(Author's Note: Gasp! Oh my gosh! Jin and Mugen are SOUL MATES. No, not really, but I think it would be neat if they were. In a heterosexual way. Anyways, continuing on, a lot of this chapter is Jin's killing on Enshirou and other things you already knew, didn't you, you smart reader, you? I hope I did okay with Mugen's story... his past is a lot shadier and I just don't know too much about it, but I tried.)

CHAPTER NINE

"That was you?" cried Mugen.

"Mugen!" Fuu reproached him. She thought it was horribly insensitive to interrupt Jin's story about his parents' death… although she didn't know how any of it would explain Jin's fight with a samurai in glasses.

"No, shut up, you were the samurai family that got murdered? Oh, man, no way! No way!"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Fuu.

"That—that story! I heard it! I was a kid, I heard it all!" Mugen shook his head in disbelief, and began his own story.

"And so—bam!—he jumped onto the couch, tilting it over and knocking over three soldiers! And then his sword flashed, and before you know it, they were lying there with their legs still under the furniture, with nothing left but stumps!"

The boys all leaned toward the younger one. They were sitting in a bar, with glasses of sake and a plate of seafood in front of them. Mugen was enjoying the attention; he'd heard the story last week and had embellished it a bit himself.

"What about the girl samurai?" asked one, breathlessly.

"Oh, she was still there, faster than lighting!" Mugen assured him. "She twisted and struck, like a dancing geisha! Her hair and kimono flew around her, and all they saw was a flash of silver before their heads were separated from their bodies and they fell! The dog jumped around her feet, growling and snapping!"

"What kind of dog was it?"

"It was… it was a wolf! A half-wolf!" said Mugen. "It was as big as she was! Yeah, with fangs so sharp they could crush your arm in a single bite! You wouldn't want to mess with it."

"Who cares about the dog?" asked the oldest. "Tell us about the samurai!"

"Oh, man, they were all over the place! I can't even describe it!" He smiled slyly. "I could show you, though."

The boys, and a few other patrons at surrounding tables, groaned and laughed at the idea of the little boy even trying.

"Hey, Mugen, the day you pull some samurai moves is the day I buy you lunch," said the oldest one.

"Just watch me!" said Mugen boldly. He climbed over another boy, stood in the middle of the bar, and took a deep breath, shaking himself out.

"This'll be good…" muttered someone.

Suddenly Mugen jumped, twisted, balanced for a split second on one hand, drawing his dagger so fast several people gasped audibly. He slashed several times at imaginary enemies, forward, sideways, behind his back; he kicked off a wall, slid on his side, twisted around a few times, and came to a rest with his head propped casually on his hand, in what was not quite a real fight move but more of a dance one. Several people whooped and clapped.

"Looks like someone's buying Mugen lunch," sang the second-youngest boy.

"Oh, shut up," scowled the oldest. "He probably made up that dumb samurai story, just like he's making up fight moves right now."

"I did not make it up! I heard it and it's true!"

"I wouldn't put it past the Shogun, anyways," someone muttered.

Mugen stood up and resumed telling the story, half-miming it. "Man, they were as fast as lightning! But there were too many soldiers; pretty soon they were cornered, and then—" He made a sickening squelching noise. "One of them sent a sword plunging into this guy's stomach and ripping out all of his intestines, spraying them over the floor in a rain of blood! The girl went crazy! She was screaming and slashing and crying all at once! And before you know it they were all over her, ripping the face of her skin off!"

"What about the dog?" interrupted one of the boys.

"Oh, yeah, they got him too!"

"Shut up, Mugen, you're making this all up."

"No, you shut up!" shouted Mugen. "It's true! I swear, man, it's all true! Fucking Shogun, man, they killed the whole family! Just left them all there in he house too!"

"Nuh-uh. You're lying."

"I'll fucking kill you!"

A few people in the bar tittered. Mugen had gotten so worked up by his gossip that he was dancing around, spraying spit and twitching. If he was an adult, it would have been terrifying.

"It's just dumb fairy tales to point out how terrible the Shogun is," said the older boy, dismissively.

"It's not dumb, it's true! The Takugawa family is a bunch of pigs! Look at us, struggling just to eat, and then with all their fancy stupid crap up in their house on the hill, I mean, it's fucking stupid! I wouldn't take it, man! If I ever met one, I'd gut them! Someday I'll find them and then—" He slashed the air violently. The bar had grown rather quiet.

Two men stood from a darkened corner. They'd been watching Mugen carefully.

"Son, you've a very talented swordsman," said one.

"Yeah, I know," said Mugen flatly.

