Disclaimer: I don't own any elements of Hakuouki. This story is written for pleasure, not for profit.
Author's note: This is the English version of my Spanish fanfic "Un amigo como tú" (first published in 2017). The fic features Toudou Heisuke, Furukawa Chie (OC), Tani Sanjuro (OC), Sannan Keisuke, Okita Souji, Furukawa Kohana (OC), Hijikata Toshizo, and Yukimura Chizuru as protagonists. You can also see Ibuki Ryunosuke, Kosuzu, Kazama Chikage, Sakamoto Ryoma, Takayama Ume (OC), Saito Hajime, and other Shinsengumi members in supporting roles.
This fanfic contains canon-divergent elements typical of an alternate universe. The circumstances that differ from the official storyline stem from my creative outlook 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.
Feel free to check out the "Hakuouki OCs" folder in my DeviantArt gallery for my artwork based on this fic!
Pairings: Toudou Heisuke/Furukawa Chie (OC), Okita Souji/Furukawa Kohana (OC), Hijikata Toshizo/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 in front of an old eating house and laid down his spear (which he used as a walking aid during the long hours of travel) 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 who would later become his best friend when his adoptive mother sent him to buy rice at the "Mao" restaurant.
The boy, of only ten years old, looked closely at the little girl playing with a ball outside the restaurant. 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 made his way to the restaurant. 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 that he had the aura of a villain, although it was known that Mantaro would have said anything to make him look like the bad guy... he was a pretty whiny kid.
"You must be Sanjuro, Sunae-san's new child," a blonde, freckled lady greeted him. She was carrying a tiny baby girl of only 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 some rice," he cut her off roughly, turning his back on her. Being called 'the new child' 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 realised that he wasn't alone; the girl he had met outside was sitting on a small table, her legs swinging in the air as she ate 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 starting to turn purple. Suddenly, she began 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 and continued to bite into her rice ball.
Sanjuro snorted at 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 hold six pounds of weight. "Are you sure you can handle this alone? It's huge!"
"No problem." He accepted the bag with a blank expression and was about to leave the shop when he noticed that Chie had tossed the rest of her food into his bag 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, still smiling. "I usually tell her that a little food can ease even the worst 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 others, signaling 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 oldest child in the house, Mantaro was two years younger, and little Masatake was still a baby. If things continued like this, he would one day become the heir of 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 Restaurant. "I come to-"
"Oh, Sanjuro!" The owner of the place gave him a nervous look as he struggled to hold a sack of potatoes that had scattered across the floor after being knocked over the entrance. "You're just in time! Can you bring my girls inside? They've gone outside to play and I think it's starting to snow!"
"When did I become a babysitter?" He walked into the yard, shuffling his feet with each step. "I just came to return the duster you lent my mother..."
Little Chie's face lit up as she saw him approach. She was sitting on a stone bench, her face hidden under a thick scarf and her hands shaking from holding on too long to an old, heavy book she never seemed to get tired of reading. "Sanjuro-san!"
"You're at it again," he muttered as 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 when Sanjuro-san reads them, I can close my eyes to picture how the things that happen in the story look like."
He rested the huge duster on his shoulder, too annoyed to accept the new task she had forced upon him. "You're so spoiled, I don't have as much free time as-"
"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, twirling it skilfully between them. "Oh, yeah? I bet I could do this with a sword too."
"You look like a Yasha!" the girl exclaimed as she opened her book to a page she knew by heart. "Bishamonten's Divine Warriors!"
Sanjuro glanced sideways at her, too preoccupied with his role as swordsman to pay any attention to her. "I've never heard of them..."
"Oh!" Chie pouted. "Of course you have! You read that chapter to me a few months ago! When I was sick, remember?!"
"Bah, you're always sick."
"Don't say that..." She looked at the pages of the book for a moment. They spoke of the countless battles the Yasha, tireless fighters under the command of Bishamonten (one of the Four Kings of Heaven), had fought since the beginning of time.
There were kind Yasha... as well as evil ones, so their fighting skills benefited both pure-hearted clans as those who only sought power. They were powerful warriors, skilled sorcerers, and illusionists. They could take on so many different physical forms that many believed they didn't have an original form in the first place.
Some of the Yasha were said to be fond of consuming the blood and flesh of others. This gave their eagerness to engage in numerous battles a much darker meaning than this mysterious race claimed to possess.
Despite the darkness that surrounded them, a few Yasha would rise above their twisted nature and 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 in their hearts... most of them were born and died for 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 restaurant for no reason and Chie had been talking for a while about how exciting it would be to fall in love and get married one day. Girlish nonsense, nothing more. "You're going to be an old woman," he spat as he went through the items on the restaurant's shelves, "and your children will kick you out onto the street, 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 at the thought of being more honest than he usually allowed himself to be. Why couldn't he stop speaking his mind in the company of his best friend? "You're going too fast with all this... you'll end up being 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 be 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. "You could at least take care of your own appearance before criticizing mine..." she muttered, her voice quivering in her throat.
Tani Sanjuro couldn't have been more confused. Chie must be sick again, she always acted weird 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, his wrists resting on the hilt of his sword. "May I ask where you're going, Sanjuro?"
The older one (who had just turned sixteen) couldn't have smiled more cockily. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Mantaro-kun."
"I know exactly what you're going to do at the restaurant." 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'm just leaving 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 without listening to his stepbrother's pleas. He had made his decision long ago, and nothing and no one would stand between him and his chosen destiny.
He would be a worthy warrior. Whatever the cost.
The Mao Restaurant slowly faded away, as if withering at the same pace as the remaining strength of the woman who had given it its name in the first place.
Doctors couldn't pinpoint the cause of her illness, for the only visible symptoms were crippling fatigue paired with the paleness of a ghost brought back 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 saw Chie standing behind the counter with a gloomy expression on her face. The place was empty, and the dry leaves that had piled up in the garden were drifting whimsically into the foyer. The rest of the family must have been keeping Mao-san company. She didn't have many days left before her departure.
Sanjuro paused at the door frame and watched her from a distance with a distinct haughtiness. "Hey, do I get a discount for being the only customer this 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 crest engraved on the hilt) that rested 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 reached her fingertips towards 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 had been. "No one should touch a warrior's weapon without permission..."
"Especially a peasant girl."
A tomb-like silence fell between them. He noticed the enthusiasm fading 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 talked about 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 if he continued to associate 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, 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 restaurant several times after Mao-san's death and always found Chie in the same spot:
Sitting on the stone bench that had 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 had written 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 restaurant.
Summer, August 13, 1868. Present time.
His mind left the memories of the past behind, returning grudgingly to the present he loathed. He couldn't take his eyes off the sign, now covered in mold and dirt. The kanji that made up the deceased's name was only visible to those who remembered what had originally been written in red ink.
"I guess it was all meant to be, huh, Chie-chan?" he muttered to himself with a bitter smile as he gently drummed his fingertips on the sharp edge of his spear. "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 that he had nothing to do with us, that he couldn't even comprehend 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 the steel of his weapon. 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. All of them were pulling at her as if she were 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 that. He had played by the rules for five long years, being what he had never been 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 had forgotten the great friendship that bound them together.
"Childhood friends..." he whispered as he fixed his eyes on the abandoned restaurant with a passionate glow in his eyes, "...are forever, Chie-chan."
Author's note:
I hope this prologue has piqued your interest! In the next update, the events that took place five years prior to 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 progress linearly until it reaches this crucial 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!
