On October 31, 1884, during the third week of Yahiko Myojin's recovery from the sword wounds he suffered at the hands of Soujiro Seta, a flash mob of peasants and farmers claiming to be part of the Jiyu Minken Undo (Freedom and People's Rights Movement) spread chaos and bedlam across Chichibu, Saitama.
The overtaxed and oppressed people went straight to their usurers and burned off all records of their debts. Afterwards, the Meiji Government suspected the ensuing riot to be an attempt by the Jiyuto (Liberal) Party to overthrow the Choshu-and-Satsuma-dominated administration. Incidentally, the Jiyuto disbanded right on the eve of that particular event... on October 29... which Satoru Sakaguchi mentioned to his daughter Kyoko after arriving at Shinshu from Yokohama.
Eventually, the Japanese Imperial Army and the Tokyo Metropolitan Police suppressed the rebellion with superior firepower and overwhelming force. All the same, Tetsuo Akahori's largely unattended meeting within Jusanro Tani's repossessed mansion in Shinshushin, Nagano happened during the aftermath of that momentous event.
Rurouni Yahiko
A Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction Continuation by Chester Castañeda
Is this chapter finally going to be an episode of substance and consequence? Well, let's not jinx anything by making presumptuous promises!
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 13: Meeting at the Mansion
Within the limits of Jusanro Tani's former mansion lying outside Shinshushin...
"Way to go, Yoshi-boy! You sure saved our butts that time!" Gan applauded after bowling over the Togakudan dog-pile atop him without so much as a grunt or a "Pardon me." He soon after unleashed harsh laughter fit for a king so disfigured by inbreeding that he couldn't chew his food by himself, which overshadowed his intention to convey his happiness over the fact that men, in contrast to women and children, usually kept off the crotch area when involved in a contest of fisticuffs.
With a self-induced slap to the face, Yahiko slid his hand from forehead to chin, gave his supposed comrades token sidelong glances, and wished that the ground would eat him up then and there.
On his left was a pumpkin-haired, turnip-banged, eye-patched, and wig-wearing weakling, and on his right was a compulsive gambler, stalker, and hoodlum loser wannabe who could create large craters on a whim yet had an infant's grasp of right and wrong. All the trio needed now was a dusty soup bowl for loose change and they could pass themselves off as eccentric, street-performing hobos.
"Uncool, huh? Yeah. Maybe we are," the hedgehog-haired young lad paraphrased Raedo's allegations as a fleeting desire to dig a hole on the ground to hide his head with teased his mind. He then remembered Gan doing just that to him and Minoe yesterday, which made his shoulders slump in defeat.
"Yay! The Sanbaka are back together again!" Minoe's face bloomed like a dandelion, and just as quickly wilted like one after Gan and Yahiko attempted to "draw wine" from his head in traditional winemaking fashion.
"DON'T CALL US THE THREE STOOGES, YOU DUMBASS!" the pair echoed before realizing that they were hypocritically beating Minoe up after they saved him from getting beaten up. "Er, sorry," came another unintentional chorus from the two.
Tittering as though he were playing with a bunch of rambunctious neighborhood scamps, Minoe rubbed his head to ease his pain. "No worries. Like I told you, I'm used to it. These bandages aren't just for show, you know." However, his hunched posture and shaking hands conveyed an altogether different message.
The trio walked around the estate's sloping lawn and expansive garden at a deliberate pace, taking their sweet time to admire the fresh, earthy scent of manicured grass, the scenic view of Nagano's Hida mountains, the spotless marble statues of foreign origin whose significance went over their Japanese heads, and the exquisite way the western-style, chocolate-and-cream mansion blended with the reds, browns, oranges, sepias, tans, burgundies, and other color variations of the surrounding flora and foliage.
It was a shame then that the three weren't paying that much attention to their ambient, painting-like surroundings, their heads wrapped around more trivial... or perhaps not-so-trivial... pursuits.
"What the hell is up with you?" Yahiko asked the runt of the Togakudan pack as he turned his head from side-to-side in cadence of each word he spoke. The Tokyoite's attempts at eye contact were met with a downward gaze and a helpless shrug on the kowtowed Minoe's part. "How can you let that guy bully you like that? Be a man! You should be able to stand up for yourself! You should man up and punch him on the nose when he pulls crap like that!"
Minoe tilted his head in askance and looked at Yahiko with a flushed face and a pursed mouth before choking down a melodious, high-pitched titter. "I... I'm afraid I can't do that."
The off-put Yahiko leaned back and rubbed his nose as he stared at Minoe without blinking for a full second. "W-What? I mean, why...?" He could've sworn that the boyish oddball giggled at him for some reason.
Minoe cleared his throat, brushed his turnip bangs back, and waved off Yahiko's concern while swiftly changing the subject. "No, never mind. Uh, in regards to Raedo-sempai's temper, let's be reasonable. I did make him and my teammates starve throughout breakfast. Also, I still owe them breakfast money that they're probably going to take from my share of the loot once this assassination matter is over. The grant that Akahori-dono-chi gave us is pretty hefty, and he's considered an expert in the field of domestic spying partly because of the Togakudan's research."
Gan elbowed Yahiko aside and waltzed in front of Minoe, jumping right into the conversation before the samurai kid could bring up a certain, unimportant detail regarding the seventy-two sen he still owed the Togakudan. "What does your team specialize in? You told me earlier that they handle research. What kind of research do they take care of exactly?"
