Movin' on along into the Shishio Arc, so we're gonna start seeing some faces we've (well, I've) been missing. Lots of Kansai and especially lots of Kyoto dialect incoming, so if you see something and go, "That's not standard Japanese," you are probably correct! Biggest offender in this chapter is probably -han, which is a Kansai-ben and Kyo-kotoba corruption of -san.

The Tokaido Road is perhaps sparser, now that there are faster ways to reach Kyoto, but it's never empty, and five men wandering it — even five well-armed men — draw no particular attention. Green and gold plains turn to rolling hills, covered in grass and wildflowers, dotted with forests. And then the forests become thicker, hills growing larger. The transition to mountain is strangely gradual.

And all through it, the Oniwabanshu talk among themselves, sometimes squabbling, sometimes trying to decide what they'll do first when they come across another town, or wondering what Kyoto is like now. One night, while Aoshi stacks logs by Hyottoko's carefully-dug firepit — and while Hyottoko places kindling with the same attention he pays mixing his oils — Shikijou begins to tease Hannya.

"You just wanna see the kid," Shikijou says.

Hannya turns his face up, giving the impression of looking down his nose. "Of course I do. She was my ward, Shikijou, and it's been many years. I want to see how she's grown."

Aoshi says nothing as he stands. What is there to say? That she'd make Hannya proud? He has no doubt of it — he is proud of the woman Misao has become. Perhaps she had not embraced the peaceful life they'd all hoped she could have, but she has found a way to balance strength and compassion, never losing sight of the joy that they had all seen in her.

Shikijou and Hyottoko toss speculation back and forth before settling in to taunt Hannya some more. Beshimi sits near the fire and watches them all, eyes glinting with humor. He doesn't join in, for some reason.

It's Beshimi's turn to cook, that night. Hyottoko casually mentions a bet that Beshimi recently lost, and in all the sniping that ensues, Beshimi nearly burns the rice. Which leads to laughter — and Shikijou finding a jar of shochu in his bag.

The man could pull liquor out of thin air. A trait of Shikijou's he'd nearly forgotten. One he would have forgotten, if he'd gone any longer without his men.

Aoshi almost asks Shikijou if he brews it, but he just shakes his head and warns them, "I'll want to move early. Don't drink yourselves into a stupor."

"C'mon, Aoshi-sama, join us," Hyottoko says, but Aoshi shakes his head again and retreats to his bedroll.

Strange, how easy it is to fall asleep amid their laughter. He doesn't think he's felt this safe since —

Since the Aoi-ya, perhaps, after Shishio died? Or longer ago than that?

They've been on the move for eight days when they enter yet another small town. There's an element of shabbiness to much of it, as though it's less prosperous now than it had once been. Once, the Tokaido Road had been as well-traveled as the fabled Silk Roads on the continent. He sees no evidence that people stop here for much anymore.

Even the inn looks worn out, tired, and it's just a building.

"You wanna keep going, or are we getting some rooms for a night?" Shikijou's gaze on the inn — probably little better than a minshuku, really — is caustic. He and Hyottoko are rarely comfortable in the houses of strangers.

Aoshi opens his mouth to answer, but the wind changes, carrying a young woman's laugh to his ears. His whole body stiffens, tensing in surprise, as he recognizes the sound. Misao.

It's coming from one of the alleys, and that realization washes cold down his spine. Nothing good ever comes from alleys at night, even in towns this small.

Aoshi looks to Hannya. Hannya looks back at him.

"Stay here," he snaps to the other three, and then he and Hannya are off at a run, silencing their steps from years of habit.

Misao's words — in a sultry tone he has never once heard her use before — guide them to her.

The sound of a single soft footstep, wrapped zori sandals scuffing against a wooden wall. Her voice turns naive. "It's just that I've never… and with the both of you… I wouldn't know how to…"

At that, the people she's speaking to begin to argue with each other. Two men, just as she'd said. And each insisting that they should have her first.

