Chapter 32. Rumors to the contrary

Finally, they had a breakthrough with spreading Battousai's legend… well, depending on how one defines a breakthrough. As it was, the whole thing happened mostly by accident, caused by ill timing, bad luck, and an unfortunate act of spontaneous stupidity.

It happened on one perfectly ordinary spring evening at the start of the fifth month. Kenshin was escorting Nakamura-san from western Kyoto to another Choshuu hideout in the northeastern part of town. Yes, it was the same man he had threatened earlier, the man who had spoken against Katsura-san. However, despite his, er, earlier hasty judgement, Nakamura-san was still considered an important member of the Ishin Shishi... important enough that Katsura-san had ordered Kenshin to keep him safe tonight.

Personally, Kenshin didn't much care for the man, but even he understood how precarious the situation was for the Ishin Shishi. They couldn't afford to lose anyone, not even a difficult man like Nakamura-san. So Kenshin kept his focus on the job and tried his best to ignore Nakamura-san's attitude and his constant, sniping comments.

This escorting gig was one of the miscellaneous jobs that had come his way now that there was little else for him to do. After all, the Ishin Shishi had given up attempting to lure Bakufu troops into traps and Katsura-san was mostly held up by ordinary, even routine matters. Basically, the only interesting thing to come his way was attending the meetings with the Satsuma envoys that Katsura-san had taken him to.

According to Katsura-san, his presence was useful, because it kept Saigo-san's temper in check and reminded the Satsuma men that Choshuu was a force to be reckoned with. When it came to the negotiations themselves, well, they hadn't been proceeding well. The main issue was trust. Saigo-san had a deep dislike for Katsura-san and doubted everything he suggested. Kenshin suspected that it was an instinctive reaction, based on ki reading… because otherwise, Saigo-san seemed to have respect for Katsura-san's cunning and resourcefulness. On the other hand, Okubo-san seemed determined to push the alliance forward, seeing the potential in it, and because of his influence, they had talked about arranging a weapons deal through Satsuma's contacts on a trial basis.

Or so Kenshin had understood. Honestly speaking, he didn't listen much to the negotiations. While all the participants were remarkable people and their power struggles and plots were interesting to follow, the crux of the matter was that the majority of the conversation went right over his spotty understanding. Politics, funding, guarantees and obligations, quality of weapons, trade agreements with the West and their limitations… everything was just too complicated.

So mostly, Kenshin had been attending the meetings as a decorative reminder of a threat. Basically, he was Katsura-san's sword. Nothing more, nothing less. However, even he could understand that Choshuu was the underdog and that Katsura-san needed every advantage he could get. Because of that, Kenshin didn't mind his role, as meager as it was.

"What I really don't understand is how a coward like Runaway Kogoro can keep a fighter like you on a leash. The money he pays you must be astonishing," Nakamura muttered darkly.

Kenshin glanced at the stewing man by his side, somewhat amused by the comment. What would Nakamura say if he found out that he didn't get paid any more than a regular Choshuu ronin stationed in Kyoto? A standard stipend, room and board. That was all. For him, fighting in the revolution wasn't about money, power, or privilege and Katsura-san respected that.

Though, admittedly, Kenshin knew that if he ever asked… he would be rewarded.

They had almost reached a bridge that crossed Katsuragawa, a river that was over 300 feet wide and cut through the southwestern part of town, when Kenshin felt a large group of ki presences approaching them. Instantly, he made the hand signal for silence.

"What are you waving at me for, Idiot?" Nakamura hissed. "Keep your filthy hands to yourself. There is no one here but us!"

Kenshin let out a breath through gritted teeth, but it was already too late to hide. A Shinsengumi patrol rounded the corner to their street and worse, among them was one very defined ki presence. Damn! Now if only they could seem unremarkable enough… Kenshin tried to mask his own presence, but Nakamura's outraged flailing was making it trickier than usual.

"Hey! What are you doing there!" a shout rang out.

