the abdomen (well, they only had two eggplants; Nuhiro was using a pair of melons). Obaga could understand why Himura asked, he just wasn't sure if he knew what Himura asked. According to his outside-of-fiction knowledge, he wasn't sure if salad bars were popular in Japan yet, let alone invented. Then the authoress wiped clean that thought, thus closing the random paragraph and continuing the plotline (plotline arimasu ka?).
"It's all part of the training, Himura-dono! Trust me!"
"…That's still not the best convincing statement to use on me."
"Yare yare. Let's just do the training. You'll understand it as we go." Nuhiro slide into a defensive stance, his katana flipped. "Now, attack me!"
Himura unsheathed his sword. "Gladly."
The swords didn't even clash. There was a parry that never quite connected and a flashing streak that did. Nuhiro went flying backwards, falling to the ground in a rather undignified crunching splat. Luckily his "armor" broke his fall. …Rather messily.
"Ow! My melons!" the samurai cried, unintentionally mixing his two exclamations together in the wrong type of way. "Oi, I said no excessive speed!"
"Did you?" the Ishin Shishi asked innocently. "Sumanu. I guess I forgot."
"'Forgot' my rurouni butt de gozaru yo. I have the feeling you've got a lot of pent-up anxiety in you, Himura-dono. We need to work on that too."
"So what was that supposed to teach me?" Himura asked, leading the topic back to the training on hand.
"Well it didn't quite go as planned," Nuhiro admitted sheepishly.
"Really? I didn't notice."
The old samurai stared at him sourly. "Look, this is only training de gozaru. Take it easy. Hold back."
Himura blinked. "I did. Immensely so."
This time Obaga blinked. "Oro? The power of that strike looked similar to the ones you were using on the rebels."
"Not really," the young swordsman defended. "I was actually trying to maim the rebels. You, just a light concussion."
"Were you this disrespectful to your last master?" Nuhiro asked.
The younger scowled in a manner that was almost childish. "He started it de gozaru."
Waving off the side subject, the mustached mentor climbed to his feet, discarding the broken melon rinds. "I think I know what one of your other problems is then. Why you were having trouble taking down your enemies."
Himura's ears perked up with an interest he tried to hide. "And what's that?"
"Well, put simply…" Obaga looked him straight in the eye. "You're too soft de gozaru yo!"
The redhead nearly choked on will it took to keep himself from face-faulting. "Too soft?!" he asked incredulously. "You think I'm too soft?!"
That was definitely new. He, the legendary hitokiri, a heartless killer feared by the hearts and souls of other men, had been described as many things; most being horrible, wicked, and really, really nasty.
However, out of all the adjectives that had accompanied his infamous title, "soft" just wasn't one of them!
"Hai," Nuhiro nodded solemnly, clearly not joking about the matter. "If your attacks are anything like the one you just gave me, it's no wonder they keep getting back up to fight you. You hold back too much."
This was ludicrous! He held back?! Of course he held back!! He was the Hitokiri Battousai after all. If he didn't hold back…
"If I hadn't held back, those men would have been in a much worse condition than they are now," he said aloud. "You don't need to hit someone with the sharp end of your blade to kill them, you know."
"True," his instructor agreed. "But how can you be so sure you would have if you hadn't held back?"
"Because… Because… I'm the Battousai!"
There was a pause.
"…And?" Nurhio asked.
"'And?' What do you mean 'and?' What else?"
"Well what makes you, the Battousai, so special?"
Too many questions… Brain hurting (or was that heartburn?)… Patience thinning….
"Have you been living under a friggin' rock for the past four years de gozaru ka?!" Himura asked, strangely choosing to remember his polite speech at that particular sentence. "You seemed to know me well enough when we first met. Haven't any of the things you've heard about me giving you a clue as to what I could do to others, reverse blade or no?!"
Nuhiro picked the oddest times to suddenly look all smiles and sunshine. This inopportune moment was no exception. Himura couldn't fathom what his problem was now, so he decided to ask him just such.
"You, Himura-dono," the samurai grinned, "have an ego. And it is handicapping you."
A strange, subconscious part of Himura wanted to say, "No duh de gozaru!" to the first sentence, but the part of him that was in more control allowed himself to be amazed at how clear the second line made everything.
It was not wise for a swordsman to have an ego. This he knew well enough despite his arrogance-inflated shishou having been the one to teach it to him. Having an ego made one's skills either become reckless and over-daring, or lazy and dull. In Himura's case, it was the latter. But what an odd combo!