Aoshi's stomach turns. From what she's been saying, it's clear she chose this position for some reason. He has to keep sight of that: reckless as she can be, she would not lure even one man in this way if she weren't confident she could put him on the ground.

A few more steps, almost totally silent, and then Misao's voice again, entirely too earnest: "I would hate to come between such a dear friendship. I can't be worth fighting over, can I?"

The sound of skin rasping against skin. The tiniest of pained noises, too sharp and too quiet for any of the men near her to hear, but Oniwabanshu-trained ears pick it up perfectly.

Aoshi rounds the corner to see Misao, mostly obscured in a white cloak, trying to edge past a pair of heavy-set men who stare much too intently down at her. One of them's grabbed her by the wrist — the simplest possible grip to break — and Misao is carefully disentangling herself, working hard to remove the hand without giving away her strength or training.

It isn't even instinct to attack someone holding one of the Oniwabanshu — it's pure reflex. Aoshi drives an elbow into the stranger's shoulder, forcing him to release Misao's wrist, and then grabs him by the back of the head, slamming his own knee into the other man's face.

A better man wouldn't be so satisfied to hear the crunch as the stranger's nose shatters, or relieved at the way his eyes roll back in his head almost immediately.

Aoshi drops him, then looks up from his quarry to see that Hannya has landed soundlessly behind Misao's other target. Hannya kicks out once, taking out the man's knee, then efficiently beats the man's head against the nearest wall a few times. This one raises his hands each time his face nears the wood, the flinch response that Oniwabanshu work hard to train themselves out of; Hannya only stops the beating when the man doesn't raise his hands anymore.

Once a man stops protecting his head, the fight is over.

The threats dealt with, Aoshi turns to Misao, who has backed up against one of the other walls. She's staring, eyes wide and too reflective in the tattered darkness. It takes a moment for Aoshi to realize that her eyes shine that way because of unshed tears —

She's startled. Stunned, perhaps; her heartbeat is quick, entirely too loud in his ears. But the corner of her mouth curls up, a smile she might not even notice. She looks down for a bare moment, gaze flickering over the men they'd left on the ground, then back up at Aoshi and Hannya.

"Aoshi-sama! Hannya-kun!" She greets them with clear joy, but there's a note of confusion under it. "I — it's so wonderful I've run into you — I've been hoping — where are you going? When did you…" A pause, as she swallows. "When did you get here?"

What she's really asking, he realizes, is what they heard. Why they intervened.

"We were passing through town when we heard your voice." It may not set her entirely at ease, but it's the answer he's willing to give.

"I hope you didn't think I couldn't…?" She gestures downward.

"A reflex," Aoshi says, because it had been. He waits a moment, and then says, "You hesitated."

She jerks back, flushing, but doesn't seem to have an answer. She looks down again, this time at her feet, and scuffs one foot along the ground. "I'll do better," she says at length. "I will. I'm — I'm sorry, Aoshi-sama, I would never want you to… worry."

Hannya sees as much as he does, and answers one of her earlier questions: "Aoshi-sama has decided to return to Kyoto."

Misao looks up instantly, eyes brightening, though the flush doesn't quite go away. She dashes a few of her tears away with her fingertips, smiling up at both of them. "You're going home? That's so great! It's perfect," she says, sincere. "And I can…?"

"Aa."

She takes a step away from the wall, the men at their feet utterly forgotten.

"Of course we would have you with us," Hannya says, as if Misao might not have understood from Aoshi's answer. He reaches out to rest a hand on the top of her head, and her smile turns even brighter.

Aoshi turns away, heading for the mouth of the alley. "We should return to the others."

Misao makes a delighted squeak when she sees the others. Aoshi is looking ahead, but he's sure how happy she is must be obvious all over her face. He pauses, noting that even Beshimi looks pleased.

"I kept asking Hyottoko what he could hear," Shikijou says. "And of course he didn't say a word about you, Misao-san. Just said Aoshi-sama and Hannya were helping out some girl."

