Ooo! More disclaimer-y goodness! Still don't own Rurouni Kenshin! Sad.
Yes, I'm trying to keep my chapters short. I don't usually have a lot of action, so to keep you guys from getting too bogged down, I'll try to keep things short, sweet and to the point. Feel free to share your complaints, comments, and if I'm super lucky, compliments.
He walked into a fight.
Of course, he wasn't surprised. It was a dojo, after all, and the Kamiya girl was becoming increasingly popular as a kenjutsu instructor. Saito sometimes wondered if her popularity was due, at least in part, to the Battousai's presence in her dojo, but usually he dismissed the thought. The presence of the hitokiri might be enough to attract students to the dojo initially, but it wouldn't be enough to keep them there, especially when they realized they would never receive lessons from the infamous warrior. No, retaining students was usually harder than attracting them in the first place, and that had to be Kamiya's doing.
There were two boys in the center of the dojo, each poised with shinai ready to strike. Kamiya knelt at the edge of the floor, patiently watching each move, taking in every action her students made. The tension in the room built until even from across the polished boards of the dojo floor, Saito felt it, felt that old, familiar sensation, that sense of waiting, the anticipation, the knowing that soon, someone would strike, and it would all be over.
It was such a familiar feeling.
When it happened, Saito was not surprised. He knew the precise moment when the taller boy raised his shinai, knew that the boy's opponent had been waiting for that moment, had anticipated its coming. It was over in two moves.
The boys bowed to each other, then to Kamiya, who nodded calmly.
"Why did Toshio win, Daisuke?" she asked as her students came to kneel in front of her.
"He saw through my defense, sensei," the tall boy responded earnestly.
"But how did he see through your defense?" Kamiya asked.
Daisuke paused, obviously thinking his answer through carefully.
"I struck too soon?" the uncertainty in his voice was obvious.
"Did you?" Kamiya waited patiently.
"I don't know, sensei," the boy said quietly. "The moment felt right. I could see how Toshio was moving, could anticipate his next move. It felt right."
Kamiya said nothing for a moment, then smiled briefly at her student. "Go home and think about this until your next lesson Daisuke. Look at the reasons behind why I had you fight Toshio. Think about your own instincts. We'll talk about it then. For now, both of you, it was a good bout. I'm pleased with both of you."
The three bowed to each other, the students bowing lower to their teacher, for whom they both obviously had a great deal of respect.
"Don't worry about clean up tonight, boys," Kamiya said as her students began to make their way to the cloths the dojo kept specifically for the purpose of floor polishing. "You've both worked hard today and it's late. The floor can wait until morning."
"Thank you, sensei," Daisuke and Toshio bowed in unison before collecting their gear and slipping past Saito, already talking about their fight and jostling each other the way boys their age often did. Saito had, at one point, been very much like them. At the same time, though, he'd known he was learning swordsmanship for very practical purposes; Toshio and Daisuke probably believed they'd never have to draw a blade in violence.
Saito had become a policeman to make sure people like them could keep their illusions.
"He's not here."
Saito glanced at Kamiya who'd risen and was walking over to the polishing cloths the boys had left behind.
Saito grunted and turned to go.
"But you already knew that."
It made him pause. He'd not been expecting her to say anything else to him; he and the Kamiya girl were hardly friends. In point of fact, it was most likely that she despised him. He glanced back over his shoulder at her.
"So, he went off to save the world again? Or is he just off on a tofu run for you?"
She ignored his sarcasm.
"No," she answered seriously, calmly. "He went to Kyoto to see Hiko." She bent and gathered several of the cloths in her hand before glancing up at him. "He needed to regain some clarity about some of the things happening in his life."
Saito snorted. "And here I thought Battousai had one of the best senses of clarity in Japan. He certainly preaches it enough."
"Even sages have been known to lose their way," she answered with a shrug.
"Why would he go to that madman on his mountain?" Saito had no idea why he was bothering talking to her; once he realized the battousai was not there, he should have left. Why was he still here?
"Sometimes, even though the student leaves, he still values the master's wisdom and experience," she answered. "You never stop being a student. Not even when you're the master."
The concept made sense. Of course, he'd never been able to run back to his old master for advice. That old man was long in his grave.
"Here," she said, tossing him a polishing cloth. He caught it automatically, then glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. She met him stare for stare.
"You came here looking for a fight," she said. "Do you know why?"
He didn't have to answer her. He wasn't one of her students. He didn't work for her. He owed her nothing. So he said nothing, just stood there, holding the bit of fabric in his hand as he studied her.
"Come on. There's work to be done," she said, and, gathering her own cloth, walked to one end of the room.
Saito shrugged. There was no way he was cleaning this woman's dojo.
"Or are you too good to do such work?" she tossed the question over her shoulder carelessly, as though she knew the answer already and was taunting him with it, betting that he wouldn't contradict her.
He snorted. She was accusing him of too much pride, something any warrior worth his sword knew to be a weakness; the implied insult stung. Still, only a green, insecure fighter would fall for the trap her words made. He would stand right where he was; let her take care of her own dojo. It was her fault for letting her students go without fulfilling their duty, anyway. She could clean around him for all he cared. He dropped the cloth on the smooth boards of the dojo floor and turned to walk away.
"Still don't know why you're here?" she called, glancing at him from halfway across the room. He didn't answer. She was getting on his nerves. What was it with women and their infernal questions?
He glowered at her. What would she know anyway? She was just another of the sheep. Just like everyone else in this city.
"Fighting is not the only solution to a problem," she said. "Pick up the cloth. There was a reason I let my students leave without doing this. You need it more than they did."
He blinked at her. What the hell was this crazy woman talking about?
"You can start at that end of the room," she said, barely sparing him a glance. "I'll start on this side." And, not waiting for him to acknowledge her, she squared her body above the floor, braced her feet and, cloth in front of her, raced across the floor.
Saito glared at her. He was not her maid.
Still…
Perhaps it would do no harm. He had the time, after all, he thought derisively. He shrugged out of his stiff policeman's jacket and picked up the white square of fabric before walking to the side of the room she'd motioned to. He laid his coat aside then braced his own feet on the floor and set his polishing cloth in front of him. He took off down one long strip of boards.