"If it cannot hatch from its shell, the chick will die without ever truly being born. We are the chick; the world is our egg. If we don't break the world's shell, we will die without truly being born. Smash the world's shell, for the Revolution of the World."

(Utena Tenjou, Revolutionary Girl Utena)

Rurouni Yahiko

A Rurouni Kenshin Continuation fic
by Chester Castañeda

Chicken? Chicken.

Disclaimer: All characters used in this fanfic (save some others) are the rightful property of Nobuhiro Watsuki and Sony. Don't sue me please, I'm very poor.

Chapter 10: The Peculiar Cockfight

As they cut through the passages, Kamishimoemon began to speak. "What's the playing field look like nowadays? I haven't been keeping up with the cockfighting scene save for looking up who's the current champion from time to time."

"It's pretty dull compared to cockfighting in our day. The Ou Shamo species has slowly taken over the bloodsport ever since they've been imported from Siam. You can talk about your Shokoku and Kurokashiwa, but right now it's either you have an Ou Shamo or you're dead in the water," the Oyakata surmised at length, shrugging coolly as he took a pipe from underneath the folds of his wardrobe and lit it.

Kamishimoemon gave his old boss an incredulous look. "Oh, come on! Whatever happened to the Shokoku? They were quite the popular breed!"

"These days, Shokoku are now being raised mainly for their appearance. They're no better than peacocks in a zoo. In other words, you can get more money out of Shokoku by keeping them alive and not letting them compete in the cockfighting circuit," the Oyakata replied glibly, puffs of secondhand smoke billowing from his mouth as though from a chimney, much to his ex-bodyguard's annoyance.

"Fine, fine. Patriotism doesn't necessarily extend to using native fowls in cockfights. Well, how about the Tomaru? They should fare a little better than the Shokoku, at least."

"Please. What makes you think that a crooner species is better than an ornamental one?" the Oyakata nonchalantly huffed with a raised eyebrow. As a side note, his little jibe was directed towards the fact that the Tomaru was well-known for its crows that last for twenty-five seconds. "They're barely tournament level, as expected of a rooster that's better off as an early morning sideshow attraction than a gamecock."

Kamishimoemon grumbled, "Okay, so that was a horrible example. But since you're putting the Ou Shamo breed on such a high pedestal, how about my old guard: the Shokoku-Shamo crossbreed, the Minohiki! I remember my own Minohiki back in the day. Man, Kirin sure let the blood and feathers fly when he was champion."

The Oyakata snorted, unimpressed. "How many Minohiki roosters do you see competing in the circuit these days? Granted, they can battle with the Ou Shamo because of their kingly blood, but theirs is a watered-down legacy."

"Are you kidding me? I've won quite a lot of cockfights and made a lot of money with my beloved Minohiki! If I remember correctly, he even made it all the way to the championships! King Shamo my ex-champion chicken's ass!"

The Oyakata calmly removed the pipe from his mouth and blew a stream of gray to his side. "Tell me, who was the one who killed your dear old Kirin?"

"That's not fair! HIS COUNTLESS WARS HAD OBVIOUSLY TAKEN THEIR TOLL ON HIM! His opponent then took advantage of the fact that he's a shell of his former self! Had he been at his prime, he would've ripped that Ou Shamo to shreds," Kamishimoemon complained defensively, grousing, "In any case, Kirin was really delicious as a stew."

"..." Yahiko, Gan, and Minoe were finally able to interject, if "interject" meant staring vacantly into space in uncomfortable silence while shuddering at Kamishimoemon's insensitiveness to Kirin's disastrous end.

"Anyway, you're downright loony to think that the overrated Ou Shamo can beat every last cockfighting breed in Japan. It's just not possible! For one thing, it couldn't possibly beat out the Onagadori!"

"The Onagadori's distribution is limited to the Kochi prefecture, and it's more of a decorative fowl than the Shokoku."

"How about the Koeyoshi?"

"Koeyoshi are mainly sold by racketeers to dupe unsuspecting patrons with fake Ou Shamo because of their remarkable resemblance to the superior chicken breed."

"Then surely, you're wrong about the Kurokashiwa...!"

"You're grasping at straws. That's just another ornamental breed. It only looks dangerous with its black feathers and red wattles, but really isn't. That's all there is to it, Higashidani-kun."

"There are a lot more species of cock, y'know! There's the Chabo, the Ukokkei, the Ko Shamo..."

The Oyakata simply stared at his former employee with insouciant skepticism. Kamishimoemon sighed in defeat. The last three breeds he enumerated were all Japanese Bantam Fowls... small game that were hardly the type of chicken one would put in a competitive cockfight. "OH COME ON, OYAKATA-DONO! Is there no breed that the Ou Shamo can't beat?"

"There's another promising hybrid that's been making the rounds at present. The Satsumadori are extremely intelligent gamecocks known for their leaping style of attack. They're the kings in the Kagoshima and Miyazaki Prefectures that sport builds worthy of Texas Leghorns. Unfortunately, because of the fact that their Shokoku blood makes them good trophy breeds as well, the Ou Shamo is still the Champion of Nagano... no, the Japanese Cockpit, bar none."

"Uh-huh. And I bet those Shamo cocks you've been sucking up to also tastes great with teriyaki sauce." Ambiguous and crass innuendo aside, Sanosuke's father (as in Sanosuke Sagara; i.e., not the chicken) seemed ignorant, oblivious, or outright indifferent to the blank stares of sheer boredom that Yahiko, Gan, and even the ever-courteous Minoe directed at him. Even the winged Sanosuke seemed put off by the bland and trivial discourse concerning cockfighting breeds.