Minoe owlishly jerked his head to the side in order to keep Gan from disappearing into the blind spot created by his eye patch. That particular quirk of his was partly cultivated by his fellow Togakudan companions' antics whenever they were in a "bully the new guy" mood.
"I'd love to say, 'We take care of covert government information as secret service agents' or something to that effect, but then I'd be lying; that'd sound too cool for it to refer to us. We're more in the business of spying on or blackmailing our clients' enemies. We're bottom-rung, bottom-feeding spies, to be sure."
"Huh. So the Togakudan is sort of like the bakufu's Oniwabanshu, only a lot more pathetic," Gan supposed, which made Yahiko's ears perk up. The brutish oaf took Minoe's word with a grain... or even a whole silo... of salt because of the victimized spy's understandably biased views, but otherwise believed him for the most part. "Both your groups are composed of spies and bodyguards as well, you know."
"You're giving us way too much credit. It's more like the Togakudan is the antithesis of the Oniwabanshu. We're not as cool as them, we run away from a major fight nine times out of ten, and we're basically glorified snitches. There's really no comparison, truth be told," Minoe divulged as Yahiko mouthed, "Glorified?" with an upturned nose.
"Hmmm? Antithesis? That's a hell of a big word for you, Patches," Gan jibed, to which Minoe replied, "U-huh. And if you'd like, I'll say it to you slower," without missing a beat.
"Cut the 'Manzai Comedy Hour' act. We're getting sidetracked," berated Yahiko before pulling Minoe aside and further querying, "What do you know about the Battousai Group? Amakusa Shogo? Is Amakusa the same guy as the red-haired, cross-scarred man who finished off a whole gang of poser terrorists three weeks ago? Tell me, Minoe!"
"Sure! I'll tell you everything you need to know, Raedo-sempai! Just please stop shaking me like a cowbell! I'll do whatever you want!" Minoe beseeched as he resisted the urge to heave and hoe, which at least made the snarling and moody Yahiko come back to his senses.
The former street rat snorted in dismay, relinquishing his fervent hold on the pirate doppelganger. "Man, you really are a wimp, aren't you? I can't believe you've managed to join that rough-and-tumble crew, what with you being such a mayflower and all," was the boy's passive-aggressive way of deflecting his guilt over his overreaction.
"Not to mention that mouth of his. Even with his goofy smile and unassuming manner, he has a way with words. It's not really surprising why his Raiden-sempai pummels him so much," Gan interjected, still stinging from Minoe's earlier rejoinder.
At that moment, Yahiko's eyes shone as though he'd just witnessed the flowery afterimage of a Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu technique. After putting two and two together in regards to what made Minoe's personality tick, he realized, 'A guy who looks like a total pushover but has a sharp, sarcastic tongue? Huh. That sounds mighty familiar.'
Yahiko was about to superimpose the image of the coconut-husk-wigged and eye-patch-wearing nut with the vision of the carroty-haired, girlish-looking, and cross-scarred rurouni when Gan interposed, "Now that we're all here, we might as well apply for that bodyguard position. I'm not privy to what's going on, but whoever it is we need to stop, I'm sure we'll do fine."
"Stop pretending that the plans you've intended to do from the very beginning are things you've come up with just now!" Yahiko yelped at Gan, but was subsequently blindsided by Minoe's patented burst of inappropriate exuberance.
"Really? I'm so happy! We three are working like a team now! The Sanbaka are here to stay!"
Yahiko and Gan didn't bother admonishing the stubborn Minoe using weapons, hatred, and violence. For a change, they simply decided then and there to ignore Minoe whenever he referred to their group as the Three Stooges. Or rather, they promised to do so right after hammering Minoe into the ground like a railroad spike. 'Next time, for sure,' they pledged.
"Us Three Stooges should always stick together!" Minoe was right; he truly was immune to getting rung like a New Year's bell on a daily, even hourly, basis.
After spitting out some blood from his mouth, Minoe grabbed Yahiko by the shoulders and offered, "Come on, Yahiko-chi! I'll tell you all the stuff Raedo-sempai thought he'd hidden away from me about the Battousai Group! That way, you two can help me catch one of those rebels and give me the push I need to join the upper echelons of the Togakudan! I'll even use my would-be influence to make you two honorary Togakudan members!"
Yahiko's mouth crooked into something that was neither a smile nor a frown. "Er, no thanks on the Togakudan offer, Minoe; but I'm all for getting more information about the Battousai Group. Tell me what you know." His quirky lips eventually curved into an outright smirk.
Gan backed away and gestured at both Minoe and Yahiko with upraised hands and a wide stance. "Whoa. Settle down. You were able to pilfer information out of a group whose whole existence relied on hiding information, Patches?" The thug smoothened his bandanna and straightened the collar of his open vest. "Well, I guess you'd have to be that sneaky, or else it wouldn't make any sense why you were accepted into the Togakudan in the first place."
"Mochiron mochi!" Minoe bleated.
"What have you got for us, Minoe?" Yahiko pressed, leaning forward to better hear the zany yet helpful amateur spy's words.
"Well, because they're called the Battousai Group, it's only natural that there'll be more than one of them, right? In regards to the Battousai part of their name, it stems from their modus operandi of having their individual members incorporate certain aspects of Battousai lore into their fighting styles and specialties. For example, a member of theirs, Amakusa Shogo, has a sword style rumored to be the closest technique there is to the strongest Ishin Shishi manslayer's Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. I've even heard of a Battousai of Speed, a Battousai of Strength, and so on and so forth."
