Disclaimer - I don't own Ruroken. Don't sue.

Chapter 1

The crowd was huge, a restless, roaring mass of humanity, all screaming out one name –

Ken-shin! Ken-shin! Ken-shin!

It was the Tokyo premiere of his latest action movie, The Last Honourable Man, where he played Watanabe-san, a yakuza enforcer who had been marked for death by the new leader, the son of his old boss. Cruel, ambitious, and dishonourable, the son had seen Kenshin's character as a threat, and had acted to neutralize him.

Characteristically, Watanabe had hit back, and after an action-packed thrill ride featuring a tense, genuinely suspenseful assassination scene, a death-defying, spine-tingling base jump off a huge skyscraper, and the climactic, brilliantly choreographed sword fight with six opponents in the Golden Temple in Kyoto, he had eventually won the day. The film closed to rapturous applause with the image of him walking into the sunset, his swords sheathed at the waist, his trademark long red hair swishing behind him.

The fans loved it. Men and boys watched him for his spectacular skill with the sword, his flawless execution of even the most difficult techniques. Women loved him because of his pale skin, his deceptively delicate features, and his dangerous golden eyes –

Even the critics tolerated him, because he actually had some acting skill. Well, most of the critics…

"I saw him, Kaoru!" Her younger brother Yahiko ran up to her awed and excited. He would have been jumping up and down, she was sure, had he not been fourteen and supremely cool. "He spoke to me!"

Supremely uninterested in Himura Kenshin or his swords, Kaoru scribbled down a few more pithy descriptions of what, to her, had been a wildly improbable, largely plotless teenager's wet dream of guns, girls, and gore. Oh, the fight scenes had been spectacular, she admitted it freely, but they hadn't been enough to save the movie from the very sketchy plot and Himura's one-dimensional acting skills.

In the ten years since he'd burst onto the Asian movie scene, in all the movies he'd made, he had a very limited range – playing either the empty, emotionless assassin, or the guilt ridden ex-assassin, or burned out cop, or the retired master hiding from the pain of the world. That didn't stop him from being just as popular as Jackie Chan, or almost as revered as the great Master Lee himself.

"Kao-ru," Yahiko waved his hand over the small note-pad, finally gaining her attention. "You're not listening to me."

Blinking, she focused on him. "What? He spoke to you?"

"Yeah. And guess what – he's invited us to the after party!"

"Us?" she asked, blinking in confusion. "What do you mean us?"

"I mean, I told him my name so he could autograph my shirt, and he asked me if I was any connection to Kamiya Kaoru, the film critic. When I said yes, you were my sister; he smiled and invited us both to the after party…"

Kaoru stared at him in horror. She had been one of Himura Kenshin's most strident critics since she'd first begun reviewing four years ago. And he recognized her name?

"Come on, Kaoru, it's the biggest party of the year. You can't say no."

"Yes, Kamiya-san." A very recognizable voice spoke from behind her. "Do say you'll come. I've wanted to meet you ever since you gave Sword Master 2 a negative star."

Yahiko laughed, and went to greet him – he smiled down at the boy, and then circled around so that she could see him: his crooked smile, the rueful, laughing eyes, and that preposterous red hair, casually braided back.

"It deserved a negative star" she said dryly. "It was the worst movie I've ever seen."

He grinned. "Yes, I know. Even I can't watch it. My shishou refused to speak to me for months afterwards."

He took her arm, and she was surprised to note that, though his hands appeared girlish and almost delicate, there was real strength in them – and old, layered callouses on the palms.

"Your shishou?" she asked, still disconcerted and off balance.

"Hmm. He doesn't believe in crass commercialism. To his mind, if I'm going to make movies at all, I should make ones that reflect the true spirit and meaning of martial arts…"

Kaoru snorted.

"Yes," Himura-san said ruefully. "And there's the point where reality takes over. I do the best I can – and it's easier now, when I have more influence – but sometimes, movies like Sword Master 2 are inevitable…"

She smiled, taking pity on him. "I did like Trust and Betrayal, though. I thought it was by far your best work. Besides the incredible martial arts, you had a genuine, emotional storyline…"

Trust and Betrayal, the story of a young, idealistic Imperialist assassin in the Bakumatsu, with its mixture of incredibly choreographed violence and tender, fragile emotion, had sent Himura-san rocketing to stardom. However, much like James Bond had done for Sean Connery, the role of Hitokiri Battousai had followed him through the rest of his career, and nothing had ever been quite as good since.

He led them further into the back of the cinema, not up the stairs to the grand reception room where the after party was taking place. At the back exit, a uniformed doorman held the door open for them, bowing respectfully; Himura-san slipped him a tip, and then hurried Kaoru and Yahiko out to a waiting car.

"Wait!" she said, pulling back. "Where are we going? This isn't the after party…"

"Kaoru!" Yahiko hissed, gesturing at her to hurry. "It's cool. Kenshin's going to give me a demonstration… Quick, get in the car, before the fans figure out where Kenshin's gone!"

Kenshin? When had Yahiko and he become such good friends?

In the distance, she could hear a rising murmur of sound, fans shouting Himura-san's name, an eager baying as they ran their idol to earth. Her eyes widened, never having experienced anything like it –

Finally, with great dignity, she stepped into the car. Yahiko and Himura-san slid in beside her, and then they were off.