This was until Gan realized a rather important point. "Uh, well... It's not that I doubt Sanosuke's abilities and all, but Mister Oyakata-sama-dono-sir, when you say that the Ou Shamo dominates the underground cockfighting scene here in Nagano, does that mean that our Sano's next opponent is, by all intents and purposes, an Ou Shamo?"

Kamishimoemon scowled at Gan for his interruption. "Well, what do you think, Obvious-taicho?"

"Wait, wait... An Ou Shamo? You're going to make a hen fight an Ou Shamo?" Yahiko carped at Gan, grabbing the larger man by his collar. "Then she's as good as dead meat! That's a rather hefty price to pay to make sure she's a hen that can cockfight! I suggest that we cut our losses from here on end and just give the Sakaguchis the damn turkey!"

"Chicken," Minoe helpfully pointed out.

"Whatever," Yahiko rebuffed.

Minoe blinked, beamed, and then piped up, "Speaking of which, I've been wondering: What kind of breed is Sano-chi? I mean, we still don't know whether it's a hen or a rooster, but if it's a Shokoku or something, then at least it has a chance to win against its opponent, ornamental breed or not."

"I don't know what Higashidani-kun has told you, but if you have to ask, then I'd say it's a Ko Shamo," the Oyakata replied with a ghost of a smirk as Kamishimoemon cleared his throat and awkwardly looked away. "Small game. Small fry, if you will. It's not an ornamental breed, but... you get the picture."

"WHAT?" Yahiko exclaimed in outrage. "Okay, that's it! Give me Chicken Little right now, Gan! We are so out of here! We're going to march straight back to the Sakaguchis right this instant before you turn your one chance at paying back your debts into bird paste!"

"I will definitely not give up my cock, even if it is small!" Gan petulantly responded, blocking his "little cock" with his large arms and hands. "Patches, protect my cock with your body and keep it away from Yoshi-boy!"

"..." Minoe silently pondered as he hesitantly hugged Sanosuke to his bosom in confused panic.

"Wow. Nice segue," Yahiko remarked dryly, but he couldn't follow it up with anything else. He certainly couldn't retort, "Give it to me now, Gan," or "I'll be the one responsible for your cock, so hand it over," with any seriousness at that point.

At that moment, the Oyakata offhandedly mentioned, "Pitting a Ko Shamo against an Ou Shamo is actually the least of your worries. Since you've come in quite late in the game, you're probably entering your chicken in the Shinshu Market's daily squash match... meaning it's about time for the last few events, and in lieu of a legitimate tournament challenger for this season, your precious Sanosuke is going to act as a sacrificial lamb of sorts to one of the stronger regulars, even the champion himself." Although his tone didn't betray it, there was a subtext of gleefulness in the creepy old man's ominous warning.

Honne and tatemae or no, Yahiko and company (plus one livestock) glared at the Oyakata with extreme prejudice, a mixture of emotions ranging from mounting frustration to abject depression etched on their features. On his part, the Oyakata simply held up one hand in mock surrender while the other stayed on his pipe.

They all remained that way as they walked inside the cramped passages of the Shinshu Market's inner sanctum until they arrived at the hallway leading to the cockpits. There, Kamishimoemon had to pause to show one of the guards several papers. The beefed-up sentry gave the documents only a fleeting peek before waving the group through and allowing them to head up to the cockpits themselves.

In the middle of their somber procession, the Oyakata perfunctorily informed, "The audience will be malicious tonight. They're really thirsting for blood. This whole place is so dark and gloomy that it would probably make even a Zen monk's mood foul. Just expect everyone to start chanting a lot of 'Kill!' taunts when the fight actually starts."

"Okay then. Fine. We get it. So what else does Sanosuke have to look forward to for tonight, Oyakata-dono? An Ou Shamo the size of a hawk?" Kamishimoemon mercifully rebutted before his boss's scare tactics went any further.

The Oyakata's demeanor, which had been consistently dull, sardonic, and cynical since he first approached Kamishimoemon's motley crew, abruptly became deadly serious. "Let's just say that I wouldn't want to be your chicken. Like I mentioned before, chances are, you'll get the main event... and you sure got it, judging from how large the gathered crowd is."

"Yeah, that's what I guessed." Kamishimoemon rubbed his stubbly chin contemplatively. "I wish that, even though it's already late, they would've at least gotten me an undercard match or even a mid-card match right before the main event. But since it's me, Kami-sama himself, the owner of the great, late, ex-champion Kirin who's now managing a topnotch cock-hen-chicken-thingy, then of course they'd give us the main event. It's only natural."

"Mochiron," Minoe couldn't help but blurt out, more for Sanosuke's sake than for the sake of Kamishimoemon's self-aggrandizement. "Sano-chi is going to kick butt and then some! Size doesn't matter! Kami-sama-chi probably has good reason for letting Sano-chi compete, and I believe in Kami-sama-chi's judgment!"

Kamishimoemon nodded sagely at Minoe's optimism, then chided his former employer, "Would you relax, boss? I get a bad feeling about the way you mentioned the main event thing, like you thought Sanosuke wouldn't win."

"He... or she... probably won't, even if it weren't a main event match. But for its sake, I hope it does," the Oyakata concluded forebodingly as he looked directly into Sanosuke's round, brown eyes. "Sadly, your chicken's opponent is a real killer; Nagano's reigning cockpit champion himself."

They all saw Kamishimoemon gasp and tense his muscles. "Suzaku, eh? I thought Sanosuke's going to fight some other gamecock. Has Suzaku become as bad as I've heard them say?"

"Depends on what you've heard, but probably yes. As of now, he's already gotten over seventy-seven victories and no losses, but he hasn't been allowed in the Kanto circuit yet since he'll be bad for business if he consistently murders roosters at this rate. A sure bet doesn't really rake in that much cash in a gambling circuit save for an upset."