Yahiko slammed his fist on the palm of his hand before waving his index finger around in an excitable manner. "Oh, I see. They call themselves the Battousai Group because their leader is a Battousai wannabe... all of them are Battousai wannabes! I get it now."
Gan kept on nodding his head throughout the whole dialogue in feigned interest; the fact that he wasn't interrupting his fellow stooges anymore was quite telling.
The Son of Tokyo Samurai let out a cathartic sigh. Unlike Keisuke and his goons, the people he was about to confront didn't merely use the Battousai name in vain. They backed up their claim with actual talent and ability in the sense that at least one of them was skilled enough to handle a whole legion of thugs. Granted, it was still a shameful use of Kenshin's infamous moniker regardless, but at least it wasn't as shameful as what the Hiruma brothers or Kyoko Sakaguchi's tormentor did.
"Then again, none of those clowns in the Battousai Group could ever match Kenshin's speed, strength, and skill. Amakusa may have allegedly killed a thousand policemen, but who cares? No one could possibly keep up with Kenshin, especially when he was still in his prime. It's the quality of the opposition that counts, not the quantity."
"Huh. You talk as if this Battousai guy was the shit or something. I bet you that he won't even last a second against guys like Hijikata Toshizo or a healthy Okita Souji." The Shinsengumi-obsessed Gan had never heard of the acclaimed "Strongest Hitokiri of the Bakumatsu", and it showed.
Yahiko raspberried Gan. "Who was it that won the Bakumatsu anyway? Certainly not the overhyped, overrated, strength-through-numbers Shinsengumi and their bakufu overlords! Besides, I've seen Kenshin wipe the floor with Saito Hajime firsthand, and that wolf-like bastard with cockroach antenna for bangs is probably the strongest swordsman of the lot! The Shinsengumi aren't so tough!" the Kenshin-worshipping inheritor of the sakabatou shot back, even though he should've known better.
Gan moved his neck backwards as his mouth formed an ear-to-ear grin that made his chin appear twice its normal size. "A wolf-like bastard with cockroach antenna for bangs? Jeez, everybody knows that Saito Hajime has a sleepy-eyed expression and isn't a bastard at all. The Saito you know must be some sort of faker, a fictional character, or an urban legend! Whoever 'created' that Saito of yours deserves to be written a mountain of hate letters from real Shinsengumi fans everywhere!"
"Whatever, you obsessed fanboy," Yahiko groused, his forehead bearing down on his brows' ridges so hard that it veiled his eyes. 'He probably never even met the guy.'
Just then, Minoe took a page out of Yahiko's book and pulled the boy aside in order to query, "Really, Yahiko-chi? You know who Hitokiri Battousai is? Can you tell me more about him? Please? It'll really help me out in moving through the ranks of the Togakudan!"
Yahiko's face paled at the sight of the demure Minoe. He went through a couple of soundless gasps and false starts before somehow squeaking, "Er, sure. Sure. I'll help you out, Minoe. But seriously, why are you even bothering with the Togakudan? They're a bunch of bullying losers anyway. You should get better career prospects than those snitching assholes! They're not worth the trouble."
Minoe's eyes sparkled so brightly, nearby moths would've circled around them. "You mean it, Yahiko-chi? Because I'll leave the Togakudan in a heartbeat to join the Sanbaka!"
"I know nothing of these Three Stooges you speak of," Yahiko deadpanned, but was caught flatfooted as Minoe waxed melancholic... or rather, waxed despair masked in implausible deniability.
"I don't really mind the things Raedo-chi... I mean, Raedo-sempai and the others put me through. There are worse things in life than a bump or two on the head. In a sense, the things they do to me mean nothing to me at all. Really, I'm okay."
"Gee, Patches. That sounded really pathetic. Thanks for making me feel better about myself... I think," Gan shared as he gave the cowed Togakudan understudy an affectionate pat on the butt. 'Hmmm. That was softer than I expected.'
A hair-raising shriek, a slap, and a wrapped-up sakabatou strike later, the unfazed yet lumpy Gan elaborated, "You should get better role models than that chamber pot you call a leader. Hey, how about Kondo Isami-sama? Now there's a man among men that a girly boy like you should emulate!"
Minoe's lips curved ever-so-slightly as he muttered through fluttering lashes and pinkish cheeks, "No, thank you, I already have a role model to follow." Realizing that he'd said too much after both of his unwilling cohorts peered at him for far too long, he backtracked, "And Yahiko-chi has a role model too! Himura Battousai, isn't it? Oh, if only I were like him. Powerful, strong, ruthless, unbeatable..."
"...Effeminate, kind to a fault, possesses a martyr complex, looks good in a dress," Yahiko enumerated, much to Minoe's confusion.
"Eh?"
'That wasn't exactly an 'oro', but it's close enough for me,' Yahiko mused. "Do you want to know who the real Himura Kenshin is?" He reflexively appended "Kamiya" to Kenshin's name in his mind, but then decided that doing so would just amount to him splitting hairs. "Well, you're already off to a good start. Come on, let's buy your sempai those meat buns they never got. My treat."
His eyes crinkling as he let out a genuine smile, Minoe bobbed his head and chirped, "M-Mochiron!"
The heads of Tetsuo Akahori and Soujiro Seta shot up and jerked towards the western-styled hinged doors of the repossessed mansion's study after hearing consecutive knocks of ascending speed reverberate upon the the thick, wooden surface.
