We may start seeing a slowdown - I'm in Ch6 at this point and had to take some time off writing to prepare for a bestial Anatomy&Physiology exam. Hopefully I'll have ch6 done by Wednesday, but I may need to take a week off and build my buffer again.

Aoshi leaves the office, returning to his room and closing the window there. It smells fresher already, and some efficient soul has left a futon cabinet within. No western-style desk, as he'd become accustomed to using in Takeda's employ, but there is a low table where he can work.

Strange, how much is the same, and yet how little it looks like the room he'd left behind in August.

He reflects as he unpacks, both on the productive — if fraught — meeting with Okina and on what needs to happen next. Although he has already completed the Nitou Ryuu and is confident in its mastery, honing it against Hannya and Okina now can only work to his advantage. It helps that he doesn't carry the guilt of having attacked Okina with it, in this reincarnated world. He will also have to reflect on the purpose of the Oniwabanshu now that they're not simply ninja-for-hire.

He has his own purpose — to eradicate the worst of the men who dwell in the shadows, who use the Gehou in ways that can only harm the world — but he cannot countenance reactivating the Oniwabanshu just for that.

Omasu is the one to come and get him for dinner.

They eat in the private dining room closest to the kitchen. It's more cramped than he remembers, but it shouldn't surprise him. When he had joined the Aoi-ya staff, it had been only him, not himself and four others.

Now, there's scarcely room for all of them. Hyottoko and Beshimi are crammed in side-by-side; he can barely even see Beshimi past Hyottoko's bulk. Shikjou has ended up by Shiro and Kuro, and Hannya squeezes in between Aoshi and Okina. The kunoichi in the Aoi-ya have all clumped in together in a defensive-looking knot, Misao in the middle, with Omasu as a buffer on one side and Okon on the other.

Another difference: in the past, when he returned to the Aoi-ya from Mount Hiei, the Kyoto cell had not asked after his travels. It would have been too painful a subject, so Misao had offered up her own. Now, the Kyoto cell happily hands out serving after serving of kaiseki dishes, all the while probing everyone gently.

From Kuro, to Shikijou, as he heaps rice into a bowl: "So Kyoto must seem very different, now. Is it true that every house in Tokyo has the electricity?"

Shiro leans over the table toward Beshimi, pouring sake, and says, "Don't try and tell me you didn't pick up any new knives while you were away! And remember to put that one back on the fish tray; Misao-chan will need it tomorrow night."

Omasu reaches out to Hyottoko, who has shifted uncomfortably away from Shiro. Her body language is soft, welcoming, and her voice is gentle when she tells him, "To tell you the truth, Hyottoko-san, we've certainly missed you around here. I don't know if you heard about it all the way in Tokyo, but there was a fire here a few years ago. The water-drivers could have used your expertise."

Aoshi doesn't pay attention to Hyottoko's answer; Omasu has made him smile, his eyes lighting up, and that's all that matters to him.

Hannya has only set his mask aside slightly, enough to reveal his mouth so he can eat, but the Aoi-ya staff know well how to avoid staring without also refusing to look at him. Okon offers him a dish of pickled vegetables while helping him catch up on the comings and goings of the important families in the district.

The knot of unease in the pit of his stomach loosens. Whether or not they'll be able to find places here long term, the Edo Castle Oniwabanshu will be welcome within the Aoi-ya.

And it would seem that nobody notices the way Okina does not speak to him. Nobody save Misao, whose eyes dart from Okina to Aoshi and then back again, before she drops her gaze down to her plate. She eats methodically, like she has no appetite but knows she must.

"Misao," Aoshi says, quiet enough that it need not intrude into the four conversations happening around him.

She looks up from her meal, clearly startled. Just as quietly, she replies, "Aoshi-sama?"

"We should speak after dinner."

Her answering smile lights up her face. Okina turns his head to look at Aoshi, and the level, even expression he wears sends a chill down Aoshi's neck.

The Aoi-ya uses the same chore rotation that it always has: since Shiro and Kuro cooked for the staff, Omasu, Okon, and Misao carry or wash dishes and lay out preparations for the morning meals. The Edo Castle cell don't have a place just yet, though Aoshi assumes the Aoi-ya staff will start cutting backhand deals within the next day or so.

Okina hasn't yet defined Aoshi's role within the Aoi-ya itself, so there is no place Aoshi specifically needs to be. He could go join Okina, Shiro, Kuro, and Shikijou in the tea shop — something none of the Edo Castle cell would actually expect — he is also free to join the women in the kitchen. He does so, scraping plates into one of the slop buckets and calmly ignoring the way Omasu stares at the back of his head.

