Author's Note: Dad's home. (And in time for Halloween!) I know it took a long time for this update, and this past year has been a struggle, given I had to prepare for a major exam (which I passed, so that's something!) and the current state of the world. Content warnings for death of a parent, depictions of war, PTSD, death of a spouse, and depictions of hospitalization. As always, let me know what you think and please take care of yourselves.
When he emerged from Commissioner Kawaji's office, Koshijiro let exhaustion take over. He had stayed awake two hours past midnight to finalize his evacuation plan, and the entire morning had already flown by due to the commissioner grilling him on the details. He had fended off the questions with varying degrees of success, until he was dismissed with a scowl.
He returned to his desk, settled in his chair, and closed his eyes. Just for a minute…
"Officer Kamiya, we received a message requesting backup." Shinichi nervously interrupted his rest.
He shook off the lethargy, to see the rookie. Occasionally, the young officers were called on for assistance, and Koshijiro had to accompany them as their direct superior. "Please tell me the details on the way there. Let's head over."
There was a clash at the fish market, reportedly between two rival gangs. The details of the feud were unknown, but both sides were agitated and aggressive. Shouts and crashes could be heard from a block away. As Koshijiro and the others approached, the noise intensified. The scene was chaotic. Men were exchanging blows and throwing various items at each other. Bloodied faces drifted in and out among the mob, along with the uniforms of officers. The rookies immediately launched themselves into the fray, disappearing in a matter of moments.
A flash of red barreled towards Koshijiro's right, and he instinctively caught…an octopus. His arm held the creature to his chest, and its tentacles curled around his sleeve and towards his neck. Gingerly, he set it in a nearby bucket of water, and it wriggled in relief. Now that he looked closer, some of the thrown items were raw seafood.
But not all.
A sword swung towards Koshijiro, the rusty edge aiming for his temple, and he ducked. His right hand fell to his bokken, as he analyzed his opponent. A shorter, stockier man with a gap-toothed grin and a death wish, apparently. Koshijiro drew his bokken, moving into a defensive position.
It wasn't difficult to read his movements, and when the man attempted an overhead swing, Koshijro blocked. The force was intense, and he had to widen his stance. However, that set him up perfectly for the next move. With an inhale, he pushed back, lifting his back foot off the ground to hook around the man's knee. The man gave a startled exclamation as his feet turned inward, and Koshijiro disengaged. His opponent threatened to fall forward and that left him open for a strike at the sensitive point behind the elbow. The man's grip spasmed, but even if he could somehow shake off the numbness, Koshijiro was already following through with another blow to the back of the head. Koshijiro watched him go down, and the immediate handcuffing by Officer Abe, who was on standby.
"Whoa, Kamiya-san, that was awesome!"
"Well, I'm glad it worked. I've been thinking over this maneuver for some time." He was rather proud of his success, and confidently, he moved on.
In total, fifty people were arrested, jailed, and scheduled for questioning. He had volunteered for the last shift of interrogation and didn't return home until past midnight. Koshijiro prepared for bed, and every movement was abnormally loud. Once he had closed his eyes, his ears rang from the eerie silence.
How long had it been since they were gone? June was already coming to a close. Kaoru's birthday was at the end of the week and he was in Satsuma for her last one. Their usual celebration was a nice dinner, but he felt like this one should be grander, to make amends. He would have to think of something soon…as a testament to how tired he was, he fell asleep mid-thought.
When he woke, he scrambled for the time and realized he was running late. The train would arrive soon, and he had promised to be at the station. He skipped breakfast and broke into a sprint as he drew closer, but he made it to his destination. Tokio rose from a bench, lifting her little son.
"Kamiya-san, thank you for being here. Are you alright?"
He took a moment to catch his breath. "Yes, I'm fine. I see the train's here?" The locomotive seemed to be giving a long exhale, the turning of the wheels slowing with each cycle.
"Yes, but they must be checking the passengers before they let them out." She adjusted her hold on Tsutomu, his sleeping face squished against her collar.
They watched the disembarking people and scanned the faces for a boy of the right description. Finally, he stepped out. He was about ten or eleven, and his hair was mussed from sleeping at an odd angle. Noticing their gazes, he cautiously approached, looking up at Tokio.
"Are you Fujita-san?"
"I am and this is my son, Tsutomu. Kamiya-san is my husband's colleague."
Koshijiro nodded in greeting. "It's good to meet you. How was your journey?"
"Long. It wasn't too bad until the train." He wrinkled his nose. "I wanted to go on foot like Kenshin did, the train is too noisy."
"You met Himura-san?"
"Yeah. He really helped me out in my village." He became quiet, obviously remembering. "He did say, 'Kamiya-dono will be in Tokyo, so there is no need to worry.'"
Koshijiro coughed to conceal his embarrassment. "I see. Well, I heard he made it to his destination, so there's no need to worry about him either."
Tokio knelt to meet Eiji at eye level. "My husband informed me that you lost your parents and brother. I'm so sorry."
"Kenshin helped me." Eiji stared at his feet. "He said the dead only want the living to be happy."
"He wasn't wrong." Koshijiro quietly said. "Your family would want that for you."
They walked out, and Tokio intended to treat Eiji to a well-deserved meal. She extended the invitation to Koshijiro but he had to decline. "Some other time. I'll stop by now and then, to check in. If there's anything you need, you can always visit the Kamiya dojo."
On his way back, he passed a flower seller, hawking baskets teeming with small pink and white deutzia. They greatly resembled cherry blossoms and he remembered they were gone by August. He turned around and paid for one bouquet, mentally mapping out the detour to the cemetery.
Kyoko will surely love these flowers.
Everything about Kaoru was utterly charming. Her little yawns, the way she stretched her whole body when she woke, the downy hair capping her head, her plush grip gently enclosing his thumb. She was an energetic baby, working her fingers and flailing her limbs as if testing them out. She was more than Koshijiro and Kyoko could have asked for.
She grew quickly, and Koshijiro was loath to miss a moment. He couldn't help but feel a little envious of Kyoko and Osue-san, who visited thrice a week to help out. The majority of his day was spent working, so when he returned home at Kaoru's early bedtime, Kyoko encouraged him to rock their daughter to sleep. She reassured otherwise but he had felt awkward in the early days, too large and clumsy for his tiny girl. As he strolled through the house, Kaoru's round eyes intently focused on his face before she slowly nodded off.
When she was a few months old, Koshijiro noticed a bright blue ribbon tied around her head. "Hm? What's this?' He asked Kyoko.
"I noticed she has a bald spot, so I thought to cover it with the ribbon." Meanwhile, Kaoru didn't seem to mind, happily rolling onto her belly and offering Koshijiro a smile.
He sat beside her and one pudgy hand touched his knee before she tried to lift her upper body. Her feet pushed against the tatami but she didn't budge. As she struggled to move to his lap, her barely visible eyebrows drew together and she made a loud noise of frustration. Amused, he picked her up by the armpits and remarked. "It's a little early for you to crawl, Kaoru, but it's good that you're eager."
"She'll be crawling soon." Kyoko joined them, adjusting the blue ribbon so it was more secure. "And then, she'll walk and run."
"Not too fast for us, I hope."
But for now, Kaoru was still small enough to hold. While their little home was cozy and quiet, it was not as peaceful outside. The disasters of the Ansei era had accumulated in the past two years: cholera raging through Edo, an earthquake in Hida, an assassination near the Sakurada gate. A treaty with the Americans had been signed, resulting in widespread discontent. With the ports open to trade, the markets and routes changed. Inflation drove costs up, as foreigners bought gold. The shogunate was proving to be increasingly unequipped to handle current issues.
Meanwhile, Koshijiro continued to teach kenjutsu. His students were eager to use real blades and threatened to leave if they couldn't. He did his best to ensure everyone was safe, but he only had one pair of eyes. There were several close calls. After a particularly nasty duel between two students, he sent a doctor for their injuries and ended class early. When everyone had left, he sat on the freshly cleaned dojo floor, rubbing his forehead. The students were eager to fight and yes, they needed to know how to protect themselves, but was he enabling them? What would his predecessors think of him?