Soujiro moved from the wall he was slumping on to answer the door, but stopped after Akahori motioned him to back down. Just then, the door swung open anyway with a booming echo that jarred and jolted the entire manor to attention.
Trinkets jiggled, and the room's token globe spun wildly as the open entryway brought upon two brisk-walking individuals whose dueling shadows swallowed the exposed parts of the carpeted floor. On the flipside, the dynamic entry of the stiff-lipped gentlemen served as a breath of fresh air to the overall cramped stuffiness that had entrapped the quarters.
At the very least, the two new arrivals had the courtesy of bowing and exchanging their respective greetings to Akahori and Soujiro before walking off to opposite sides of the room. The Ten Ken himself laughed off the entire affair as he shut the door and went straight to the bay windows that overlooked Nagano's famous mountain peaks. Politics amused him the way human nature did; the world in his eyes was nothing but contradictions without logic or sense.
"I'm sorry I'm late, everyone. I did the best I could to get here in time. I hope you understand," the younger of the two visitors... perhaps even the youngest person in the room next to Soujiro... apologized with a hand over his head, three low bows, a mustachioed smile, and a shrug of his shoulders.
"I was expecting a busier schedule today, what with last week's civil unrest nonsense putting Japan to a halt and all. Then again, I promised the Prime Minister to at least check on you and your affairs as a favor to him. I heard you're going to rid our government of yet another budding rebellion; I believe Japan has quite enough of those already."
The younger politician couldn't help but curl his lips into a snarl while the older gentleman opposite him exchanged hushed pleasantries with Akahori. "On the other hand, I should have expected him to be here as well. I do hope that he and his cohorts are doing fine after disbanding their party just before the Chichibu riots happened. That's a hell of a coincidence right there, if I do say so myself. Don't you agree, Akahori-san?"
Akahori choked back a chuckle as he nodded at his guest's insinuation before he strode towards a corner of the room just beside Soujiro, the windowed door, and the grandfather clock where he could get a better view of the upcoming proceedings. Meanwhile, the outspoken forty-five-year-old envoy helped himself with the open bottles of wine before hearing the person he'd just antagonized speak his mind.
"Huh. Is that so? Well, while I'm sure that the Rikken Kaishinto Party and the Prime Minister's cabinet are getting their undergarments up in a bunch just to pin the blame for the Chichibu incident on a disbanded party, the nation's widespread sentiment of dissatisfaction is hardly the fault of just one party," countered Akahori's oldest friend and confidant, a forty-nine-year-old diplomatic veteran who also supported the cause of the Jiyu Minken Undo under the banner of the now-defunct Jiyuto Party.
"Yes, because inciting rebellion among disgruntled peasants is the right way to go about addressing their woes. Nothing solves the problems of hunger, debts, and the high cost of living better than outright, mindless violence," came the rebuttal of Akahori's junior by just one year, his tone raised an octave higher and his face flushed with the anticipation of running an opponent through with the sharpness of his tongue.
"Of course, I should have expected as much from a person who plays on both sides of the fence. Because of what happened in Chichibu, every member of the Liberal Party should be tried for treason, especially when one considers the fact that they're even willing to take criminals under their wing."
Fully aware of his compatriot's attempts at baiting him into an embarrassing temper tantrum, the aged diplomat stiffened his neck, paced towards the door, glanced at the paintings on the walls as he gathered his thoughts, halted, turned around, and carved through every last logical discrepancy of his tormentor's arguments with utmost impunity.
"Who's the criminal here? I myself have never conspired against my country or gotten involved in any embarrassing scandals, so I have nothing to hide from the Prime Minister or the Emperor. Besides which, I'm a Choshu diplomat, so I have no vested interest in defending the innocence of the Jiyuto save for the sake of objectiveness."
He took a step forward, snatched his attacker's wine glass away, and put it on a nearby table to get the alcoholic's undivided attention. "So much for the administration's claims that the Jiyuto was responsible for the Jiyu Minken Undo's little coup. Then again, the logic leap they've taken in order to link the rebels acting in the name of the Freedom and People's Rights Movement together with the Liberal Party because they both have the word 'jiyu' in their names is nothing short of brilliant. Indeed, this is our leaders at work right there."
"That's the stupidest retort I've ever heard. With all due respect to an elder of your stature, I couldn't disagree more with what you're insinuating," the younger elected official hissed through his gnashed teeth and rictus grin.
The elder of the two debaters opened his mouth to protest, but his unspoken words shrunk back and sought refuge behind his throat in the face of the forty-five-year-old man's methodical onslaught.
"You're a self-admitted member of the Jiyu Minken Undo, your status as a Choshu diplomat be damned. Ergo, your assertion that the Jiyuto is being unfairly treated is a false premise because the Chichibu rebels themselves have directly attributed their actions under the banner of your precious Freedom and People's Rights Movement. Don't deny it, and don't try to spin this fact into something that's actually beneficial to you and your political career!"
The older statesman... the oldest one in the room, in fact... kept his voice heard despite the rising volume of his fellow guest's own intonation. "I don't deny my involvement with the Jiyu Minken Undo. I also don't deny that what those peasants did was unjust or illegal. However, they're merely a symptom of the general discontent of the entire country that must be addressed, lest the Meiji Government goes the way of the Shogunate in the face of this new age."
"Oh please. It's your liberal propaganda that's encouraging peasants and the working class to choose treason over patriotism! The radical and extremist ways of the Jiyuto is not how Japan will meet the dawn of the new century! Traditional values must be kept, or else we might as well let the foreigners run roughshod through our country with their exploitative treaties and whatnot!"
