April passes into May, and May slips by. Fragment by fragment, new information flows into the Aoi-ya, and Aoshi, Okina, and Hannya spend hours putting the pieces together. More often than not, Misao joins them, sitting at Aoshi's left and listening intently, frowning as she thinks.

No sign of the Rengoku purchase. Aoshi can only guess that Sadojima bought it months before Takani escaped.

Shikijou embarks on a flirtation with one of the more famous oiran of Shimabara, to the consternation of most of the Aoi-ya. But, despite his scars, Shikijou has never lacked for company when he wanted it. Even Aoshi has always found him refreshingly unpretentious and sincere at times — a rarity in the hanamachi, especially Shimabara.

Misao and especially the others of the Edo Castle Oniwabanshu, who have had years longer with him, take it in stride. Beshimi teases and mocks without any real bite; Hyottoko simply laughs when he hears of it and, when next he's home, makes a token effort to steal the woman's attention away. He fails entirely, and laughs about that, too.

As it is, the affair may prove lasting, or Shikijou may abandon it when he decides he doesn't want to pay for affection — or pay so much for it — as he always eventually has.

But it does bring more high-profile people of Shimabara and its hanamachi into the Aoi-ya, which makes Okina and Okon happy. Okina likes the money and connections it brings; Okon and Omasu just like speaking with the oiran and geiko and watching what they wear. Even as Shimabara has begun to decline, the geiko still set fashions, it would seem, and Okon would rather be found dead than unfashionable.

Aoshi ignores all of the Shimabara visitors save the oiran Shikijou prefers, and even she doesn't make much of an impression. There is too much to be done, and with every day that passes, he must fight against the panic of time slipping away from him.

It only occurs to Aoshi later that the month leading up to the Shishio confrontation is when he began to think of the Aoi-ya as home. He hadn't yet thought of it that way, in his previous life, when he'd left for Tokyo with Misao.

He's never sure what wakes him that morning. It may have been the sound of wood striking flesh, or someone speaking. But he dresses in a hurry, not bothering with boots, tying his kodachi's sheath cords to his uwa-obi at a dead run down stairs he takes two and three at a time.

Aoshi navigates the Aoi-ya by ear, turning left and left again, heading for Okina's garden —

And discovers that Shishio has not launched some attack, but Misao and Beshimi are sparring under Okina's watchful eye.

Beshimi has almost no hand-to-hand training, and the way he darts around the garden, trying to avoid Misao, hints at just how rusty he is with the bokken in his hands.

There are no dark circles under Misao's eyes anymore.

She's certainly gotten faster in the last month, and when she catches up to Beshimi — intercepting him — she disarms him with an efficiency that makes both Aoshi and Okina nod. It takes her two strikes: one to his upper arm and another to his shoulder, and Beshimi reflexively drops the bokken.

"Well done! But not everyone will be such easy pickings, Misao-chan," Okina says.

"Easy!" Beshimi and Misao both demand, indignant, if for different reasons.

"I had to chase him around this damn garden for —"

"But once you caught him, you made short work of him. Easy," Okina repeats.

Misao deflates, her annoyance vanishing as swiftly as it had risen.

Aoshi watches her, considering, before looking to Okina. He could ask his mentor what he thinks of Misao's progress. But he could ask Misao.

He turns his gaze back to her. "Are you ready?" The words are blunt, and for once, he's uncertain if Misao has the context to read his meaning from so little.

But she tips her head, pivoting back and forth on one foot while she thinks. Eventually, she says, "Maybe? Probably. Yes. Ready to find out, anyway."

Aoshi nods, then says, "Hannya."

One of these days, he's going to figure out just where Hannya disappears to, and how he can reappear so seamlessly. Aoshi and Okina excel at concealing their movements about the inn, but Hannya is something else.

Aoshi eyes the ceiling, but it doesn't look as if it's been disturbed. Which might well mean nothing; onmitsu are masters at concealing their tracks.

"Okashira," Hannya says, bowing, fist over heart.

"Is she ready?"

Hannya tenses for a second before relaxing. "I will find out, Aoshi-sama." He bows again, then steps into the garden, where he picks up Beshimi's discarded bokken.

Misao's look of surprise would be comical. But then it passes, and instead, her mouth curves into a smile.

"It's been a long time," she tells Hannya.

"Eight years," Hannya agrees. "Will you show me what you've learned?"

And, as always, her only answer to that question is delight. She bobs a bow in his direction before she starts circling him.

The spar is fast and vicious, full of hard, quick movements followed by the two jerking away from each other to avoid being hit. When Misao manages to knock the bokken from Hannya's hands with a sweep of her tonfa, he takes one away, sends it clattering across the garden, bouncing as it goes.

When he has the second tonfa away from her, it doesn't end the match. Instead, they descend into a mix of kempo and grappling that would have them thrown out of even the most cutthroat kendo dojo. At one point, Hannya kicks her knee out from under her; at another, Misao jabs her elbow into the center of Hannya's throat.

It ends with Misao holding Hannya in a joint lock, a dagger pulled from her sleeve at his neck — but Hannya has one hand wrapped in her braid, tekagi poised just above her stomach.

Her eyes sparkle with good humor, and she yawns — likely an attempt at catching her breath, or faking that she's caught it; the dagger shifts with her movement, though only slightly — and then asks, "Well, Aoshi-sama?"

Hannya is very careful not to move.

"Let him go, Misao," Aoshi says, but he inclines his head. Once Misao has returned the dagger to its hiding place in her sleeve, he offers her a nod. "You did well."