"He'll be fighting for his life. Sanosuke will avenge Kirin by killing his killer," Kamishimoemon pledged somberly, clenching his fist in reminiscence of his late, great champion gamecock. Afterwards, his stomach rumbled.

"Oh Kirin, even in death, you truly were exceptionally scrumptious," the elder Higashidani related as he patted his abdomen in memory of the feast he had after Kirin's final fight... or rather, of the feast he made of Kirin after the fight.

Subsequently, Yahiko, Minoe, and Gan turned blue in revulsion at the implications of Kamishimoemon's cavalier statement. Nevertheless, it was a good thing that they gave no further thought into the disturbing idea, lest they realized that it wasn't the gamecocks but their owners who forced them into an inhumane bloodsport where they risked their lives for the entertainment of others, so swearing revenge upon the champion Suzaku for merely doing his job was a discordant moot point.

"No one wants to fight him," the Oyakata confirmed. "He's as fast as lightning; nearly unhittable. And he strikes hard, as your precious Kirin can attest. He is nearly always in heat as well, which makes him twice as aggressive as the average rooster. He'd father quite a lot of chicks after every fight, the horny stag."

"Yeah. He even has that thing of his where he gets up after he does get struck or hit, like he has an unlimited amount of second winds or something," Kamishimoemon concurred. "Does he have any weaknesses that Sanosuke should know about?"

"Oh come now, Higashidani-kun. Have you already forgotten?" the Oyakata impishly chided. "It's the one good thing that came out of your Kirin's only loss in his illustrious career."

"Oh, so his left eye never healed from Kirin's desperation attack, eh? Serves him right for killing my gamecock!" Kamishimoemon smugly stated, which prompted the abovementioned realization of chicken and animal abuse to fully dawn upon Yahiko, Gan, and Minoe's consciences. It was not a pleasant epiphany.

The Oyakata chuckled sardonically. "Well, knowing irony, it's either your chicken will make use of that handicap or it won't figure into the battle at all." It wasn't exactly the most flattering of praises, but so was the fact that Sanosuke was a Ko Shamo. Fighting an Ou Shamo. A Champion Ou Shamo.

Gan was about to tell the Oyakata off, assuring everyone that Sanosuke would win regardless of whatever handicap or skill Suzaku possessed, when the curtain-bearded old man beat him to the punch and mused, "So this is the little hen that my Suzaku is supposed to be fighting. Interesting."

That shook all four of them up. "W-What?" one of them managed to hazily ask. "Your Suzaku?" yet another clarified as astonishment quickly turned into flabbergasted disbelief.

"I bought Suzaku a long time ago for a cheap price... right after his win against Kirin, in fact, when he suffered what could've been a career-ending injury... and built him up to become a real killer from there, despite only having one eye. He was named differently before, but that's not important."

The Oyakata understatedly chortled to himself. "You know how I am, Higashidani-kun... I fix broken things. I make them better. Most of all, I always guarantee that the odds are in my favor."

"You dirty old bastard," Kamishimoemon half-griped and half-chuckled in appreciation after recovering from his initial shock. "All this time, you were actually extolling the virtues of your Ou Shamo while fishing for information regarding our own chicken. Once we've fallen into your trap, then you drop your bomb on us. Your modus operandi never changes, you snake in the grass."

"I've been accused of many things, old friend. Neither humility nor stupidity was ever one of them," the Oyakata admitted as he tapped the tip of his pipe on one of the soot-black walls and returned it inside the folds of his garments. "Shall we? We're already in the arena."

During all that time, Yahiko, Gan, and Minoe couldn't even get a word in edgewise. As Kamishimoemon had acknowledged, they were all duped hook, line, and sinker.

At that point, everyone in the group including the peculiar chicken saw the cockpits. All except the old guy with the overly long name and his former employer were so shocked with what they saw that their jaws dropped... even the bird's, although he/she/it didn't even have a jaw in the strictest sense of the word.

From a chicken's point of view, the arena was a huge thing, having about as much in common with normal cockpits as Hong Kong had with China; the concepts might have been similar, but the difference in size made it nearly impossible to make a general comparison. Of course, it also left quite an impression to all the non-chickens out there simply because the arena was big enough for two grown men to fight against each other. Cockfighting was proving itself to be serious business indeed.

This was no mere ditch, but a true battleground for chickens (even people, though it would be a bit cramped) to wage war against each other. One looping bamboo barrier six feet high formed a circle that surrounded the war zone. The large hole on the ground was at least a yard across and adequately deep. Numerous layers of strata could be seen as the various lines of rock marking the edges seemed to stretch without number to the bottom.

It seemed as though nothing less than the hand of one of the gods could've reached down, carved out the earth, and tossed it aside, though there was no rubble lining either side of the pit or the surface of the land. The amount of rock that had been removed could be viewed as ridiculously capricious to those not besotted by the animalistic bloodsport. To actually bother moving that much land for the sake of a silly yet brutal game of cockfighting was beyond the layman's ken.

On the pit itself were grains of white, possibly imported sand that belonged more to a beach than underneath a seedy gambling den. Gan posited that the sand was supposed to be reminiscent of the fight between Musashi Miyamoto and Kojiro Sasaki in the sandy beaches of Funajima. Conversely, Kamishimoemon smelled chicken shit in those comments; he knew enough about cockfighting to understand that the sand was used to make it easier to clean out bird carcasses from the cockpits.