Himura cooks and does laundry; Aoshi can in no way be lessened by assisting with the dishes. Particularly when it means he and Misao will be able to speak sooner.

"We're missing the knife from the fish tray," Misao says, annoyed. She looks out the kitchen door, toward the dining room, but Okon has vanished.

Aoshi finishes the plate he'd been working on and sets it on the stack by her left hand. "Beshimi has it," he says. "I'll return shortly."

As he leaves the room, he hears Omasu whisper in blatant disbelief, "Is he seriously going to…?"

He shifts his focus forward and up, trying to decide where in the ryokan Beshimi has gone, and hopes Beshimi and Hyottoko haven't left the building. But no, Beshimi is in the courtyard, looking up at the stars. Hyottoko is with him, which leaves only Hannya unaccounted for.

"The fish knife, Beshimi," Aoshi says.

"Forgive me, Okashira, I'd forgotten I was holding it." Beshimi pulls it out of a sleeve, dislodging several other knives, and hands it over.

Aoshi accepts it with one hand, nods his thanks, and returns to the kitchen.

Misao takes the knife with both hands when he offers it, then gleefully cleans it. In the time he's been gone, she's gone through much of her stack, and only a few dishes remain.

"Omasu," Aoshi says, and when the kunoichi looks up from where she's drying one of the rice bowls, he asks, "Can you manage the rest, or will you need Okon's help?"

"I can manage this much on my own, Aoshi-sama," Omasu tells him. For all the gentle sweetness of her tone, there's a crinkle on her brow that suggests confusion.

Aoshi feels no need to explain. Instead, he moves his head, using his chin to tell Misao to follow. She reads it as easily here as she had in the other life, only stopping long enough to bow in Omasu's direction as they leave.

They end up in the office where he'd discussed the matter with Okina. He can see her size up the room, noting changes, noting exits, within moments of entering. She doesn't object when he shuts the door behind them. And if she notices that Hannya and Okina step into place outside the door to listen, she gives no sign of it.

Okina and Hannya both excel in moving soundlessly here in the Aoi-ya, and with heartbeats so familiar, heartbeats that belong, it can be difficult to worry over their exact location.

Misao watches him with a mix of concern and anticipation. He's seen her sit seiza in perfect comfort — though remaining still is often a challenge for her — but tonight she fidgets, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, evidently crossing and re-crossing her toes.

"You will always be welcome among the Oniwabanshu," he tells her, because it's true. "You will always have a place wherever we are — here or elsewhere."

She nods her acceptance; it's no more or less than she's always known. When he does not immediately elaborate, she locks eyes with him and asks, "But? I know there's something more you're not saying, Aoshi-sama."

"You are aware of Hannya's and Okina's hopes for you?" At her blank look, he offers, "That you have the opportunity to live a civilian life?"

"You mean Jiya hopes I'll wake up someday and be a normal girl."

He keeps his expression stern, but doesn't bother frowning or correcting her. She may not have used the kindest phrasing, but the sentiment is true: the life Okina wants most for her is one she will almost certainly reject out of hand. "Aa."

"And Hannya-kun does, too, doesn't he?"

"Not to the same extent."

She stares at him for a moment, then tips her head, clearly considering. The movement puts all her weight on one side, and there's a moment of ungainly struggling to keep her whole body straight.

He can feel his expression softening without his permission, and he must take a second or two of his own to keep his countenance, restoring it to the firm, neutral line that feels most natural to him.

"This is it, isn't it? I thought it might be about… that village. But it's not. You want me to decide if I'm in or out."

"Aa. If you choose to enter a civilian life, you will be welcome here still. But there will be —"

"In," she says, instantly. No hesitation. No thought needed. He must show some sign of surprise, because Misao says, "The Oniwabanshu is my irreplaceable family. I know I wasn't — trained for this. This wasn't supposed to be my life. But, Aoshi-sama, it's the life I want. I can't imagine ever wanting to leave."

He had known what she would choose. He had not once doubted that she would choose to remain among the Oniwabanshu, take her place as a kunoichi within it.

But it's good to hear her say those words. A relief. In the decisions he must make soon, in the way he will set the Oniwabanshu against Shishio Makoto, at least he won't be dragging Misao into anything she would not — did not — freely choose.