Her smile is almost blinding.

There's a fire near the Sannen-zaka that night. Hyottoko's fire brigade attends to it. Aoshi himself rolls out of bed, sending Hannya for Misao, and the three of them stand watch on one of the rooftops, out of casual view.

Aoshi has no written proof of anything to do with Shishio or the Juppongatana, but the blaze, its orange flicker, its roar, leave him uneasy. He hadn't been in much of a state to keep up with news, when he first lived through these days, and he hadn't even arrived in Kyoto until well after Himura.

Still, he doesn't recall seeing any burned buildings around the Aoi-ya or the Sannen-zaka.

The change worries him.

What worries him more is the man in the alley between two buildings, clearly turned to watch the fire brigade. He dealt enough with Sadojima Houji to recognize the man's silhouette, even if he can't hear Sadojima's heartbeat over all the other noise.

Sadojima is a former diplomat and a fixer, not a man accustomed to combat. If they wished, they could take him in now, quite easily.

But what would that do? What would Shishio's next act be, if the Oniwabanshu managed to capture his right hand, a true believer in his cause? That uncertainty, the instinct screaming not to give up his greatest advantage colliding with his sense of prey in a perfect trap, is all but paralyzing.

Aoshi nods toward the figure. "Sadojima Houji."

Beside him, Hannya stiffens.

Misao peers down at Sadojima. "Should we bring him in?"

Hannya shifts. "To what purpose? If we kidnap him, he's unlikely to speak to us willingly." His tone is soft, not disapproving, harsh though the words may be.

"You're not serious when you say that like it's a problem, are you?" Misao turns a dubious gaze on Hannya before she looks to Aoshi.

She can't possibly be suggesting torture. Misao must sense his hesitation, because she shakes her head.

"I meant more like… Get him in a sleeper hold and drop him in a guest room at the Aoi-ya. When he wakes up, treat him like the fire brigade found him on the street and we're worried about him, and let Omasu and Okon handle him. Men practically sing to impress those two."

It's not a terrible plan. Inherently risky, but with anyone save Sadojima or the Tenken — true believers, too close to Shishio not to know precisely what's at stake — it might actually have a chance. It still might well yield them something; much can be inferred from the lies a man chooses to tell, if one has even a glimpse of the truth.

That last would have been Misao's point, too obvious to her to bother speaking aloud. He files that piece of information away, right next to her choice of lure in that village along the Tokaido. No one in the Aoi-ya would have trained her in the mental aspect of the Gehou, but she seems to have an instinctive grasp of it, regardless.

Curious as he may be about where she learned it and how she's been honing it these last few years, it's of no matter now. He considers her plan, then considers several similar ones.

"The thought has merit," Hannya allows. He adds nothing else; both Hannya and Misao well know that this decision could only rest with the Okashira.

"Aa," Aoshi says, because it does. "But if he set that fire to test us in some way, I will not spring his trap."

"Test us?" Misao turns to look at him, curious.

"It's too close to the Aoi-ya to be coincidence. If Sadojima ordered it set, he wants to see if we will do anything about it."

Misao gestures toward Hyottoko. "Then aren't we already sunk?"

Hannya jerks his head in a no. "Hyottoko is a known member of the fire brigade. No one will attribute his actions to the Oniwabanshu."

"So we do nothing. Because we're in some sort of… we know he knows, but we don't want him to know that we know… kind of circle?"

"Aa."

And so they watch as Sadojima peers all around, like a man waiting in fear of some attack. He never once looks to the roofs. He'd badly underestimated the Oniwabanshu in the previous life. It would seem he understands them even less without the limited counsel Aoshi had once provided.

"A fool," is Hannya's judgment, when they've returned to the Aoi-ya. He must read something in Aoshi's expression, because he adds, "A dangerous one."

Aoshi agrees. "He didn't buy that powder for cannon."

But what will Shishio target with explosives, amid the Great Kyoto Fire, as a distraction from the Rengoku? What could distract a city more than the plan Shishio already has?

Four days later, a runner from the largest police station in the city comes to the Aoi-ya. He digs a finger into the collar of his uniform jacket, working at it without really loosening it, then folds over into a bow. Aoshi suspects the man is trying to catch his breath; he bends too low for Omasu or Okon, but not quite low enough to address the leadership of an onmitsu clan.

But then, very few people ever understood the niceties involved in hiring ninja or onmitsu, and such courtesies are hardly relevant in this bright new era.

"Shinomori-san," the runner says after a few gasps for air.

Aoshi sets his tea bowl back on the table. "Aa."

"Lieutenant Fujita requests your assistance at the station, Shinomori-san. He sent me to fetch you."

Fujita? Saitou, then. But why come to —

Himura has arrived in Kyoto.

Aoshi rises from the table and nods at the runner. He heads for the stairs, murmuring to Okon to send Misao to him when she swoops in to clear away his tea. She nods without answer, turning away from him.

"Eh, Shinomori-san," the runner — most likely a junior officer — tries to object.

Aoshi doesn't even bother looking at him. "I'll be down shortly."

He finishes tying his kodachi to his swordbelt, concealing them within his coat, and finds Misao removing her apron where she waits outside his door. He gestures with a nod for her to follow; she does so immediately, pausing only to toss her apron into her room as they move toward the stairs. Her hands move restlessly along her obi as they descend, evidently making sure nothing has been crushed or moved out of place.