"Sorry to interrupt."
He turned to see Kyoko, holding their baby daughter and beaming at him. "It's Otou-san, Kaoru. Otou-san."
Kaoru gave a delighted cry, waving her fist. How could he possibly be despondent?
Kyoko handed her off, and the baby's soft cheek grazed his. She nuzzled, turning her face against his shoulder, and he held her tighter. Meeting his wife's tender gaze, he smiled. "Thank you."
Once Kaoru could toddle about, there was no stopping her, and she took obvious joy in being followed. Her wide smile over her shoulder was a precious thing to behold. When she'd fall, her tears weren't out of pain but desire for comfort, for she quickly stopped once she was held. Soon enough, even those subsided, and she'd resume walking as if nothing happened.
After one such occurrence, Kyoko began to laugh. "Her face looks just like yours! So determined!"
"If that's so, then she certainly takes after you too." But he laughed as well.
It was during those blissful days that his father returned. He had sent a letter in advance, explaining he no longer had work in Kunitake's area and would be transferring back home. Koshijiro personally suspected they had a falling-out but kept his reply succinct and inviting. Otou-san arrived with the summer heat, and Koshijiro stepped away from the dojo to greet him with a bow.
"Welcome back."
"Koshijiro, it's good to be home." His father smiled. He was noticeably thinner, the lines on his face deeper. "Oh? Is that Kaoru-chan?"
He glanced towards the porch, to see his daughter staring at them, before she unsteadily ran into the house. "Oka! Oka!"
"Calling for her mother?" Otou-san's tone was both amused and wistful.
"Her first word as well. Please, come in." As he offered, he took his father's satchel. It was surprisingly light. Had Otou-san sold his belongings…or was he kicked out?
Kyoko appeared, Kaoru clinging to her leg. "Welcome! Are you hungry at all? We can have lunch early."
They settled him in, and the tension seemed to leave his frame. He was in his early sixties, Koshijiro thought, but his age had never shown until now. He moved slower, he slept heavier and longer, and he was not as boisterous as before. Worried, Koshijiro sent for one of Kyoko's doctors. For the most part, Otou-san's health was fair, but his heart was weak and they would have to keep an eye on him. Plenty of rest and a daily routine would help, and they did their best to make him comfortable. Otou-san dove into his art with full force, and more often than not, he could be found painting in the yard. He happily gave Kaoru any paper and ink she wanted to draw with, and allowed her to drum her fists against his back in a makeshift massage. He also got along well with Kyoko, who effortlessly charmed everyone in her orbit anyway. Most of his father's paintings were sold, but if Kyoko expressed a liking for one, he would set it aside for safekeeping.
"Aha! I see the pattern now." Otou-san clapped his hands together, after a brief survey of Kyoko's choices. "You have a keen eye for the seasons. Spring, summer, autumn, winter."
"Of course, and you depict them so well, Otou-sama. But do you have any preferences on what you paint?"
"Not particularly, though it's better if everything I see remains still while I'm working." He joked. "But that's hardly ever the case. Such is life." And to prove his point, Kaoru hurtled past him, running at full speed to escape a harried Osue, who was attempting to wash her face.
A few months later, they celebrated Kaoru turning three. The zori only lasted a few steps before she kicked them off with obvious relief and to Osue-san's chagrin. Her pudgy hands held a long stick of chitose ame, which she eagerly crammed into her mouth.
"Yes, live a long, happy life, Kaoru." Kyoko murmured. Her fatigue had been worse as of late, and she rested against Koshijiro's shoulder.
When Kaoru dozed off too, worn out by the day's activities, Koshijiro held her in his lap. Glancing about to make sure no one else was looking, he pressed a kiss on both of their cheeks, his wife's cool one and his daughter's slightly sticky one.
Now that she was old enough, Koshijiro had crafted a bokken to match Kaoru's size, and she would follow along with morning stretches. Anything more would be too advanced, and she usually fussed when Kyoko had to pull her away. Eventually, Koshijiro noticed perforations in the rice paper, at about the eye level of a little girl. It then became a matter of catching her in the act. He listened carefully for a tiny pop, and after a moment, opened the door to find her staring up at him.
"Kaoru, did you do this?"
"No!" But she sucked in a breath and turned to run away. Koshijiro easily stepped around her.
"I'm going to ask again. Did you poke holes in the doors?"
She squirmed, her mouth petulantly twisting. "…it's fun."
"But it isn't very nice. It worries me and your mother when we have to fix them. And we don't like being mad at you. Can you be good and promise you'll stop?" He extended his pinky finger towards her.
"Hmph." She pouted but she linked her tiny finger with his and they shook on it.
"That's a promise."
Her voice was small and uncertain when she asked. "Do you hate me?"
"No, of course not. I never could, and Okaa-san feels the same way." As the words left him, he suddenly remembered his own childhood voice, declaring that he would never be anything like his father. Gods, he must have caused Otou-san a great deal of pain and he'd never realized until now.
When he spoke with Kyoko, she insisted that they have a conversation. "You need to talk with him alone. There's still time to make things right between you. As long as you're alive, you can have another chance."
He decided to do so, one morning. Otou-san was in his usual spot in the yard, trying to capture the autumn scenery with his paints. He shuffled towards the porch, spared a glance at Kyoko. She narrowed her eyes at his stalling, and urged him to keep moving with quick waves of her hand. Suppressing a sigh, he moved to stand by his father.
"That looks lovely." He lamely nodded at the painting. What was he doing?
His father laughed. "Thank you. I know you're not as passionate as I am about this, but I appreciate it. Is something on your mind?"
"I spoke to Kaoru about the holes in the door, and she reminded me of the past." He slowly said. "I remember some of the unkind words I dealt to you when I was a child, and I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to forgive. As you said, you were a child and our situation was…unexpectedly complicated. But I never blamed you or your mother." He set his brush down, resting it on a small ceramic dish with murky water. "I think if Miyo had been with us, like when you were younger, it might be easier to talk with each other. Maybe, she'd still be with us."
The wind swept through, and a lull fell over them. Koshijiro cleared his throat, swallowing the sudden lump there. "Kyoko says people live on in the stories we tell."
"She's right." He paused. "I never told you how I met your mother."
"No, I don't believe so."
"Well, it wasn't romantic. I fell asleep by the river, while sketching. I only meant to have a nap, but when I woke up, it was morning and Miyo was standing over me. Then, I kept seeing her all the time, while I was in town. Our paths crossed frequently after that. I was happy whenever I saw her, and disappointed when I didn't. When I found that she was looking for work, I hired her. And after that, I only fell deeper. I was sure…that we could live happily together. But Otsuna and Kunitake were jealous. I knew they were, but I raised them like my own after my cousin and wife died. I did my best, trying not to choose. Miyo never told me she was pregnant with you, and when I met you, you were almost a year old. But I couldn't let you either of you go again. You probably don't remember much, but despite the circumstances at the time, the famine and uncertainty, those were some of the happiest days of my life."
Something gave in his chest at his father's words and sober expression. Otou-san was not perfect by any means, far from it, and yet…he was only human in the end. "That time is vague in my memories but I was happy too."
"I am sorry though. I never meant for you to be hurt by your siblings, and I did speak to them multiple times. Their harassment is a failure on my part. I don't know where I went wrong, but please believe that I never encouraged their behavior."
"I believe you and that it's not entirely your fault." He assured. "There comes a point when immaturity is no longer an excuse and I doubt they ever found it. Years ago, I would have thought it difficult to uproot the resentment I have. But I can now. I do forgive you and I think I understand you a little better now. Even more so because I have Kyoko and Kaoru."