"Then, in my absence, you will lead the Oniwabanshu."

"The orders of the Okashira are absolute," she replies, searching his face. She doesn't seem to find what she's seeking, because she looks uncertain.

She's asking, without ever having to use the words, just what the hell he's thinking.

"You are capable." She's done it, after all. She re-forged the Oniwabanshu in her own image on the eve of Shishio's great fire. She can do it again. "You will choose a weapon. Close quarters," he adds, immediately, because her fingers have begun to search out her kunai. "When you are not learning it, you will be with Okon or with me."

Misao nods. "Yes, Aoshi-sama." She leans forward, head tilted down. A seated bow.

"Misao." At her name, her head jerks up, and she stares. "You will not fail me." And with that, he rises. She follows after a moment, pacing after him as he exits the office.

Neither Okina nor Hannya has moved from his position, though Okina has crossed his arms. When he looks at Aoshi, his eyes burn cold. Neither of them looks away.

"Jiya," Misao says, softly. "I was never going to be an ordinary girl. I'm so grateful, that you gave me that chance — but that kind of life isn't the one that I want. I want to be here, with all of you."

"You say that, and I can hear you have made your mind up."

"Yes. It's the truth."

Okina's only answer is silence, but none of them need speech to know what Okina is thinking.

That night, he heads to the docks. Misao comes with him, only a step or so behind. She's been quiet since their conversation in the office, but it's a thoughtful silence. He doesn't press; if Misao has anything she wants to speak of, she'll speak of it. Loudly, if she's feeling ignored or particularly indignant.

Finding a dockworker to bribe is never difficult. If it's not the man in the shabbiest clothing, it's the man who stinks of alcohol. Tonight, he finds both traits in one person.

It's easy to keep the man's attention on him. Distracting as Misao can be, nothing holds a poor man's focus like money.

"Has anyone bought or sold an iron ship?"

The man's eyes go in and out of focus, clouding as he widens his stance, shifting with the way the waves hit the dock. "Iron ship? I ain't heard of it."

All too aware of Misao standing behind him, watching the man's gaze — and the way it follows the money — with amused fascination, Aoshi leans in a little closer, and asks, "Have you heard the name Shishio?" Total incomprehenshion from the dock worker. "Sadojima?"

Less incomprehension. It's a start.

"When have you heard it?"

"A shipment from Tokyo. Uh. Takeda something-or-other to Sadojima… Ho-something. Hoshi? Hoji? Hojo? That's it, that's all I know."

Aoshi leaves him with a couple of coins, all but storming away from the dock. He'd been right. Once again, confirmation leaves him scarcely able to breathe past fury — and, to his shame, fear.

He'd been prepared for this. He'd been preparing. And this time, those opposing Shishio will be organized and fully briefed. They'll have help. This need not be the near-disaster it had become.

Misao waits until they're well away from the docks, near the Aoi-ya and on a deserted street, before she asks, "Who is Shishio?"

"The one I suspect of being the buyer for Takeda's weapons. Sadojima Houji is his agent in Kyoto." He's already receiving shipments —

It's begun.

"You're worried," she says. Proof Misao does possess tact, even if she rarely employs it. She has to have noticed his mood.

"He was one of the hitokiri of the Bakumatsu. Himura Battousai's successor."

"You mean you think he's going to be hard to kill." Misao considers this. "This hitokiri, you think he'll act against us? Attack us?"

"I think we'll have to act against him."

He shouldn't be surprised that Misao puts it together. Given a chance, she has always read him nearly as well as Hannya does. But it does surprise him when she says, "You think if we get involved in this, if I'm only halfway in, I'll—"

There is no use in allowing her to finish that sentence. "It will not come to that."

She's silent for a few long moments. When she speaks again, she asks only, "Do you want me with you in the morning, or with Okon?"

"Speak with Okon first. When she releases you, come find me."

Aoshi spends the next several days settling into the Aoi-ya. He takes over the office and watches as the Aoi-ya staff quietly integrate the Edo Castle Oniwabanshu into the routine. Kuro all but bans Beshimi from the kitchen — a story that evidently features a wild-eyed Misao on the hunt for her takohiki — and Shiro delegates dealing with their suppliers to Shikijou, which conveniently keeps him away from the liquor stores.