They find the runner standing by the stairs, wringing one of his gloves in his hands. He twists and squeezes it as though trying to empty it of water. Beads of sweat dot his forehead and temples, and he startles as Misao steps lightly down into the foyer. He jerks his gaze up to Aoshi, and seems to relax when he realizes that Aoshi hadn't been dismissing him.

Before the runner can waste any of his time, Aoshi says, "Where I go, she goes. I assume Lieutenant Fujita expected me to call on him as soon as possible?"

"Yes, he and his… eh, agent, are —"

"Then we should leave now."

Aoshi moves past him, heading for the door. Only the slight whisper of silk, and Misao's familiar heartbeat growing louder in his ears, suggests that Misao has followed. He stops only long enough to pull on and lace his boots.

It's much easier to hear the runner. He's quick-paced, heart hammering, and though he moves with care, in the house of the Oniwabanshu, he might as well be stomping.

A carriage has stopped on the street just outside the Aoi-ya.

This is precisely the kind of attention they don't need. Okina, at least, has sensed this, and continues to sweep the walk in front of the Aoi-ya as if the carriage is not there. His nonchalance leaves people passing by, rather than wonder about the newfangled contraption, with its expensive horses, standing idle just outside the staid, traditional ryokan.

Saitou must know nothing of the Oniwabanshu's quiet information gathering, and thus know even less of its precarious position. Not even he — much as Saitou likes to needle Himura's allies — would have done this otherwise.

"I didn't get a chance to mention, Shinomori-san," the runner says pointedly. "Lieutenant Fujita ordered a carriage for you."

Misao looks curiously at him. "And you didn't ride it?"

"I needed the exercise," he replies, tone prim, and then reaches up and opens the door.

They find Saitou's police encampment buzzing like a kicked hive. Police officers — junior and otherwise — dart about, each on more important business than any other, all of them getting in each other's way and snapping. Misao takes this all in with an amused expression, while the runner angles sideways to get ahead of them and lead them to Lieutenant Fujita's office.

They take a few twists and turns, eventually heading up a staircase before winding down yet another pair of halls, until the runner throws open a pair of double doors and announces, "Lieutenant Fujita —"

"Took you long enough," Saitou growls, and Aoshi spends an uncertain moment wondering if Saitou had been speaking to him rather than his junior officer. The junior officer merely bows and retreats, shutting the double doors as he goes.

There's a pause as he and Misao step more fully into the room, away from the hall. Aoshi sweeps his gaze through it, noting the huge glass windows. One kick — or one strike from Misao's tonfa — should shatter them sufficiently to jump out of, if he can't take the time to open them. Saitou himself is standing in the light, leaning over a table covered with maps and piles of documents. Himura has stationed himself near a window, and apparently found the time to apply some sort of sticking plaster over his left cheek.

Aoshi can't help but wonder if Himura had done that in the previous timeline. He hopes not.

After a moment, eyes narrowed even further than usual, Saitou adds, "I take it my adjutant didn't tell you this wasn't a social call, Shinomori."

"Saitou," Himura says, turning away from the window. "I'm sure Aoshi wouldn't have —"

There is no point to acknowledging Saitou's jab. So instead, Aoshi says, "You want my assistance. I can only assume Himura mentioned me to you."

"He did. You were apparently very specific about where and how to be reached."

"It seems I should have been more specific," Aoshi replies, cold. "We are already being watched; to be approached by the police may bring attention we don't need." He pauses to emphasize his next words without needing to change his tone: "Never again send a police officer or a government carriage to my door."

This draws a raised eyebrow from Saitou. "Watched?"

"Aoshi-sama just practically told you we're already acting against that person you're so concerned about," Misao says. There's a soft click, and Aoshi realizes that Misao has not only locked them in with a key she shouldn't have, when he turns, he sees she's left the key in the lock. Tidily preventing curious junior officers peering in the keyhole.

He spares a moment to wonder when the runner will notice it's missing and turns back to see that Himura's brows have arched in surprise, while Saitou is still looking at Aoshi.

Misao continues on into the room without pause, heading straight for the table Saitou is leaning over. Seeing her from behind affords him his first chance to actually look at the obi she'd been so nervous about. From the front, it had seemed a subdued green; combined with a kimono of solid, pale purple, she had given the appearance of restraint.

But now he sees that she'd folded and knotted blue silk into a flower shape with triangular petals, somehow tucking it above the green sash.

As if she could possibly be unaware that he hasn't joined her yet, she continues, saying, "The short version is, his chief agent is either playing a really weird game with us, or he doesn't understand the black market."

"Bold statement. Care to support it?"

Misao merely offers Saitou a sunny smile and waits for Aoshi.

"We've been tracing the movements and purchases of his agents since I left Tokyo in April," he says as he steps up to the table. "The weak link she mentioned is Sadojima Houji — he seems to be the primary procurer, but his activities are irregular."

Himura smiles, and when he speaks, there's only a touch of irony in his tone. "One would think criminal acts would be very irregular; one would think so indeed."

"It's more like this guy forgets that criminals talk to each other all the time. About everything." Misao looks to Aoshi for a moment; he tilts his chin slightly, as if asking her to go on. She smiles at the table again and says, "The little guys know when the big guys are moving, and, trust me, if you buy as much gunpowder as Sadojima has, even lowlifes get a little nervous."

Saitou takes this in without much change of expression. "Does he know you're watching, or does he genuinely need it?" He addresses this to Misao, apparently deciding that, whether he'd invited her or not, she knows and is willing to tell him useful information.