Otou-san looked as if he was about to cry, and he was at a loss for what to do. Almost as if on cue, the door opened to signal someone was on the porch. Kaoru darted towards them, with a wide smile. "Jii-jii!" She twirled in place, her little ponytail flying. "This new ribbon is pretty, right?"
His father nodded, voice light. "Of course! It's the same color as a rose. And you're pretty from head to toe. And what does your Otou-san think?"
They both turned to him, and Koshijiro cleared his throat. "Yes, Kaoru, it's very nice. Did Okaa-san buy it for you?"
"Uh-huh. We match now! Tou-san, come see." She grabbed his hand, pulling him back towards the house amidst his father's laughter. Kyoko had tied her own rose-colored ribbon in her bun, and she lifted her head from her sewing with a smile when they rejoined her at the table.
"Thank you." He murmured.
"You're welcome. How do you feel?"
"Better."
"Then, that's good." Their private conversation was interrupted by Kaoru, wondering where one of her books was.
In the evenings, Kyoko read aloud to Kaoru, who had claimed a spot to nestle between them in their futon. Koshijiro was embarrassed whenever he fell asleep to his wife's voice, but those were rare, since Kaoru would poke his side and ask if he wanted to read next. She would try to turn the pages for him, intent on helping move their nightly story forward. She already knew a few kanji, including her name, and Koshijiro was very proud.
There was one issue that arose. One of the new books Kaoru liked was about a family, which had multiple children. The youngest was a newborn girl, and Kaoru seemed fascinated, her fingers lingering on the baby's descriptions. Once Kyoko ended the tale, the inevitable question came.
"Kaa-san?"
"Yes?"
"Where do babies come from?"
"Hmm." Kyoko pretended to ponder over the matter. "Well, they appear when an Okaa-san and an Otou-san wish very hard."
"Oh. So I will wish."
"Wish for what, Kaoru?"
"A little sister!"
"That's such a nice wish." Kyoko mildly replied. "Now, let's go to sleep."
Koshijiro fervently hoped that would be the end, but as the seasons changed, Kaoru was still loudly expressing her desire for a younger sister. It became a daily inquiry, and at last, Koshijiro decided to gently break the news to her, before going to bed.
"Perhaps, you should think of a new wish. A little sister probably isn't on its way."
"Why not?" She demanded.
"W-well…" He stammered, thrown off guard. "It takes two people to make that kind of a request?" Kyoko immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes shut and shoulders trembling with concealed laughter. "Two adults, like me and your mother."
"Tou-san, then wish with Kaa-san."
What had he done to deserve this conversation? "But when a baby comes, you can't exchange it, even if it's a boy."
"A little brother would be okay too, like Hitomi-chan's." Kaoru conceded, referring to one of her older playmates.
Thankfully, Kyoko took over, still smiling from the aftershocks. "Kaoru, we waited a very long time for you. We wished and prayed and nearly gave up. I don't know if we can be that lucky a second time. But if you're feeling lonely, let's invite Hitomi-chan and your other friends over more often. And there are other children who live nearby too. Maybe, there will be someone who would like a big sister. What do you think?"
"…alright." Over her head, Kyoko and Koshijiro exchanged relieved glances.
Emperor Meiji ascended to the throne, and a power struggle with the shogunate seemed imminent. Nothing in the news was particularly uplifting, a prelude to the certain turmoil.
One wintry morning, he passed by Otou-san's room and stopped. The door was wide open, though without signs of a struggle. In the front, his father's shoes were missing, and a quick scan confirmed that the yard was empty. A sense of foreboding overcame him. He walked past the gate, looking down the road to find a set of shallow footprints. They led to a large tree, shielding any snow from covering Otou-san's sitting form. As he approached, the foreboding grew stronger, and it was only confirmed when he gently placed his palm upon his father's shoulder. There was no heat at all. Otou-san's face was perfectly tranquil, his final moments of acceptance, and Koshijiro bowed his head.
"Thank you, and goodbye. I'll take you to Okaa-san now."
The funeral was surprisingly crowded, with many people offering to pay their respects. It was clear that Otou-san had been respected and loved, by not only his colleagues but also the neighborhood and his fellow artists. Noticeably, there were two figures who never showed, but Koshijiro did not mind. It was best that his wife and daughter wouldn't meet his siblings. Preferably never at all. Otou-san's ashes were laid to rest beside the simple grave of the woman he loved, and Koshijiro blinked back sudden tears at the sight of his parents, reunited in death.
Kyoko's familiar hand slipped into his. "It's alright. You can cry, if you need to." She gently said.
"Forgive me, Kyoko. I don't know why-" He broke off, his voice shaky. He didn't know why his composure was crumbling at this moment, when he had handled the funeral arrangements so steadily.
"Shh. I'm here, and so is Kaoru. We're here." Her gaze shone with her own tears, and Kaoru clung to Koshijiro's other side, brows drawn together. They remained in a close huddle, all the way home. The house was quieter, and sometimes, there'd be an extra bowl set out by accident, but like years ago, the grief was easier to bear with time.
That spring, he was on midnight patrol, lantern in hand. A distant clamor rerouted him, and he kept one hand on the hilt of his katana as he hurried towards the shouts. A couple of shadows were already fleeing, leaving four bodies. One emitted a weak rattling cough. He drew closer and the lantern's glow illuminated the man's bloody face. "Hayashi?!" He checked for a pulse on his friend's slick neck. Rapid, but present. He stabilized Hayashi, just as his colleagues rushed over.
The story was that it had been a group of ruffians, looking for anyone to rob in this economic crisis. Hayashi did survive, though at the cost of a maimed right leg. He was despondent; such an injury meant an end to kenjutsu and his service to his lord. "I'll be thrown away, who wants a cripple for protection?"
"Don't say that," Koshijiro tried to persuade him. "Focus on getting better first, before returning to work."
"As if. Just leave me to die and go back to your own dojo." Hayashi snarled. That only served to steel Koshijiro. He wrote to Maekawa and Kikuhara, requesting their assistance, and continued to visit with food and water.
Maekawa was there within the week, and spoke nothing of kenjutsu, just boisterously singing as he cleaned Hayashi's row house. Kikuhara was unable to do anything in person, but he sent packages of books, paintings, and other things to pass the time with. At first, Hayashi shouted at them, to the point where he wore himself out. They took meals at his bedside if he wouldn't move and changed his dressings, and although Maekawa was skeptical that they were helping at all, Koshijiro insisted they were. Hayashi's strength was slow to build, given his initial resistance, but he left his bed in order for them to stop nagging, as he put it, and scowled as he ate. He no longer raised his voice or spoke of dying. Despite his perpetual bitter mood, it was progress.
Koshijiro believed they were going to finally get him out of the house, only to find that the door chained in place. Hayashi had left a folded note in one of the edges. Thank you for staying with me, but I need to find my own way in life again.
A search resulted in nothing. Maekawa expressed his characteristic confidence that Hayashi would be fine, wherever he ended up, and Koshijiro reluctantly accepted that he had to trust his friend would continue to live on.
His dojo was faring well; there were many who were eager to learn how to fight or have their sons learn. At seven, Kaoru relished helping out, and he tended to ask for her to demonstrate, especially for the newcomers. She was as old as he was, when he first started learning, and with her head start, she was very good at kenjutsu and knew it. She loved being in the dojo, and although Koshijiro was proud of her enthusiasm, she did fight with some of the boys who were prejudiced towards a female classmate and mistakenly believed she was weaker. More than once, he had to break up a tussle. Punishment was dealt equally too, he didn't want to favor his daughter and he could handle her grumpiness afterward. If she wanted to spar those boys in a designated match, however, he never objected.
Kyoko was much more apprehensive. "I'm not saying she can't be in the dojo. I don't want to confine her; I want her to enjoy life." She was very firm about that sentiment, given her upbringing. "But I'm worried she'll be hurt. It's different for women. Men are allowed to bear scars with pride, whereas we're expected to hide them."
