After what felt like days of insufferable inanity, they arrived at the base camp, each of them intact and somehow unmurdered. Yukimura, beautifully and appropriately feminine in a rich red-and-gold kimono, greeted them outside a little tent.

"Tōshirō-san," she said, eyes wide, "is this your Katsura?"

"Unfortunately, yes." She remained quiet, and while she wouldn't quite look at him, it was only when Zura caught her checking him out that her gaze averted. "Yukimura," Tōshirō cooed.

"You've done very well, Katsura-san," she said loudly, snatching his wrist and leading him inside.

"I'm judging you right now," said Tōshirō as he ducked inside.

She very pointedly ignored him as she turned Zura this way and that, admiring his obi. "I can't believe you managed this yourself."

"Practice makes perfect."

Yukimura tilted her head. "But I'm afraid this won't do."

"What? Why not?"

"Here." She started tugging at strings, carefully unworking the bundle of cloth at his back. "We have to tie them in front to be convincing as oiran. I'll do it for you."

"Smooth," Tōshirō muttered.

Zura swayed as Yukimura cinched and pulled and squeezed, and a blush surfaced on his cheeks. "You're embarrassing me."

"For crying out loud, Zura."

"Quiet," he snapped, "I'm getting into character."

For several silent minutes Susumu helped Sougo into his getup, while Tōshirō watched Yukimura fix an elaborate bow on Zura's front. "Where did you learn to tie obi like that? Looks like you know what you're doing."

"A very hurried lesson from Kimigiku," she said, pulling taut the final knot. "It's still fresh, I haven't had time to forget it yet."

"Is that your princess friend?"

"No, Kimigiku is her shinobi."

Tōshirō glanced with narrowed eyes at Susumu, who frowned back as he ran a string around Sougo's middle.

"In all honesty, she should be running this operation," Yukimura continued. "But she's quite busy with another mission. I was lucky to at least receive this skill after she dressed me." She slipped the tie from Zura's hair and began combing with her fingers. "Your hair is so lovely, Katsura-san."

"Oh, stop." He clicked his tongue. "Go on."

"I actually am quite jealous," she said, sweeping it up atop his head, "it's so fine and glossy."

"You wouldn't believe what I spend on conditioner." He glared as Yamazaki produced a mini notepad from his sleeve and scribbled something down.

Tōshirō frowned. "Sharp detective work, kid."

"Oh my god, you do know I'm older than you guys, right?"

"Since when."

"Since always! Do you see how narrow my eyes are drawn?"

Yukimura wore a puzzled expression as she secured Zura's hair into a bun with several decorative combs and long pins, the dangly kind with strings of flowers and tiny bells. "Conditioner . . . is that some kind of hair tonic?"

Zura returned the look, and Tōshirō was about to explain the (what he thought was obvious) fact that they didn't have super advanced hair care technology—but Zura surprised him with an equally dense reason. "I forgot, you're a boy."

"Yukimura's a girl, Zura."

"It's not Zura—it's Zurako."

Tōshirō rolled his eyes.

"But this person was dressed like a boy before. Right?"

"Doesn't mean she wants to. She has to, so she can stay here. And who are you to say boys can't be interested in conditioner?"

"Me? Please. I'm no boy—I'm the master of nonbinary gender. And unlocking. Sex and gender are not mutually inclusive, thank you."

"Wow. That's the smartest thing I ever have heard—and probably ever will hear—you say."

"I have my niche areas of expertise."

"Is that why you find Yagyū so threatening?" asked Yamazaki.

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Katsura-san!"

He sucked in a breath. "I knew it, I'm supposed to know you. I really am sorry—I feel bad. You just have one of those faces."

"Yeah. . . . It's probably for the best that you don't remember, anyway."

"Ah, yes, so they say. What do they say? Innocent bliss?" He pinched his chin. "Immaculate bliss."

Tōshirō clenched his jaw. "Ignorant, you—"

"Immaculate blindness."

"Katsura. . . ."

"Still, I suppose I've learned something valuable today: always ask about preferred pronouns. Though it's really only an issue in English."

"Yukimura-kun," said Susumu. "Your turn." He pushed Sougo forward, having completed what he could—a bright red juban mostly concealed by the muted pastels of a hollyhock-patterned kimono. It wasn't as rich as Yukimura's gilded affair, but he'd look a bit less conspicuous in comparison.