Hyottoko takes on no new duties in the Aoi-ya, but there's a crew of fire fighters, influenced by western fire brigades, a few streets over. Omasu and Okina make the introductions. Aoshi is glad to see that Hyottoko has found something that gives him genuine pleasure and uses his hard won expertise. Beshimi is despondent, until Okon suggests merging the two of them into one room, given that men in a fire brigade spend many nights away from their homes and thus Hyottoko won't need as much space. How or why this arrangement satisfies either or both of them, no one knows, but it does satisfy.

Aoshi never asks what came of the bet about Shimabara. He loves his men more than his own next breath, but there are things he doesn't want or need to know.

Hannya is both elusive and ever-present. He haunts the Aoi-ya, ghost-like, appearing silently from places no one had noticed him when needed, and vanishing when not. In the evenings, he and Hannya test each other's skills.

"It is not quite Makimachi-sama's Nitou Ryuu," Hannya says on one such night. He has removed his gloves and affixed a pair of wooden katar. They are not tekagi, but they are close enough for practice. "But you were always very different men."

"Is it weaker, Hannya?" He doesn't think it is, but his confidence may prove to be arrogance.

He does not need to see beneath his oldest friend's mask to know that Hannya is smiling. He can see it in the way Hannya's weight shifts, in the way his shoulders relax. "No," Hannya tells him.

Misao becomes like a shadow to him, almost always behind his left shoulder. When she isn't, she's either working with Okon to improve her condition, practicing with tonfa, or in the kitchen, preparing fish. And though he cares little about women's dress, he can't keep himself from noticing that, after a few days, Misao dresses differently. The shorts and gi vanish, replaced by kimono and hakama, though she ties her sleeves up with tasuki whenever she's in the kitchen.

During the third or fourth meeting she sits in on, Aoshi surprises her by asking her opinion. She'd had one ready to give, but he can see her shock in her eyes, if nowhere else. Later that night, she's quiet all through dinner — which leads to Aoshi and Hannya fielding a number of questions away from her — clearly thinking something over.

She knocks on his door later that evening, fingertips rapping softly against the wood. It took her only slightly longer than he'd expected. Rather than call for her to enter, Aoshi rises from the zabuton and slides his door open, then steps aside.

Misao is still in the painted hakama she'd been wearing for most of the day, and the circles beneath her eyes have darkened. Something in his chest clenches. This struggle was never what he wanted for her —

But she chose it, as freely as she has ever chosen anything. She would not, in ten lifetimes or a thousand, have chosen otherwise. And it will keep her safe. He must be content with that.

"Okashira," she says, without looking at him. Her eyes are on the room, once again seeking out its changes and its exits. Despite that, he does not doubt that he has her full attention. "The Oniwabanshu aren't for hire anymore."

"Aa."

"Then… who do we serve? After all, Tokugawa…" Tokugawa Yoshinobu has retired to obscurity and will not leave it so long as remaining obscure keeps his head on his shoulders, she does not need to say.

It's a question Okina hasn't asked of him yet.

"For now, its own interests. I am deciding."

Misao nods, as if she had known he would say that.

"I have… I have an idea," she says, wavering at first but gaining momentum. "If you'll hear it."

"In my absence, you lead this clan." He would not have named her his successor if he did not respect her — and she knows him well enough that she hears the words he did not say. He can see that in the way she relaxes.

"It would be easier to show you, Aoshi-sama. But I'll have to arrange a few things. I'll — well, I'll need time away from the Aoi-ya. With your permission." She adds that last after a pause.

"You have it."

She turns, offering him the first genuine smile he's seen on her face since she began training with Okon. Seeing this look of happiness makes every curve of her lip in the last two weeks seem pale and thin, false, in comparison.

"I won't disappoint you, Aoshi-sama."

"You could not."

Another woman might have worried that he meant he had already reached the lowest depths of disappointment in her, but Misao's smile widens, brightens.

When Aoshi steps into the courtyard that night, Hannya does not have his wooden katar. Instead, he stands next to Okina, who has dug his uniform out from its hiding place. Okina stands in a ready position, highly polished wooden tonfa gripped in his fists, lying all too visible along his forearms.

Those are his only concession to the idea that they might not want to actually kill each other.

The Okashira does not bow even to his teacher. Aoshi nods deeply. "Sensei."

"Aoshi-sama," Okina says. His voice is still cold, but it's warmer than it has been since Misao rejected an ordinary, civilian life.

"To what do I owe this honor?"

"Hannya believes you have completed your re-working of the Nitou Ryuu. I worked at Makimachi-sama's right hand. If anyone can judge your mastery of his style, I am that person."