"Shit! It's the Shinsengumi!" Nakamura gasped and turned tail, running away as fast as his feet could carry him.

Fuck! Fucking fuckity fuck! Kenshin cursed under his breath and dashed after him, abandoning his attempt at masking his ki.

"Stop in the name of the Shinsengumi!"

And of course, the patrol followed them.

The trouble was that the riverbank surrounding the Katsuragawa bridge and the main road was very open. There were no hiding spots or convenient places to lose their tail… or any Choshuu safe-houses from which they could get support. Everything was on the other side of the river. Nakamura knew this, which was why he was running towards the bridge like his life depended on it.

The bridge was a large, wooden construction, wide and long. It was one of the main routes from western Kyoto to the eastern side of the town, so it had been built to handle the traffic. Underneath it, the Katsuragawa river flowed fast with the last of the year's melted snow running down from the mountains.

Kenshin and Nakamura-san had made it to the middle of the bridge, when the situation went from bad to a total clusterfuck.

The Shinsengumi were gaining on them, when another patrol appeared on the other riverbank. Needless to say, the second the newly arrived Shinsengumi saw their comrades in pursuit of two unknown samurai, they charged, effectively trapping Kenshin and Nakamura in the middle of the bridge.

So now Kenshin was surrounded by Shinsengumi, trying to defend a coward he rather disliked. Both of the patrols were quite numerous, too. Because of the rebel's earlier work antagonizing the Bakufu, the size of the policing forces' patrols had increased to as many as fifteen to twenty men.

And the worst part?

The defined, trained ki-presence he had sensed earlier? He had seen that man once before, back at the Ikeda-ya.

"So, Ishin Shishi… you two are Choshuu scum, I take it." The narrow-eyed man stalked forward with the grace of a hunting wolf, his eyes locked on Nakamura. "Oh, yes... You must be the new hotshot we've heard about, the one that has been causing trouble. Nakamura, was it?"

Nakamura looked rather like a rabbit about to keel over from fright as he stammered, "Sai-Saito Hajime…"

Kenshin traced his sword handle tensely, trying desperately to come up with a way out of this. He had fought against difficult odds before, yes – but while he could charge and cut through one group, how was he supposed to protect Nakamura at the same time? Even with his speed, attacking and defending simultaneously was not feasible.

And that man, Saito Hajime-san, Kenshin had heard of him. The Wolf of Mibu was the third squadron commander of the Shinsengumi and he was lauded as one of the strongest swordsman in the troop… no, in all of Kyoto.

And then, he didn't have time to think anymore. Saito crouched into a form, drew his sword, and charged at him with a strange, left handed piercing thrust.

Kenshin concentrated his ki, feeling the world slow down, and managed to dodge, but Saito was already coming at him again!

Gods, he is fast!

Parrying, dodging, trying to find an opening of his own, Kenshin danced around the fierce flurry of strikes. It wasn't easy. He had never encountered anything like the man's left-handed style before, and it threw off all his predictions. It didn't help that Saito was calm and utterly focused, so much so that his ki didn't waver at all! Kenshin couldn't even begin to guess where Saito was going to strike next, so for the first time in years he was forced on the defensive, just trying to buy time as he tried to get used to the strange style.

Dodge, parry, dodge again, and there! A slight opening!

A trap?!

Saito bared his teeth in a fierce snarl and struck, but Kenshin managed to parry just in time. However, the force of the strike was strong enough that it shattered his katana's handguard, and made him slide back on the bridge's wooden boards.

Shit!

His heart felt like it was pumping a hundred miles an hour, sounding in his ears like the wild beat of kabuki drums. It was exhilarating. He was alive; there was nothing in the world but this never-ending moment of dancing at the edge of the blade, knowing that if he made just one misstep, it would all be over. Dodge, parry, dodge, look for an opening! Fail, only to defend, attack, make a distraction and create an opening. Oh gods, this – this was what swordsmanship was all about!