"I'm not sure what we'll do with your hair," she said.

Sougo motioned to Yamazaki, who was just impossibly well-prepared and provided him with a rubber band. Sougo pinched a small lock of hair at one side of his forehead and tied it off like a little sprig of grass, then looked to Yukimura as if he had settled the matter. She let out an I give up sigh as she unfolded an obi, its pattern shining in silver with wisteria flowers.

"How fetching, Sougo. May's colors really complement your eyes."

"No way am I wearing that."

"You can't have it all, Sougo-kun," Yukimura said, her tone low and patient. "You'll already have your sword. Either you wear an ornate obi, or we find a way to fix ornaments in your hair."

"That's probably not even possible."

"I would figure something out for you, if that's what you choose. If not both, it's one or the other. We need this to work—this is all for your kyokuchou, remember?" He hesitated before tipping his head toward the obi.

Damn. No wonder Toshizō needs her. "Don't worry that your shinobi friend couldn't help out, Yukimura-chan. I'd call you overqualified for this mission."

All that remained was the actual doing. With the exception of Yukimura, everyone involved could manage their own safety, so as they hit the road for the final time, Tōshirō tried not to think about how much of the plan still relied on improvisation. Details, details indeed.

When the distant glow of torchlight bloomed, Yukimura, Sougo, and Zura continued at pace while Tōshirō and the Yamazakis forged a wooded path ahead of them. Tōshirō would have had his faction split up if he had the numbers, but it was unfeasible with an odd man out. So the three of them huddled together at some distance to one side of the gate, where four guards stood watch—two with spears, two with swords. They were a motley bunch for a first line of defense, nothing Sougo couldn't handle. In his sleep.

The guards tensed as the disguised faction rounded a curve in the road, and one of the swordsmen shouted, "Identify yourselves."

Yukimura did not adjust her speed, but calmly approached until they were close enough to speak at a conversational volume. "We are but humble entertainers," she said in that perfect oiran accent, stiff and lilting. Her boldness put them on edge, but her frankness was somewhat comforting so they weren't attacking.

The swordsman stepped in front of his three companions, hand on his hilts. "No palanquins? Or even rickshaws? Did you walk all the way here?"

"Of course not," said Yukimura. "We only walked this last short stretch."

"Why?"

"So as not to further raise your suspicions. Vehicles conceal more than just their riders." Tōshirō's jaw dropped, and Susumu smirked with pride at his friend's wit.

"Sure, but you guys are . . . not really—uh—"

Yukimura smiled graciously, held up a hand. "If you find my companions' appearances strange, it is only because they are not meant for you."

"What is she talking about?" whispered Yamazaki.

Tōshirō shook his head. "I think she's got this."

"We are here to visit Kondō Isami," Yukimura announced, bowing to the bewildered guards. "We have been called upon as a gesture of good will toward the captive in his last days. We were told that he has some unique tastes, so—" she held palms open to the glittering men behind her—"here we are."

She's a damn genius! The implications weren't exactly flattering, but hell, at least it was Isami who would have to deal with the fallout if word got around.

"Who asked you to come?" asked the dumpiest of the guards.

Yukimura flicked open a hand fan, pressed it to her prim smile. "The most generous deeds go unrecognized, isn't that right?"

"That's an order, madam."

"Ah, what poor business that would be! I mustn't reveal the name of a client who wishes to remain anonymous."

One of the spear guys was peering at Sougo's katana. "Are we really supposed to believe you people are oiran, coming here with weapons like that?"

"Some men like pain," Sougo answered, of course without altering his voice at all. "I administer it."

"Why did I even bother worrying about the clothes," Tōshirō muttered. Susumu punched his arm. "Ow."

"Quiet."

"Sorry."

"Please," Yukimura said with a pleasant bow, "feel free to speak with your superiors. Though my client may very well wish not to identify himself, I understand that our presence unsettles you. I beg you also consider my position. It is an honorable thing we have been asked to do. It would be a great shame for us to defy our orders, and to disrespect the wishes of your wise administrators. Oh!—my, my. I hope I haven't said too much. . . ."

She even knows when to relent. Just like that, she had passed control to her allies, letting them know that if the guards made the wrong choice now, she was through with talking.

They didn't act right away, and the conversation became difficult to hear as Yukimura's voice dropped to a more soothing volume. Seemed like the more desperate things became, she dialed it back with equivalent serenity. How many times is that now she's saved this stupid operation?