"You're overreacting. I myself as well as many others in the Jiyuto Party are opposed to the unequal treaties. In fact, the reason why so many peasants revolted from the get go is partly because of the lack of action in that front as well as the extreme amounts of debts they've acquired because of our high taxes."
"Are you now acting as the spokesman for these criminals? Have a bit of dignity; abandon your misguided beliefs so that you can still save face."
The elder had had enough of his inferior's insinuations. "Criminals? Save face? That's rich coming from a man with an actual criminal record! I'd ask you to clean up your act, but there's no way that'll happen because you just can't clean dirt. You should thank your lucky stars that you're part of the Prime Minister's clique, or he would've booted you off his cabinet long ago!"
"All right, I've heard enough," Akahori interrupted his visitors as he made them sit down on the nearby chairs and poured them a couple of drinks. "At times, it seems to me that all I really need to keep me up to speed is to have you two quarrel over the latest issues. But we've gotten to the point where we're drudging up ancient history, so it's best that we let the matter drop for now."
Akahori stooped down at the edge of his seat, interlinked his gloved hands together, and let the glint of his spectacles shield his probing eyes. "Now tell me, Inoue-kun. Kuroda-kun. As you can see, you're the only two of many who are supposed to be here in my little mock meeting. What brought you two all the way here in Nagano despite the threats to my life?"
Meanwhile, at the edge of the Nagano Prefecture's territory, a speeding, horse-drawn carriage holding a VIP of sorts headed straight into the mansion located at the outskirts of Shinshushin.
"Miss Akahori, we're about to approach your father's mansion. It's just a few more miles from where we are," the long-haired, pony-tailed driver of the stagecoach shouted amidst the thunderous thud of hooves.
A ghostly pale girl with blank, slate-gray eyes and creamy, milk-white hair idly nodded before staring at the glass pane that framed the blur of sight and sound outside of it. Her smooth, soft skin shone in stark contrast to the crimson sedan chair she nestled herself into like ivory wrapped in velvet.
"Thank you," the girl gently droned at the lanky and limber person sitting atop the coach's perch in an even monotone. Her previous attempts at introducing some sort of emotion into her inflection were met with horrendous results, so she believed she was actually doing him a small favor by sounding "nonchalant".
Her socked-and-sandaled feet rested firmly on the cushioned floor while her untouched lap cloth formed a puddle of fabric beside her. A pair of dark-tinted sunglasses given to her as a gift by some foreign dignitary whose name she'd long ago forgotten lay in the middle of the cloth.
Her ashen irises moved back and forth in a frantic pace, making it hard for her to focus her vision on any particular place or object. Her line of sight eventually traveled from the window to the driver in a pendulum of involuntary motion even as she shielded her eyes with her long, ivory hands whenever a particularly bright glare shimmered from outside the carriage window.
The tinted spectacles she had available served as her typical shield against the unforgiving sunlight. However, her other pair of glasses... the clear, prescription ones... transformed the things around her into vivid yet crooked parodies of themselves for some reason, so she ultimately decided against wearing any glasses if she could help it.
Oh right, she almost forgot; she was also being kidnapped by her own driver. That wasn't originally part of her weekly itinerary, but she was willing to accommodate this circumstance into her schedule. After all, it couldn't be helped.
It had already been three days since she and her coachman left the docks of Aomori. Neither of them had talked about the kidnapping issue, but at that point of their journey, neither of them needed to. At least, that was how the Akahori daughter viewed it; she couldn't speak for her kidnapper.
She should've suspected something was wrong as soon as she noticed no other hired help present at the wagon's dickey box. There was no footman on the footboards, no outrider escorting them to clear the way, no shotgun messenger to act as a guard, and not even a faithful carriage dog scampering beside the stagecoach. Yes, her father tended to dote on her in every conceivable way a wealthy man would; she wasn't oblivious to that fact, at least.
Moreover, she should've been more suspicious of the one coachman that offered her a ride from the harbor of Tsugaru, Aomori all the way to the distant region of Shinshushin, Nagano. None of her other servants dared disobey her father's implicit orders to keep her from straying away from the waterfront, so she shouldn't have been so trusting of her overeager driver.
In spite of this, none of her attendants were particularly helpful in her desire to not be imprisoned in the inn near the Aomori docks and to be at her father's side at this critical juncture of his political career, so she figured she might as well take up her enthusiastic would-be kidnapper on his offer. She reckoned that if she had that dedicated a captor, then she might as well humor him, abduction be damned.
Sure, she could give her coachman the benefit of the doubt; maybe he was a genuinely inexperienced-to-the-point-of-criminal-negligence manservant who was willing to risk his livelihood in order to accommodate the whims of a spoiled little girl and fulfill a misplaced desire to help reunite father and daughter together during such an inauspicious time, but she wasn't nearly that naive or optimistic.
The convolution of their eventual escape... which involved a carriage ride from the Tsugaru docks to the nearest train station, an overnight train ride from Aomori to Fukushima, a short rendezvous at Kanto's Gunma in order to retrieve a horse-and-buggy they used to travel right up to Ueno before discarding that vehicle in favor of an expensive-looking stagecoach they used to drive across the border... clinched it for her. The garden-path setup of their travel details seemed a bit too familiar to her for her tastes.