This was what he had been missing all this time!

Parry, dodge and repeat! Kenshin was sweating heavily, gasping for breath even as his eyes shone with mad delight. This was swordsmanship as it should be, the art of the sword he had learned to love as a child!

A deep and sudden stab of pain flared just behind his eyes, spots of light exploded in his vision… and he staggered backwards. He blinked, trying to clear his eyes even as he gritted his teeth and tried to keep to his feet, to master his pain.

Thankfully, Saito wasn't taking advantage of his distraction – he, too, had stopped to gasp for breath a few feet from him. The man swept sweat from his brow, his eyes intent, utterly focused on him. Finally he said, "I see they didn't exaggerate your abilities... Hitokiri Battousai."

A stunned silence landed on the gathered men.

The Shinsengumi troops surrounding him and Saito had backed away enough to give them room to fight it out, but now they were starting to whisper.

Not in fear, but in anger.

Nakamura flinched, and grabbed hold of the railing as his knees buckled and his ki flickered in despair.

However, for Kenshin, every second was a gift. The stabbing pain behind his eyes wasn't abating at all, instead becoming worse. It was like someone was pounding on his forehead with a hammer, the spots of light had transformed into blurry colors, and bile was rising on his tongue, nausea stirring in his stomach. He couldn't focus. He had no idea what people were saying around him, all the little voices blurring into one indistinct mess. Saito was speaking to him, but he couldn't even hear that.

No, I need to get away… and get Nakamura to safety.

Already the pain was almost too much. Kenshin knew he couldn't use ki anymore, not without knocking himself out from the pain. And Saito was too good to be taken out quickly.

I can't win this fight.

Despair stirred inside him; if he was taken prisoner, the Shinsengumi would torture him until they got every scrap of information he knew. They would find out about Satsuma and Katsura-san's secret negotiations, locations for most of the rebels… gods, if he was caught here, it would be a disaster for the Ishin Shishi, far worse than the Ikeda-ya. And Nakamura, he was tasked with protecting the man. If they were caught, yet another would die on his watch. Kenshin couldn't allow that to happen.

Not again.

The wooden bridge was creaking under his feet, the weight of so many people so close to the middle and the force of the current making it creak...

And Kenshin realized that he didn't have to fight.

Closing his eyes, he braced against the pain and channeled his ki to his sword and—

"Hiten Mitsurugi ryu: Doryuusen!"

The ki-enforced strike cut through thick wooden boards and support beams just as easily as it had cut trees and boulders. The bridge groaned terribly as it broke and people shouted in alarm. Faster than ever, Kenshin slid his sword into his sheath and dashed to Nakamura, grabbing the man around the waist and channeled his ki to his legs to boost them both over the railing.

They hit the ice cold water with enough force to drive the air out of their lungs.

Oh, fuck, it's cold! Kenshin sputtered. At least the shock of coldness was enough to numb his headache for a moment. Within the murky water, he saw a man's shape struggling underwater. Nakamura? He swam to him, and tugging the struggling man along, kicked his way to the surface.

Air!

Kenshin inhaled deeply.

The roar of the fast-flowing river all around them was almost deafening, but it wasn't enough to drown out the shouts, screams, and the bridge's terrifying groaning as yet another support beam gave way and more of the bridge collapsed into the current…

And then, something slashed him on his left thigh, then right after a wooden beam hit him on the back and drove him under once again. Pain flared, nearly enough to make him pass out – but he was a better swimmer than this and he couldn't give up, not now!

He had to save Nakamura!

He fought desperately against the strong current and bridge fragments. The sheer coldness of the water sapped his strength with every passing second, but somehow he managed to get ahold of the terrified, struggling Nakamura again, and drag him to shore.

Eyes wild as a panicky rat, Nakamura laid there on his belly, heaving water out of his lungs.

Not that Kenshin was doing any better.