Aoshi takes the question, regardless. "A mix of the two, most likely. We have some evidence that he's aware of our interest and returns it. But given that his employer appears to be recruiting…"

"Hn," is Saitou's response. He paces a few steps away, leaning down to peer at one of the maps.

Himura tilts his head very slightly, and for a heartbeat, his eyes gleam gold. "Do you know who Sadojima's employer is? Do you know what he wants?"

"Shishio Makoto. An assassin for the Ishin Shishi — and Himura Battousai's successor."

Those words seem to linger between him and Himura. One corner of Saitou's mouth curls up for an instant before he resumes his usual expression, but the impression of amusement remains.

At last, Himura bows his head. "You are well informed, that you are. I suppose I should never have doubted it." He looks up, and though his mouth curls into a smile, his eyes are —

Haunted. Rueful. The expression is familiar in a way that would hurt, if Aoshi allowed himself to dwell on the uncomfortable friendship he no longer has.

Aoshi inclines his chin for a moment, acknowledging the point, and then looks down at Misao.

She looks back up at him just long enough to read the cue he's giving her, and then looks back to Himura and Saitou. She says, "What Shishio wants — besides to blow up something really big — isn't something we can answer with any proof, yet. But some of his recruits… It sounds like…"

As she trails off, she looks up to Aoshi, and he nods. "A cult, you mean."

"Yes, exactly, they make it sound like a cult," she agrees. "One of those ee ja nai ka cults — the ones in the last year of the Tokugawa Jidai, who thought the goddess Amaterasu was protecting them."

Himura squints. "If you will forgive me, are you actually old enough to remember that?"

Aoshi is. Thinking back on it, he wishes he could recall less of that nonsense. But he can't deny that Misao's comparison is apt. A man as pragmatic as Sadojima Houji had seen Shishio as some sort of living god; Shishio's rank and file had been even more fanatical.

Misao squints back, narrowing her eyes in irritation. "Does that matter?"

"It doesn't." Saitou reaches into one of his pockets, retrieving a metal case. He opens it just enough to pull out a cigarette, which he lights with a match. He shakes the match out, flicking it carelessly away, and then takes a deep drag, exhaling after a beat. "So you're saying a cult of personality has sprung up around Shishio? In addition to his anti-government sentiments?"

"Aa." Aoshi pauses, considering, and then offers, "There have been rumors of disciples."

Only a scattered few, not enough that he'd given them any credence in all the meetings with Okina and Hannya. Not enough that he could feel confident in using his knowledge of Shishio's movement from its previous incarnation.

"The Juppongatana, they are called," Himura sighs. "And they're not the worst of it."

"Ten Swords?" Misao blinks, turning to look up at Aoshi, and he can see in her expression that she's pieced that together with the stories he'd dismissed. There had been nine disciples, in one telling; eleven, in another.

"Aa. You say there's something worse?"

"Idiot," Saitou says, and Misao stiffens, ready to defend him. Before she can say anything, Saitou looks sideways at Himura and asks, "In ten years, how many times have you had it maintained?"

"It's hardly the issue now, that it most certainly is not." Himura sighs again and draws his sakabatou —

Pins in the hilt rattle, proving Saitou's point about maintenance. And below the hilt, the sakabatou is only a few jagged fingerlengths of steel, not even as long as a tanto. It didn't break cleanly. Whatever happened to that blade happened in a sword fight.

The Tenken? Aoshi seems to recall the Tenken having been in Shingetsu.

"I will need this reforged," Himura says, "that I will. Would the Oniwabanshu know how to find Arai Shakkuu?"

"Arai Shakkuu, master swordsmith?" Misao leans down, reaching out. When Himura doesn't move away, her hand snakes out to test the blade. "Was the edge on the wrong side? I mean, people said he was eccentric, but was he drunk? Why would you bother with this?"

"Sounds like even the little weasel thinks you're a fool," Saitou says.

Misao raises her eyebrows at him, clearly annoyed, but willing enough to dismiss it — for now. Instead, she turns her gaze back to Himura.

"During the Bakumatsu and at Toba Fushimi, I saw enough of death. I do not wish to cause it ever again, that I do not, and so I carry the sakabatou. But, please pardon me, you say Shakkuu was an eccentric?"

"He's gone. I'm sorry to give you bad news, but… He died almost exactly eight years ago."

Himura's eyes widen. "Are you sure? You must have been very young, then."

"I remember that summer very well," Misao replies, and her tone is icy.

And she would remember that summer, wouldn't she? She would have engraved every detail in her thoughts, even if she hadn't wanted to. After all, eight years ago, he had —

Aoshi crosses his arms, thinking back, but he had heard nothing of this. Himura had never mentioned having his sword reforged. Aoshi had never even noticed a difference in the blade.

It doesn't matter now. Himura clearly found another; Aoshi will simply have to keep him on that path. Which means… "Did he have sons? An apprentice?"

Himura shakes his head. "I don't recall any apprentices, that I do not. I do think he had a child — but I can't recall if he mentioned the child's name, or even if they were a son or daughter."

"Arai, Arai. Omasu-san will know that name. A birth, maybe? Or a wedding. Not another death," Misao says, thoughtfully. "I suppose you'd better come with us, Himura. Give the gossips of the Aoi-ya a little time, and we'll have a name and direction for you."

Himura smiles.

