Disclaimer: I don't own any element of Hakuouki. This story is written for pleasure and not for profit.

Author's note: This is the English version of my Spanish fanfic "Un amigo como tú" (ID: 13968442). The fic features Toudou Heisuke, Furukawa Chie (OC), and Tani Sanjuro (OC) as protagonists, and important appearances by Sannan Keisuke, Okita Souji, Furukawa Kohana (OC), Kazama Chikage, and Yukimura Chizuru as co-protagonists. You can also see Ibuki Ryunosuke, Kosuzu, Sakamoto Ryoma, Takayama Ume (OC), Hijikata Toshizo, Saito Hajime, and other Shinsengumi members in supporting roles.

This novel contains canon-divergent elements typical of an alternate universe. The circumstances that differ from the official storyline stem from my insight and artistic freedom. It should also be noted that the ideologies, views, and choices of the characters may not always reflect those of the author.

Pairings: Toudou Heisuke/Furukawa Chie (OC), Okita Souji/Furukawa Kohana (OC), Kazama Chikage/Yukimura Chizuru, Ibuki Ryunosuke/Kosuzu, and Sakamoto Ryoma/Takayama Ume (OC).

Without further clarification, thanks for taking a look at the fanfic! Hopefully, it'll live up to your expectations!

A Friend Like You

Chapter 1

"Sanjuro and Chie"

By Lady Yomi

Summer, August 13, 1868. Present time.

Tani Sanjuro stopped before an old eating house and laid down his spear (which he used as a walking aid during the journey's long hours) on a stone bench that rested under the shade of a leafy willow tree.

He could hear the cicadas singing over his shoulders. A sound that brought back memories of another time... fragments of a life that was no longer connected to him.

Summer, July 25, 1850. Eighteen years ago.

Sanjuro had met whom would later become his best friend when his adoptive mother sent him to buy rice at the "Mao" inn.

The boy of only ten years old looked closely at the little girl who played with a ball outside the establishment. She seemed to be enjoying herself and he tried to approach her in an attempt to join in, but she didn't find his gesture friendly at all and went inside the house without even bothering to take her toy with her.

He gave up with a sigh and went on his way inside the inn. After all, it had never been easy for him to make friends, boys his age seemed to be afraid of him for some unknown reason. His stepbrother used to say he had the aura of a villain, though it was known that Mantaro would've said anything to make him look like the bad guy... he was a pretty whiny kid.

"You must be Sanjuro, Sunae-san's new kid," greeted a blonde, freckled lady who carried a tiny baby girl of just a few months old in her arms. "I'm Mao, the owner's wife. It's a pleasure to meet-"

"I'm just here to get rice," he cut her off roughly and turned his back on her. Being called "the new kid" was getting tiresome.

"Oh..." The woman smiled sympathetically, she was a kind person who mistook the little boy's rudeness for simple shyness. "I'll bring it to you right away."

When Mao left the room Sanjuro realized he wasn't alone; the girl he met outside was sitting on a small table, swinging her legs in the air while eating a rice ball. "What happened to your toe?"

"Huh." Sanjuro looked at his right foot, where a nasty cut ran across his big toe. He turned his face to the side, playing it down. "A vase slipped out of my hands and crushed it a while ago."

"It must hurt." Chie stared at the finger that was beginning to turn purple. She suddenly started to lose her appetite.

"Of course not." He gave a boastful chuckle. "A child like you may cry, but for the son of a Tyokushin Ryu style instructor this is just a scratch."

"Your dad is an instructor of what...?" She smiled, taking another bite of her rice ball.

Sanjuro snorted upon discovering the little girl's ignorance and stood on his tiptoes over the counter, itching to get out of there any way he could. "Is the rice ready, Mao-san?"

The woman arrived with a burlap bag that could easily carry six pounds of weight inside. "Are you sure you can handle this on your own? It's huge!"

"No problem." He expressionlessly accepted the bag and was ready to leave the shop when he noticed that Chie threw the remains of her food into his pocket before fleeing into the courtyard in a fit of giggles. "Whoa...! What's that brat doing?!"

Mrs. Mao laughed even harder than her daughter when she witnessed the scene, and it took her some time to catch her breath. "She did it because you're hurt," she said without letting the smile fade from her face. "I usually tell her that a little food can soothe even the strongest pain."

Winter, February 4, 1852. Two years later.

Sanjuro was already used to living in his new family's house. During that particular winter he'd managed to earn the right to sleep in the same room as the rest of the house's inhabitants, a sign that the adoption process was nearing completion.

Those were two difficult years, but his relatives seemed to be satisfied with his company. Sanjuro was the eldest child in the house, Mantaro was two years younger, and little Masatake was just a baby. If things went on like this he would someday become the heir to the Bicchu Matsuyama clan.

For someone born in a simple peasant's house... that was an honor he never thought he'd have the chance to know.