To his right Tōshirō heard a sword being drawn—Yamazaki's—and instinctively drew his own. When Susumu punched him again he said, "Cool it, please?"

"It's Hijikata-fukuchou."

"Huh?"

Just behind him there was one of those distinctive tongue-click/growl sequences. "Sheathe your weapon, imbecile."

"What the hell are you doing here, I thought you were too busy to lift a finger for me when my kyokuchou laid his life down for yours."

"Now who's throwing shade? I'm here, aren't I?"

"Shut up, you don't know what throwing shade means."

"I determined that I could spare half an evening assisting you. Appreciate it."

"Fukuchou," said Susumu, "you aren't here for their sake, are you, sir."

"That didn't seem to be a question."

"It was not."

"Fine. Whatever, I'm the worst person, can we shut up now? They'll h—wait, is that Katsura?" Tōshirō's only response was a mournful sigh. "He's . . . ample."

"His chest? I didn't ask. His 'female' voice is poor, if we're underexaggerating. But at least he's a looker. Prettiest woman in the whole damn show, to be perfectly honest."

"Tōshirō-kun."

"Yes, Toshizō-kun?"

"Are things like this all the time in your world?"

He shrugged. "You get used to it."

"I assume Yukimura assembled his hair."

Tōshirō gave him a sidelong glance. "Why? Wishing you hadn't cut all yours off?"

"Shut up."

"You're squirming, Toshizō."

"You all are staring at me."

"We could still doll you up."

"While I do so appreciate the offer I will not ever be dressing as a woman."

"Didn't hurt Tamaki's chances. You watch yourself, I think Yukimura has the hots for him."

"I don't even know who Tamaki is."

"You moron, I meant Katsura."

"You cannot be serious."

"I can corroborate," said Susumu. "When they arrived at the camp, she began stripping him almost immediately."

"I don't know whether to believe you anymore." Susumu shrugged. "Oh, now he shuts up? I will not hesitate to cut you."

"Fortunately I can take that chance."

Tōshirō snorted out a laugh. "Remember, this is a monster of your own making, Toshizō-kun."

"I've had enough of both of you. Let's split up."

"Fine, good, do it. Have at 'er. You and Zaki take the secret eastern route in, me and Susumu will tail them from here, put down any suspicion."

"I don't think so. I'm tailing the infiltrators."

"I can't have you Eating the Eye Candy, no fucking way. Don't look at me like that. Steam coming out of your ears. Fuck off."

"Tōshirō-san." Susumu nodded toward the infiltrators as they were guided through the gate.

"We'll take it from here, Toshizō. You bring me the guy, I protect the girl." He didn't look happy about it, but there was a certain logic in being assigned the jobs they were less emotionally invested in. Tōshirō laid a reassuring hand on the guy's shoulder. "Promise."

"If you'd like to smoke," said Susumu, "this may be a good time."

The team had just arrived at a checkpoint, escorted by two of the guards from the gate. (Tōshirō and Susumu had quietly dispatched the other two and pilfered their light armor.) "I appreciate it, but I'm not messing with that flint crap right now." Despite their efforts to play him down Sougo still came off as blatantly dangerous—and yet regardless of her dubious company, Yukimura's presence dulled the danger. She was obviously not a fighter and looked more like a liability than a threat. (Which. Well.) So they had a chance of fooling them yet. "We ought to try to replace those guys leading them—what is all that noise, Susumu?"

When a flame was struck to life at the end of a match, Tōshirō fumbled to isolate one of his hand-rolled cigarettes and leaned into the light. "Ungh, you're a god." He breathed in smoke the way lesser men might breathe fresh mountain air. "But—I thought you guys didn't have matches."

Susumu extinguished the match with a little shake. "I borrowed a few from Okita-san when I visited him last."

"Souji has matches? Where'd he—wait. Doesn't that just mean you stole them? You stole matches from a dying man, are you sure that's okay?"

"He has greater concerns than a few missing splinters."

"Man. We are a bad influence on you."

"Do you steal many matches?"

"I mean this smartassery you've got now."

He shrugged. "It was latent."