"I understand, but she's growing up and she knows how to pick herself up when she falls. Kaoru's resilient, like you."
"That's kind of you to say, dear." It was an evasive reply. She still wasn't mollified and fretted over Kaoru's bruises and scrapes. Kaoru complained about the thick ointments, that most of her injuries were accidents and in the increasingly rarer fights, the dumb boys kind of deserved it. Koshijiro silently agreed with the latter point, as he bandaged his daughter up.
The majority of his students were now outside the samurai class, and somehow, word must have spread because he had a spectator who lingered after one class.
"Are you interested in joining?" Koshijiro inquired.
"It would be an honor but no. I am here as a representative of Omura." The man smiled. "Have you heard of him?"
"Omura Masujiro? The Choshu strategist?"
"Yes, I'm glad you recognized him. But are you aware of the cause he fights for?"
"It seems you'll tell me regardless."
There was the usual talk about sonno joi, or the expulsion of foreigners. But one thing caught Koshijiro's attention. "The samurai class has abused their power and wealth for far too long. What we want is to remind them that at their core, they are no better than anyone else. To level the field, so to speak, and put an end to the four class system. Think about it, and we'll be in town." He provided the name of an inn they frequented and departed.
The conversation kept surfacing in Koshijiro's thoughts. He did not believe that foreign influence was totally beneficial. The consequences of famine, economic turmoil, and disease were too severe to be ignored. Hayashi was one of many who had suffered from the growing unrest among the people. But it was too late to close the borders again. The military was already incorporating Western technology, and Choshu was offering military training to commoners. Omura's follower spoke of humbling the samurai. Abolishing the class structure…he could accept that idea. Takaoka was supporting Satsuma and Choshu, the leaders of the rebellion. They were gathering anyone who was willing to go to Kyoto and assist in the fight to end the shogunate. A number of samurai from Oyumi were going, including Koshijiro's direct superior, but before he could leave, he had to speak to Kyoko and Kaoru.
Kyoko responded first. "Of course, I want you to stay and be safe. If you leave, you might never return. But…" She stared at her own hands, wrapped around her teacup. A few wisps of hair escaped from behind her ear, and he reached over to tuck them back. "You feel very strongly about this." With an inhale, she firmly straightened and met his gaze. "Promise us you'll survive."
"I promise. Will you and Kaoru be alright?"
Their daughter hadn't said anything yet, her eyes wide as she looked at them. Kyoko reached for her hands, drawing her closer.
"Kaoru and I will be fine. I'm certain we won't be the only women left behind either. We'll manage and welcome you home when you return."
"We'll be here, Otou-san, don't worry about us." Kaoru's voice was subdued, but she attempted a smile.
"Thank you. I'll be home again before you know."
He had been very naïve.
His first experience with war could never be forgotten. From the march on foot to the first battle cry in earshot, it all stayed with him. Most of the early days blurred together, leaving the impression of sore feet and shoulders. But when they reached Kyoto, the adrenaline surged within him and his fingers shook as he loaded his gun.
One moment, it was quiet. The next, commands were shouted down the line, and then, there was cracking gunfire and smoke. The soldier next to him was struck by a bullet. The man in front was cut down, blood seeping through his uniform. Behind him, an enemy cannonball landed on people he couldn't name but their screams of agony echoed forever.
It was madness. Every day was a fresh ordeal.
The first time he killed a man, it was with his sword. It had been a long day, and his opponent was too slow for one moment. That was all it took, Koshijiro's blade sinking deeper than either of them expected. The man's features slackened, and Koshijiro knew he was already gone. The body twitched several times, before finally falling as the sword was removed. Koshijiro's feet were planted to the ground, which was gradually darkening in color.
I'm sorry.
The words died on his tongue, as a bullet flew past, the sound deafening and reminding him that to stay still in battle meant death. He couldn't linger, he had to keep moving. He had promised Kyoko and Kaoru he would come home to them, and that became his anchor on the battlefield. Even if doing so meant that he had to feel hollow for all of the rest.
"Otou-san? Otou-san?"
Koshijiro jolted. Kaoru was standing before him. When had she approached? He hadn't noticed.
She beamed at him. "We're having lunch now." The sunlit yard stretched behind her, and he gripped the edges of the porch.
He had been home for a week, yet nothing felt real. He should be happy, he was alive and not in bad shape. Many men had not returned at all. But he felt like part of him had been left behind on the battlefield, drifting aimlessly and pulling the rest of him with it until a loud noise startled him and then he was on edge. It wore him out; he was constantly tired, despite waking well after sunrise. And there were the nightmares. He didn't feel right.
Things had changed in Chiba too. Osue had succumbed to pneumonia in his absence, and he had already paid numb respects to the faithful old woman. Kyoko was understandably melancholy, not helped at all by how her illness had taken a turn. She was on bedrest, and her medicines had increased in quantity. Neither of them were sure how well they were working.
"We met a woman who teaches kenjutsu."
"You did?"
"Her name is Chiba-san, as in the Chiba clan. Kaoru and I were buying groceries, and she was in her uniform. She was kind enough to invite us to her afternoon lesson. Kaoru really enjoyed it, so I feel more at ease."
"Then, you can attend her lessons more often. It would be good for Kaoru." He hadn't been teaching, he wasn't ready. Kyoko understood, but Kaoru clearly missed it. Even though she liked Chiba-san's lessons, he overheard the two of them talking, while they thought he was having a nap.
"Is Otou-san going to be okay?"
"I don't know yet, Kaoru."
"He doesn't talk about the war. It must have been scary."
"It would be better not to ask. There are some things your father can't share with us, that he wants to shield us from." Kyoko evenly said. "When it's time, he'll share."
"And what if he never does?"
"Then, that's alright. We'll be here to support him, just like always. He's still your Otou-san, no matter what."
"Oh. I get it now."
His sight flooded and he doubled over. Kyoko and her infinite patience! And his innocent daughter, whose feelings were hurt. Here he was, being pathetic. He didn't step out to acknowledge them, but he resolved in his heart that he would try to return to normal.
He wrote a routine for himself, including meditation and what to think of to pull himself back to reality. He was out of bed before his wife and daughter, to clean the dojo and equipment, before reintroducing kenjutsu back into his life. But he couldn't use a real blade anymore. Never again, not even to keep students. He couldn't let go of the sword, but he could forge a new relationship with it, to protect who was important to him. He began drafting new kata, on defending and disarming. The work anchored him even further, kept him from falling too deeply into listlessness.
Kyoko and Kaoru were encouraging, every step of the way. His wife woke him from the worst nightmares, and she intuitively knew when to give him space and when to be near. She always made her presence known, never startling him. When he returned to work, his satchel hid little notes in her handwriting, heartfelt reminders that pushed back against his dark thoughts. Kaoru was determined to make him smile once a day. Her good cheer was infectious, as she took over in leading their daily stretches. Upon finding her mother's notes, she added her own, complete with the signature she was practicing. One of her first sewing projects was a handkerchief for him, a fine dark green with three leaves, and she presented it with such pride, his weariness lifted.
It wasn't always easy. Some days, he faltered, folded in on himself. It wasn't until months later that he could think back and realize how low he had been. He wasn't certain if he'd ever feel like that again, but he learned to recognize the triggers and cope.
Now that the Emperor had moved to the freshly renamed Tokyo and there was peace at last, properties were up for grabs. The more Koshijiro heard, the more he leaned into the possibility. There was excellent medical care in the capital, and plenty of work to be had. The influx of people also meant more potential students. It was a time for change, and when would another opportunity like this occur again?
The paperwork was quickly finalized and they packed their belongings. By year's end, they were settled into their new home in Tokyo. Koshijiro had commissioned renovations and additions, and though the house was larger than needed for a family of three, he and Kyoko discussed accepting boarders to pay off the debt. But the bathhouse was worth it, to the delight of Kyoko and Kaoru, and he liked his dojo very much. The wood smelled fresh and fragrant, and he pivoted in the open space. The light poured in, washing over his face. This was his school, the one he had yearned for all these years. A school of swordsmanship that would use the blade to protect, never to kill. A school that would represent a vow for the present and a wish for the future.