A chicken's skeleton... which was put there soon after the foreboding place was built, Kamishimoemon assured Yahiko and the others... hung from one of the bamboo posts like a decoration. Rumors claim it was the remains of the first rooster ever killed within the Shinshu cockpits, and that the overzealous owner of his opponent skewered him there postmortem. Now it served as the signature piece of the secret lair. Such a grim backdrop chilled poor Sanosuke so much that he/she/it almost didn't notice the hawk-like champion flap around on the other side of the arena.

Yahiko himself was beyond speechless at the gratuitous elaborateness before him. There was too much irony and awesomeness in that one place for him to properly quip about it. For him, the chicken skeleton really took the cake when it came to satirical overkill.

After taking in the ambiance of the cockpits with a deep and long breath, Gan commented to Yahiko, "Ever get the feeling that you've completely forgotten the point of what you're doing? I'm getting that feeling right now, Yoshi-boy."

"Yeah. It's sad, but I know what you mean. We've definitely been had by that Oyakata character and then some. So even though your hen is as good as dead fighting that Suzaku Ou Shamo, I can't help but wish that Sano somehow ekes out a win anyway, just to give 'Oyakata-dono' his just desserts. Being played like some sort of biwa seriously pisses me off," Yahiko whispered back through grit teeth.

"I play the biwa, y'know," Gan informed, which made Yahiko's head drip many beads of sweaty consternation.

"Sometimes, I wonder why I talk to you," came the Son of Tokyo Samurai's rhetorical question.

"That's because you have nobody to talk to," Gan helpfully pointed out.

"Yes. And I'd still get better answers," Yahiko retorted.

"Don't patronize me," Gan sneered. "If you believe that the seat of wisdom is through a smartass mouth, then you truly are Buddha. But it's not, and I am. Basically, you're just using your hatred of the Oyakata as an excuse to root for Sanosuke, who is sooo a rooster in the first place. So there," the beefy thug rationalized as Yahiko just shook his head in wordless incredulity.

"I have a theory regarding our sudden camaraderie, dear friends," Minoe interposed profoundly, much to the confusion of his so-called brethren. "It doesn't matter that any of us thinks I'm weird, Gan-chi's a bum, or Yahiko-chi has a stick up his butt, and whether one thinks Sano-chi is a hen, rooster, or a creature that deserves something better than the cruelty of man through bloodsport. We're all here because we hate each other so deeply, our partnership works. We're here because we've unconsciously decided to organize our animosities with each other in order to function together. Our comradeship is our way of collaborating and acting like a cohesive unit without really liking each other in the first place."

"Huh?" Yahiko sputtered, completely nonplussed in the dictionary sense of the word... as opposed to people using it in the presumed sense, equating the word to nonchalance... but Minoe went on unfettered.

"Mutual hatred can be a powerful thing, and our mutual hatred of Oyakata-dono-chi is a manifestation of this phenomenon. Simply put, we're here because we hate each other, but we're focusing that hate to something positive by being free to hate Oyakata-dono-chi together, which really is the only reason I can think of as to why we're all agreeing to send a chicken to its grave for the trivialities of gender, revenge, and money... aside from complete and utter stupidity, that is."

Gan and Yahiko looked at Minoe without expression for a long, long time before the larger man slung his arm over the sixteen-year-old boy's shoulder and whispered to him, "Patches is doing that thing he does again, Yoshi-boy."

"Let me go! We don't know each other, remember?" Yahiko rebuked.

"Hee! We're all so close now!" Minoe cheered heartily. "Our hatred has bonded us together like brothers! Hooray for hatred!"

"But Patches still has a point." Gan clenched his hands together and rubbed them in glee. "It looks like we're back on track. I think I get the point of this whole situation now. It's go time, Sano-kun! Let's prove to all the disbelievers your masculinity!" The hooligan pumped his fist up the unseen sky in a mindless display of brusqueness while Sanosuke could only look on at all three comrades in clueless bliss, unaware that he or she was about to become the victim of their silly notions of idealism.

Without further ado, the foursome resolutely had their hen/rooster/ chicken/whatnot placed into one of the cockpits and started making their bets. Even though Gan begged and begged, Yahiko could only give about less than a quarter of the money he won on their earlier food bet... about a meal's worth or so... on Sanosuke's behalf to the barker.

Meanwhile, the Oyakata and Kamishimoemon also placed their bets on their respective contenders. Naturally, since they were strapped for cash, neither Gan nor the errand-boy-turned-dubious-philosopher Minoe could place any sort of bet. From there, they took their places amongst the crowd and waited for the fight to commence.

Soon enough, the announcer introduced the combatants to the audience. Being an unknown that was more likely to be killed than to win, Sanosuke was only given a cursory introduction. On the other hand, the champion received a full speech, much to the tepid excitement of the crowd (for they all presumed that this was a one-sided fight with a rather predictable outcome). So much for the Oyakata's prediction of a murderous throng chanting, "Kill! Kill! Kill!" then.

"Presenting the champion: the most dangerous pedigree gamecock in all of Nagano. A ferocious warrior from the centuries-old bloodline of the Kings of Siam! An undefeated champion with seventy-seven victories to his name and seventy-seven kills in combat to his credit. He is known only as... SUZAKU THE IMPALER!"

Kamishimoemon recognized Sanosuke's opponent as a crafty veteran of the bloodsport who, as his name suggested, had several of his toughest opponents die care of him forcefully driving them into the spiked bamboo fence in the heat of battle, which was reminiscent of the legendary fight that resulted in a decorative chicken skeleton getting displayed inside the arena. Whether this was deliberate sabotage on his part, a ploy that his previous trainers had ingrained in him, or a continuous string of suspicious coincidences, skewering was nonetheless Suzaku's signature move.

Raising his flame-colored, serpentine head, the Ou Shamo eyed Sanosuke arrogantly and jiggled his sickle feathers. The action scared Gan, for even he knew that when a gamecock was in a breeding mood, it had double its ferocity.