Misao was right: Omasu does recognize the name Arai — and knows why Misao had thought of her. Had Okon or Okina been the ones Himura had asked, he would have needed to endure at least three bowls of tea while they decided whether or not they wanted to tell him what they knew.

But Omasu says, almost immediately, "There was a birth in the family about a year ago — they declared the name just a few weeks past. Arai Iori, son of Arai Seikuu and his wife, Azusa. Named at Seikuu-san's insistence, over Azusa-han's wish that the boy be named for his father or renowned grandfather."

Himura closes his eyes, breathing out a relieved-sounding sigh.

"Do you know where I can find them? What does Arai Seikuu do for a living? He is a smith, I would assume?"

"He forges farm tools and everyday things, I think," Omasu says, a little startled. "He's not too far from the Hakusan shrine."

Himura nods, bowing low. "Thank you, Omasu-dono. That's a great help, that it is."

Aoshi rises from the low table where he'd been sitting. "Hannya," he says, and within moments, Hannya is by his side.

"We will accompany Himura then, Okashira?"

"Aa," Aoshi says. At Kenshin's startled look, he adds, "Do you intend to wait?"

"No good can come of delaying, indeed it cannot."

The walk is long, but easy; it had been mid-morning when they returned to the Aoi-ya, and they find Arai Seikuu's shop in early afternoon. Himura and Aoshi duck past the curtain, while Hannya remains outside.

They find an array of kitchen knives, a basket of vegetables, and a child. If this is the Arai Iori that Omasu mentioned, he cannot be much older than a year. He looks younger, bright-eyed and tiny, with chubby fists he waves at the visitors to his father's shop.

"Ogo-jiya," Arai Iori informs them, cheerfully.

Himura pauses, kneeling to look the child in the eye. "What was that?"

"O-go-ji-ya," Arai Iori repeats.

Were Aoshi a man given to such display, he might sigh. "He means okoshiyasu. He's inviting us in." Or, more likley, mimicking something he has heard both his parents say to people who enter. But to say so out loud would only annoy one of the adult Arai, if they're near enough to hear.

There's another heartbeat in the building, but without further clues, he could not say if it is Arai Seikuu or the wife.

"Well! I have never been welcomed into a business by one so young before, that I have not. It is a great honor, that it is."

Aoshi can hear the smile in Himura's voice, even as Himura bows his head.

"I hear voices," a woman says. "Do we have visitors? Welcome, welcome." She steps out from behind yet another curtain. Her smile is restrained, but warm, and the rest of her body language suggests no discomfort at having another pair of strangers near her child.

Were she a kunoichi of the Oniwabanshu, there would be tension beneath that warmth — and a knife, if not drawn, then ready to hand. But Arai Azusa simply bows in welcome, then scoops up her son.

"How may we help you?"

"These blades," Himura says, nodding down at the display. "I must ask, did your husband forge them?"

Cheerful nodding in reply. "Yes, he did, with his own hand." There's a sort of quiet pride in her tone. She lifts one hand to gesture at the basket of vegetables. "Would you like to test one? You'll find no finer knives in all of Kyoto."

"I believe you, that I do."

But Himura draws a carrot from the basket and selects one of the knives, anyway. His hands move with the same pure efficiency chopping a carrot as they do in a fight, and even with Oniwabanshu training, Aoshi barely hears the knife move. Himura sets the blade back on the display, though not in its former place, and then inspects the two halves of the carrot.

"The edges match," he says, softly, and then wordlessly puts the two halves back together.

It sits evenly in his hand, as if it had never been separated.

A return cut. Aoshi shouldn't be surprised — and as far as Himura goes, he's not — but it's hard to believe that the son of Arai Shakkuu could have learned his father's trade so well, and then turned to forging kitchen knives, of all things.

"I've never seen that before," the wife enthuses, staring cheerfully at Himura. "When my husband returns, I'll have to show him. I don't think I caught your name?"

Before Himura can offer some awkward, implausible lie — or, worse, the truth — Aoshi says, "We should've introduced ourselves. I'm Kashiwazaki Anji, and this is my wife's cousin, Kamiya Kenichi. He was once a friend of Arai Shakkuu."

To his credit, Himura's expression never changes in the slightest. He shows no surprise, nor any other indication that the only Kamiya either of them knows is apparently still in Tokyo.

"Oh," Arai Azusa says, and her tone has fallen just slightly. Just enough to suggest that Arai Seikuu will not approve of a visit from a friend of his father's.

It had seemed a reasonable tack, and the easiest lie to feed is one seasoned with truth. Aoshi regrets it nonetheless. He forces himself not to stiffen, both as a reaction to what Arai Azusa has revealed and because someone else is approaching with even, measured steps.

"A friend of my father's?" The voice is deceptively light, higher pitched than Aoshi had expected.

The man who enters the shop next — surely Arai Seikuu — has eyes of a pale, dingy-looking brown, watery and weak-looking. His shoulders are surprisingly narrow, for a lifelong blacksmith, but his arms are thick and corded with muscle. His hands and fingers retain all the delicacy one might expect for work that can hinge on minute details.

"If you knew my father, then I know what you're really here for. And I'm afraid you'll have to leave empty-handed. I forge tools of peace, not war, and I don't know where my father's last sword is."

A steady heartbeat, until that very last statement. It had sped up, skipping a couple of beats. He's lying.

"Perhaps you can reforge a tool that was intended to protect peace," Aoshi says, though he has no real intent to push Arai into such an act. A sword forged by a man who hates it? Such a thing could never withstand Shishio's own Mugenjin.