"Well, it suits you. But I'm glad I don't have to deal with it much longer, I've got enough to handle as it is." In the distance, Yukimura was making impressive use of her hand fan as she explained the situation again. "She's pretty good." It was worrisome that the guards had stopped to confer with superiors, rather than just leading them to Kondō. It was a miracle they were on the premises at all, Tōshirō had to keep reminding himself of that. He really couldn't have expected anything more, but it was nerve-wracking, being equidistant from both success and failure.

"Tōshirō-san. . . ."

"What's up?"

"Do you think . . . if Okita-san were sent back with your men. . . ."

He felt a single palpitation in his chest, hard and round like a stone.

Susumu shrugged to mask how important this request was to him. "You seemed disappointed in our medical treatments when Kondō-kyokuchou was shot."

"Sure, but some things . . . we're not as all-powerful as you might think. We can't fix everything."

"So his illness . . . it's still incurable where you come from?"

"No, but it has to be caught early. Even when it is. . . ."

"People still die of it."

"Yeah." Tōshirō suppressed a chill. The stone in his chest was heavy and cold. "They do."

Susumu nodded, gaze drawn to the infiltrators as they were guided back to the path. "That is unfortunate."

"Yeah. It is." Tōshirō shifted from his knees to his feet. "Let's go."

But Susumu wasn't budging. "The prison cells are that way."

"Yeah, genius, they're taking them to Kondō-san."

"But he's not being held in the common prison."

"What?"

"That's why we could never pinpoint his location."

White noise popped and hissed as a garbled voice attempted radio communication, and Tōshirō dropped his cigarette as he struggled to find the volume dial. "Could this please get worse right now."

"From the right," Susumu warned, "two of them."

And there they were, a pair of guards with ears pricked, wandering toward the sound with cautious steps. "That was rhetorical, you know."

"Quickly."

"Trying!"

"Just tell him to stop."

"My voice won't go through when he's holding the talk button. Ah, I could switch channels—"

"I won't pretend to understand, but do hurry."

"Give me a break, I lost my placebo—" Tōshirō looked down to where his foot hovered over the cigarette in the smoldering leaf litter. "Hey, Susumu . . . would you characterize this as having been a dry spring?"

"Somewhat."

"And do you have more matches."

The little twitch at the corner of his mouth said that he did.

Tōshirō kept his eyes on the infiltrators as Susumu began setting matches to the brush. The nearby guards were mostly dumb enough to approach by themselves; the two of them had taken out five or six men by the time a fire really caught. Ahead of them, Sougo was smart enough to go to town on the enemies within his reach.

A more heavily armored guard was on the path running toward the checkpoint, and Tōshirō booked after him, hoping they'd lifted enough pieces of armor to pass as allies. "Bodies in the woods, sir," he said, breathless as Susumu jogged up behind him.

"Already? How long ago did this fire break out?"

He shook his head, hands on his knees as he feigned heaving like a marathon runner on mile twenty-five. "Weapon wounds."

"Damn it—there's commotion at the western checkpoint too. And after I told that asshole we needed to clear more land. . . ."

West . . . ? "Is the prisoner still accounted for?" Tōshirō asked, dramatically wiping at his brow with an arm.

"Yes. Some of us are just being told to abandon ship, so the higher-ups must mean to let him burn."

"Is that safe, sir? Couldn't he just escape?"

"I don't ask questions. Neither should you."

Tōshirō shrugged as Susumu buried a kunai in the guy's back. "Oh—oh shit, wait, you said not to ask questions," Tōshirō said as he crouched before the collapsed guard. "Not just keep my mouth shut in general."

"You bastards. . . ."

"Tell us where he is and we end it fast."

"I don't know where—"

"No fucking lies. Spill it."

"Fuck you."

Susumu pinned the man belly-down and slashed through his ankles with a dagger before dropping it before him. "Do it yourself, then. We don't have time for this." He turned on his heel back toward the checkpoint, leaving Tōshirō with mouth agape and running to catch up. "Maybe they have better intel now."

"That was unexpectedly brutal."

"We couldn't have him chasing us. I only followed your lead."

"Yeah, but . . . damn, psycho."

"I'm just getting restless. We need to keep moving so we can get out of here."

Loud and clear. "Then let's fetch the ladies."

Tōshirō figured Sougo would claim his chance to pretend they were well-disguised enough not to recognize him, so when he lunged, Tōshirō was fully prepared to smash his hands with the back of his blade. "Not today, satan."