He was an exhausted, shivering mess at the edge of his limits, and on top of that, his thigh was fucking bleeding. He couldn't see the wound in the darkness, but it felt rather awful. Distractedly, he tore a strip from his sleeve and tied it tightly around his thigh. At some distance from them, he saw a few Shinsengumi men making it to shore, looking like a group of drenched, murderous cats trying to catch their bearings.

"Move," Kenshin gasped. "We have to move."

"….What?" Nakamura look up blearily.

There was no time to explain. Kenshin shakily climbed to his feet and grabbed Nakamura by his kimono collar. The man protested the hold, but followed along with Kenshin's determined tugging and got his feet under him, too. It was enough that Kenshin managed to sling Nakamura's arm over his shoulder, and started to limp towards their nearest safe house, the exact same one he was supposed to escort Nakamura to in the first place. Thankfully, they had washed up onto the right side of the river.

Nakamura trudged along, leaning heavily against Kenshin. But by some miracle, the man still found enough breath to complain, "You are mad… absolutely out of your mind! You could have killed us with that stunt! I should tell this to—"

It was absolutely ridiculous.

They had survived against impossible odds, and here the man was complaining! Kenshin snorted tiredly. His thigh smarted with every step and he was feeling increasingly lightheaded and disoriented. The pain behind his eyes had turned into an almost blinding ache.

Had he ever been this exhausted?

Yet, despite everything, a strange euphoria was rising inside him, a feeling of achievement. Tonight, he had faced impossible odds and survived, and he hadn't needed to kill anyone.

He had saved someone… without killing.

Joy was rising up from deep in his chest and Kenshin started to laugh, weakly at first, but then the torrent grew stronger and more overwhelming – relief and pride combining together and leaving him feeling better than he'd ever felt in this miserable, bleak city. Oh gods, he hadn't killed anyone tonight! He threw his head back and wheezed in laughter, his eyes tearing from the tide of emotions and adrenaline racing through his veins.

Tonight... I managed to do my job without killing.


"You're an idiot."

Kenshin blinked blearily at the old samurai sitting by his side and sneezed pitifully. His head felt like it was stuffed with wool, his nose was running and more annoyingly, he was constantly coughing up slime that had taken residence in his lungs. It was disgusting.

"You're a total, utter idiot, I tell you," Ito-san repeated, before scoffing incredulously. "What sort of man takes a voluntary swim in the Katsuragawa early in Satsuki?"

Well, in that regard, it had been pretty stupid. Even Kenshin could admit it, because not a day after his "voluntary swim," he had developed a rather spectacular spring cold.

And the wound in his thigh?

When they finally made it to the safe house, Kenshin had been ready to pass out, and no wonder: the wound in his thigh was deep, ragged, and it had torn through muscle in a remarkably ugly fashion.

"Just a hairsbreadth deeper and you would have bled out, boy," the doctor had reprimanded him while stitching it up.

It had been a close call as it was.

Struggling in the river had drained him quickly and before he had even noticed, he had lost a great deal of blood… again. So he was once again anemic. Oh, joy. Because of his weakened constitution, the spring cold had struck him with ferocity, and now he was pretty much confined to his bed and forced to eat disgusting sludge made out of peas, liver, and blood to give his body a chance to replenish the blood he had lost.

To make things even more awkward, when the doctor had seen him, he had immediately admonished him for being undernourished. To be honest, at first, Kenshin didn't understand why he had come to such a conclusion. He ate what he felt like he could eat during meal times, and quite often he had to attend fine meals in Katsura-san's company… but maybe, there was some truth to the claim because now that he looked, his ribs and the ridges of his spine were showing quite clearly.

Worse, the doctor's verdict reached Katsura-san's ears and as a result, Kenshin felt like there was always someone there to watch him eat and insist he eat more.

Frankly, it was humiliating to be admonished for such simple things, but then again after her death… everything had been hard. Kenshin had tried to keep living as normally as he could, but with his hurting heart, even the most simple and ordinary of things had become a duty; eating, sleeping, resting – he did everything mechanically, without thought or enjoyment.