In the end, she decided to play along with her subjugator's game, enjoying the benefits of food and travel up until the point where he chose to reveal himself to her. She cooperated all throughout that time, which suited the both of them just fine. Being accustomed to long stretches of awkward silence allowed her to see just how good her latest hostage taker was at his work.
To his credit, the coachman was at least hospitable. Perhaps she was being too hard on him, since he was doing quite well for a person who was obviously rushing to meet some sort of deadline. She afterwards wondered when they would have lunch. She usually ate like a bird, but taking a break during an almost uninterrupted journey would've been a nice change of pace.
"You're a dutiful daughter, aren't you? It's such a shame that you ended up with an inhuman monster for a father, Rin-ojousama," the driver drawled in a rather straightforward manner, which mildly disappointed Rin... not because of his words, but because she was looking forward to at least a few more hours of respite.
Rin's "frowning" mouth moved barely an inch southward; otherwise, her expression remained the same. She'd hoped that their charade would've lasted a while longer... at least until dinner... but alas, her captor eventually decided to act upon his well-prepared yet painfully obvious plans. And for her, nothing telegraphed a kidnapper's intent better than telling her outright how much he hated her father. It was almost a tradition for them to do so.
"I suppose this is the part where you reveal that you're kidnapping me as revenge against my father," Rin mentioned with nary a flinch or a blink, peering at the man who served as her escort for nearly a week straight with shaky irises. "If not, then my apologies for my presumptuousness. Is there any particular reason why you're airing your grievances right now of all times?"
The carriage driver moved his head back, held his hand over half of his face, and barked three measured laughs before taking proper hold of the horses' reigns. "You already knew? For how long have you known?"
Rin narrowed her eyes in an attempt to get a better view of her driver and hostage taker. Depending on the distance between her and what she stared at, she'd either see a perfectly clear picture or perceive just parts of it while the rest remained completely blurry.
"I'm not totally blind. You were all too keen to offer me a ride to Shinshushin when I asked for one. You probably would've taken me by force if I hadn't volunteered, so I offered you the path of least resistance. You were hired as one of my newest bodyguards just a few weeks ago. My father has been known to lose all sense of logic when it comes to protecting me, so kidnappers pretending to be my bodyguards has somewhat become the standard modus operandi against us for quite sometime."
The both of them remained exactly the way they were, with the coachman maintaining his control over the galloping horses and Rin sitting perfectly still on her seat, her relaxed voice in perfect contrast to her controlled breathing and motionless body.
As an afterthought, Rin consoled, "Don't misunderstand. You were among the better kidnappers I've ever seen. It's just that I've seen better; it's not your fault. Of course, I've seen much worse, so you've done quite well."
The faux-manservant chortled at his prisoner's conceit even as she attempted to either comfort him or rub salt in his painfully transparent scheme. "So why did you play along to my sham for such a long time if you already knew the truth?"
"I have lots of reasons. I don't want to be hogtied at the back of a carriage for one thing, and I don't want to be carried along like luggage for another. I can't vouch for your trustworthiness, but my gamble paid off, and I wasn't hurt in the least so far," Rin remarked evenly while staring at the floor, unused to making eye contact for an extended period of time. "Also, this is the fastest and easiest way to get to my father. Thank you for your help, by the way."
"Ha. That sounds halfway logical. Still, do you really love the devil that you call your father that much?" The gangly coachman sneered. "You're braver than you look. Any number of horrifying things could've happened to you in this journey. Are you really so innocent, arrogant, or stupid to think that you can manipulate your kidnapper to do whatever you want?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, but there's nothing you can possibly do to me that would scare me in the very least." For a girl who wasn't used to making eye contact, her stare pierced right through the driver's insides.
"You almost sound like you're threatening me."
"I'm just stating a fact."
The man clucked his tongue over his mouth in a manner reminiscent of a house gecko, his shoulders squared and his line of sight still trained on the road. "Fair enough. You saved me the trouble of having you bound and gagged. You have my thanks as well. Lord knows that you stand out like a sore thumb regardless... No offense. But don't worry, Ojousama; I'll take you to your father. God willing, you'll help me make sure that justice is served without anyone else getting hurt."
"That's a strange sentiment coming from a criminal. Who exactly are you?" Bees and hummingbirds had more variation in the buzz of their fluttering wings than Rin had with her voice.
"Oh, that's right. You've impressed me so much by your powers of deduction that I thought you've already figured out who I am," the carriage driver supposed with a chin rub and an irremovable smirk. He turned towards Rin, took off his cap and ponytail, and let loose three-feet worth of luxurious burgundy hair; his war banner that flowed and danced with the wind.
"You don't need to know my name, but for all intents and purposes, I am the Hitokiri Battousai," he introduced as he took hold of the young maiden's limp wrists, his calloused hand sporting a strange hole in the middle of its palm.
"The Battousai Group," she limply ascertained. She would've looked surprised if she could, but only for the benefit of her kidnapper. Then, without so much as a warning or a moment's hesitation, she snatched the "hitokiri's" collar, tugged and popped the buttons off of his vest, kicked the door of her coach, grabbed hold of her shawl and her colored bifocals, and jumped out of the moving vehicle.
"R-Rin-ojousama...!" the androgynous Battousai doppelganger sputtered by instinct before halting the horses' momentum with a tug of the reigns and a mighty shout of "WHOA!"
The abrupt stop caused the undercarriage to splinter and break from the strain, the wear-and-tear of traveling with only intermittent breaks from Kanto to Chubu taking its toll on the wheels, axles, and chassis. Providentially, the skidpan and the lancewood shafts was able to keep the rickety stagecoach together long enough for the Battousai impersonator to leap away from harm.