"I will take no part in shedding anyone's blood. I can see on your face what you think of me for it…" An impressive feat, considering that Aoshi has kept his expression wholly neutral. "…But my father's legacy is death, not a new era, and I want better for Iori."

He's principled, Aoshi will give him that. The principle is foolish, but every man must walk his own path, and he's seen too many men swayed by power or money not to respect that Arai Seikuu will reject both in favor of acting as he thinks is right. It's too rare a quality, in this bright new era.

"Kamiya, show him."

"We should go, that we should." Himura at least does him the courtesy of not rejecting the lie, even if he does not perpetuate it.

"No," Aoshi says, firm. "To leave someone in ignorance and claim they are safer is a lie. You value his peace? Then respect him enough to let him know what lies ahead and choose his own path."

"It will place him in —"

"We endangered all three of them when we came here. I understand and respect your principles, and his, but if you walk away now, you will both be poorly served. Show him."

Himura's expression burns cold. It's the same implacable look, so close to genuine hate, that he had once turned on Takeda. Are you coming down, or am I coming up? But he has never spoken those words in this life, never looked at Aoshi like that.

In another life, if he had been born a peaceful man, he might wavered. But though Himura may not recall fixing him with such a gaze, Aoshi does. And he is not a peaceful man. It is not yet time to lay down his kodachi and become a simple innkeeper.

Aoshi returns the stare, second for second.

Neither of them blinks.

"If it's so important to you," Himura sighs, looking away. "I can see you will not be swayed, that you will not. And you did not lie, when you said we had already endangered them."

He loosens the sakabatou from its sheath with a single gesture of his thumb. Arai tenses, placing himself between Himura and his wife and child — sensible, or foolhardy? Aoshi can't decide — but then stares, gormless and stunned, when Himura shows him the broken sakabatou.

"The edge is on the wrong side," he says, confused. He reaches into a pocket of his apron, withdrawing a prying tool, and gestures toward the sakabatou. "May I?"

Himura offers it with both hands. Arai is more casual as he takes it, swiftly pulling the pins out and separating the blade from the tsuka. And there, on the the nakago that hid within the hilt, is a maker's mark. Arai inspects it almost reverently, tracing the engraved lines with his thumb.

"My father made this? A katana with the edge on the wrong side?"

"He called it a sakabatou. It was one of his last great works. After Toba Fushimi… We had both seen too much death, that we had. I cannot inflict it on the world again, and nor could he. But one cannot always trust that only peace will follow a time of great conflict, and so…"

Aoshi completes the thought. "To defend the people of Japan, should they need you, you began carrying a sakabatou."

"The people are what makes this new era bright, that they are," Himura says, quiet but firm. "They are the peace that is to be found. It is in children, who are raised with peace, and with their parents, who have set aside violence, hoping for better."

Arai, still inspecting his father's work with wonder, says nothing, but his eyes flicker up.

Aoshi nods. "Misao said something similar. She wanted our family to declare the people of Kyoto under our protection."

"Have you?"

"I'm still considering it. We served the people of Japan once. Perhaps we can again."

"Your wife is very energetic, she most certainly is… But I do not believe she is wrong. And I do not believe you would be wrong to listen to her, that I do not."

Wife? His thoughts stutter, and he casts his memory back, trying to discern where Himura would have drawn that conclusion. It comes to him slowly: he had not introduced her in the station. And then, with his lie to Arai Azusa —

He'll correct the misunderstanding. Later. Now, making sure Himura finds a suitable weapon is far more important.

"Aa," is all he says.

And Arai Seikuu has made his determination, it would seem, for he offers the broken blade with both hands. He bows as Himura takes it.

"Because I have never forged a katana, I wouldn't begin to know how to forge a sakabatou," Arai admits. "But… my father dedicated his final work to the Hakusan Shrine, to honor Japan's unity and its gods. It has never been drawn. If it's not what I think it is, then…" He pauses, shrugging.

"Then?" Himura asks.

"Well, if worse comes to worst, I can safely dull its front edge, so that it will not cut, and sharpen the back, making something very similar. But I don't think it will come to that. Please, will you come with me?"

He pats his son affectionately, resting one hand against Arai Azusa's cheek for a bare moment, and then leaves the shop. He turns down a few lanes, then starts up a path that ends in a steep staircase, hewn out of a hill. Arai ascends without any need to stop for breath. He gives no sign of pain, even as they reach the top.

Aoshi had suspected there was substance to this son of Arai Shakkuu, but its form surprises him nonetheless.

"My father said his swords made a new era, and I never accepted it," Seikuu says after he spits beside the fountain. "But I don't think I ever really understood what he was trying to tell me. I ought to thank you, for finally making my father's philosophy clear."

"I am glad you understand, I certainly am," Himura replies, but his tone is bemused. He has no idea what about Arai Shakkuu's philosophy has eluded Arai Seikuu for so long, nor what he said that could have made it clear.

Aoshi follows them onto the grounds of the shrine, but Seikuu throws out a hand.

"If you'll wait for me, please. I'll be out in just a moment."

He enters the shrine itself alone. From within, the sound of a coin striking others within a wooden box, and then hands clapping, twice, and then silence. It stretches. Himura waits with seeming patience, though Aoshi can hear the faster pace of his heart — he is anxious at being out in the open.

Aoshi simply waits.