Of course he doesn't mention that he has the weight of his frustrated hopes to work out, or that he will be bringing his tonfa down on Aoshi's head with all the force of that weight. Okina has always enjoyed games — it's part of what has made him terrifying both within and without the Oniwabanshu over the last few decades.

"The fact that you've wanted to hit me for weeks has nothing to do with it, I'm sure." He says it wryly, and Okina rewards him with a broad smile.

"You will, of course, forgive your aging teacher, if his arthritic hands should tremble or his arms not cooperate."

"I forgive you in advance."

Okina bows — and the spar begins.

It is nothing like the fight with Okina that he remembers. There is no edge of desperation in the old man's movements, no tremor of heartache. He pushes Okina all over the courtyard, circling, probing for weaknesses, and Okina tries to do the same to him. At least at first, neither strikes any blow the other cannot parry.

There's a moment where the butt of a tonfa whistles for his face and Aoshi dodges. He slips immediately into the Ryuusui no Ugoki, that water-like flow that has confounded all opponents save Himura and Shishio.

It drives Okina into a retreat. If he is uncertain where or when Aoshi will attack, he would rather defend.

Well away from the spar, hovering by one of the entrances to the house, Hannya makes a disapproving noise.

Curious to see what will happen, Aoshi abandons the water flow and moves forward, backing up only a single step when Okina feints toward him. He draws just within a kick's distance and then throws the shortened bokken. Their balance is strange and the throw feels ungainly.

Okina parries the first bokken of the Onmyou Hasshi easily. The second catches him in the solar plexus, with enough force that he doubles over, struggling for breath. When he straightens, Aoshi kicks out, stopping his foot just short of the old man's nose.

And that, it would seem, ends the spar. Okina bends forward in a bow. Aoshi nods back.

"Not Makimachi-sama's Nitou Ryuu," is Okina's pronouncement. "He was faster, but you are more ruthless. I do see his influence." Another pause, and Okina smiles again. "It befits his legacy."

"It's good that you agree," is all Aoshi says.

Okina heads over to the engawa, retrieving a silk-wrapped rectangle from beneath it. "Hannya mentioned the first night you arrived that you believed you had completed the style. I ordered these to be forged. After all, even if you hadn't yet, you would have finished it eventually."

Aoshi accepts it from him with both hands, nodding his head in thanks. He unwraps it carefully, slowly, and finds a smooth wooden box, laquered in black. When he removes the lid, he uncovers a pair of kodachi in their sheaths. The hilts match, he realizes. They cannot be carried to imitate a single sword.

He sets the lid of the box aside and lifts one of the kodachi, drawing it from its saya. It exits nearly soundlessly, and when he inspects the edge, it's perfect in the way only a newly forged blade can be.

He sheaths the sword again, replacing it reverently in the lacquer box. "Thank you, Okina. I will be proud to carry these."

"And I'll be proud to see them in your hands. If I could, I'd have ordered them to share one saya, so you could continue Makimachi-sama's wonderful trick for obscuring what he carried. But with the sword ban…"

"Aa," Aoshi says. He had not run into trouble with the police while carrying what appeared to be a no-dachi, but it hardly matters. He will find some other way to conceal them. He never wants to be without these blades, this gift.

He searches for something else to say, some way to express just what this means. Okina's explicit approval of his style — this warmth, suffusing him. But no words come. Everything he could offer sounds paltry in his mind's ear.

Bereft of any better response, he bows.

Okina chuckles, then makes a faint noise of pain as he stands. "Oh, the trials of getting old. I'm tired, Aoshi-sama. I think I'll turn in. Perhaps I ought to leave the fighting —"

"Don't bother pretending. You would have broken my jaw if I'd been slower."

"More than once, even. Try and get some rest, Aoshi-sama. Even the young need to sleep sometime."

"I'll consider it," he promises.

In fact, he's asleep almost before his head touches his pillow, the kodachi well within reach should he need them in the night.

Aoshi spends the next morning with Okina, discussing reports from a few of their new sources.

The truth is: the criminal underworld is more like a pond, or a series of interconnected spider webs. Nothing large moves inside it without leaving ripples that someone sensitive will notice. Even the stupidest lowlife, if he speaks to anyone else in the business, can't help but know if the more powerful players are moving around, even if he doesn't know what they're doing.

Takeda had relied on that connection not only to hire his dealers, but to find the doctor who developed the drug. It would seem Sadojima — a former diplomat — is acting in spite of it. It's possible he's simply not familiar with the black market and the way criminals talk.