Kamiya Kasshin. The living heart.
At first, he thought the Kamiya plot had moved, because there were only supposed to be three graves, for his parents and Kyoko. So the fourth had puzzled him for a moment, before he realized whose it was. Oh. Well, this was very strange, to see his own grave.
"Kenkaku Koshimichi Koki…?" He muttered. The Buddhist name he had been granted for the afterlife felt like it belonged to a different person entirely.
Fortunately, there weren't many weeds. The ones that were present gave his right shoulder enough work. As he was finishing up, a kind couple offered to scrub down the headstones and light the incense. They made small talk, that they were newlyweds and he had married into her family. They refused any monetary payment, and with clasped hands, they were soon on their way. Alone, Koshijiro knelt.
"I'm a little early, but I thought these flowers would be nice. And sorry, that Kaoru isn't here with me." It would be nearly eighteen years ago, that she was born. "I'd rather celebrate her birthday when she's home. We've missed out on that, last year as well."
The wind ruffled his hair. It was getting longer, he needed a trim.
"I've been working on adjusting Kamiya Kasshin, for a one-handed variant. Not just for me, but for Yutaro and those in similar situations. It would also be good for anyone who's been injured." For that matter, injured people weren't far from his mind. "Even though I'd like to be there, fighting with them." He stood, brushed off his sore knees, and gave a last smile. "I'll be back for Obon, with Kaoru and everyone else."
After multiple appointments, Kyoko finally spoke the truth aloud. "I'm not going to live much longer, am I?"
Dr. Gensai slowly nodded. "Yes. I wish I could do something, anything."
"You've done so much already, ever since we moved here last year."
Kaoru worked her way under Kyoko's arm, half-crawling into her lap. "Okaa-san."
Koshijiro was barely listening, the world closing upon the clinic's room. Nothing seemed real at that moment.
As the days passed, the neighborhood pitched in. His police colleagues covered extra shifts in his place, and their wives kept Kyoko company while he was working. He received plenty of groceries with a hand wave in regards to payment, which he never got used to. There was always something on the table for dinner. An acquaintance by some degrees, the apprentice of an artisan who had admired the work of Kamiya Keiichiro, offered to paint Kyoko's picture, free of charge. The ink portrait was very somber, unlike his wife, but Kyoko appreciated the gesture. To Dr. Gensai and the rest of their visitors, she seemed accepting and strong.
However, when it was just the two of them, she was afraid of dying.
"I don't want to go. I need to live, just a while longer, until Kaoru is a little older." She sobbed, and it took all of Koshijiro's willpower not to break down. He held her and didn't speak, his throat burning.
Kaoru was on her best behavior, ensuring her mother was warm and had food. She braided both of their hair at night and chose Kyoko's clothes in the morning. She read aloud, stumbling on a few unfamiliar words and making up for the little mistakes with her own interest in the novels.
Sometimes, his wife was too fatigued by the pain in her abdomen. Her hand shook when she drew her fingers through Kaoru's ponytail. It was too easy for her to be out of breath. But she was focused on one task in particular, and he found her carefully writing when she was able.
"It's our family book." She showed him the familiar cover of the volume that told the stories of their pasts. She had been updating it over the years. "The next few pages are for Kaoru, for when she's a young woman. I've already written your pages, for when you feel troubled."
"Kyoko…"
"I only want you to be well. And I'm sorry." She pressed the heel of her palm to her eyes and gave a short laugh. "Oh no, not again."
"No, Kyoko, don't apologize." He drew her trembling form into his arms and breathed in the scent of her hair. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You've fought a harder battle than many ever will, and even now, you handle it with grace in front of Kaoru."
"I don't want her to worry about me, but I think she knows anyway. She's a good girl, our daughter. She'll be a lovely young lady someday." Her tone was bittersweet with longing. "My kimonos have been set aside for her?"
"Yes, for when the time is right."
"Mm. Hopefully, they won't be too out of fashion."
"They'll suit Kaoru well. I saw the blue one with the cranes, the one you wore when we met."
"That was almost twenty years ago, right? I still remember that day, I knew you were kind and honorable. I think I loved you from the moment I told you my name. I never expected to have this, any of this. But I've seen the cherry blossoms each year with you, my husband who I'm very proud of. Every day with you has been wonderful."
"I haven't been at my best every day. Most days, perhaps even half."
She shook her head, mouth curving upwards. "No, really. Every day." She brought her hand to the side of his face, and he leaned in to kiss her.
By autumn, she was in the hospital again. She was deteriorating fast, yet she held onto Koshijiro's hand as the doctors came in and out. She was too weak to leave her bed, and he held back her hair when her nausea was too powerful to keep at bay. The worst was when she didn't seem to recognize him or Kaoru, rapidly blinking at them when they greeted her. Her confusion was frightening, and he always ushered Kaoru out, saying that Okaa-san needed her rest. But she was sharp enough to notice.
"It's so hard to see her like this. I wish I could do something!" She exclaimed, kicking a stray pebble in the road.
"I feel the same. I'd rather it be me in her place."
"Otou-san, you shouldn't be in the hospital either." Kaoru corrected, slumping. "All of us should be home."
He couldn't argue, and he took her hand as they departed.
The weather chilled, the leaves bright with color. Flowers were in rare abundance, but they managed to procure an armful of pink dianthus. Kaoru strode into the hospital room, petals falling in her wake.
"Okaa-san, we're here to visit!"
"Hello." Her voice was barely audible but her expression was warm.
Koshijiro was relieved she was lucid. "I hope you haven't been waiting too long."
"No, I just woke up. What time is it?"
He told her, as Kaoru arranged the bouquet by the window.
"Oh, they're beautiful. Thank you." Tears welled up in her gaze. "You have such a good heart, Kaoru." She swallowed hard, intent on making her words count. "You've been so helpful, so sweet and strong. I've told you as much as I can, but if it isn't enough, know that you're never alone. Listen to Otou-san, and remember that he wants what's best for you. There's always the book, if you need it."
"I know where the book is. I just want you." Kaoru quietly replied.
Kyoko was too overcome to speak, cupping Kaoru's face. Koshijiro sat at her other side, wrapping his arm around her. They huddled close, their conversation meandering; what mattered most was that they were in the present together, for as long as it could last. Eventually, Kyoko's breathing deepened and her eyes struggled to stay open.
"We'll be back later." Koshijiro promised, hesitantly extricating himself.
"See you soon, Okaa-san. Love you." Kaoru kissed her cheek, and Kyoko gave a fragile smile.
"I love you too. I love you both so much." Those were her last words, before she fell asleep.
By the following evening, she still hadn't woken. A number of white-clad hospital staff filled her room, exchanging words that swept over his understanding until someone explained. Kyoko was comatose. He was going to send Kaoru home, but she stamped her foot and insisted on staying. One of the doctors offered a spare office for her to sleep in, while Koshijiro remained by Kyoko's side. It would not be long before the end, he was warned but he would not budge. He wouldn't let her go while she was alone.
Her weak pulse fluttered under his thumb, stopping for long seconds before picking up again. His dear, persistent Kyoko. He cupped her cheek and bent his head close, uncertain if she could hear him, but he whispered into her ear. "It's alright, Kyoko. We don't want you to be in pain. It's alright."
It was ultimately a blessing that Kyoko did not linger. Before midnight, she slipped away. Koshijiro pressed his lips to hers, in one last kiss. Then, he went to Kaoru.
She stirred awake when he touched her shoulder. "Otou-san?" Her eyes were wide with apprehension.
"She's gone."
"Can I see her?"