Sougo massaged his knuckles. "Where's Zaki? You didn't get him killed, did you?"

"He's with your precious danna somewhere."

Yukimura went stiff as a board. "Hijikata-san is here?"

"Don't sweat it, kid, you look great." Since Kondō-san's captors weren't even bothering with him anymore, the structures closest to the fire seemed the best places to start looking for him. But there still remained two unaccounted-for allies. "Man, I really hope they're stupid enough to have gone the wrong way. . . ."

"They could not have made it to the opposite end of the complex already," said Susumu.

"You guys have time estimates and everything, don't you?"

He frowned. "So what's going on at the west side?"

"Not our problem. Their attention is divided, that's good enough for now."

"I've got a bad feeling about it. It may very well—"

"Forget it. We'll deal with it once it's kicking us in the ass, no sooner."

He looked to Yukimura, worrying her bottom lip with the same concern. But Susumu decided to defer to Tōshirō's authority with a curt and somber, "Understood," which somehow made him less confident in his own authority.

They began their search with the largest building between the checkpoint and the fire. "The administrative tier often gathers here for meetings," said Susumu. "There may yet be someone around."

"Just try not to force anyone into seppuku this time."

Susumu rolled his eyes, but as soon as they stepped inside, time stopped.

There was one guard, alone. Standing in front of a door.

Tōshirō's guts felt like jelly. "Beat it," he said, hoarse with adrenaline.

The guard stood up straighter, stuck his chin in the air. "I wasn't ordered to kill him, but I intend to make sure the prisoner doesn't escape before he can die."

So then there was now a single obstacle separating them and Kondō. And Sougo had him at swordpoint. "You have exactly one chance to hand over your weapon," Tōshirō said.

"You damn wolves will never—"

Then that swordpoint was sticking out the back of his neck.

The guard gurgled a few breaths before falling to the floor as Sougo coldly observed. He shook the hair away from his eyes, flicked the blood from his blade, and spat.

"Sougo. What the hell."

He bent down and liberated the guard's sword from his death-grip. "Right trigger to Renegade."

"You don't even have a left trigger, do you?"

"Slug a reporter, electrocute a batarian merc—can't do that with a left trigger."

"Remind me. Never. To piss you off."

"That won't save you, Hijikata-san."

When he heard Susumu exhale slowly, he realized that the guard and Sougo and the walls and everything were splattered with his Berserk Button. "Goddamn it, Sougo—now we have this time bomb to worry about too."

"Felt great, though."

"It's fine," said Susumu, a hand pressed to his chest, "let's just go."

"Breathe through your mouth," Tōshirō said.

"I shall."

Unsure of the resistance they might yet meet on the other side, Tōshirō took a steadying breath, one hand on his hilt as he slid the door open.

Only to find himself face-to-face with a bound and gagged Toshizō.

"Oh fuck me, this is the VIP prisoner?" Further in the room, Yamazaki was wiggling and mumbling frantically through his own mouthful of cloth.

"Isn't this an interesting turn," said Sougo, still double-fisting swords as he crept close behind Toshizō. He leaned in to whisper, "How does it feel?"

"C'mon Sougo, I'm pissed off too, but would you lay off S-mode for at least the next four minutes?" It was a half-truth; the two were safe now, but with the realization that he could have lost them without even knowing it, anger was all that remained in place of a fear that Tōshirō had bypassed entirely.

And if it was the fukuchou they'd meant to let burn, then the kyokuchou could still be anywhere. Their focused search had just been exponentially broadened.

Sougo stepped back and sheathed his sword. "Nice of you to join us anyway."

"Yeah," said Toshizō as Zura kindly loosed the gag for him, while Susumu attended to Yamazaki. "Wouldn't be a very good crossover if my ass didn't show up in the climax."

"What did you just say?" Tōshirō sputtered.

"I could've lived without danna's ass showing up in the same sentence as climax."

"Grass not so green on the other side, Sougo?"

"I do prefer the enemy I know. But if that's his reasoning then he messed up, because honestly this thing is primarily a Gintama vehicle, plenty of readers are doing just fine with zero experience of his franchise—"

"Do you two mind, very much?"

"Yeah, I do," said Tōshirō, irrational fear spilling over again. "Were you guys just going to wait for us to find you?"

"In a sense."

"Fukuchou—"

"You got caught."

"Strategically," said Toshizō.

"You got caught."