It's possible this information is a lure.

Aoshi forces himself to relax his hands as he sorts through what he's learning now, comparing it to what he knows of the Juppongatana from his last life.

"To be quite frank, Aoshi-sama, the guns are a minor concern compared to the powder he's bought. Who bothers with that much powder, in these days of breech-loading rifles?"

It's a valid point. Especially if one doesn't know about the Rengoku.

"It must be cannons," Hannya says, crossing his arms. "But where would they even use them? Do they plan to demolish some structure here in Kyoto?"

Okina shakes his head. "Even if they did, what possible purpose could it serve? And can it be worse than the fact that somebody's recruiting? I'm seeing a lot of dark portents, but no motives."

"Troubling," Aoshi agrees. He shuffles the reports back into order, tapping the papers on the table by their edges to make sure all fall neatly into place, and then sets them flat on the table top.

Okina and Hannya both nod, rising only after he does.

"Keep listening. If anything urgent reaches our informants..."

"You will know the instant we do, Aoshi-sama."

Misao comes to his door just before dinner. At some point, she'd changed from the silk hakama she'd been wearing and is back in the familiar purple uniform, the wraps she uses for her zori sandals in one hand.

"Aoshi-sama, can I show you something?" If her words and tone didn't already sound shy or uncertain, the way she shifts her weight, pivoting one foot so that the knee turns inward, then back out again, would have given that impression all on its own.

"Aa," he says, and closes the door.

If his abruptness startles or surprises Misao, she makes no sign of it that he can hear. When he emerges in his own uniform, kodachi on his swordbelt, with his boots in one hand, she smiles brightly and walks backward. He can only assume she's navigating the hall partly by memory and partly by ear, since she never looks away from him; however she's doing it, she never falters or missteps.

She stops before reaching the stairs, at a door that could only lead to an interior room. Her room, he realizes, as she steps inside.

He follows, more curious now than he had been when he thought they would be leaving by the back door. She quickly wraps her legs, then heaves her window shutter to the side, climbing out. He doesn't see her navigate to the roof, but her legs disappear in an upward scramble, so he assumes that's where she's gone.

She's standing at the ledge, looking at the nearest rooftop, when he makes his way to her.

Misao bends down a moment, not quite sinking to her knees, but crouching nonetheless. There's a fluidity to her movements he hasn't seen in days. He spares a moment to wonder just what Okon's had her doing to condition, and if it's something that can be hidden within the long sleeves of a girl's kimono.

He gives that curiosity no more of his time, especially since Misao leaps from the Aoi-ya roof to the building next door, landing easily enough that she keeps running. She doesn't even pause, instead looking back over her shoulder and calling, softly, "It's no fun if you don't keep up, Aoshi-sama!"

He backs up a pair of steps, then jumps after her. He catches up to her with a few strides; she's quick, but his legs are longer. He could wholly overtake her if he chose, but instead he remains only a step behind.

Misao takes the rooftops away from the Sannen-zaka and toward the train station. They eat dinner on the run, in three stops. The first begins with Misao dropping from the roof to startle a street vendor, who greets her cheerfully as soon as he recognizes her. He hands over a few skewers of yakitori, which they eat while moving through the surprisingly busy streets.

When Aoshi dodges a third man — this one carrying a child on his shoulders — in order to stay near Misao, she looks at him out of the corner of her eye, and offers, "People are waiting to see the streetlamps come on."

"Is that so soon?"

He's stayed away from the lighted avenues and squares in these last weeks, and he'd never sought them out in his previous life in Kyoto. Until Kamiya's urgent letter had arrived, he'd spent his days in a small shrine, and his nights in the Aoi-ya.

Misao squints at the sky. "Should have been ten minutes ago," she says after a moment, before biting into a piece of chicken. "But I think we've got some time yet."

Aoshi eyes her narrowly. "How do you know that, Misao?"

She just grins, shaking her head rather than answer him, stripping her skewer.

He half wonders what new criminal activity she's undertaken, but she stops them at another street vendor, this one selling takoyaki. He's just as happy to see her as the first, and by the time they've finished that, she's found a man selling wagashi who's peering expectantly into the darkness.

It's not much of a meal, but they've both worked far harder with less food in them. And Kuro, at least, will save them something, even if it means resorting to bubuzuke and pickles when they return to the Aoi-ya.