"Mind if I see your sword?"

Mugen passed it over with a shrug; it had barely left his hands when he found the other man had grabbed his hands, wrenched them behind his back, and kicked him to his knees.

"Hey! What gives!" he yelled.

"Turn out his pockets."

Mugen's friends dashed out of the bar as the man revealed all the stolen money Mugen was carrying.

"Kid, you're under arrest."

"What!" screamed Mugen. "You can't arrest me! I'll kill you! Let me go!"

"We'll let you go. We'll let you go in Ryuukyu. How's that sound, you grubby little street urchin?"

The men led the screaming, squirming kid out of the bar. The people there all glanced around nervously; the bartender, who was scrubbing a glass, just shook his head.

Fuu's mouth hung open. Mugen and Jin were staring at each other like they'd both grown a third head.

"So… Mugen pick-pocketed some samurai who turned out to be Jin's uncle, and the story about Jin's parents' murder was what got Mugen arrested?" asked Fuu. "Oh, geez."

"That's… that's really freaky," said Mugen. "For real, are you making this up, Jin?"

"I am not!" snapped Jin, offended.

"Sorry… go ahead and continue."

Jin lowered his head and sighed. "Of all the people to have my life inexplicitly intertwined with…" he murmured plaintively. "Well, continuing on. After my parents' murder I was taken to the dojo by Seiko, while my uncle went into hiding…"

"Nn… nn… ha!"

The sounds could have been panting or crying, but weren't. They were kata. Two boys who lived in the Mujuushin Kenjetsu dojo were leaning out the window, watching the third boy practice in the court yard.

"I sure hope I never have to fight him."

"I did, once. He hit me so hard across the head with my own bokken, I thought my head was split open. And Master Enshirou-san just laughed."

They shook their heads. All the boys in the dojo looked the same; their hair was the same length, in a uniform ponytail; they all wore black hakama and indigo kimono stamped with the Takeda mon. But somehow, they could all tell each other apart. These two boys were Saiyu and Shenji, and the boy they were watching was Jin.

Jin had been at the dojo for seven years. The rumor was, his parents were dead and his uncle was paying for his training. Not that he needed training, said most. His parents were samurai themselves, and Jin seemed to have a natural talent for it. Or maybe it was just his practicing. He spent all day in the courtyard, doing standard kata in anticipation for his kenjetsu lessons later. Everyone knew he was Enshirou's favorite. He'd even fought with Enshirou. And Mariya Enshirou was a man who'd fought a thousand times and never been beaten, or so the rumor was. Letting a twelve-year-old fight with him was quite unheard of.

"He's kind of a freak, if you ask me."

"I dunno." Saiyu shrugged. "I heard he saw his parents murdered. That's probably what messed him up."

"I heard he only found them."

"Still, that would mess me up."

"Have you noticed he never smiles or laughs? I mean, ever? His eyebrows are always down, like he's mad at something…"

"Yeah, he's mad because he saw his parents murdered."

"Well… he's still a freak."

The watched him barking out "ha!" in the empty courtyard, moving from one form to the next with unparalleled grace.

"You know Kariya?"

"Yeah, he's that guy who's always stopping by and talking with Master Enshirou-san. He creeps me out. The other day he came up to me and was asking all these questions about how skilled I was and what I was being taught…"

"He says…" Shenji broke off. "He says Master Enshirou-san is going to adopt Jin and give him the dojo."

"No way!"

"Yeah."

"Bet he won't."

"Kariya already told half the dojo. I bet Jin'll have an unfortunate accident in the next few days…"

The rain fell heavily as the boat pulled away from the dock of Ryuuyku, holding with it a few prisoners who were being released early. The city-cum-prison camp had swelled so much that they had no other choice.

Mugen watched his home fading into the hazy horizon under the brim of his hat, feeling a mixture of rage that he'd lived there so long, and sadness that he was leaving it so soon.

He lowered his head again and didn't look up until they'd reached the shore.

"Now, behave yourself…" said the guard, untying Mugen's hands.

"Hey, sure. Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself." He rubbed his hands, getting off the boat and stepping barefoot onto the dock. He walked into the seaside village, oblivious to the rain or mud. He was free, he was fourteen; he was a good fighter, and he knew how to pick-pocket. The world was filled with possibilities. The first thing he planned was revenge on the Shogun. He'd already been told, while in camp, they were hiring assassins.

"I heard they're employing the Mujuu Shinken dojo now," one man had told Mugen out of the corner of his mouth, as they toted water on a yoke slung over their shoulders. Mugen had never heard of the place. Neither had the man who'd told him about it, though; they were just passing on stories, screwing up names and information. "It's run by Mariya Enshido, the greatest samurai ever."

