I do not own Samurai Champloo.

Thank you don'tbreakme for reviewing, and for the correction. Yes, I did mean century, and it's been fixed. C'mon, review and make my day.

Chapter Two

Let's meet up again. It's easier said than done. With a shovel in his hand, Mugen realizes this.

People always ask me, how the fucking hell did y'manage to live this long, you shitface? Maybe not in those exact words, but you know what I mean. But really, I'm beginning to agree with them. Someone should've shoved their sword deep through my chest by now. Not that there haven't been those that have tried, but . . .

Hey, I've got a lucky streak.

But even I can't have much longer left. I don't know exactly how old I am, but old enough for my hair to begin graying and falling out, and enough for my hands to shake whenever I pick up a sword. I probably can't even protect myself from some arrogant prick who thinks it's fucking fun to pick on the old people.

My aim's still killer, so I could probably throws a large rock at his head. Hopefully knock his head clean off, if it was big enough.

I've been avoiding big towns—there are still people who might hold grudges with me, and in my state I can't fight them off. So this quiet place is logically my next location.

I'm greeted like some honored guest; it's almost scary. How the fucking hell did these people know I was coming? Are they psychic?

Some of these kids even ask me for a story. A story! Do I look like the kind of guy that tells his grandchildren about princesses and heroic priests? Do I look like the type to even have grandchildren? Not likely. The looks on their faces is kind of pissing me off, so I decide to traumatize the little buggers. They want a story, after all.

I decide to tell them about the time when I saw Mukuro again, and we went on the ship and he—

"We've heard that one already! The old fart tells us it all the time. C'mon, be creative, mister!" What! Who the hell is telling my story, damn it? I'm the main character in that one! Probably Jin, that asshole. He was always jealous of my good looks and my luck with the ladies.

Old fart? That's probably Jin, right there! I can still kick his ass, even old! What luck! "Lead me to this old fart!" I announce loudly, getting up. Too quickly, apparently, and I grunt as something jerks in my body. I'm definitely not lasting much longer.

These kids look happy to be given a task, and then lead on through the town, looking important. Some of the adults glance at me warily, as if I do not meet their expectations. I give them all the finger as I walk past, earning myself several angry yells and surprised gasps. Onwards I go, following the children until we reach some small, ugly-ass looking cottage.

"Jin-boy, you can't go around stealin'," I say in a loud, condescending tone as I roughly push open the door.

But it's not Jin in there. It's not even a guy. It's not even alive. "Get the fuck out of here!" I scream at the kids, not to protect their 'precious little eyes' or to preserve their innocence. It's just 'cause I don't want anyone else seeing me break.

Fuu. If anyone had asked, I would have told them that I hadn't thought about her in a shitload of time, easy. But if I were an honest man, I would say differently, though. My mind's gone to that small, flat-chested girl of fifteen many more times than I think I know how to count. Although it would be fucking gross if I still thought about her as a girl. I don't! I'm smart enough to have a good, healthy imagination when it comes to this.

But I never thought she'd be dead. Damn, how did a guy like me outlive a girl like her?

Psh, I talk as if I have any idea what her life was like. I was only with her a little part of her life, anyway! I haven't seen her in years. For all I know, she became a whore, and later an hired assassin, and then passed herself off as a Christian nun.

It looks like suicide, to me, though. The position she's in, the way the katana is thrust into her chest. Why would she kill herself? Was her life horrible and abusive after Jin and I left her? Did we abandon her? Damn it, I knew she was too young to go on her own! That hitman guy had tried to kill her, after all! Maybe the imperial government has been after her all these years? Was she tired of the chase?

So she was telling our story. It's odd how it never occurred to me that it was Fuu. I like to think of Jin as more likely to do something devious than she was. Fuu's too . . . Fuu-like.

I lean over her corpse. Thank Kami there aren't any mirrors in this place; I don't want to see my face. Feeling it inside is more than enough. Fuu's not cute anymore, it's almost sad. There's something there that might have once been beauty, but I can't tell anymore. Even so, she's an old friend, one worthy of at least some respect. I strip her of her bloody kimono respectfully, and I try to wipe some of the blood off of her with it.

I wonder if I should tell Jin Fuu's dead. We could have her our own little version of a funeral, I suppose.

Is this what he meant all those years before, by sentimental? Kami, it's like a fucking disease then!

What do I do with her body? By the time I send notice to Jin, her body'll be rotting, won't it? That will be one thought I don't want connected with Fuu. The smell of a decomposing body.

I'll bury her, then, and just send Jin the directions to her grave. Leaving her—it?—lying there for the time being, I go outside and glance around, looking for a good spot to put her. Somewhere easy to . . . dig.

I find a shovel somewhere—it's probably someone else's but that's the least of my troubles. Digging takes a good part of the day. Once upon a time ago I could have easily managed to do it in less than hour. That's a long time ago, though. I manage to summon the strength to pick up her thin, frail, stiff body and bring her over to the hole I've dug, and throw her in.

A crowd has gathered, but all the adults have pulled the children back a 'safety' distance. People are afraid of me, an old man that couldn't fight them, even if I cared to. I don't care. It's finally sinking in that Fuu is dead. She kicked the bucket before I could talk to her again. She said let's meet again! Fuck, why couldn't she keep her damn word? She always was a lying, manipulating wench, beginning from the whole heads-tails incident.

She could stay alive a bit longer?

I . . . I had a few things I had wanted to talk to her about. Especially lately. I was finally getting tired of traveling around, and now I couldn't even eat and run, or hire myself as a hitman for some easy cash. Most women at the brothels were subtly disgusted with me now, not just 'cause of my age, but because of my scars.

And . . . Fuu is one of the few women I can see myself talking to for something beyond money, sex and food. Could see, I remind myself, looking down at the corpse at the bottom of my sloppy, makeshift grave. With a depressed sigh, I pick up the shovel and begin pushing the dirt back in.