He could only nod, and he led her into the room. Kaoru climbed onto the hospital bed, and stifled her sobs into Kyoko's neck. He held her cold hand, engraving the memory of her skin into his mind. They remained there until the very last minute.
The funeral was accompanied by a light rain. His arms were burdened with the container of Kyoko's ashes, and his shoulders hunched unconsciously to protect what was left of his wife from the weather. Kaoru walked beside him, quiet and matching one of his paces with two of her own. The stoic procession marched to the cemetery, and Kyoko was buried in heavy silence.
Time passed by sluggishly. The house was too quiet, and he resorted to kenjutsu, to an escape. If he kept his body occupied and moving, he would not have to think about how empty he felt.
"Otou-san?"
The timid question stopped him mid-step, and he turned to see his daughter standing in the doorway.
"Um. I tried to make lunch. Do you want to eat yet? Because you didn't have breakfast…"
His gut reaction was to decline, he had probably lost his appetite forever. But he stared at his daughter's round eyes, the quiver in her chin as she waited for his answer.
No. I can't give up, I'm all Kaoru has now, and so, I must keep up my strength.
"Alright. Let's have lunch."
The onigiri were misshapen, lopsided triangles. There was probably a little too much salt, but to his fatigued body, the flavor wasn't bad. The rice was definitely undercooked though, and the only sound in the room was the crunch of grains between teeth.
Then, there was a sniffle. Koshijiro lifted his head, to see Kaoru frowning and wiping away tears, even as she chewed. "Sorry." She warbled. "It doesn't taste good."
"Kaoru…" He reached over the table, to awkwardly pat her head. "If anyone should apologize, it's me. I'm your father, it's my duty to provide for you. But I've been neglecting you. I'm so sorry."
"Mm." She squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her sleeve across her face.
"Don't worry about cooking anymore. I'll hire a new housekeeper to take care of that. I'll also open the rooms to boarders so we can pay off the rest of the debt. Soon, I'll continue teaching."
"Can I be a student again?"
"Yes. The position of head student will always be yours, until you can teach with me."
"And then?"
"And then, you'll be assistant instructor. After that, head instructor. The dojo will be yours, and I'll write it down so no one can take that away from you."
Kaoru nodded. "Otou-san?"
"Hm?"
"Can I talk about Okaa-san?"
"Your mother loved stories. I think she'd like nothing more than for you to tell stories about her."
"Will you?"
"Perhaps not right away. But even if I don't speak, she's always here." He placed his hand over his heart. "And here." He pointed to the same spot on his daughter, and she laid her fingers upon it in understanding.
"Okay. I can talk about her for both of us."
He didn't respond, but he patted her head again and they continued on.
It was not easy, raising a daughter alone. As much as Kaoru looked like his dear wife, she had inherited her temper from him. They did argue, over trivial matters in hindsight, but such discussions usually ended in Kaoru slamming the door to her room and for him to thumb through his designated pages in Kyoko's book, rereading her overarching message of love and patience. He would not repeat the mistakes of his youth, and he would knock on her door, requesting that they talk. Thankfully, her anger usually blew over quickly and he made it a point to apologize to each other.
Kamiya Kasshin was ultimately a family project. Kaoru was the first student to try the new techniques, and from observing her as well, Koshijiro made necessary changes and adjustments. His daughter was a natural at kenjutsu, and she freely challenged him.
"Wouldn't another step work for this kata? I feel like I need to get my balance back from the last turn."
"That's fine, but you might run into trouble if you're in a tight space."
"Well, that just means it's more important to rebalance."
"It seems the turn's causing the issue. What if we move it up, earlier in the sequence?"
"Yeah, that could work too!"
He did hire a housekeeper, but the middle-aged woman was far stricter than her initial interview conveyed. She heavily disapproved of Kaoru's love for swordsmanship, insisting that she rise before dawn and sleep late, to complete extra household tasks. But Kaoru was unhappier every day, and it came to a head when the housekeeper mentioned the dreaded word of "marriage". Kaoru was late for practice and he was searching for her, overhearing the raised voices in the kitchen.
"Why would I care about some husband I haven't even met yet?" Kaoru exploded. "I'm me and I should be loved for who I am, not because I'm ladylike enough!"
"Your education should have started when you were much younger. Now, I fear it's too late to salvage." She glanced over at Koshijiro, striding towards them. "Ah, here's your father." If she was expecting him to defend her viewpoint, he was glad to disappoint her.
"I need her in the dojo. Don't delay her and for that matter, we will not speak of marrying her off. Kaoru is only ten." He firmly stated. "End of discussion."
"You spoil her far too much. If she were my daughter, she'd be a proper girl and run the house on her own. I'm not sure what your wife did-"
"And that is where you stop, because she's not your child, she's mine." He coldly dismissed her. "Pack your things and I'll give you your pay for the week. We have no more need of your services."
She huffed and gave them nasty looks but didn't say another word. Before noon, the gate soundly shut behind her.
"Well…that probably went as well as it could." He said at last.
Kaoru laughed. "I thought it was great. Thank you, Otou-san." She hugged him and he patted her head. Then, she pouted. "Does this mean we need to find someone new?"
"We can wait a while." Soon after, they met Sekihara Tae, whose friendship was much appreciated.
When Kaoru was twelve, they had the pleasant surprise of a visitor. Kikuhara was traveling through, and he was interested in the school Koshijiro had described in a New Year's card. He joined the class as an observer, then to help with basic forms. He began to follow along with the students, and he caught on quickly. After a month, he held his own in sparring against Koshijiro. Kaoru called the close match in Koshijiro's favor, but they were happy with the outcome.
Kikuhara's objective seemed to be complete too. He opened a pocket watch and examined the inside. "It's time for me to go. I have someone to return to now." With a smile, he turned the watch around to show Koshijiro a photograph of a young girl, no older than five. "My daughter, Midori."
"A daughter? You…married?"
"No." Kikuhara paused. "I haven't told anyone else this, but she's the illegitimate child of my lord. I was tasked to care for her, but the moment she was placed in my arms, I knew she was as good as my own. She's very frail though, and she isn't interested in kenjutsu, unlike your Kaoru. But she's kindhearted, like her real father."
"With no offense to your lord, you are her father now and I'm sure she misses you." Koshijiro pointed out without malice. "If you need any advice on raising her, please let me know."
"I'll remember, senpai." He joked. "I will be sure to bother you about teaching as well. I like some of the kata from Kamiya Kasshin, and its message is honorable. I'm interested in sharing it in Echigo, alongside my own family's tradition. Would you mind?"
"Not at all."
"And I'll call it…Kasshin Shintoryu Kikuhara?"
"Please don't, you can just keep your family's name for the school." He was embarrassed.
"No, it's a good name, and I'll be happy to teach under its sign." At the end of his stay, they saw him off with waves and promises of a future reunion, when Midori was older.
Years passed. He filled a book with the knowledge of Kamiya Kasshin, leaving it in the altar alongside Kyoko's volume. Kaoru was promoted to assistant instructor after demonstrating mastery in the last kata, and she taught the youngest students while he focused on the older ones. They made a good team. The dojo was raucous with clashing bokken and conversation, and for some time, life was uneventful.
That changed when Kumamoto Castle was taken by the Satsuma army. Before the week's end, the draft letter arrived, summoning Koshijiro to the warfront once more. He was standing frozen in the front yard and numbly rereading the notice, thinking of how he could hide it before he had a proper chance to speak to Kaoru, when she called out.
"Otou-san, what's taking you so long?" Too late, her gaze landed on the official stamp on the envelope, and she immediately blanched. "Otou-san?"
"I'm sorry, Kaoru."
"Why are you apologizing?!" She gave a nervous laugh. "It's not like you chose to go."
"In a way, I did when I joined the police."
"Otou-san, don't say that. I know you don't really think so." She touched his shoulder. "Are you going to be alright?"
"I'm more worried about you. You'll be alone."