It was as though Suzaku were seeking vengeance over the scar he got on his eye because of Kirin's "determination" to keep his crown; which was silly, because chickens didn't care for such things as retribution and pride... Did they?

All the same, the infamous Ou Shamo was also known as a chanticleer that had once escaped to the forest and lured all the hens away from the surrounding farms of Shinshu... a Pied Piper of Poultry, apparently. Indeed, this complex bird was quite an enchanting yet dangerous character for mere livestock, albeit being prizewinning livestock.

Then the fight began. Both birds charged right at the center of the cockpit. The Ou Shamo scratched the ground as if it were digging a grave for his opponent. Moments later, the two fighters faced each other.

Seeing Sanosuke confronted by Suzaku, Gan found his mouth begin to dry up at the size of the large cock, the prospect of losing his potential moneymaker because of yet another silly bet daunting him so bad that he missed the not-so-subtle sexual connotations of the earlier parts of this sentence.

Quickly, Gan pushed his lamentations aside with a headshake. Both his father and some girl he met in Kyoto whom he didn't quite remember at the moment echoed repeatedly the need to keep one's opponent from having the psychological edge, otherwise the battle would be as good as over. Of course, the point was moot because it was Sanosuke's opponent that had a mental edge over him, but what the hell; whatever worked best for him.

For their part, the grizzled veterans Kamishimoemon and the Oyakata put on emotionless masks of perfect indifference and detachment as they observed the proceedings unfold with concealed, methodical interest and clinical analysis.

Sanosuke watched curiously as the crowd collectively bent down closer to the pit and roared loudly enough to shake the venue, their earlier lackadaisical attitude completely fading once the promise of violence and bloodshed entered the fray.

Certainly, their cheers were at least ten times louder than the shouts they'd given during the introduction. Small wonder, considering that the Oyakata had already warned the Higashidani troop that Suzaku was a vicious killing machine that murdered his opponents in cold blood. The crowd obviously loved every second of those brutal matches, as evidenced by their current enthusiasm.

Much to Yahiko's surprise, the audience's choosing of Suzaku over Sanosuke didn't disrupt the latter's composure. As the seconds ticked by, the ambiguously gendered chicken found itself ignoring the distracting noises and focusing all of its attention on the one thing that mattered: defeating its opponent.

Meanwhile, Minoe was on the edge of his nonexistent seat (okay, on the tips of his bandaged toes) in horror and "mother hen" concern, prompting him to apply his own Zen-like method to overcome his panic.

Straightening his wig... er, hair and eye patch, it took a moment for him to find his elusive center of calm within his psyche. After he got there, his entire outlook changed. With a sort of peacefulness falling over him, Minoe steeled himself and watched the fight without even blinking once... which was a fairly good idea, seeing what had happened next.

Suzaku loomed over Sanosuke, his wings spread out in full, as though he were a doting grandfather coming forward to embrace his favorite little grandchild. In short, it was a ludicrous stance that left him vulnerable for all sorts of attacks and counterattacks, but Sanosuke didn't charge at all.

Suzaku impatiently rushed at Sanosuke, and the peculiar chicken evaded him rather than seize the opportunity to attack. A second charge procured the exact same results on the challenger's part, though he or she found it hard to desist from taking advantage of the offered opening. The audience started to let their contempt for such craven tactics be recognized as they jeered and catcalled his or her seeming cowardice.

Looking at Sanosuke's performance, Yahiko expected their chicken to keel over and die of fright in the middle of the ring. Instead, a very odd thing happened. A lovesick expression came into the supposed impaler's eyes. It afterwards did a love dance. Naturally, this was a most surprising development to one and all, but particularly to those who had stakes on the Ou Shamo rooster.

It was evident that Suzaku was thoroughly infatuated with Sanosuke, and that any attention he had for the moment was strictly amatory. But before anyone could realize what happened next, the androgynous fowl assaulted the pining stag with its hackle feathers flaring. In one lunge, it buried its spur into its adversary's breast. Just like that, the fight was over. The sentencer raised the chicken in token victory.

"..." and "Eyng...?" were the general sentiments of the gathered multitude... Yahiko, Gan, Kamishimoemon, and Minoe included. Even the imperturbable Oyakata seemed mildly surprised by the outcome. However, once the horde of stunned gamblers recovered their wits and let groupthink settle in, they started shouting, "Fixed fight! Fixed fight! Boo! Kill! Kill! KILL!"

That was when the riot broke out. People tore the bamboo decorations apart and used them as clubs. Kamishimoemon grinned in an idiotic, hot-blooded sort of way that reminded Yahiko of another, more familiar Sanosuke. "It looks like Ass Wednesday has come early this week! Ass as in ass-kicking, that is!" the rowdy old man shouted before proceeding to beat the ever-living crap out of the nearest people in the angry mob.

Just as a wave of enraged, mindless humanity threatened to surround, engulf, overwhelm, and overwhelm some more Gan, Yahiko, and Minoe... the ensuing chaos acting like a tidal wave of fists, blood, tears, bamboo poles, and broken dreams... the Oyakata grabbed Yahiko's shoulder and yelled, "Get both of your friends together and follow me out of here if you want to see another sunrise!"

With that said, the Tokyo Samurai immediately grabbed Gan... no, wait, he changed his mind and grabbed Minoe by the arm instead, and motioned the eye-patched man to do the same to Gan. In kind, the dejected hooligan tucked his controversial chicken under an arm.

After they formed themselves into a makeshift human-chicken chain of sorts, the Oyakata gingerly led them out of pandemonium and into the ponderously hidden hallway that lead to a convenient backdoor. Alas, several rabble-rousers noticed their attempt at escape and were soon hot on their trails.