Normally, the young man knew better than to let any pride get the better of him. As a shadow assassin, he couldn't afford getting lax, and his habitual thinking always had him reasonably confident that he was ready for anything unexpected.
And then he'd taken a vow to never kill; a desire to never kill. And without him realizing it, his pride as a swordsman and fear of taking another life somehow melded together. His past had given him the confidence that he could kill or defeat any opponent in his path. His current new way of life had him afraid that because of this power he had he might still kill, even if unintentionally. It was a risk he was unwilling to take.
Hence why he held back the way he did. Hence why he was… too soft.
Ridiculous. It was absolutely ridiculous. …Yet it was true. Every word of it.
"Judging from that soliloquy-look on your face, I think you're beginning to understand, am I right?" Nurhio inquired suddenly.
"So what do I do?" Himura asked in kind. "Not show any mercy?"
"I don't recall telling you that you should not hold back. I just said you hold back too much de gozaru. You need to find a balance."
"How?"
The elder shrugged haplessly. "How the 'oro' should I know? Practice makes perfect, I suppose."
"Well then let's practice," Himura sneered evilly, tightening his grip on his sakabatou.
"Maa, maa!" Obaga said uneasily, backing away a few steps and waving his hands in the air in a disarming manner. "I still have one more piece of advice to give you!"
The younger looked at the radishes covering his upper body. "This wouldn't happen to finally be explaining the vegetables, would it?"
"Correct you are, Himura-dono! Now, hold still!"
The katana sliced through the air in a motion swift enough to impress even the Battousai. The blade stopped in less than an inch away from Himura's jugular. The two men remained still for a moment, gazing at each other with calm, critical eyes. At last the samurai spoke.
"Now, what would have happened if I'd connected, Himura-dono?"
The redhead cast a quick glance between the blade and its wielder. "Considering it's flipped, not much. You can't break the skin with the backside. The worst I'd get would probably be a bruise."
"And if it weren't flipped?"
"…Is this assuming that I don't have my mad Hiten Mitsurugi speed skills?"
"…Er, hai."
"Then I'd probably be dead."
Satisfied, Nuhiro grinned yet did not remove his blade. "Correct. However…" He took half a step forward so that the tip of the blade was no longer with the artery but past the spine. "What if my swing had come out this far? What then?"
"It's still flipped so it wouldn't decapitate. …However, the dull blade could cause more damage now because it has possible connections with the neck bone de gozaru."
"Also correct!" Nuhiro said, looking pleased. This time he withdrew the katana. "I noticed, Himura-dono, that when you fight, you still seem to be in the habit of going for vital arteries or areas that bleed quickly. While this is a quick an efficient tactic for a hitokiri to use, since it guarantees death, it is not one to be used with a blade such as the sakabatou. You cannot draw blood with a dull edge the way you could with a sharp one. Make sense?"
"Oddly, yes."
"Why 'oddly?'"
"It's always weird when you make sense."
"Why's that?"
"You figure it out," he muttered beneath his breath.
"Oro?"
"Er, nothing. Please continue."
"Aa. In any case, you need to train yourself to stop going after the vitals that bleed your opponents to death. You need to aim more for the breakable areas."
"'Breakable?'"
"Bones, Himura-dono," Obaga explained, swinging his sword down and again stopping it within less than an inch of him, but this time it was above the radish on his left shoulder. "I'm going to teach you where the most vulnerable spots bone-wise and pressure point-wise are so that that backwards sword of yours can become more effective to you de gozaru!"
"Let me guess," Himura droned with small amusement. "The vegetables are aids in where to find some of these points?"
"You guessed it!"
"Why vegetables though? Why do we need them at all? I mean, not to get off on my ego or anything, but I could've understood all of this perfectly fine without them."
Nuhiro scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Er, well, let's just say that I promised Yuiishi-dono that I'd help her chop the food for dinner tonight de gozaru."
Himura stared at him. "Everything you do has an ulterior motive, doesn't it?"
"Oi, just because we're idiots Himura-dono, doesn't mean we can't be efficient idiots."
"Touché."
On a sudden whim, Nuhiro asked if his pupil would like to make him a bet.
"What kind of bet?"
"Loser buys the sake, of course."
Himura's gaze leveled. "Women and drinking are all you can think about, aren't they?"
"Again I ask, what else is there to think about? Come on, Himura-dono, what do you say?"
The former hitokiri slid into a ready stance. "Considering I'm not going to 'hold back too much,' you've got yourself a deal de gozaru. But if I win, I get to change the gi I have to wear."
"Oro? What's wrong with the one you have on now?"
"What isn't?"