"No, I won't. I have the students, and Tae's in town. And I can always bring on more boarders." At his distasteful expression, she scowled. "Don't say anything about protecting me, because I can defend myself. You know I can!"
"I'm only telling you to be cautious."
"I am." She grumbled.
He excused himself, to find two items. One was his tanto, and the other was his father's. He handed the sheathed blades to her. "Keep one under your pillow, and the other in the secret compartment in the bathhouse."
"Otou-san."
"Remember to lock your room every night."
"Otou-san, I'll remember. But how are you coping? You're being called back to war, you'll have to…" Kill people again. The unspoken words hung in the air.
"I don't look forward to it, but I will do my best to avoid a worst case scenario. With Kamiya Kasshin, I can disarm as many as I can."
At that, she lit up. "So, we should train as much as possible. And I want to master the succession techniques before you go!"
That was a good idea. After lessons, they practice sparred, and Koshijiro pinpointed where she needed to improve. Not that there was much, but he wanted to teach her everything he could before leaving. The last afternoon eventually came; Kaoru focused solely on Hadome and Hawatari. She was on the verge of breaking through, and she recognized as much.
"I almost had it! And I knew where I went wrong too! One more time, Otou-san?"
"No, you're tired. It's already been over two hours, and I can tell you're too exhausted to proceed any further today. We should stop here."
She groaned, slumping. "But I wanted to master them before you left, so you can see."
"Mastering these techniques shouldn't be rushed, especially for my sake. You are close. So, not yet, but you're getting better every time." He wouldn't be here to watch her progress though, after this day.
She must have thought so too, for she set her bokken aside and fiercely hugged him. He squeezed her back, hoping it could convey all of what he couldn't say aloud.
The morning of departure was somber. Kaoru made breakfast, which he ate without complaint. He donned his uniform and hated that his daughter looked so sad when she saw him. However, she didn't mention it, only asking if he had everything he needed. She trailed him past the front door, the frosted grass crackling under their footsteps.
"I'll see you soon, Otou-san." She said, decidedly using the temporary farewell.
"Yes. Protect the school while I'm gone, and go back inside, before you catch a cold. I'll see you soon, Kaoru." He clasped her shoulder, hoping to give some strength to her. Then, with great reluctance, he let go and walked alone. He closed the gate behind him, waited until Kaoru locked it again, and headed into town to join his regiment.
The journey to Satsuma was taxing, as they sailed towards Kyushu. He wasn't as young as many of the other men, and when they camped on the southern island, he fell asleep once his head touched his pillow. The nightmares trickled back, becoming more convoluted every night. The return to the battlefield was dreaded by the other policemen, especially since they were only given wooden batons and swords. He couldn't help but be somewhat relieved by the lack of a gun. He struck at shoulders, feet, anywhere that wasn't lethal.
Months passed, as Saigo Takamori's defeat forced him to flee and the Imperial army followed suit. The minor skirmishes with Saigo's men culminated into a pincer attack on the Satsuma rebels. Koshijiro gritted his teeth and continued with striking through. To move forward, so this could be over as soon as possible. Suddenly, the line fell back, and he was perplexed for a moment, before the surrounding shouts alerted that there would be shelling. The order was to retreat, to gain as much distance for the explosions that would soon rock the battleground. Koshijiro didn't even have to time to sheath his sword, the adrenaline humming under his skin, demanding to run as fast and far as he could. The men were tripping over each other and cursing, the fear and apprehension whittling their tempers.
A distant boom, then faint screams. Two steps later, it repeated, only closer. How much time did he have left? Koshijiro's heart pounded out the tense seconds. A young soldier, barely older than Kaoru, stumbled to his right. Koshijiro switched his katana to his left hand and grabbed the boy's collar. Using the momentum of his own body, he thrust the boy in front. "Take cover!" He bellowed.
Sound. It deafened him.
Force. His left arm, still outstretched behind him, twisted.
Heat. It seemed to split his skin open.
Pain. And that was enough for his eyes to roll back.
Forgive me, Kaoru-
He woke up, and he could hardly draw breath. He blinked. He had his sight. He was on his back, staring up at a white ceiling. The clamor of groaning men filled his ears. The smells of urine and blood were strong, and he didn't dare open his dry mouth. He was in a hospital, a crowded one at that. For how long, he didn't know.
I'm Kamiya Koshijiro, forty-five years old. I have a daughter, Kaoru, who is seventeen. We live in Tokyo. I work with the Tokyo Metropolitan police. I teach Kamiya Kasshin, the sword that protects.
There, his memory was intact. Although when he tried to remember what happened after the explosion, he couldn't recall anything after the storm of sensation. He must have fainted. He twitched his fingers, his toes. No pain. He turned his head right. Well, his neck wasn't broken, just stiff. Against his pillow, there was soft friction; the back of his head was bandaged. His right forearm bore the healing crust of a scrape, and he deduced he must have fallen on that side. But he could move his wrist and elbow joints, so there were no fractures. He checked the left-
Immediately, he jerked his head away. Shock kicked in. He didn't have an arm. His left arm was gone. There was just wrapped white cloth, encasing the end of his shoulder. Then, why could he still feel it, down to the fingertips? He looked again, to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.
He stared and stared and stared. He didn't have an arm.
Distantly, he heard a nurse call out that he was awake, and footsteps approached. A doctor introduced himself before asking identifying questions. Koshijiro's voice was raspy from disuse but he demonstrated he knew who he was. The doctor provided new details.
Koshijiro was in a hospital close to one of the harbors in Satsuma. A week had passed. The Imperial army was fighting on, with the last of the rebel forces weakened. Most of the province was back in the Emperor's control and it would be a matter of weeks before Saigo surrendered. Reportedly, Koshijiro was found on the battlefield, alone and unconscious. When he was moved here, he had convulsed to reality and blood loss brought him under again.
Overall, he was in rough shape. The explosion had singed some of his hair off, and his skull had to be partially shaved. He had superficial burns on his back, that worsened on his left side. His right knee was swollen and abraded, and part of his big toenail was torn. His body bore minor cuts and bruises from landing. And he no longer had a left arm. The doctor actually had to remove more bone and tissue because what remained after the blast was not clean. But it was free from shrapnel and they could only do their best to prevent gangrene.
He was warned that there would be pain, that his body would not properly recognize that his left arm was gone. Multiple medicines were given to him, and his mouth gained a perpetual bitter taste. He slept in fits throughout his stay. All around him, other men were dying. He always noticed when another body was carried out.
A week passed, but he wasn't quite healing. He forced himself to look at the dressings as they were changed, and they didn't seem promising. He bitterly thought he couldn't recover as well as he could in this place, but he had no say here. And then, one morning, he felt lethargic and his stomach sank in realization. A small part of him clung to hope that it would pass soon, but he forgot it as he became more and more delirious.
The hospital staff was saying he was feverish, and he groggily understood it was bad, because he felt so cold. Sleep was tempting. There was more medicine, more people hovering over him. He felt numb, it would be very easy to sleep forever. Too weak to struggle, his eyes closed.
He did not expect to dream.
He was sitting on the porch, the moon abnormally large and bright above. A quiet warm summer's night. And he couldn't see her, but he could feel Kyoko's presence, as if she was standing behind him.
You're so close.
I know. But not yet, Kyoko. I made a promise to you, didn't I?
It was as if she was laughing, her breath warm against his neck. Then, please go home.
Yes. He couldn't possibly disobey and he was swallowed once more by the void.
When he woke, his fever had broken. To the doctors' surprise and awe, he had overcome the infection. He didn't feel like it was miraculous at all; he had made promises and he intended to keep them. Once he heard his wounds were healed, he declared. "I'm leaving." The response was dismissive, until he tried to leave his bed. He'd had enough of being in the hospital, he argued, and he'd heal more if he wasn't restrained. That only sent him to another facility, with others in slightly better condition. From so much time on bedrest, he was frustratingly weak, and his legs shook underneath him when he attempted to walk around. But he pushed on, easily recalling a blue-clad figure with braids in her family's yard, and conjuring a younger one, years later, who must be teaching in the dojo. Even if he no longer had one arm, he still had the other, his legs, and his head. That was good enough to get by. By the time he was discharged, the war had ended with Saigo's suicide. His return home was overdue but winter's approach undercut his pace. He was trying desperately not to get sick again.