They then sprinted towards the nearest bamboo grove and kept on running until they lost their pursuers. Somehow, in the middle of bedlam, they'd also lost the Oyakata, but the trio were too preoccupied with thoughts of their own survival to look for the intolerable, caustic man that somehow served as their savior of sorts.

As soon as they felt safe, they all sat on the ground and rested. They were all panting like dogs. "Now are you convinced it's a rooster?" Gan muttered in between breaths.

"Yeah," Yahiko reluctantly answered. He was glad that the whole thing was over, but Sanosuke had other ideas. It flew out of Gan's arm and into the spiked-haired boy's hand. Then it began to tremble. Something round and warm dropped onto the Tokyo Samurai's hand. The chicken cackled with laughter. He looked down and saw... an egg!

"Oh, don't cry, Yoshi-boy. Is that a tear?" Gan cooed as he moved to wipe the quivering Yahiko's eyes.

"It is now," Yahiko reeled, squinted, and covered his face after Gan nearly poked his eye out due to good-intentioned carelessness.

'The Sakaguchis aren't going to like this,' Gan thought as he stared slack-jawed at the egg, then blanched as something else occurred to him. 'More importantly, she isn't going to like this.'

The morning after... or rather, just a few hours later, after Gan and Minoe got some restless sleep underneath a bridge before unwillingly setting out to the Sakaguchi restaurant to conclusively face the music...

"You're not going to like this..." Minoe meekly fretted, his feet sheepishly shuffling on the ground as he held fast onto the peculiar (and possibly hermaphrodite) chicken, but Chizuru Raikouji kept interrupting him with an upraised finger and a dismissive "Up-pup-pup!" rejoinder every time he tried to issue his apologetic statement. She only stopped once he himself relented; she didn't want to hear any of his pathetic excuses.

"I don't want to hear any of it. No offense, but I don't even know you or have any idea why you're persistently tailing around Yahiko and... that big, overgrown mass of stupidity. You don't really 'figure in' the whole scenario at all, Minoe... san," Chizuru clarified bluntly, her tone just a little less cross than her arms.

Behind Chizuru, a timid Kyoko Sakaguchi, an even more intimidated Nonoko Sakaguchi, and a touchy-feely-to-his-wife's-bottom Satoru Sakaguchi all stood behind the Raikouji granddaughter in a small Congo line long before the dance gained any sort of worldwide notoriety. The Sakaguchis were unwittingly innovative for a typical Japanese family composed of a policeman husband, a noodle vendor housewife, and a martial artist daughter. In turn, Gan himself was cowering behind Minoe while avoiding "Kaori-neesan's" accusing stares.

"More importantly, I'd like to know where the hell Yahiko is in the first place! Why did he send a lightweight like you to be the bearer of news... most likely bad... anyway?" Chizuru continued, giving Minoe her permission for him to talk.

"W-Well, last night, he told us to go and explain to you and the Sakaguchis what had happened, which was quite selfish and rude of him to do, let me tell you! He also kind of had to go somewhere and pick up several people who've helped us confirm whether Sano-chi is a hen or a rooster by helping it participate in a cockfight of sorts. That... brings us to another lovely topic. Ahehe. We were supposed to get a lot of money after Sano-chi won his cockfight... probably enough to cover Gan-chi's debt... but..."

"Okay, enough," Chizuru snapped, making Minoe trail off as she revoked her aforementioned blessing for him to speak; which was a good thing, since the one-eyed man didn't even know where to begin explaining the cockpit fiasco without further incurring her wrath.

From there, the Kaoru look-alike tapped her foot and targeted her blistering, fiery eyes at the Cowering Gan. "You. It's you who should own up to your mistakes! Come out from under Minoe-san's skirt and explain yourself, fatso!"

Gan practically withered under Chizuru's accusing stare. "HEY! Shouldn't I talk to the Sakaguchis instead of you, Kaori-neechan? I mean, I owe money from them, not you!"

"Oh, don't mind us, Bandit-san. Although I don't usually approve of Chizuru-kun sticking her nose into other people's business, I'll let her off the hook this time around; because by golly, she sure gets the job done! I figure we'll get the money you owe us faster if we let her do all the talking. Right, honey?" candidly endorsed Satoru, of all people, as he held his hands fast upon his wife for moral support, among other reasons. And other places.

"R-Right, s-sure. Yes. Oh my goodness...! Um, please dear! This isn't the right place... I mean, d-don't you agree with your father, Kyoko?" a flustered and red-faced Nonoko concurred while whispering half-hearted protests to her husband's shifty antics.

"Uh, yeah," Kyoko mumbled as she warily looked at her parents' awkward and not-so-subtle attempts at amorousness in discomfort. The "Ew, gross!" variety of discomfort. She'd noticed that she'd been getting a lot of those these past few days.

"Anyway, I'd like to ask you a few questions, Gan-kun. These are simple 'yes or no' questions; you don't have to journalize your answers or anything. Okay? Good," Chizuru tersely stated before the thuggish man could even give his dissent or assent. "First question: Do you have the money to pay back your hefty tab to the Sakaguchis or not?"

"W-eeeeeeeell... Not exactly, Kaori-neechan. I...!" Gan felt numerous Chizuru "eye daggers" pierce deep into his very soul, causing him to reflexively flinch, tremble, and cower in fear. Had Yahiko been there, he would've noted that Chizuru had unconsciously learned how to project her fighting spirit... or self-righteous indignation for other people's problems... in a rudimentary "Shin no Ippo" or "Sword-ki blast" manner. As such, the intimidated hooligan had no other recourse than to plainly say, "No," due to the Raikouji granddaughter's psychological bullying.