"Point." Nuhiro slid into his own position. "But I warn you, Himura-dono. I'm much better when I'm sober and I've been sober for far too long! I'm eager to get what I want de gozaru yo."
"Believe me," the young man growled, a feral glint in his eye. "So am I."
The air was suddenly filled with battle cries, violence, and something akin to a Japanese-rendition of a garden salad. In the end, the vegetables got the worst of it.
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"I cannot believe I lost de gozaru."
Beside him, the drunk laughed. "Aww come on, Himura-dono! Yer new at thish! Ya can't expect to get it right off da bat!"
"I wouldn't have lost if you hadn't cheated," the sour Ishin Shishi scowled.
"Hey, I think I've told you once before that ya don't wanna shee me desperate! Dish is da first drink I've had in da pasht 24 hoursh! I can't remembah bein' dat shober fer that long in a long, long, long time de g'zaru!" He took another swig from his jug, then smacked his lips in satisfaction. "How come ya don't want any, Himura-dono?"
"I've told you before," the redhead answered testily, shifting the weight of the bucket of chopped vegetables in his arms. "I don't like sake."
Nuhiro shook his head in disbelief. "Yer one shtrange fellow, Himura-dono. I'd figger with a pasht like yers, you'd wanta drink. Heck, that'sh why I do!"
Himura looked up, curiosity stirred by the elder's words. They reminded him of how little he still knew about this man. Perhaps if he played his cards right… "I always thought that the drunk part was part of your idiot-act, Obaga-san. What in your past turned you to drinking?"
"Dishonor," he mumbled. "Mine. The school's…"
"School?"
"Da school I trained under, Himura-dono. Didn'tcha ever wonder where I learned my sword skillsh?"
He had. In fact, he was quite interested in knowing what technique Nuhiro was taught under. He'd honestly never seen anything like it before. Such unusually aggressive defense… "What school was that, Obaga-san?"
The elder shook his head drunkenly. "No name de g'zaru."
He blinked. "It doesn't have a name?"
"No, no, no. I can't shay itsh name! I don't."
"Why not?"
The answer came in a whisper.
"Dishonor." The old man's pace slowed considerably, as though the weight of his heavy thoughts were dragging him down. "I dishonored it a long time ago. Back when I was young, proud, and full of self-righteousness. …Back when I was a real idiot, and not just pretending to be one."
"…What did you do?"
Nuhiro stopped completely, head bowed and eyes hidden underneath the shadow of his brow. Himura began to wonder if he asked something he really shouldn't have."
"…Obaga-san?"
"…I…"
"…Hai?"
"…I…"
Suddenly Nuhiro looked up with the silliest drunken grin on his face ever. "I can't rememah de g'zaru!" And with that he let out a long, hearty laugh, and continued stumbling down the road.
Himura was about to go into his usual annoyance when he realized… Nuhiro's speech hadn't slurred once just a minute ago. Not like an intoxicated man's should have. Perhaps that meant…
Himura knew better than most that everyone has their own pasts and their own secrets for their own reasons. And it was that thought that kept him from asking anything more about it as they walked the rest of the way back to the brothel.
End of chapter six.
Author's Notes:
Well, I'm semi-satisfied with this chapter. The first time around it came out sounding more serious than I thought it should be for a humor-based fic. Heck, this is the first chapter that doesn't end on a comical note! I kept going back over it, adding in more bad jokes until I was convinced that it wasn't a horrible, genre-destroying chapter. While it's not my favorite, it's necessary and "good enough for now." Maybe it'll get revised later. *shrugs*
Anou- this is kind of the Japanese way of saying "Um" or "Uh" (I figure I mentioned it enough in one scene that I should define it)
Okay, I will admit that I completely BS-ed my way through that whole training session, but hey, come on, who doesn't every now and then? I mean, heck, I'm a fanfiction writer for cryin' out loud! BS is our specialty! Still, I hope it all didn't sound too far-fetched. Gomen to all of you who really know better and found that an absolutely ridiculous ploy. Then again, give me a break. I'm a fanfiction writer!
Well, just trying to develop more of Nuhiro's character there at the end. Still more on that in future chapters though. Hope no one minds. Heck, I hope there's even someone looking forward to it, but I won't get my hopes up. ^^;
By the way, don't ask me how Obaga really defeated Himura in that fight. At first I wanted to work out a satisfying scenario, but no ideas came to mind. Correction, no good ideas came to mind. So I just dropped it and am now leaving you with the reason, "because I said so." Gomen minna, but it needed to come out that way in the end. Don't worry. Kenshin gets his justice.
Arigatou for your continual support, minna!!! I hope you keep reading!