Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic
Rurouni Kenshin & Samurai X Original Japanese Version © N.Watsuki/Shueisha * Fuji-TV * SME Visual Works Inc. * Sony Pictures Entertainment
All Fanfics created by Chiruken (me) were written for the sole purpose of shared entertainment and not intended for publication or sale.
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Battousai
By Chiruken
Training
He watched, unobserved, undetected, as the large sword's master demonstrated the next technique. The Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu intrigued him, fascinated him. It was, in his opinion, the perfect killing technique. Obviously the creator of the style had been a genius. The speed was incomparable, the form flawless. Anyone on the receiving end of a blade wielded in this sword technique would not live to tell about it. It was perfectly suited to him.
He sighed silently and mentally shook his head. It was perfect for **him** but Shinta was far too gentle to effectively use the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu. It was a pity, he decided. The boy's small size may hinder his brute strength, but it increased his speed beyond compare. His quick mind and amazing endurance ensured his mastery of the sword, but his gentle nature made it a moot point. He would never use the technique as it was obviously intended to be used.
He'd been spending more and more time at the surface of the boy's mind, taking control at will. He knew Shinta was unconcerned by this fact and took advantage of his seeming willingness to sit back and watch, so to speak. The swordsman had renamed him Kenshin, a fitting name if he thought so himself. **Heart of sword…interesting that he'd think of it.** He brought his attention back to the task at hand and moved forward, gently pushing Shinta's consciousness back so he could take control again.
"Are you listening to me, baka deshi?" Hiko Seijuurou, thirteenth master of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu scowled at his student, annoyed by the continuous blank stare he received throughout his lessons. "Kenshin, pay attention." He smirked when the boy snapped to attention, turning his gaze to him immediately. He shook his head and returned to the lesson. The boy was a mystery. His appearance was frail, yet it belied the strength he'd seen him use time and again. His eyes often held a vacant look, as if he were conversing within his mind. That bothered the older man more than he liked to admit. He was afraid that he'd made a tremendous error in taking the child as his pupil. He learned quickly, mastering the techniques with seeming ease, yet his mind remained under developed. He knew Kenshin was intelligent, yet there were times he wondered at his sanity. He demonstrated once more and stepped back, lowering his katana. "Now you do it."
"Yes, shishou." He lifted the heavy katana and assumed a stance mirroring the older man's. Narrowing his eyes he envisioned the lesson he'd witnessed just moments before and executed a perfect imitation of the technique.
Hiko shook his head, disturbed more than ever. The boy's move had been flawless, yet his eyes had held a strange light. There were times that Hiko would swear that the child's eyes changed from blue to amber, seemingly at random, but more so when he was engaged in his lessons. It was impossible, he knew. One's eyes just didn't change color at random, yet before him was the proof. On top of the changing eye color, he'd sensed a very odd shift in his ki, one that if he didn't know better, signified a warrior possessing much more skill and experience than his little baka deshi. He grunted his approval and sheathed his katana swiftly. "Get cleaned up. We're done for the day." He checked the position of the sun and turned on his heel, heading back towards the small house he shared with the boy. "Hurry up. It's your turn to make supper."
"It's always my turn." He muttered under his breath, sliding the blade into its saya before following the larger man. It was just as well that Hiko made him do all the cooking. The older man's culinary skills were definitely not on the same level as his swordsmanship. Simply put, he could burn water and not notice the difference. He wondered at that. How could a man live alone, secluded on a mountain, and not be able to cook for himself? It made no sense to him. He shrugged and pushed the thoughts aside. This was Shinta's department. The boy could make mud taste good, but he himself was better equipped for wielding a sword than a cooking knife. He retreated once again to the back of the boy's consciousness, aware yet no longer in control.
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Author's Notes:
Please let me know if this is worth continuing. I'd greatly appreciate any feedback offered (preferably not in the form of flames, thought).