"Strike one," Chizuru drawled as she began making a noose out of some rope she found at the back of the restaurant earlier. Gan started to sweat again, but more out of worry than mortification. "Second question: Were you by any chance gambling last night with that damned genderless chicken of yours instead of looking for money to pay your tab?"

"But I was gambling for the tab!" Gan whined, but it had as much of an impact on his argument as the age-old "But he started it!" line of reasoning during a heated quarrel between siblings. "Well, actually, it's more for the sake of finding out if Sanosuke's a rooster or a hen, but it had a secondary 'May or may not pay my food bill' intent along with it... I'm digging my own grave here, aren't I?"

"No, no. We're playing 'hangman' right now. We'll only play 'dig your own grave' once we're through with 'hangman'. Now, if you'd kindly step outside near that nice, tall tree at the front yard, we can get this game over with," Chizuru sweetly assured as she swung her lasso around merrily.

"I'm sorry, but I'm allergic to lynching. Now if you'll excuse... YOSHI-BOY! GET BACK HERE AND TALK SOME SENSE INTO YOUR CRAZY GIRLFRIEND!" Gan ultimately let out as he scrambled for the front door, unable to bear Chizuru's guilt-tripping and mind games any longer. Incidentally, this was the instant when Yahiko arrived.

"I'm back! What did I miss?" the sixteen-year-old teen announced as he thumped his way into the lively soba shop.

Earlier, at a quarter past midnight, inside the volatile Shinshu cockpits after Sanosuke's unlikely triumph against the champion gamecock Suzaku...

"ENOUGH!" the Oyakata bellowed authoritatively after he got back from helping Yahiko and company escape from the frothing mob after them. Consequently, the chaos that was once the Shinshu cockpits immediately went to a screeching halt. Every single rioter and troublemaker stopped in the middle of whatever it was they were doing, whether it as clubbing a man to nigh-death or throwing a meaty punch at someone's hapless, puffed-up face. This made for quite the bizarre scenario... or a fairly impressive Ukiyo-e painting, depending on your personal taste and mental stability.

Actually, the only man who didn't stop pummeling people to submission after the Oyakata's order to desist was Kamishimoemon Higashidani. "So where's your Kami-sama now, bitch? Here's a big hint: I'M your fucking KAMI-SAMA! SWEAR to ME! Why are you hitting yourself? Why the fuck are you hitting yourself? Why are you fucking yourself up?" the grizzled old veteran brawler mocked with puerile delight as he used his victim's own limp arm to beat him senseless. It took him quite a while to notice the cockpits' dead silence and myriad of incredulous stares on his person. "What? I'm just celebrating Ass Wednesday. I want to kick ass. Is that too much to ask? Leave me alone."

"They get the point, Higashidani-kun," the Oyakata guaranteed as he put his gloved hand over his former bodyguard's shoulder and moved him away from his prey, thus saving a man's life. "A win is a win. Despite all my machinations, Suzaku has been defeated, may he rest in peace."

To the rest of the murmuring crowd, he announced, "This wasn't a fixed fight. My Ou Shamo has lost this contest fair and square; the loss is beyond contestation. Sure, his opponent used questionable tactics in order to gain this dubious victory, but there's nothing in the rulebooks that deems his... or her, as Suzaku would probably attest... actions and very presence in the pits as illegal. As far as I'm concerned, this business is over. To those who saw this coming and bet accordingly, congratulations to you. To all others, better luck next time. You'll all get your money by tomorrow or the day after that, once everything here has been sorted out. Good night, gentlemen."

Then, with a snap of the Oyakata's gloved fingers, the huge and beefy sentries guarding the inner arena earlier started ushering the dazed and confused would-be mob out of the sanctum in single file. Soon, only Kamishimoemon and the Oyakata were left inside the Shinshu cockpits, the latter getting his refill of tobacco from one of his hired goons.

"That was awfully big of you, Oyakata-dono," Kamishimoemon observed with no small amount of disbelief. "What gives? Knowing you, there's bound to be some sort of hidden agenda behind this. Don't bother explaining your convoluted plans to me... I can never figure them out, then and now... just come clean and tell me if there's a hidden agenda."

"These were very unusual circumstances. That's all I can say," the Oyakata admitted with a definite smirk on his face... not a ghost of a smile or a hint of a grin, but a definite smirk.

Wistfully, as he lit his pipe, he asked, "How long has it been, Higashidani-kun? A decade? Twenty years? This is the first time in a long while since I've wrongly predicted an outcome. I mean, it's not like I've become clairvoyant or anything, but this is the first time my forecast has failed so spectacularly. I have an inkling feeling that there are some forces at work here beyond my control, but that chicken... no, those boys of yours seem to be the very definition of wildcards. Pitting my Suzaku against your Sanosuke wasn't even a calculated risk, but look at what happened anyway. What a fascinating case indeed."

Kamishimoemon rubbed his throbbing temples with his fingers as the onset of a psychosomatic, philosophy-induced headache quickly became far too much for even a tough guy like him to bear. "I told you to spare me the details, boss! Dear Buddha in Nirvana, but you're over-thinking things! The chances that those boys' chicken would win against your gamecock was a crapshoot, nothing more. They probably didn't even have anything to do with the win at all. They're just trying to find out the gender of their chicken. Shit, for someone so methodical, I would never have pegged you to believe in things like bad luck."

"Nonsense. It's because I'm methodical that I believe in luck... I'll do everything that I can to eliminate luck out of the equation, but humans can only manipulate probability so far. I'm just amazed that luck was still able to make itself a factor today. Anything that's as inexplicable and uncontrollable as luck, chaos, human nature, and the so-called force known as fate is of boundless interest to me," the Oyakata concluded in between puffs from his pipe.