"Fucking Takugawa…"

He'd said it then, and repeated it now, on the docks. Suddenly he heard a soft chuckle.

He turned to see a silhouette; a man. He chuckled at Mugen, head held down, his hat's brim hiding his face.

"Not a fan of the Shogunate, hm? Got any plans, kid?"

"No," snapped Mugen. "Fucking world is against me."

"Ever thought about… maybe a career in sailing? There's big money in it."

"Sailing, huh?" mused Mugen, rubbing the stubble on his chin thoughtfully.

"Would you please stop interrupting?" interrupted Fuu. "If you didn't keep butting in, Jin would be finished already!"

"But my story practically is his story!" whined Mugen. "And mine's better! Mine's got pirates in it!"

Fuu chucked a medium-sized log at him, then looked to Jin to continue.

"I was sent to the dojo and trained. You know the rest…"

Enshirou's head was bowed with shame as he walked down the hall. He knew, in his heart, that Jin was right. They'd spoken. He was only a boy, but wise beyond his years. He had reacted as Enshirou had expected him to, when he'd admitted the dojo was changing its course. It wasn't his fault, he'd struggled to explain. They weren't in war-time. The schools were declining, and the only use for a sword was as an assassin. But Jin wouldn't listen. After all, his parents had been killed by assassins through the Takugawa Shogunate. For the dojo to sell out to Kariya… who would, in turn, sell out its students as assassins to work for the Tokugawa… it must have been heartbreaking. When Enshirou had told him to endure it, Jin had been silent, obedient as always. But lately he'd seemed angrier than usual, his kata with a much more… forced calm.

Enshirou had spoken also with Kariya. He hated to admit it, but Jin was a threat to the dojo. Jin, who was to inherit the dojo, who cared only for the dojo and wanted nothing more than to learn the ways of the samurai. But they weren't learning the ways of the samurai, were they? No—they were assassins now. And what did an assassin do for the Shogunate, except to kill enemies of the Shogunate? Kariya had made it very, very clear what Enshirou had to do.

Enshirou ran a hand over his face, feeling sick as he pulled open the screen to Jin's room. He could hear the soft, even breathing of the sleeping boy, and see his swords lying beside him, glinting in the light.

He closed the screen with a purposeful bang.

Jin woke; he grabbed his swords. In the dark, it was impossible to tell who was where; there were several clangs as their swords met, and then a sudden, straight thrust. It wasn't the most sophisticated thrust ever, but it hit home.

Enshirou gasped and pulled back. He heard Jin gasp as well.

"Well. Your skills have improved, Jin…"

"Master!" Jin reached to catch him. Enshirou grabbed the sword's hilt, yanked it up, feeling it tearing his stomach; he tore it out, letting the blood pool pour out and spread over the floor.

"And this is where my story changes… or at least, where I stopped when I last told it," said Jin. "The rest is… nothing I'm proud of."

"What did you do?" whispered Fuu, prompting him to continue.

"I went home," said Jin.

Mugen snorted in an odd half-laugh. "You went home? You killed your sensei and just… left?"

"I was scared and confused. I had no where else to go."

"You could have written your uncle."

"I was fairly sure he was dead."

Fuu and Mugen fell silent for a moment. Then Mugen asked, "But wouldn't your house be… the first place they'd look for you?"

"I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Obviously," muttered Mugen, but let Jin resume his story.

Jin walked through grass he hadn't seen since he was barely six. His heart was throbbing with worry. He kept his hand on his sword's hilt. All he had left in the world was the clothes on his back, clothes that were stamped with the Takeda crest. He'd killed his master. Everyone in the world seemed to be after him. The Shogun, his master, and now the dojo. He didn't know what he'd deserved to be so cruelly treated by fate.

He wasn't surprised to find the house in disrepair. No one had lived there for years, except vagrants. The screens were all torn; the floor littered with trash. The flowers in the garden were dead, choked by weeds. The sand was still scattered, and the broken fountains dried up. A mouse scurried past. Jin's sword flashed. Killing the creature did not give him the satisfaction he'd hoped for.

He righted a chair that was on its side and looked around with a sense of utter loss. He had no idea what to do.

He looked down at the floor and saw specks of blood, still staining the floor.

He stumbled upstairs to his loft, feeling ready to pass out. His bed was unmade and dirty; at some point, a stranger had slept in it. He flopped down, fully clothed, on the rumpled sheets, and was fast asleep before his kimono had fluttered down to settle on his back.