"Good afternoon, Izanagi-san," the boy greeted as he walked into the Mao Inn. "I come to-"

"Oh, Sanjuro!" The owner of the place gave him a nervous glance as he struggled to hold a sack of potatoes that had scattered on the floor after tearing over the entrance. "You're just in time! Can you take my girls into the house? They went outside to play and I think it's starting to snow!"

"Since when did I become a babysitter?" He headed for the yard, shuffling his feet with every step he took. "I just came to bring the duster you lent my mother back..."

Little Chie's face lit up as she saw him approaching. She was sitting on a stone bench with her face hidden under a thick scarf and her hands trembling from holding for too long onto an old, heavy book she never seemed to grow tired of reading. "Sanjuro-san!"

"You're at it again," he muttered when he stopped in front of her. "I bet you want me to-"

"To read it to me, yes!"

Sanjuro rolled his eyes. "Didn't you already know how to read?" He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at Kohana, the family's youngest daughter, who was madly happy to dip her hands into the cold snow over and over again.

"Of course I know," Chie continued, "but if Sanjuro-san reads them I can close my eyes to picture how the things that happen in the story look."

He rested the huge duster on his shoulder, too annoyed to accept the new task she forced on him. "You're so spoiled, I don't have so much free time as to-"

"Oh!" Chie let out a high-pitched laugh. "In that pose... you look like you're carrying a sword on your shoulder!"

This seemed to flatter Sanjuro, who placed the duster between his index and middle fingers to twirl it skillfully between them. "Oh, yeah? I bet I could do this with a sword too."

"You look like a Yasha!" cried the girl as she opened her book to a page she knew by heart. "Bishamonten's Divine Warriors!"

Sanjuro glanced sideways at her, too busy keeping up his swordsman role to pay attention to her. "I've never heard of those..."

"Oh!" Chie pouted. "Of course you have! You read me that chapter a few months ago! When I was sick, remember?!"

"Bah, you're always sick."

"Don't say that..." She looked at the book's pages for a moment. They spoke about the countless battles that the Yasha, tireless fighters under the command of Bishamonten (one of the Four Kings of Heaven), faced since the beginning of time.

There were kind Yasha... as well as evil ones, so their combat skills benefited both clans with pure-hearted members and those who only desired power. They were mighty warriors, skilled sorcerers, and illusionists. They could take on so many different physical forms that many believed they didn't possess an original shape in the first place.

Some of the Yasha were said to be fond of ingesting both the blood and flesh of others. This made their eagerness to engage in numerous battles have a much darker meaning than this secretive race claimed to possess.

Despite all the darkness that surrounded them, a few Yasha would rise above their twisted nature to become heroes. It was far from common, as the vast majority succumbed to sadistic bloodlust before they could even conceive the drive to do good within their hearts... most of them were born and died to evil.

And that gave greater merit to those who fought against the worst enemy they could face; themselves.

Spring, May 17, 1855. Three years later.

His best friend had turned ten and was happy to be able to tie her hair up and wear an obi around her new furisode kimono; the first one with sleeves so long they had to be folded around her forearm to keep them from dragging. It was a flirtatious detail that signaled she would soon come of age.

None of this pleased Sanjuro.

The boy had dropped by the inn for no reason and Chie had been talking for a while about how exciting would be to fall in love and get married someday. Girlish nonsense, nothing more. "You'll become an old woman," he spat as he went through the items on the inn's shelves, "and your children will kick you out to the road, you'll see."

"Oh!" Chie's mouth dropped open an inch. "That's not true! I'm still a young lady!"

"A runt, that's what you are." He couldn't help but grimace from thinking he was being more honest than he usually allowed himself to be. Why couldn't he stop speaking his mind when in the company of his best friend? "You're going too fast with all of this... you'll end up becoming a phony like everyone else."

"A phony." Chie frowned and crossed her small arms over her chest. "Mom married Dad at fourteen, and I'll turn the same age soon."

Sanjuro gave her a mocking look. "And do you really think anyone would want to kiss that face full of freckles and snot?"

He expected the girl to shriek as usual, but her reaction surprised him. Chie blushed, turned her back to him, and sighed softly. "At least you could take care of your own looks before criticizing mine..." she muttered in a voice that quivered in her throat.

Tani Sanjuro couldn't have been more confused. Guess Chie was sick again, she always acted strange before getting ill.

Autumn, September 29, 1858. Three years later.

Mantaro stood between the house's exit and his older brother, who watched him with a smug expression while his wrists rested on his sword's hilt. "May I know where you're headed, Sanjuro?"

The older (who had just turned sixteen) couldn't have smiled in a cockier way. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Mantaro-kun."

"I know exactly what you're going to do at the inn." He frowned as he seldom did. "Her mother is really sick, I've seen her. We all know she doesn't have long to go. The last thing Chie-san needs is for you to be rude to her."

Sanjuro pursed his lips in a disgusted grimace. "I don't intend to be rude. I'll just leave my childhood behind as tradition demands. The Bicchu Matsuyama clan needs people who can put their feelings aside for the sake of national welfare." He glared at him with contempt. "If I wanted to be empathetic, I would've gone into medicine like you."