Sleeping was especially problematic.

His nightmares were always at the edge of his thoughts, their content remarkably stable and unchanging. Though he had killed quite a number of the Bakufu's men in the past few months, their deaths hadn't done much more than add even more blood and indistinct screams to haunt his days.

And yet, his actual dreams were far worse. More often than not, his dreams would start with hopeful and good memories, reminding him of intimate moments he'd had with Tomoe, of their shared meals and conversations over sake, of their playtime with the neighborhood kids… but every night would end with the feel of his katana cutting through her flesh and bone and the sound of her desperate wheezing and gurgling as blood filled her lungs.

"No, don't answer me. Just keep ignoring me. Why am I even bothering? You are always stuck in your own world!"

"O…" What? "Errr…" Kenshin blinked. Why was Ito-san looking at him like that? Frowning, almost like he was worried? What had the older man been saying?

"I asked you," Ito-san repeated slowly, "why did you jump into that thrice-cursed river in the first place?"

"…Err," Kenshin swallowed, "that is, well… this unworthy one couldn't protect Nakamura-san against two patrols, especially as they surrounded us."

Ito-san's frown didn't abate after his explanation, but grew more pointed.

Kenshin looked aside and fiddled with his blanket as he searched for words. "And, ah, well – there was this man, Saitou Hajime-san, who proved to be a capable opponent, so this unworthy one thought it prudent to create a distraction and escape, that he did."

Yes, that sounded reasonable.

"Are you sure it didn't have anything to do with those headaches of yours that follow ki use?"

Ack! Kenshin bit his tongue in his surprise, but then all of a sudden, a fierce sneeze tore through his throat. He covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and looked aside in embarrassment, feeling a heated blush rising on his cheeks.

"Himura-kun," Ito-san looked at him gravely. "You need to solve your problems and take a better care of your health. Or do you intent to be bedridden every other month? Get a grip, boy!"

Kenshin cringed. There was truth in Ito-san's words, but the thing was, he didn't have the faintest idea of what to do about it. "There isn't much to be done about ki, that there isn't. Once this unworthy one uses it for too long, the pain will inevitably come, that it will." He tried to explain, only to be forced to blow his runny nose again. Undignified, this kind of thing. He felt like a little kid.

"Then pace yourself in a fight!" Ito-san scoffed incredulously. "You don't need to use ki all the time, do you? Use it in small burst and take breaks. Do you think there is anyone who can run at full speed all the damn time? Because I can tell you right now, there isn't. In longer fights everyone tries to conserve their energy."

Oh… Kenshin gaped, utterly flabbergasted. Put like that, it sounded so obvious. He felt like crawling under his blankets in shame, but somehow he managed to control his embarrassment enough to murmur, "Um, yeah… uh, thank you for your advice, Ito-san."

A warm hand squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. "There you go, Himura-kun. There is always some help available, if you just deign to ask." Ito-san huffed fondly. "I guess it's a young man's brand of arrogance not to seek aid, to try to combat every dilemma alone. You know, you remind me a bit of my adopted son, Hirobumi. He, too, is always so determined to solve all the world's problems by himself."

Curiosity winning over his mortification, Kenshin glanced at Ito-san.

"Say, Himura-kun…" The old man was kneeling by his futon, his gray brows narrowed thoughtfully. "I could never quite pinpoint your age. It's those foreign colors, I swear. Not to mention your size, or your sharp features… I could easily guess you to be anything from a child to a small-grown man in his early twenties. But your mannerism, and that look you sometimes get in your eyes, just those alone make me want to guess the upper range. Could you help a poor old man out?"

Huh? Kenshin blinked. "Err… this one will soon be sixteen."

And right after, yet another sneeze racked his body.

Gods, he hated being sick!

"So young? And Kido-san is leaning on you so heavily?" Ito-san raised his brow. "What a world. But then again, age doesn't make a swordsman." He shook his head and patted Kenshin's shoulder. "You try to get better, young man. I have to get going on some business; the boys in my district are growing restless for a fight."