He landed seconds before the matchbox carriage crashed into a birch tree and broke into a thousand pieces of screaming wood and sawdust, the liberated thoroughbreds stampeding straight into the neighboring wilderness without direction or purpose.
"Like father, like daughter," was the lesson that the fake Battousai learned just now. Tracing the horse-and-carriage tracks back to the place where the intrepid Rin made her daring escape, the blood-haired man with a large scar shaped like a crucifix over his exposed chest resolved to make use of his passable medical knowledge to search for his mortal enemy's greatest weakness.
For example, he inferred that he should head for the shadiest part of the forest, complacent with the knowledge that a half-blind young woman with a biological distaste for sunlight shouldn't be very hard to find, especially in this sweltering mid-afternoon heat.
In the inner sanctum of Akahori's guestroom... a place that doubled as the curtain-bearded man's study, which was why it was filled to the brim with the typical trimmings of books, shelves, cabinets, a grandfather clock, chairs, luxurious carpeting, tables, candelabras, candle sconces, a fireplace, expensive portraits, windowed doors leading straight to the terrace, and more... the Oyakata's fellow politicians had already settled down and took their respective seats, engaging in calmer chitchat that slowly but surely progressed from trivial to grave.
"How does it feel to be a big fish in a small pond?" Kaoru Inoue, an arrow-mustachioed diplomat about two years older than Akahori, asked congenially as he stirred his drink by waving his wine glass around an imaginary circle.
Akahori snorted and rolled his eyes. "All the other so-called big fish I know have stayed clear of this place because of tonight's looming threat. I had to abandon all pretenses of having a meeting halfway through my preparations against the announced assassination, seeing that I only have you two attending so far."
The brush-mustached and slightly balding Count Kiyotaka Kuroda cleared his throat, pouring himself and Akahori two glasses of what he identified to be rare European-style wine made mostly unavailable to the East because of the phylloxera plague that ravaged Western vineyards at the time. The shortage forced Japan to create their own small-scale, non-rice-based alcohol production line through imported vine stock. In any case, the wine connoisseur figured he might as well show his appreciation of the expensive alcoholic beverage by savoring it to the last drop.
Akahori turned his attention to his former fellow compatriot from Hokkaido while Inoue quietly sipped his drink. "Is it foolishness or bravery that brought you here, Kuroda-kun?"
Kuroda chuckled for a couple of seconds before halting altogether. "I should ask you the same question. It's amazing how you were able to organize everything despite being the target of ultra-religious rebels, Akahori-san. Most other people in your shoes would have taken a foreign diplomat post overseas. You're either amazingly brave or astoundingly foolish... maybe both."
"Please, call me Akahori-kun. You're only two years younger than me," Akahori insisted by patting and clutching Kuroda's shoulder before letting go, opening up a bottle of sake this time around, and refilling Inoue's empty glass.
The rigidity of Kuroda's back gradually softened as he slouched on his cushioned chair. "As for you, you don't look a day over forty. What's your secret? I do hope that when I get to your age, I'll become that spry a forty-seven-year-old man! I don't know you do it."
Kuroda swayed forward before catching himself. "Nevertheless, the fact that you were able to influence so many officers to join your cause even in these dire times of civil disobedience and peasant rebellions is quite the remarkable feat," the count took note as he downed his glass of red wine in one shot.
Akahori's spectacles glinted, the light from the nearby windowed doors obscuring his eyes and overall facial expression. "Is it now? Yes, it is fascinating. But it's not as fascinating as seeing the former head of the Satsuma domain come all the way here to have drinks with the man whom he hates the most."
Kuroda paused for a minute. "Nonsense! I don't hate Inoue-san at all!"
The Oyakata sniggered, and Kuroda laughed along with him, the latter's eyes wide and darting all over the place.
In stark contrast to Inoue's earlier confrontation with Kuroda, the elder statesman served as Akahori's mediator of sorts this time around. "Now, now, Akahori. Kuroda-kun is merely doing what is expected of him. He's as loyal and dependable as our late comrade, Kawaji-kun, was."
"May he rest in peace," Kuroda murmured by reflex before beaming with gratitude towards the conciliatory Inoue. "Thank you for such high praise; I feel honored to be compared to such a great man!"
Even with his shiny, obscuring glasses, Akahori's sharp sneer was unmistakable. From there, the Oyakata barked with laughter, which compelled Kuroda to scrunch his face with furrowed eyebrows and a wrinkled forehead.
"Yes, Kawaji-kun will be sorely missed. Because he'd served as Okubo-dono's shadow for all these years, then perhaps some of Okubo-dono's greatness must've rubbed off on him! Why, the fact that he became such a 'major' player during Shishio Makoto's coup d'etat practically gives him the license to have a statue made after him, even! It's a pity then that no politician dares to even mention Shishio's name to the general public nowadays."
"Are you trying to say something, Akahori-san?" Kuroda queried, gripping the arms of his chair and making his clenched fists' knuckles turn white, his nails digging hard into the wooden finish.
"Nothing of the sort. Nonetheless, I am concerned about how Ito-dono and Yamagata-dono are treating you, Kuroda-kun. Have they sent you to this meeting to find out just why I was able to get the cooperation of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police? Or are you doing this to curry favor with them in order to regain the credibility you've lost after the Hokkaido Colonization Office Scandal?" the Oyakata supposed as he rubbed his bearded chin with a gloved thumb.