Misao ducks into an alley, then leaps back up to the roofs. He follows, keeping pace with her until they reach one of the crowded squares. Dozens of people have gathered, most with children, all staring at the glass streetlamps. Some behave as if impatient or confused, but most seem content to wait.

Misao herself actually kneels on the edge of the roof, focusing intently on the square beneath them. Aoshi crouches next to her.

"The lights are pretty," she says, voice soft, "but they're not what I wanted to show you. Just… Aoshi-sama, try and watch all of it?"

"Aa," he agrees.

And he does. It's not as if he's never seen electric light before, but the golden glow of these streetlamps — like fire trapped in white paper, unable to consume it — is still fascinating to the eye. But more fascinating are the people, who watch with obvious appreciation. The children jump in place out of their excitement, and even a few adults clap in evident delight.

There is something between wonder and hunger on every face.

"Everybody talks about what a peaceful new age we're living in. This bright new era." Misao's tone is surprisingly wry. "But the government's — well, it's about as trustworthy as it's ever been. Everything's messy and changing, and sometimes that's even scary. But I don't see that here, Aoshi-sama."

She's right. Fear is nowhere in evidence. Even if the government's untrustworthiness shows in the fact that the lights didn't start on time.

Misao sweeps a hand down to indicate the people they're watching. "Those people, their simple happiness, their wonder about something that happens every night: they're what makes this world better. They're what's peaceful, what's bright about it."

He considers telling her that the Oniwabanshu thinks the same of her. That there is a reason Okina fought so hard to make sure she had the chance to become an ordinary girl, and that the rest of them, him included, wanted better than the Gehou, the endless shadows of the onmitsu, for her. But to say so feels too forward, too open, and he cannot make the words leave his mouth.

So instead, he asks, "And this is what you wanted me to consider about the Oniwabanshu's next client?"

She smiles. "It's part of it, but I'm not done yet."

She takes him on a tour of the roofs, finding bits and pieces of Kyoto that are entirely new to him. He becomes adept at picking out the things she wants him to see: the art peeking out of dozens of hiding places, the brightly colored silks, the kindness amid the poverty. The simple delight the people of the city seem to take in being alive, in being together, in being in Kyoto, oldest and most beautiful of Japan's great cities.

They never go near the palace that Emperor Meiji has vacated. Instead, Misao takes him to the train station.

"Kyoto's best kept secret," she says, and then springs upward, catching the roof ledge. She reaches out with one hand, carefully working a window open, then swings through it, dropping soundlessly out of sight. He follows, landing with bent knees on a floor of foreign marble, polished to a mirror-bright shine.

He looks around as he stands, blinking at the furnishings of brass and marble and white glass. It's a western style, but it doesn't remind him of Takeda's mansion at all. There's an element of dignity, of restraint, that Takeda had lacked.

One of the walls is a map of Japan. Aoshi steps forward and peers at it, eyes skimming over the names, the painted mountain ranges and rivers.

"Beautiful, isn't it? It's even better than I expected," Misao says.

It even has electric light. "Why isn't it open?"

"They're waiting on track to be laid. The process got stopped a few months back, near some village nobody really knows anything about. I looked on a map, just because I was curious, but I couldn't find it."

The words strike a chord in the back of his thoughts, something about them just slightly too familiar, but there were many stories —

"Shingetsu Village," Aoshi says, thinking swiftly. Misao had mentioned once that she and Saitou had disliked each other since meeting there; Himura had been the one to mention that it had been removed from maps, in the midst of a conversation with Sagara.

She had been there. In the other life — she had been in Shingetsu Village. And now she has never gone. Has never had any reason to go.

He can only hope that her absence changed nothing significant. Misao had certainly never seemed to think Shingetsu was anything more than a small, unfortunate town in the mountains.

Misao, unaware of the currents of his thoughts, brightens and says, "Yeah, that's the place! How do you always know everything, Aoshi-sama?"

"I listen when people are talking," he replies, wry.

Someone who knew him less well might have heard a rebuke; Misao simply laughs. "I hear they've got one of the engines stored here. Wanna take a look?"

Aoshi follows her, taking in the station. Not only does it look wholly complete, it has the clean crispness of rooms that are cleaned every day without having seen use.

"And where did you hear all of this?"

"Oh, some of it's from listening when I carry things for the tea shop. Some of it's from the whole Aoi-ya knowing just about everybody in town." Misao grins. "The streetlamps? I knew when they'd be lighting up because I bribed the guy who turns the switch every night."

"You bribed a government official into delaying the streetlamps?"