"As I understand it, the complex is on fire—"

"Hijikata-san—"

"You're dodging the question."

"I didn't hear a question."

"And what if we hadn't found you? Was that supposed to be the price for saving Kondō-san?"

Toshizō wrinkled his nose, struck by Tōshirō's severity. "Now isn't the time. Let's just keep looking."

"Guys!" Yamazaki's face was Corvette red, practically stamping his foot as he waved them toward the doorway. "I'm trying to tell you I know where to go!"

"What?"

"Damn it, fukuchou, just shut up and follow me!"

"Wait, how did you—"

"What did I just say?!"

Tōshirō shook his head, aghast. "Yes sir, kansatsu-sama."

He led them across the complex—west, Tōshirō couldn't help but notice—toward a cluster of buildings apparently filled with small holding cells. Kondō hadn't been held there previously, but Yamazaki had overheard he was presently being moved there, so they might even catch him in transit. A cursory sweep of the cells revealed nothing, so they tore into a larger building nearby and worked down the halls, checking emptied rooms for signs of activity. It was eerie that there weren't even any guards around, though there was one room piled with them. He spent a wild half minute checking all their faces, but Kondō wasn't among the bodies. Tōshirō tried not to think about how the place would smell once the fire spread, and back in the hall he found Toshizō standing outside a closed door, just looking at it.

"Is he in there or not?"

"Well, there's a . . . kink."

"Of course there is."

"Again with this terminology, danna. . . ."

"Yamazaki," said Toshizō, orders suddenly issuing from full-blown boss mode, "take Yukimura back to headquarters."

"Fukuchou, if anyone is equipped to—"

"Now."

Tōshirō managed to muscle past him and saw Kondō on his knees, tied up but otherwise unconfined, if you weren't counting the lone swordsman keeping watch. "What's with this classy-looking jerk?" He was certainly no guard—armed but unarmored, and looking rather bored as he stood over Kondō with arms crossed. "What the hell is he waiting for?"

As if in slow motion Toshizō's hand was outstretched, but he couldn't catch Sougo as he slunk in without plan or warning.

The rest had no choice but to follow, weapons drawn, while the not-guard seemed no less unimpressed than before. "I expected resistance on this night." He drily nodded beyond the room to where the fire raged on, the distant sound of its heat like a breath, ebbing closer as the scent of green wood burning intensified. "But what a show. It's too bad your first squad captain couldn't join you."

"Stay out of this, Kazama."

"Wait—you know this asshole?"

Obviously vexed, Kazama's tone was now more deliberate, as if he were talking down to children. "I came for the commander of the Shinsengumi. Instead I've found the whole lot of you."

"What do you want with Kondō-san?" asked Toshizō.

"You know what I want. I thought he might fetch a decent price, as far as leverage goes. But imagine my surprise. . . ." His fingers pushed through Kondō's hair.

"Get your hands off of him."

"Oh? You seem quite determined to have him returned to you." He closed his hand and pulled, exposing Kondō's neck. "Considering he's an imposter."

This time Toshizō successfully grabbed Sougo before he could move. Attacking was Tōshirō's instinct as well, but the more they tempered the pace, the less chance Kazama had of dominating them.

So he sighed. "Well, just fucking great." He whipped out a cigarette, and with no means of lighting it, just set it between his lips. "We had to run into the King Crazy of this universe. He's got the same creepy drawl as ours, too." And instead of trying to conceal his movements, he openly drew his weapon and strolled right up to them, sword pointed at Kazama's hand. "This fucking day just keeps getting better."

"Toushi. . . ."

"I know you're disappointed. Save it."

"Your friends aren't too smart, fukuchou," said Kazama, title dripping with condescension. "They're testing my patience."

"Tōshirō, you really don't know what you're up against with this creature. This man is a demon—several times stronger than the furies. Let me handle—"

"Don't compare me to that filth."

"Enough," Tōshirō said, sword rattling in his hands. "I don't give a shit what you are, blondie—my best friend is about to be executed, I've had to put up with the most obnoxious allies of all time, I haven't had a proper smoke in months—contents are kinda under pressure so if you wouldn't mind taking that bolo tie and shoving it up your ass, that would be sincerely appreciated."

In a silent burst of flame the paper in the shōji began to disintegrate, opening the view to the eerily-lit chaos of the night outside. Tōshirō saw only a blur of movement and then Kazama was gone, having crossed the entire length of the room in an instant to attack Toshizō.