Kenshin nodded weakly and bade his farewells to the old man.

Though Ito-san had chosen to stay and strike up a conversation with him, the original purpose of his visit had been about business, so to speak. Since the hand-guard of Kenshin's katana had been broken in his fight against Saito-san, his sword had been taken to the swordsmith, Arai Shakku-san, for repair. Ito-san had been kind enough to deliver the sword and the swordsmith's lengthy tirade back to him.

The swordsmith had spared no detail in outlining his disdain to a youth who got his sword's more replaceable parts broken for the second time in a couple months. Truthfully, it was a bit embarrassing. Especially as he had promised to better look after his sword…

However, despite the admonishing message, Kenshin hadn't minded the visit. The thing was, out of all the Ishin Shishi he had ever met, Ito-san was one of the few he truly liked. There was just something honest in his manner. The old samurai was responsible for the Choshuu men staying in northeastern Kyoto, and he had arranged most of the traps for spreading Battousai's reputation. Most likely, when Katsura-san no longer needed him so close to him anymore, he would be placed under Ito-san's command, to function as a skirmisher for the protection of their men.

At least, Kenshin hoped so.

He slumped down on his futon. Usually, he preferred to sleep sitting against a wall, cradling his sword in his arms, but right now he was nothing more than a miserable, shivering mess. So he burrowed deeper into his nest of blankets and glanced beside him, just to make sure his much-suffered katana was beside him.

It laid there at an easy reach, the simplistic new hand-guard shining in the sunlight.

Good.

Kenshin sighed slowly… and sneezed pitifully.

Ugh, I hate this!

Yet, no matter how weak and helpless he felt, how annoyingly the ugly gash in his thigh throbbed… the river episode had been worth it, he decided.


As it turned out, a week later even Katsura-san and Ito-san thought of the river episode as a success.

After all was said and done, it came down to one, very simple fact: two patrols of the famous third squadron of the Shinsengumi and their commander had been humiliated... and because everybody had been left alive to tell of it, well, now Battousai's description and the tale of his impossible, daring escape was spreading like wildfire through Kyoto's rumor mill.

And the Katsuragawa bridge?

It hadn't been entirely destroyed, but the middle part had fallen and been swept downstream by the current. The destruction caught everyone's attention and served as a confirmation of the rumors. However, as it was a major route connecting Kyoto's districts, the repairs were already fast underway.

Seeing how well the events had turned in his favour, Kenshin decided that he wanted to do it again. It was a wonderful distraction, got the job done, and it was strangely satisfying to see the famous Shinsengumi dunked into the muddy water. So yes, if he had to escape from the Bakufu's troops again, he definitely preferred breaking a bridge over killing them…. though, maybe just during the summer?

The cold and ugly hacking cough he had developed had been a very trying ordeal for his fraying nerves, but now he was finally back on his feet. The stitches had been removed from his thigh this morning and now several rolls of bandages served to give support to his healing wound. The gash was one of the trickier injuries he had ever received and if it wasn't allowed to heal right, it could easily rip open again. The doctor had warned him to take it easy for a couple more weeks and avoid straining his leg.

This was perfectly alright by Kenshin; he was still rather weak and disoriented. However, it was quite a fine day outside. Having been stuck indoors for over a week, he was starting to feel somewhat suffocated.

Besides, it had been a while since he had visited her.

So Kenshin dressed in his more modest, green cotton kimono and gray hakama, slipped both of his swords through his sash, wrapped her pale-blue embroidered shawl around his neck for comfort, and left the inn.

The temple grounds were peaceful. There were only a handful of other visitors to the graves. Kenshin diligently washed her gravestone, set fresh flowers beside it, and lit the incense. Then he just sat beside her to enjoy the sun, pulled out her diary from his kimono folds, and started to read it. It was strange. He knew every line by heart, but still there was some measure of comfort in reading her words.