Beshimi crosses his arms over his chest. "I didn't recognize her voice." He peers up at her for a few moments, and then he nods, smiling. "You've grown."

"Well, it's been a few years! And now you get to take back your title as the shortest," is Misao's reply. She digs around in her cloak for a moment before pulling out what appears to be a man's wallet, heavy with coin. She turns to look at Aoshi, one corner of her mouth curving up, and then tosses it to him.

Aoshi darts a hand out, catching it. He looks at it, then at her, and raises one brow.

"People are easier to pickpocket when they're looking at somebody else!"

Like their friends, in the midst of an argument about —

"Aa," is all he says.

He weighs the bag in his hand for a moment before tossing it back to her. Misao catches it, but she's clearly surprised. He watches as concern begins to shadow her expression, mouth tilting down ever so slightly as the space between her brows wrinkles.

"It's yours," he says. "We're moving on tonight."

Beshimi groans. "Really? We've been walking for days. I'm ready to sleep in an actual —"

Hannya cuts him off, his voice flat and uncompromising. "We left two men beaten in an alley, and we're strangers in town. We shouldn't be seen."

"There's a town with a nicer inn just two days ahead of us," Misao says. She's smiling again.

"Perhaps we'll stop there," Aoshi allows. And then he jerks his head, just as he always has, and the Oniwabanshu file out, heading toward the town's exit.

Hyottoko and Beshimi walk closely together. Hyottoko's head is bent toward the shorter man, while Beshimi tilts an ear up so he can listen. Whispers pass between the two; Aoshi makes no effort to listen in, content to pick up from their breath rhythms and heartbeats that all is well.

As he had years ago, Hannya stays close to Misao, who chooses to walk at the back of the group. With Beshimi and Hyottoko occupied, Aoshi is the only one who might overhear them.

A fact Misao will hopefully not consider.

A faint chime drifts to Aoshi's ears as Hannya adjusts his tekagi within his gloves. Another man might have cleared his throat or stammered an opening, but that chime is the only pause before Hannya asks, carefully, "From what I overheard, Misao…"

"Oh, no."

"You mustn't think I disapprove of your using such a lure —"

"Hannya-kun, can't we just be happy that you're all coming home? It's been years! I've missed you! Let's not talk about anything unpleasant."

"—I am simply concerned," Hannya says.

"You really don't have to worry about me. I know I hesitated, but I promise you, I've never had any real problems on the road."

"You could never have learned such a tactic in any conversation that might be appropriate for a girl of your age and position."

Annoyed grumbling. Aoshi listens to it, amused. She had never seemed much concerned with her social status in Kyoto, and she certainly doesn't seem to care about it now.

Hannya slides into the Kansai-ben Misao had grown up speaking among them. "It cannot have been Oumime-han who mentioned such a lure to you, could it?"

"Of course it couldn't have been!" And there it is, Misao's accent shifting from Kyo-kotoba to a more rural Kansai sound, matching Hannya. She may not yet know it, but the argument — if it can be called that — is over. "You know what Okon-san thinks of men who aren't Kurojo-han. Or Shiro-han, I suppose."

"If not the women of the Aoi-ya, then…?"

An exasperated sigh. "Does it really matter so much to you?"

"It's been years," he returns. "And I will always worry."

"Then listen to the way men talk in the teashop. As an outsider, Hannya-nii. And I don't just mean 'not one of them,' I mean… Listen like you're stuck on the edges of that world and you can't ever be an equal in it. It's really distressing, isn't it?"

She hasn't precisely lied to Hannya, Aoshi notes. But it's the sort of side-step that sounds like an answer. It's a mystery for later.

It would seem Hannya reaches the same conclusion, because all he says is, "I suppose it might be."