"Says the guy who just lost a sack of yen because your gamecock was too horny," Kamishimoemon wisecracked as he leaned against the uneven bamboo wall behind him and started wiping his bleeding knuckles on his shirt. The bloody riot beforehand was a real barnburner even by his standards, but the Oyakata's exasperatingly pedantic ramblings somehow hurt his head far worse than a bamboo pole to the skull would.

The curtain-bearded man snorted disdainfully at his ex-protector's droll statement, expelling gray rings of tobacco smoke that floated in front of his face. "Don't be silly. I bet on both Suzaku and your chicken. I broke even, give or take a hundred yen."

"How typical. So that's your way of 'controlling luck', eh? Well then, what's your problem? Or rather, why are you getting philosophical and shit all of a sudden?" Kamishimoemon challenged, his tone gradually turning grave as he made his concern for his old friend be known. "You are aware that those crazy Battousai-themed terrorists are still out to get you. What were you thinking? Like I've said before, even with all your henchmen present, you've got a lot of balls coming here."

The Oyakata emptied his pipe over the bloodstained cockpit before looking straight into Kamishimoemon's incredulous eyes and replying, "You've heard me say this before, and you probably won't believe me when I say it now, but this is all part of the plan. I got a kick out of seeing a carefully crafted prediction of mine crumble to dust because I see that failure as an opportunity of sorts. Never mind the trivialities of gambling; this is bigger than that. This strange event has left me questioning the limits of my little 'methodologies' and beliefs; are they strong enough to withstand, even control, probability itself? Well, even though people say only God can do such things, I say they simply don't know how."

"All part of the plan, eh? That's crazy talk. I've known you for more than twenty years, and you and me both know that you regularly pull shit out of your ass as you go along your diabolical plans." Kamishimoemon could only shake his head and look away in response to the Oyakata's ostentatious claims. "Goddammit, Akahori-dono; only God knows what's going on in that twisted mind of yours, but he's too scared to look."

A little later...

"Kami-sama? Oyakata-dono? Where are you?" a kabuto-wearing Yahiko stage-whispered to the darkness as he traveled through the blackened alleyways of the Shinshu Market in growing vexation instead of concern... the sheer silliness of the nicknames that Kamishimoemon and his old boss gave themselves was starting to get on his nerves after the twentieth time he'd used them.

Therefore, as he shuffled quietly in the shadows while keeping an eye out for any of the rioters that was still out for blood, he griped, "Where did those two geezers go?" to himself.

As if on cue, Yahiko heard soft footsteps from behind the grove where he and the others hid from the angry mob of cockpit gamblers earlier. The sixteen year old turned around and braced himself for anything, half-expecting to see a throng of bamboo-wielding rabble-rousers ready to pounce on him at a moment's notice.

Instead, in the blink of an eye, the smiling silhouette of a handsome young man came forth and startled the hell out of the edgy Tokyo Samurai Descendant, who reacted in a manner reminiscent of when he first met Chizuru, "the long-lost Kamiya sibling".

The eerie phantom was soon in front of Yahiko, chuckling amiably underneath the pale moonlight. After taking a nice, long look at the newcomer, the spiked-haired young lad went stiff as a board, his bandaged injuries from three weeks before flaring like they were on fire.

"Good evening, Yahiko-san. What brings you out here in the Shinshu Market?" Soujiro Seta greeted congenially, his hand grasping the stopwatch that arguably saved Yahiko's life in their momentous battle.

Yahiko considered pinching himself, but that would've been silly of him. Instead, he held the handle of the sakabatou tightly and readied himself for anything. "I was just about to ask the same thing, Psycho-Kid," he spat the moniker out like poison. The chilling presence he felt a while back inside the Shinshu Market's underground cockpits came from Soujiro all along.

"You really shouldn't be traveling yet... not in the shape you're in. Then again, you've healed up quite soon and quite well. I'm impressed," the older boy appraised as he surveyed Yahiko's bandaged yet otherwise healthy frame. Well, healthy for someone who'd almost been cut up like sashimi.

Yahiko was caught off-guard by the affableness of Soujiro the first time he encountered him, but since then, he'd learned his lesson the hard way. The unassuming pretty boy might not have massacred the entirety of the fake Battousai group, but he was obviously not above taking human lives at will, as evidenced by his coldhearted execution of Keisuke... the false terrorist faction's leader... and his association with the Juppon Gatana.

"What are you doing here?" Yahiko reiterated his unsaid question straightforwardly as he kept a "safe" distance away from the superior swordsman.

He didn't bother trying to sound tough or intimidating in front of Soujiro; that'd be the rough equivalent of a yelping Spitz trying to scare off a Doberman, he reckoned. Granted, this was a seemingly friendly and playful Doberman, but one that could rip your throat out or bite your jugular in a heartbeat.

"Well, if you really must know, I'm still working at my job right now... kind of," the impish Soujiro clarified just short of wagging his finger and declaring the purpose of his being there a secret. "The hours aren't so good, but the pay is okay."

Yahiko's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to decipher Soujiro's indistinct and vaguely condescending explanation. Eventually, he came up with, "You're working as a callboy or something?" as though he suddenly had a death wish just then. Fortunately, Soujiro looked unaffected by the thoughtless remark, much to Yahiko's relief.

To be Continued...

Next: Money matters.

The decade-long writing process of this story has its respective ups and downs. For one thing, I can go back and fix plot points at will even before I "publish" my chapters. Then again, it constitutes double the work. Anyhow, the middle portions of this fic pays homage to DB Sommer's "Path of the Warrior" series. I've also placed some "Whose Line Is It Anyway?" quotes in a couple of chapters.

Maraming salamat po sa pagbabasa!
Abdiel