He left the place without listening to his stepbrother's pleas. He had made his decision long ago and nothing or no one would stand between him and his longed-for destiny.

He would be a worthy warrior. Whatever the cost.

Mao Inn was slowly fading away, as if withering at the same pace of the remaining strength of the woman who gave it its name in the first place.

Doctors couldn't pinpoint the cause of her illness, for the only visible symptoms were a crippling fatigue paired with the paleness of a ghost brought to life. Mrs. Mao was a porcelain statue sinking deeper and deeper into the damp futon she'd inhabited for months.

When he arrived at the place he spotted Chie standing behind the counter with a somber expression. The place was empty and the dry leaves that piled up in heaps in the garden drifted whimsically into the living room. The rest of the family must have been keeping Mao-san company. She didn't have many days left before departing.

Sanjuro stopped at the front door frame, watching her from afar with marked haughtiness. "Hey, will I get a discount for being the only customer of the week?"

"Sanjuro!" Chie (now thirteen years old) rushed to meet him with an ear-to-ear grin. She looked like a castaway who had just spotted an island in the middle of a storm.

"It'll be Tani from now on."

"Tani?" She blinked, pausing in place. The newcomer pointed to the steel sword (with his family's emblem engraved on the hilt) resting at his waist and Chie's eyes lit up in response. "May the Oni take me away! No way! They finally gave you the clan sword!" She stood on her tiptoes as she extended her fingertips toward the weapon. "I have to see it!"

"No." Sanjuro's face hardened.

"Oh... right!" Chie stepped back, running a hand over the back of her neck when she realized how impulsive her behavior was. "No one should touch a warrior's weapon without permission..."

"Especially a peasant girl."

A tomb-like silence fell between the two. He noticed the enthusiasm fade from his best friend's face as he explained that it wasn't proper for a member of the Bicchu Matsuyama clan to hang out with a woman who only spoke of imaginary monsters and mediocre customer gossip.

He went on to list the benefits that becoming part of the Matsuyama household would bring him, opportunities he would miss should he keep associating with members of a lower caste than his own.

Chie remained silent, taking in his words as she felt her heart break somewhere in her chest. However, she smiled when her friend, the one who was now saying goodbye to her, finished his long, painful speech. "Sanj- I mean... Tani," she muttered as she made a curt bow, trying to keep her voice from cracking as she spoke. "I wish you... I wish you the best... luck in the world! Make us proud!"

That wasn't the last time he saw Miss Furukawa Chie before she, and what was left of her family, left for Kyoto. Sanjuro stopped by the inn several times after Mao-san's death and always found Chie in the same spot:

Sitting on the stone bench that flanked the huge cottage from the time of its construction, her flowing hair falling over her face as lifelessly as the willow branches that towered over the garden, holding onto the old book she worshipped... the one Furukawa Mao wrote with her own hands.

But Sanjuro never let himself be seen. He always left with the same discretion with which he'd arrived, and eventually the only thing that bore witness to his childhood was an old sign that read "Mao", hanging on the wall of an abandoned inn.

Summer, August 13, 1868. Present time.

His mind left the memories of the past behind, naggingly returning to the present he loathed. He couldn't take his eyes away from the sign that was now covered in mold and dirt. The kanji that formed the deceased's name was only visible to those who remembered what was originally written in red ink.

"I guess everything was as it should be, huh, Chie-chan?" he muttered to himself with a bitter smile as he gently drummed his fingertips on his spear's sharp edge. "I made my move, you made yours... and fate wanted that good-for-nothing jerk to be in the middle of it. I tried to make him see he had nothing to do with us, that he couldn't even grasp what we were... I really tried! But he refused to listen."

He stood up reluctantly, feeling a sting in his throat whose meaning he was getting tired of denying. "I look like the bad guy... but I always make that impression at first. It's been many years, I don't blame you. Maybe you need to get to know me again." He smiled at his reflection in his weapon's steel. If there was one thing he never accepted, it was defeat, and he had conceded enough during the years he was chained to the Shinsengumi.

Chie was confused. Everyone tugged at her as if she was a puppet with strings made of the finest gold. They all wanted her to think like them, act like them, feel like them!

Tani Sanjuro was done with it. He played by the rules for five long years, being what he never was to her, making amends for his mistakes, paying for his past sins. But the voices around her made her believe his affection wasn't genuine. They lied to her face without her being able to realize it!

It was only a matter of silencing them, of making sure that the hateful sounds uttered by those who wanted to separate them didn't reach the ears of the one who forgot the great friendship that linked them together.

"Childhood friends..." he whispered as he fixed his eyes on the abandoned inn with a passionate gleam in his eyes, "...are forever, Chie-chan."

Author's note:

I hope this prologue has sparked your interest! In the next update, the events that took place five years before the last section of this chapter will begin; those that triggered the chain of incidents that led to Tani Sanjuro's sinister change. A grown-up Chie will show up and the story will advance linearly until reaching this decisive point.

I'd love to know what you think of the fic! I look forward to your valuable comments and support. Thanks a million for reading!