"Yeah. He's sweet on some merchant's daughter, but he's a real hopeless case. So I made a flower arrangement for him to give her. If she can't figure out what it's supposed to mean, well, at least he gave her flowers."

"You bribed a government official by making an overture for him? To a woman?" He can't possibly be hearing this. Misao would never lie to him, but this is too ridiculous.

Misao gives him an odd look. "Um, yes, Aoshi-sama? Should I not have?"

He has no answer for that. Evidence of her unrepentant criminality has never bothered him, but it does make him wonder how Okina missed that she would never settle for a civilian life. Had he been unaware of it? Had he somehow not realized that it was unusual? Or had he been so blinded by his own hopes for her that he never truly saw the person he loved best in the world?

"Aoshi-sama?" Anxiety in her tone.

Aoshi borrows a phrase from Hannya. "I don't disapprove. I am simply… surprised."

That draws a smile from her. "This was it, you know. Now you've seen everything in Kyoto that I have. Has it… helped any? Your decision, I mean."

He mulls over that as they keep walking through the station, seeking out the engine. "You wish the Oniwabanshu to take Kyoto as a client?"

"I mean, I know it sounds messy and complicated. But didn't we believe we were serving the interests of Japan when we served the Tokugawa? Couldn't we… serve the people?"

"That," he points out, "takes many forms. Such a simple ideal could mean anything."

"And it's not like it even pays the bills. But still — what you're doing about this Shishio guy. What you decided about Takeda. I think… Aoshi-sama, I get the feeling you want the Oniwabanshu to do something good. I think this is a way to do that."

"Serve the people," he repeats, but this time, he's thoughtful.

Okay, some cultural and historical notes here.

Note the first: why doesn't Aoshi think of it as time travel? Why does he keep acting like this is some kind of reincarnation or second life or something?

He doesn't have a cultural framework for the idea of time travel. Most "time travel" fiction was folklore stories of people who went off with fairies for a few nights and showed up again in the mortal world years later, or people who slept through years or decades, Rip Van Winkle style. Until he decides on one, he's going to vary his theories between "I somehow dreamed about things that are going to happen" and "I have somehow re-incarnated as myself, what the actual fuck." As functional descriptions of what actually happened to him go, he's not far wrong.

Note the second: I'm really leaning hard into Kansai dialect, and Kyo-kotoba (known in standard Japanese as Kyoto-ben or Kyoto dialect), trying to make it distinct from the way most of the Kenshin-gumi talks, without making it incomprehensible. The fact that most of the cast is from Kyoto or has adopted it as a second home is kind of super important — both as a demonstration of how different the Oniwabanshu is from the Kenshin-gumi, and for its own story reasons that we saw hints of in this chapter.

As such, some of the words and honorifics used are not standard Japanese, like, at all. Where standard Japanese uses 'geisha,' Kyo-kotoba uses 'geiko.' And, of course, there's the ochazuke/bubuzuke and baka/ahou divides (Kyotoko use 'bubuzuke' for 'ochazuke,' green tea poured over rice, for their own reasons; they view 'baka' much more seriously than Edokko do, while 'ahou' is often more affectionate. Think the difference between 'you big silly' and 'you idiot').

Note the third: I've taken some liberties with when things were introduced or when they opened. Hakama started becoming popular among female students in Kyoto around 1873, but I'm not clear on how quickly that spread through the general young female population, or if it did at all — though canon shows Misao dressing in hakama to go visiting/cherry viewing in 1883. The train station was fully operational and opened in February of 1877. But since Aoshi and Misao chose not to use it on the way up from Kyoto during the Jinchuu Arc (when taking the train would have made more sense than walking for two weeks), and since I wanted to point out that Aoshi doesn't have all the context on every change he makes, I decided to tie it into the shit that went down in Shingetsu.

Note the fourth: there's a whole bunch of Japanese in here, and I'm not the greatest at figuring out what can be picked up through fandom osmosis/sentence context and what needs clarification. Probably the only word I expect to be unfamiliar to RK fans is 'takohiki,' which sushi nerd types will know as a type of sushi knife that was developed in Tokyo (and likely would have been a highly prized knife in a ryokan kitchen in Kyoto). If any unclear Japanese slips in, please let me know, and I'll do my best to either toss in a glossary or answer you in a comment.

And finally, ten thousand thanks to Leviathanmirror, Borvoc, Spiral, and Dexx. They know what they did, even if they don't understand why I let this fic eat my goddamn brain.