Eventually, there is rustling within the shrine, and Arai Seikuu emerges, carrying a blade in a slim wooden saya, strung with white twists of kanzenyori to mark it as holy. He offers Himura a smile, and unsheathes half of the blade —

"A sakabatou," Himura breathes.

"I thought it might be," Arai says, still smiling. "The principal forge — the sakabatou you carried was a mere copy of this one. My father would have wanted you to have this, I think. Given what happened to the other, it looks like you need it."

Himura bows low. "It will be a great honor to carry it, that it will. Thank you, Seikuu."

When they return to the shop, Aoshi buys three of the kitchen knives. It is Arai Azusa who helps him select the best knife for sushi; she does so with the same warm smile she'd worn when she greeted them, efficiently wiping all three of his purchases down with white paper before sliding them into simple sheaths.

While Arai dismantles the old blade, affixing the hilt, pommel, and guard to the new one, Himura cleans the knife he had tested earlier and then replaces it in the display, ready for the next customer.

Such a small life, Arai has built. But being small, being contained, does not make it meaningless. Being a simple innkeeper doesn't sound so bad, he had told Gein, and believed it. He believes it still.

They leave the shop, and Aoshi says to no one, "You will stay and watch over them."

"Yes, Okashira," Hannya says without emerging from his hiding place.

And then it's back to the Aoi-ya. They arrive after the main dinner hours, but just in time to eat with the Aoi-ya staff, who always serve themselves last, in the hall closest to the kitchen.

As April and May had passed, the Oniwabanshu had settled into a rhythm, if never quite a routine. They arrange themselves more naturally, rather than squeezing into defensive clusters; who sits where now depends on the day and on who is in the Aoi-ya. Even Okina moves around the table, giving up its nominal head, some nights, for more private conversations.

The only places that do not change are Aoshi's and Misao's, and those are only constant relative to each other. He is always on her right. She is always on his left.

But tonight, Himura takes a seat near Shiro, which leaves him unfortunately caught between Okon and Okina. Shikijou takes pity on him, monopolizing his conversation and drawing out just what Himura is doing in Kyoto alone. As transitions into the Oniwabanshu's circle of trust go, it's a gentle one.

"Did you get it?" Misao asks softly. Not so quietly that the other Oniwabanshu could not hear it, but enough that they can ignore it, and Himura never stirs from his conversation with Shikijou.

He replies, "Aa."

"Where's Hannya-kun?"

"Still there. Anyone who assists Himura is likely at risk."

Misao nods. That Sadojima is watching them too closely, they already know — it would be no great surprise if Shishio were searching for his predecessor.

"Your idea, of taking on the people of Kyoto as our clients… I'm still thinking about it."

Her smile grows brilliant. "If you're still thinking about it all these days later, I think I'm touched."

"In my absence," he reminds her, and she laughs, long and bright. He doesn't bother trying to finish the sentence over her. Even so little is enough, always enough, for Misao to take his meaning.

The rest of the table stops to look at them.

"Don't mind us," Misao says, and Okina gives them that knowing look again, before turning back to his conversation with Omasu.

Beshimi stares for a moment longer, then shakes his head. Since Hyottoko is out with the fire brigade again, he ducks into the conversation between Shikijou and Himura.

After dinner, Aoshi is the one to walk Himura to the room Okina set aside for him. Hyottoko's old room, he realizes. It could hurt —

But Hyottoko will be back in three nights, provided Kyoto suffers no new disasters, and will stay up until morning talking and laughing with Beshimi, assuming they don't go to Shimabara together.

It could hurt, but it doesn't. They're alive. It's enough.

Before he closes Himura's door, he says, "About earlier… Misao leads the Oniwabanshu in my absence. We're not married." Were he given to such, he might laugh at the expression on Himura's face, which shades somewhere between incredulous and annoyed.

He's with Okina the following afternoon when the messenger pigeon flies in. They both go still at the single kanji inscribed on a cuff attached to its foot. Okina passes him the scrap of paper the bird had been carrying; he doesn't even pause to read it himself.

It's a quick message. Hannya has always been efficient. Aoshi passes it back to Okina, taking one moment to close his eyes as he thinks. When he opens them, he keeps his voice cold.

"Keep Himura here. Shishio knows he's been in our company; he doesn't need to know how much access he has to our information."

"You're going alone?"

"Aa," Aoshi says.

The world is a blur in the corners of his eyes as he makes his way to the Hakusan shrine. The Arai family are not useful to the Oniwabanshu in the way they were useful to Himura. He is not personally attached to them. But someone would have mentioned, if Shishio's people had killed someone Himura had associated with. However brief that association might have been.

He changed history. That they have been so gravely endangered is his doing. If the child dies, it will be his fault.

The idea that sparing his men, trying to make the world better, might have in some way made the world worse, is one he cannot tolerate.

He will destroy this 'Sword Hunter' for attacking this peaceful family and introducing this doubt.

The Sword Hunter beat him to the shrine, of course. He's left the child hanging from a tree, pinned there by a wakizashi through the collar of his yukata. It would be chilling. But Aoshi sees his enemy, and sets aside everything else. His doubt, his anger — none of that can matter just now. Not if he wants to save Iori.

"I was expectin' Battousai," the Sword Hunter says. His accent is thick, instantly recognizable. Not only is he also from Kansai, he's from Osaka. "But I guess you'll do in a pinch. Y'know, Houji's seen you around a bit. Gettin' worried about you."

Aoshi eyes his enemy, wondering which of the many swords he carries will be the first to his hand. He can hear the soft chimes of metal as the other man breathes. At least three. Quite possibly four.