Her familiar, beautiful handwriting reminded him of her hands, so smooth and elegant… and the words she had written on the dry pages took him into his memories, like he was transported back to their paradise, to the little farmhouse where they had been happy.

Was it wrong to miss the intimate moments they had shared? When his tainted hands and mouth had been able to bring her over the edge, to the breathless peak of enjoyment? How beautifully her bare breasts and pert, reddened nipples had glistened with his saliva?

The blessed moment when he had finally sunk his length in her?

Kenshin covered his eyes with his palms and tried to keep breathing despite the painful longing awakening in his heart. It hurt… it hurt so much. He missed everything about her, but at this moment, he just wanted her here, warm, soft, and alive, so he could hold her once more.

The gravestone by his side was cold and hard, the complete opposite of her.

It hurt to breathe. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. She wasn't anywhere anymore. She was just a memory and the only things he had were these few, pathetic remnants. Her shawl, her diary, and worst of all, her gravestone on this poor, bereft plot of land, and even if her name was carved on it, it didn't bring him any comfort at all.

He wanted to break the stone.

It wasn't her.

But he wasn't worthy of her…. or to even touch anything of hers. He had killed her with his own two hands. The tide of self-loathing was so strong that it threatened to swallow him. Yes, he had killed her. What right did he have to carry her secrets with him? Her diary had been her most important possession. He had read it from cover to cover dozens of times, and all it had ever given him were these flashes of memory.

He wasn't even worthy of those.

He had no right to carry her words… they belonged to her.

His hands clenched on the fabric of his hakama and he gritted his teeth. It hurt so much. Her diary had fallen to the ground, next to her gravestone – returned to her.

Slowly, he gathered his feet under him and rose to stand.

Yes, she should have her diary.

So Kenshin found a monk and left her diary to the temple for safekeeping. That way, it would be close to her as it should be. To be honest, it was almost relieving not to be responsible for the diary anymore, but to know it was there, held safe for her. It made his heart feel a little bit lighter. Just a bit, but still – it was better this way.

Kenshin turned his face to the sun, feeling the warmth against his skin.

The cherry blossoms were blooming. Just a couple days ago the city had celebrated the Aoi Matsuri festival. He wasn't sad to have missed it as he wasn't very good with joyful events these days, but it marked the passage of time. Summer was coming fast.

As he made his way back through town, he was beginning to notice the pointed stares and second looks people were giving him, how some of them sidestepped him and whispered: "Red hair!" "Cross-shaped scar!" And finally… "Battousai!"

A shiver raced down his spine. These people, these ordinary townsfolk in the streets were recognizing him?

And then, right in front of his eyes, there was a pair of Satsuma samurai, their clan crests boldly worn on their haori overcoats. The negotiations Katsura-san had with Sakamoto-san, Saigo-san, and Okubo-san were a tightly held secret. Officially, Satsuma was still allied with the Bakufu and very proud of that fact.

…And those two samurai were looking right at him.

Fuck! Kenshin tensed, his hand dropping to trace the hilt of his sword… and a twisting pain flared in his left thigh. His heart skipped a beat in realization; there was no way he could afford to get into a fight, not even in a brief bout. The slightest stress would be enough to rip open his wound and if that happened, it wouldn't be pretty. The gash had been difficult enough to stitch right the first time… there was no telling if the doctor could do it a second time. Or how much longer it would then take to heal.

So he let go of his sword, dipped his chin low and limped forward, trying not to seem like he was in a hurry.

"Hey… doesn't Hitokiri Battousai have red hair and a funky scar on his face?" one of the Satsuma samurai remarked out loud.

"Yeah, so the Shinsengumi say," the other answered. "What of it?"

"Take a look at that man over there."

"Red hair? No way!"

"Yeah, and I saw a big scar on his face too."

"But why would Choshuu's demon killer walk the streets in daylight?"