But judging from the baffled look on his face, he hadn't expected Sougo, who appeared in his path to press a blade to either side of his neck. "Actually, Hijikata-san—I'd call it more of a mayonnaise voice than a drawl." He made a slow, shallow slice along Kazama's neck—and the wound closed up right before their eyes. And then both of them. Fucking. Grinned. Yamazaki shuddered.

Tōshirō happily took this opportunity to free Kondō from his binds and slip the walkie into his sleeve. "It's off, but just in case." He pressed his cigarette against the smoldering shōji frame, because why not.

"Where'd that thing come from? Is that Katsura?"

"You missed a lot this past day."

"Kondō-san." Sougo tossed him the extra blade, clipping Tōshirō's hair as it flew across the room.

"Why you little—"

"Just get out of here."

Kazama raised his own sword to Sougo's chest. "You may regret giving up that handicap."

"You think you're fast?"

A line of blood blossomed on Sougo's sword arm at the same time Kazama turned to target Yamazaki—but Sougo's blade followed, blocking the path as his good arm clutched the bad one.

"Hijikata-dono." Zura nodded toward the door to the hallway, somehow still untouched by flames, as Kazama cut through the kimono at Sougo's calves.

Yeah. . . . Logically, this situation right here—it was the most ideal way this rescue could have gone. But after all this time, all this risk, was it really going to come down to this choice?

And why does the choice between Kondō and Sougo feel impossible?

A hand plopped heavy onto his shoulder, and his eyes lifted to see Kondō frowning with determination. All of us, or none at all.

But sometimes, Kondō was just plain wrong.

Tōshirō and Sougo locked eyes—and that was all they needed.

"Danna!"

Attention was on Sougo long enough for Toshizō to grab the sword from Kondō's hands and konk him unconscious with its guard. And with Kazama distracted, Tōshirō charged.

He was fully aware that a katana was right in the path of his thigh, but instead of dodging and exposing Sougo, he leaned into it—simultaneously keeping Kazama off his game, trapping his weapon, and FUCKING GODDAMN FUCK THAT HURTS—

"Oi, oi." Sougo was stumbling before the demon, blocking Yamazaki from stepping forward to fight. "Let's keep this fair."

Just keep standing, Tōshirō.

"Fair, you say." That must've tipped him off as to who their weakest link was; Yamazaki screamed as the demon grabbed his shoulders, crushing the bones there with nothing but his hands. "I'm afraid I don't know the word—"

He cast his eyes down to his belly, skewered on Sougo's blade as it appeared from behind. "As in, let's keep this between fellow evil blondes, shall we."

Kazama seemed somehow unaffected as he slipped forward off the blade and grasped Sougo's injured arm, catching the weapon as it tumbled from his hand. "You'll excuse me if I prefer my own," he said, stalking toward Tōshirō.

Just keep standing.

Kazama closed one hand around the sword still stuck in Tōshirō's thigh; the other was atop his head, and as he felt it start to squeeze his skull he roared and kneed Kazama square in the chin. The demon fell back and shook his hair, dazed as Tōshirō slid the FUCKING FUCK OW FUCK blade from his leg and hurled it across the floor to Sougo.

But Sougo's own wounds were taking their toll; he could barely keep the sword aloft, and blood-red peeked out from the gash near the hem of his kimono. Kazama apparated into position behind him, gently lowering Sougo's arms and reclaiming his weapon. "All after you were so prepared to let them walk," he said, sauntering around to face Sougo once more. "But I suppose it's in my favor that the Shinsengumi remains so married to principle." Sougo was somehow still standing, clutching Kazama's wrists to steady himself. "A shame that I have to kill you. You men have been interesting."

"Yeah?" Sougo said, panting. "You're almost as tough as a fourteen-year-old girl."

Of all people it was Zura pulling Sougo backwards, lamely kicking and just short of screaming. "Principle," Kazama scoffed as Zura ducked under Tōshirō's arm to keep him upright, dragging Sougo and nodding ferociously at Yamazaki to evacuate. "And to think, you were already so far behind the times in tactical warfare—"

Kazama stopped—and turned ghost-white as he looked at his wrists.

Which were handcuffed together.

And Zura, his ample bosom now half vacant, chucked something round—beeping—at Kazama's feet.