Kuroda stood up from his seat, his nostrils flaring and his body as motionless as an untouched landmine. He felt his face numb up, the room spinning slightly at the edge of his vision. However, he made no attempt to give Akahori a piece of his mind, demand an apology, or even hiss, "I don't like your tone of voice, Akahori-san."
"You shouldn't worry about your shortcomings too much, Kuroda-kun. I've once heard that the person who is usually punished is never the one who did the deed. He is always the scapegoat. Lucky for you, you have enough friends in high places to keep you in office for a long, long time. Who knows? Perhaps you'll even get to run this country someday. You never know," Akahori spewed his backhanded words of encouragement with the glibness of a salesman.
Kuroda let out a low growl, but did nothing else. This was neither the time nor the place for such shenanigans, the fallen statesman reckoned. Conversely, had his slackened tongue not rolled into his throat just then, he would've lambasted Akahori then and there. Besides, there was no need to confront a man who was, for all intents and purposes, already dead.
The Meiji Oligarchy had abandoned Akahori to be fed to the wolves, knowing full well that no matter what scheme or contingency plan the infamous Oyakata of Hokkaido came up with, there was no escaping the wrath of the religious rebel whose sword style even resembled the one used by Hitokiri Battousai... or so Kuroda deemed, anyway.
Toshimichi Okubo's immediate successor for the Satsuma leadership inwardly considered the events as karmic revenge against the man who'd helped ruin his political career altogether; the sniveling whistleblower who conspired with the leader of the Rikken Kaishinto conservatives in order to embarrass and dishonor the Ito Administration by revealing a fraudulent scheme it had to sell government assets to Hokkaido.
Kuroda knew that he was in the wrong and that he deserved his fall from grace, but he also knew for a fact that Akahori himself was part of the whole operation before he snitched about it and got away from the scandal scot-free. By the count's estimations, seeing the smug snake finally get his due was worth the lengthy trip down to the remote Nagano Prefecture.
After composing himself for a minute or so, Kuroda stiffly clarified, "The Prime Minister and the Defense Minister has nothing to do with my being here, Akahori-san," as he clutched his throat and smiled for exactly two seconds.
Before the self-righteous Akahori could interject yet another implied insult at Kuroda and incur the ex-Satsuma leader's rumored drunken wrath, Inoue remarked, "My, my, Akahori-dono! You make it sound like Kawaji-kun was some sort of Okubo sycophant, my friend! That couldn't be further from the truth. Kawaji-kun has done quite a lot in keeping the government stable and intact after Okubo's assassination. Our present Prime Minister would've had his hands full had our comrade not followed through the late Okubo-dono's mission to borrow Himura-kun's strength to repel the Shishio uprising."
"Is that so? It wasn't my intention to portray Kawaji-kun as anything other than the hero he truly is or was, Inoue," Akahori indirectly apologized while giving the livid Kuroda a token glance. "I wouldn't dare risk raising the ire of any Ishin Shishi supporters. Perish the thought."
"Please, Akahori. There are no more bakufu or Ishin Shishi in this day and age. Only politicians," Inoue corrected as he put his half-empty wine glass down on the nearby table.
"Oh, that's right. There have been quite a lot of people who'd rather refer to the former Ishin Shishi as members of the Choshu and Satsuma clans even though both Okubo-dono and Katsura-dono have long ago passed away. Saigo-dono himself turned out to be a traitor to our new government. As such, in some politicians' minds, there's a big difference between the 'true' Ishin Shishi and what's left of them in the Ito Administration." Akahori stroked his chin-beard as he paced around the room.
Despite Inoue's best attempts at compromise and because of Akahori's roundabout insults of Hirobumi Ito's governance, Kuroda felt obliged to slump back to his seat, cross his arms, and comment, "It's also regrettable that Akahori-san is among those in the oligarchy who approved of handing out pardons to the surviving members of Shishio's troop. I mean, it's really lucky for him that all the brave policemen he has gathered here today aren't privy to that information. Who knows how they'd react to such a controversial issue once it's brought up?"
Akahori could only tilt his head as he looked over the irate count's shoulder. Noticing the older man's stare, Kuroda instinctively turned around, only to have his sweat turn cold upon noticing the beaming, indecipherably blissful face of Soujiro Seta... Okubo's true murderer. At the back of his mind, he could almost hear Akahori mention, "Give anyone enough rope, and he'll calmly hang himself," as he gulped and retreated into his suit's stiff collar.
"There are men who become great because they surround themselves with other great men, lifting themselves together in new heights of excellence. Then again, there are those who beat their own path by using the circumstances they've been dealt with to define their own greatness," Akahori glibly declared, sitting down on the chair at the back of his desk, his back hunched forward, and his hands forming a steeple in front of his face.
To be Continued...
Next: Shogi piece arrangement.
To tell you the truth, the Togakudan is a shout out to a rather infamous filler episode in the Rurouni Kenshin anime. The one involving Sanosuke and a dog. However, unlike their Kenwadan counterparts, the Togakudan aren't wearing "Kunimitsu" cat masks of "Tekken" fame.
Moreover, the "That's a hell of a big word!" quote originated from a "Whose Line Is It Anyway?" joke. Man, I love that show. Ryan and Colin are natural-born comedians. Finally, the quote about Yahiko realizing the source of Kenshin's strength comes straight from the Rurouni Kenshin manga, during the Jinchu Arc.
Wala na akong masabi,
Abdiel