"Why wouldn't he?" the first samurai scoffed. "All swordsmen have lives. Who says the rebels don't walk the streets the same as the rest of us? Let's just check it, alright?" Then he raised his voice, "Hey, you – the red-head, stop!"

Uh oh… Kenshin gulped. What should he do now? He couldn't run, not with his wounds, and fighting was right out. Biting the inside of his cheek, he paused and concentrated on masking his ki, trying to make it seem as harmless as possible. These Satsuma samurai didn't feel like they could to read ki, but it wouldn't hurt to be careful…

A large hand grabbed his shoulder tightly and spun him around with enough force to make him stagger. Kenshin gasped in surprise, feeling smaller and more helpless than he had in years as he looked up into the eyes of a tall and aggressive looking man.

"Daaaaamn, you were right – Tanaka!" the samurai exclaimed loudly. "A huge, cross-shaped scar… all fresh and red."

Kenshin had to force himself not to jerk loose from the hold, not to step back and and grab his wakizashi and slit the man's belly open right there out of sheer panic. His heart beat fast enough that he could hear his blood rushing in his ears… he just stood there, staring at the man with wide open eyes.

"But that can't be right," the other samurai remarked. "Look at him – he's just a tiny kid. He can't be older than my daughter, twelve at most. And the waif is emaciated, he can't have had enough to eat, not to mention those freaky, yellow eyes… shit, the kid is sick."

"But he has swords…"

"Everybody in Kyoto has swords these days." His captor's partner, Tanaka shook his head and turned to Kenshin, "Kid, where did you get that scar?"

"O…" Ugh, what should I say? Kenshin hesitated, "Err, that is to say… this unworthy one got into an accident recently, that he did."

"I bet," the samurai who held him scowled and pushed him away in distaste. "Run along kid. You are wasting my time here."

Desperately trying to hide his unease, Kenshin limped away from the pair as fast as he dared. At the first side-alley, he slipped out of the crowded street and leaned his back against the wall, feeling all shaky and weak in the knees.

He exhaled slowly.

That was… far too close for comfort.

Thank the gods he was small enough that people couldn't make up their minds about how old they thought he was. If he had appeared any older, those men wouldn't have hesitated to attack him right there.

…But was it really about my age? Kenshin narrowed his eyes. Those samurai, they had seen his hair, his scar, and his swords. Surely they knew just as well as he did that no child would have carried swords, decorative or not, outside of an important event. But then, why? Was it because he was sickly and a bit on the thinner side?

…But the other one compared me to his daughter.

There was nothing about him that was particularly girly, was there? Kenshin frowned and glanced down at his flat chest, non-descript green kimono, grey hakama, and paired swords. He was obviously a man. So why had they decided a person like him couldn't possibly be the famous Hitokiri Battousai?

Had he really seemed that harmless to them, or what?

Kenshin scowled. He truly didn't have the faintest idea. However, while it was somewhat embarrassing… it would be useful to find out, if for no other reason than to keep visiting her grave.

At the moment Kyoto's streets were dominated with the Bakufu's men and rumors of Hitokiri Battousai were on everybody's lips. No matter how inconvenient and strange as it was, obviously it was becoming dangerous for him to be out in the open. He had heard Katsura-san and Lady Ikumatsu's warnings, but he hadn't really believed them, not really. All his life he had striven to be a nobody. He had always worked in secrecy. And yet, he wasn't just a ronin among others anymore, now was he?

No, for better or worse…. he was Hitokiri Battousai.

A legend for the rebels.

Kenshin swallowed once, twice… before nodding slowly, coming to a decision. From now on, he would have to be careful and visit her only in the cover of darkness or while wearing a disguise of some sort. It would be bothersome, but he had made his choices despite everyone's warnings and now he had to live with the consequences.

There was no sense in staying here.

Sighing tiredly, Kenshin straightened and started to limp to the safe-house, sticking to the shadows and less crowded side-streets.


Betaed by Animaniacal in 10.06.2016.