Later, Hannya drifts forward, to join Aoshi, while Shikijou waits for Misao. Beshimi and Hyottoko have started up yet another of their endless bets. This one seems to have something to do with what parts of Kyoto will look like now, but it's long and complicated and Aoshi doesn't listen closely. The upshot seems to be that whichever one of them loses will cover the cost of their next night in Shimabara.

Hannya distracts him from his thoughts — namely, that his men are completely insane, and he's eternally in the debt of whatever enabled him to save them — by saying, "Not far from Kyoto now. You wish to be in position to move against this Shishio?"

"Aa."

"Have you thought about what you will tell Okina?" A pause. "And what of her role in this? You would not have sought her out if she did not factor in."

It takes him a while to answer. The truth is, he sought her out because he had been free to do so. But she had been injured, in his memories — something had cracked one of her ribs during Shishio's attack on the Aoi-ya. She need not be injured this time.

"She is capable," Aoshi says, at length. "But I wish to see her better prepared."

"Better prepared?"

"Aa," he says. "Did you see anything else in Takeda's records that concerned you?"

Hannya answers instantly: "The sheer volume of weapons he was importing. And that gatling gun was only the first. There were several others due to arrive."

"As he intended to kill us, I intend to see what further plots he had laid."

As lies go, it's not a bad one. It's close to true, at least. He does want to know what further traps Takeda had set for the world, and dismantle all of them.

Hannya nods. "And our next client?"

"I will reflect on that."

Another nod. "It sounds as if you're ready to meet Okina."

The rest of the trip to Kyoto is a five-day slog, mostly full of chatter and punctuated by the occasional flash of steel. On the third day of Misao being back among them, Misao and Beshimi restart their former games. As most of those games involve tossing knives back and forth between each other, the rest of the Oniwabanshu try to stay out of their way. Shikijou and Hyottoko walk together for much of it, while Aoshi and Hannya discuss what will need to be done.

Aoshi stops on the last hill before they descend toward the city, staring down at it. He should be more surprised — Kyoto looks wildly different from the city he'd left eight years ago, especially including the train station only months from completion — but in truth, it looks much the same as the Kyoto he'd left behind with Misao.

"My town," Misao says, her mouth curving up.

Hannya tilts his head, peering down at one of the avenues. "Are those glass things… electric streetlights?"

Misao nods so hard her head bobs wildly. "We don't have them everywhere, but there are a few streets lined with them now. Omasu and Okon and I sometimes like to go watch them turn on in the evenings, if we don't have any guests."

Shikijou snickers. "And how often does that happen?"

Misao doesn't answer. Instead, she picks her way down the hill, pivoting her weight from one side to the other with each step, though she always leaves her trailing foot sideways to slow her descent.

"Guess we're going then," Hyottoko says, and follows her.

Kyoto is much as Aoshi remembers it. Even the older women wear bright colors, if with more staid patterns, and there is some piece of art or other wherever room can be found for it. It has fewer carriages than Tokyo, and more jinrikisha, hurtling through the streets on loud wheels, the jinrikishafu constantly yelling — either so people will move aside, or to pick up fares.

"Noisy," Hyottoko says, lifting his hand to his ear. Beside him, Beshimi winces his agreement, saying, "It's certainly louder than it used to be."

Shikijou, unbothered by the noise, nudges Hyottoko and Beshimi, nodding in the direction of a pair of geiko, trailed by maiko carrying arrangements of flowers. "It's not all bad, is it?"

Misao looks over, offering a friendly wave when the group looks back — a greeting the maiko return, bobbing happily into a bow, and the geiko acknowledge by dipping their heads — and otherwise dismisses them. Nearly everyone she passes on the streets has some greeting for her, welcoming her back to town or asking after the Aoi-ya, and Misao usually has a cheerful word in exchange.

It's almost strange, that the five of them seem to blend in. But amid all the activity on the streets, even Hannya's mask goes unremarked upon, never mind Hyottoko's size or Shikijou's scarred face.