The initial leg was frustratingly slow. He had no money, and any innkeeper dismissed his offer of labor. One benefit about his amputation was that it was noticeable, and kind strangers would grant him a night or two in a stable or on a fishing boat. But most people tended to avoid his gaze, so he did his best to keep moving. The new phantom pains were excruciating, his ghostly arm wrenching as it had in its final moments. Those incapacitating occasions, as well as his poor physical shape, forced him to rest often, to his chagrin.
He took one such break, on the wayside of a market street. He had managed to buy passage back to Honshu, though it meant he had to agree to a slight detour, since the port was not close to the main roads he recognized. This town was bustling with naval activity, thanks to the iron ships anchored in the dark water. The marine air was soothing, and the latest episode of pain ebbed with each deep breath.
"Ojii-san, where did your arm go?"
He startled, and in his periphery, a little boy stared at him with round eyes. There was a flood of emotion, but his most prominent thought was: I can't tell this child it was blown off! "Well…" He searched for an appropriate thing to say. "I traded it."
"For what?"
"So I could go home."
A woman in her early thirties approached, holding the hand of a slightly older boy. "Sadatake! Oh, I'm so sorry." The mother was so mortified, bowing her head multiple times. Her obi rested low, under the modest curve of her belly. "Sadatake, apologize to this uncle."
"Sorry."
"Please, don't concern yourselves over it."
She searched his face for a moment. "You look like you could use some rest and good food. Why don't you come to our place? My husband wouldn't mind at all."
"I couldn't impose."
"No, I insist." She pressed her palm on her rounded abdomen and smiled beatifically. The underlying message was not to upset her. "And my husband's heading this way right now." She directed her gaze over his shoulder, and he pivoted.
What he saw stunned him.
The man had plenty of silver in his hair, and his right leg dragged with each step, though the sleeping toddler draped over his shoulder didn't help. Those fox eyes had regained their spark and framed by creases, they widened in recognition. "Kamiya? Kamiya Koshijiro?"
"Hayashi." He shook his head at the incredulity of the moment, and he gestured to the site of his recent loss. "After all this time, I would certainly like to talk to you."
The family led the way to a modest house, near Hayashi's workplace at a naval office. The boys were young, having turned three, five, and seven, and they had just finished celebrating the milestone thrice over. Hayashi was a long way off from his former devastated self. Koshijiro felt a mixture of relief and sympathy as he watched his friend mind the little ones' table manners at dinner.
"Sadakazu, here, move your cup away so you won't spill it. Sadanori, wipe your mouth." Even as he was speaking, he was already carrying out the actions, inspecting his youngest's face one last time to ensure it was thoroughly clean. Hayashi's wife fondly watched the spectacle, as Sadatake ate beside her.
The comfort of having a meal at a full table was a balm to Koshijiro's weary spirit. After the dishes were cleared and the boys were sent to bed, despite their loud protests, Hayashi poured out two cups of warm sake. Koshijiro inhaled the fragrance, appreciating the liquor.
"Been saving up this bottle for a while, and I'm glad I did. I haven't had the chance to drink in a while either."
He took a sip. Just hot enough and very good indeed. "I didn't know you'd become a family man."
"I didn't really expect to be one." Hayashi admitted. "During the Bakumatsu, I was here, watching the troops travel past and trying not to feel useless. But Akie's family clan sided with the Satcho alliance, and that's how we met. There wasn't much of a ceremony, because we married against her family's wishes. I don't blame them; I can still hardly believe she'd pick me. But before I could scare her off, the boys came along. Now it's twins, so I hope at least one of them can convince the rest to be calm and kind to their old father."
Koshijiro laughed. It was the first time in months, he realized, that he had. "You'll miss some of it when they're this young."
"You have a family, don't you? A daughter?"
"Yes, Kaoru is in Tokyo. Kyoko passed away, seven years ago."
Hayashi's jaw clenched. "I'm sorry. But you made her happy, anyone could see that. "
Koshijiro chose not to reply, instead drinking from his cup.
"How old is your daughter now?"
"She's seventeen." He had missed her birthday. Discomfort spread through him.
"Damn, you'll probably be marrying her off before the twins arrive."
"Kaoru's still young."
"I was married to my first wife when I was younger than that." Hayashi countered. "And it's been months since you've been gone."
Koshijiro frowned. "I need to return."
"Ah, you haven't changed much at all." His friend grinned. "Maekawa's in Tokyo too, right? Well, don't tell him or anyone else yet that I'm here. I will, when I'm ready. Probably after Akie delivers."
"I think they'd be glad to know you're living well, but I understand." The last of the alcohol was drained, and Hayashi thumped his back before urging him to retire. That night, he slept comfortably.
Before dawn broke, he intended to leave quietly, not to bother them anymore and to get a head start on his day. But he wasn't as quiet as he hoped, for rustling noises carried over into the hallway. He tried to quicken his pace, but a door slid open.
"Gotcha."
His sighed. "Good morning, Hayashi. And Akie-san." The couple walked towards him with intent, Hayashi's hand in his robe.
His friend clicked his tongue. "Good morning indeed. Were you trying to sneak away? How foolish, Kamiya. My wife's hearing is not to be underestimated. Especially since we want to give you this." He pushed a cloth bag into Koshijiro's hand, the hefty weight studded with the metal ridges of the coins within.
"I can't possibly accept. Please, keep this for your children."
"They have plenty already. You, on the other hand, don't have a naval secretary father, so take it."
Akie added. "It's a long road to Tokyo, especially when traveling alone. If you can find safety on a boat, a train, or even a cart, we'd be at ease knowing you have the means." She then kept her voice low. "And I wanted to personally thank you. I know what you and your friends did for my husband, all those years ago, and it's because of you that I have him. That I have my children and this life. I hope this is a fraction of what I owe you."
His resistance crumbled. "…I promise not to squander it. In return, I hope you have a safe delivery." He stepped out, to slip on his shoes.
Hayashi held his wife by the waist, to shield her from the morning chill, and raised his hand in farewell. "If you ever need anything else, let me know."
"I will, and thank you. It was good to see you." They bowed to one another, and he did not look back. His path was clear.
The days unfolded, one after another. At last, the surroundings became familiar, and every step took him towards the dojo, his school, and Kaoru.
In the first week of July, the Kyoto police informed them that Shishio and his followers had revealed themselves. Koshijiro was loath to miss an incoming message, and he remained at the station with the night shift, catching himself from nodding off until his sore neck forced him to trudge back to the empty house. The contingency plan was never far from his mind, even manifesting in his dreams. He was awake for good when the news came that Shishio's ship was burning and falling to pieces off the shoreline. And then, there was another telegram within the hour.
"This one was specifically meant for you, Officer Kamiya." The chief wryly said. "From your daughter."
It was short but conveyed so much. WE WON. ALL SAFE.
If he was the type to dance, he could have danced all the way home. But he wasn't, and ultimately, that meant he noticed that the lights were still on in Dr. Gensai's clinic. When he knocked, Takani opened up, her eyes tired but offering a little smile when she recognized him. "Kamiya-san?"
"Yes, I have good news. The battle was won in Kyoto." He showed her the telegram with pride.
"Really?" She exhaled in relief. "I'm so thankful. But it must have been difficult. I would like to see if they need care…"
"Then, let's go. We'll leave with the first train in the morning."
"Just like that?" Takani laughed. "Well, I won't argue. I'll tell Dr. Gensai and get my supplies. See you in a few hours."
He could hardly wait.