"Funny, though. He doesn't have a name on you. Mind givin' it to me? Just so I can tell him and Shishio when I'm done here — you do understand it's nothing personal against you, right?"

Aoshi shrugs out of his coat, revealing the kodachi. It's surprisingly easy to draw them both at once — a flick of his thumb against the tsuba of each, and then his fists close around the hilts.

"I'm more interested in what you can tell me," he says.

His enemy's eyes drop to the kodachi, and then he laughs. "You're gonna take on me, Sawagejou Chou, the Sword Hunter of the Juppongatana, with those?"

Personal feelings have no place in this fight, so his anger is immaterial. But Aoshi is absolutely going to take the first opportunity to punch this man in the face.

"Aa," Aoshi says.

Sawagejou laughs again. "Well," he says, raising a hand to the unruly straw pile of his hair, "it's your funeral, I guess. Y'know, I didn't think people from Kyoto were usually this rude."

"Don't let me affect your opinion of the city. I'm not from here." Even if it's becoming home.

Sawagejou smiles broadly and unsheaths a pair of swords from his back. He presents them with a flourish, as if he's performing a trick for Aoshi's amusement, or rewarding him for good behavior. As if Aoshi is supposed to be impressed or delighted by the two katana and their interlocking pegs.

"Arai Shakkuu's own Renbatou," Sawagejou says. "You look like a man who knows his way around a painful death. I'm sure you can imagine how hard cuts from the Renbatou are to stitch up. What that does to a body."

He can.

"It doesn't matter," Aoshi tells him.

Sawagejou charges, and Aoshi moves only barely out of the way, sliding into the water-flow movement with ease. Those movements let him dodge three different strikes, and then he sees it.

Aoshi stops dodging, whirling in place just slightly, as if beginning the Kaiten Kenbu, and raises his left hand kodachi. When Sawagejou comes in for another cut, grinning as if he thinks this battle is won, Aoshi slides the kodachi in between the two halves of the Renbatou, then brings his right up, striking again.

The Onmyou Kousa has any number of uses — and these kodachi are strong enough, the blades thick enough compared to a katana, that thrusting his left hand through the center of the Renbatou breaks the pegs connecting it.

Sawagejou's surprised expression might actually be funny, if the Arai child hadn't begun to cry. The fabric of his yukata isn't going to hold forever. Aoshi can only hope that Hannya is nearby, in a position to catch the boy if he falls.

"You broke the Renbatou! This was one of Arai Shakkuu's own satsujin-ken, I'll have you know. You should remember, I just told you! And you broke it! Do you know how long I had to search —"

"I don't care," Aoshi says. "If you're so worried about what might happen to your swords, don't use them to fight."

"You're not only rude, you're infuriating. But you're good, I have to give you that much."

"Your opinion of me is irrelevant. If that was the only weapon you had, you should surrender."

Sawagejou actually shakes his head and gives a disbelieving sigh. "I just need you to know that it didn't start out personal. I don't much wanna kill you, or even that kid. But I was mad about Arai-sama's final work getting taken out from under my nose, and if I go back to Shishio and tell him I met you without at least tryin' to take your head off, he'll take mine."

Aoshi fixes him with an expression that suggests he either stop talking entirely or make his point.

"It's gettin' personal now. Because you're such an asshole."

This, from the man who threatened to kill a child because the Arai family gave Himura a sword Sawagejou had wanted.

Rather than point out the hypocrisy, Aoshi says, "Was that the only weapon you had, or will I need to break another of your swords?"

Sawagejou smiles. "Like to see you try to break this one," he says, pulling his coat off. There's something silver wrapped like sarashi around his abdominal muscles.

That's not sarashi, Aoshi realizes. The silver whispers and chimes as Sawagejou slowly unwinds it. Once, Sawagejou moves wrong, and cuts his skin. He hisses as a thin line of red appears.

A sword so long and thin it can be wrapped around the body? How is it supposed to move? It's tempting to assume Sawagejou will wield it like a chain whip or a rope dart, but when it's edged as well as piercing —

"The Hakujin no Tachi," Sawagejou says. "Another of Arai-sama's greatest katsujin-ken. One of his last… And, personally, my very favorite. Tip's weighted so it can be controlled from the hilt, just so you know. I've got the range. You sure you don't want to surrender?"

It cannot possibly be worse than Gein's diamond wire. Aoshi raises his chin and glares, crossing his kodachi and waiting to see what Sawagejou will do next.

Context note! Misao mentions an ee ja nai ka cult. She's talking about an actual movement that spread in 1866~1867, in which people found amulets in their homes and deduced that they were under divine favor. It wasn't a cult in the modern sense, but there were some mob mentality behaviors. Also ecstatic singing and dancing — and, you guessed it, their big song was "ee ja nai ka," which means "everything's okay now, right?"

Things I did not predict about writing the Kyoto Arc: good god, there's a lot of shit happening. I finally understand why Vathara generally stops with the Jin-e and Takeda arcs, because holy shit. So many.

Things I also didn't predict: Aoshi insisting on fighting Chou the Sword Hunter all by himself, and his insistence on being on Last Name Basis with everybody outside the Oniwabanshu being a massive pain in my ass. "Sawagejou" doesn't even look like a word anymore.

Chapter length is gonna hover around 10k from here on out, which means I'm gonna have to change schedule. From now on, you can probably expect updates Sundays again. Sorry! But at least you'll get long, meaty chapters?