The Aoi-ya itself looks much like the ryokan they'd left behind, eight years ago. There are a number of roof tiles that could do with replacing, but the paint on the sign looks fresh, and Okina himself stands in the doorway, sweeping.

Aoshi can see the moment Okina hears their heartbeats. Misao's first — she's closest and most familiar — but then his and Hannya's, and Hyottoko's and Beshimi's. He only shows his surprise and unease for a moment, in the stiffness of his shoulders, before he turns and opens his arms to Misao.

She leaps into them, then apparently regrets her decision as Okina knuckles the top of her head. Even as she levers herself out of his grasp, he's looking up.

"Aoshi-sama," he says. "Hannya. Beshimi. Hyottoko. Shikijou. I take it Misao-chan found you?" There's a cunning gleam in his eye that suggests that he, at least, knows that Misao would not have found them had they not wished it so.

"More like we found her, old man," Shikijou says with the breezy confidence of a man who knows he will always be on the outside and has ceased to worry about his position. "Or, more like Aoshi-sama and Hannya found her."

"Of course." The cunning expression turns almost sly. Aoshi resists the temptation to roll his eyes — Okina's gone knowing on them all. "It always is the pair of you, isn't it? Tell me honestly, how much trouble was she in?"

"She would have handled it," Aoshi says. "We made sure it wasn't necessary."

Okina sighs. "I'm quite sure I don't want to know. But I'm just as sure that I should."

"A conversation for later," Hannya offers.

"Yes, later." Okina smiles broadly, clapping his hands together. "For now — we celebrate, to have family come home again. We even have most of your old rooms empty, just now! Come in, come in."

Aoshi lets the rest of the Edo Castle Oniwabanshu precede him into the Aoi-ya and then follows Okina within.

The Aoi-ya does most of its business around the festivals — especially Aoi and Gion Matsuri — but they've got a number of guests staying already. Still, Okon and Omasu have space for the Edo Castle Oniwabanshu in the staff quarters. The room Aoshi stayed in eight years ago is as untouched here as it had been when he returned to the Aoi-ya from Mount Hiei in July.

Aoshi tosses the bag he'd packed into one of the corners and throws a window open to llet the room air out. After that, he makes sure his men have settled in — Beshimi and Hyottoko, predictably, have left the Aoi-ya to settle their bet — then seeks out Okina. It's not difficult to draw Okina to the room Aoshi would have used as his office, had the Aoi-ya ever become a true stronghold of the Oniwabanshu.

Okina hears out Aoshi's concerns, his efforts at gently guiding the Oniwabanshu into probing into the actions of Shishio's syndicate, and agrees more easily than Aoshi expected. Perhaps it is simply guilt at lying to his former mentor that made him expect a harder fight.

"Most of my informants these days are in the government or among the merchants and the artisans," Okina says, accepting a cup of tea from Hannya. "I know how to keep my ear to the ground, of course. It will be only a little effort to begin doing so again."

Aoshi sets his own teacup down on a rest. He doesn't lean forward, but he does rest both hands on his knees. "How soon can it be done?"

Okina considers, lifting one hand from his teacup to stroke at his goatee. "Two weeks, perhaps. Sooner, if the people I try first are still alive." He takes another sip of tea.

"And now we offer hopeless prayers for street thugs," Hannya says.

Okina nods agreement. "May they be living long lives."

Aoshi bows his head a moment, acknowledging their points, but needing to move on. He's not sure how to begin this next. Okina had been protective of her, before they'd left Kyoto at Kamiya's request. From the conversations he'd overheard, he'd even tried disbanding the Kyoto cell in the hope that Misao might choose a normal life as an ordinary girl.

He knows all too well that Misao would find such an existence intolerable.

"One final matter," he says. "Regarding Misao." He does not bother trying to use an honorific, and from the subtle shift of Okina's expression, he almost wonders if he should have.

Beside him, Hannya stiffens, recognizing just how uncomfortable the conversation is going to become.