THE PUPIL

The first time he ate dango, his face must have been priceless. It was about a week or so after Hiko —'his master', the man corrected with a stern face— took him in. They had reached a roadside teahouse, barely three walls and a roof, and a couple of long, thin banners hanging at its entrance. The boy, red faced and feet aching, sighed in relief when his master finally stopped there: For every step the man took, he had to take two or three. Try to keep that up every day...

He– 'Kenshin,' he reminded himself, sat on a plain wooden bench by the entrance, happy to just let his legs dangle from the edge and warm his hands under his thighs in spite of the glaring looks of the passersby. He couldn't put a finger on what exactly it was they couldn't peel their eyes from. Maybe the dirt in his clothes? His hair? Uncomfortable, he looked away from the road, instead taking in the trees, the tallest he'd ever seen, and how their branches and leaves seemed to disappeared in the hazy sky. The boy wondered what the woods down south would look like: Maybe the trees were so big that only giants like his master could live there? He frowned at himself. Now he was being stupid: There was no way anyone could be taller than him… could it?

He had no more time to ponder; in that moment, the man himself sat beside him with a plate of skewered small balls dipped in sauce and a curt "Eat". The boy stared. It smelled good, but still… He peeked at his master, quietly sipping his tea, and lowered his gaze again to the mysterious plate. With a wary finger, he poked one of the gummy balls and grimaced at the thick, sticky sauce. Yeah, he wasn't so sure about their eat-ability…

He noticed his master staring at him.

He took a bite.

Salty and sweet and pure goodness. The taste danced in his tongue making him glow, so much so that Hiko himself couldn't help but half-smirk in turn: "Now that wasn't so bad, right?" Kenshin smiled back at him, cheeks full of dango and specks of sauce. And that was the last time his master responded in kind.

The next day, they arrived at a small hut in the woods east of Otsu, just big enough for them to sleep in and just strong enough to hold itself upright. There, his real training began. While they were on the way, it was just hitting trees and what he'd soon learn was actually 'light' sparring with whatever sticks and rods they could find; probably to test him, or more likely test himself on how to teach the boy. In any case, his master was ruthless, 'for the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu demands it all from its wielder', and Kenshin was too small. Too thin. Too soft. Too weak. And still, he trained every day until his hands bled, the flesh itself aching from the wooden sword's recoil as they sparred. Then there was all the tactical stuff: Smack! "Don't grip so hard." Smack! "Now I've got your sword. Grip tighter!" Smack! He hit the floor "Watch your feet!". No matter how hard he tried, there was always a what, a how and a when that had him biting the dust again and again. That was what made his head pound at the end of the day, more so than any scrape or bruise, of which he had many. But still, he pushed through. He had to. Every day his eyes got a little bit better at catching the turn of his master's sword, ever more watchful of which way the hit was going to come from. He wouldn't, couldn't let anyone else be hurt. Ever. Again.

The nightmares were the worst of it. True, taking a child in with zero knowledge of how to teach him, not to mention how to teach in general, was one thing; taking it in without the faintest idea how to actually care for it was even worse. But both of those he managed to figure out on the go with just as many bad days as anyone else: The kid doesn't get the basics? Break a branch on his head and he'll understand what a 'Karatake' is. You don't have enough for two bowls of rice? Drink tea with your best poker face and give the child the one you could actually afford. But what Hiko Seijūrō the Thirteenth was not even remotely prepared for, was waking up to the painful whimpers of a kid trapped in dreams of blood; to jerk a boy awake for it to just lay there, seating still with his head hanging low like a rag doll, nothing but a few tears clinging to his now empty eyes; being left with the shell of a kid in the middle of the night… He'd never say it out loud, but he'd rather deal with a wet bed than with whatever sucked the life out of that boy whenever it snowed.

Hiko let himself rest against the wall with a sigh when he saw Kenshin's breath, the cold air of the hut drawing its shape in the palest of shades. The wood creaked under his weight as he fed the hearth. "There, better?" he offered, but there was no response other than the sharp hum of the wind rattling the shutters. Good thing he didn't believe in snow kids..

The man rubbed his eyes, frustration and fatigue threatening to take him down in advance of what the day was yet to bring. When he was like this, when he couldn't snap out of it, the boy would 'wake up' just in a sense, enough to go through the motions of the day. He would eat, dress, follow and train without a word, not a whiff of fear, doubt or his usual 'buts' to dull his movements. It made him almost terrifyingly good for a kid his age, but so very reckless . Hiko hated it. Whatever his pupil thought of him after a specially hard whacking, he had to admit that his master did have a superb control over his own force and speed. However, it just wasn't enough during one of those damned days.

"For gods-sake, DODGE!" He cried as the wood cracked on the boy's head. In that same instant, he felt a blinding pain in his shin, the little bastard having managed to hit him as he went down.

Hiko bit his anger hard as he jumped back, trying to alleviate the pain. Had it been anyone else… But it wasn't. It was a small, red-haired boy the one that, wobbly but surely, stood up in the snow. And he was bleeding.

"Shit."

Shaking off the pain in his leg, Hiko closed the distance in two steps. He lifted the boy's chin, his hair —so much blood, why so much blood?,— searching for the tiny gash in his hairline where the bokken hit him. "I'm ok," Kenshin dismissed with a wince, pushing his master's hands away to rub some of the blood out of his eye. Finally, a word. He sighed: "Come on…"

Half guiding, half pushing the boy back to the hut, Hiko took a vase, filled it with snow and left it on the few embers still alive in the hearth. Then, ripping the closest piece of cloth he could reach without taking his eyes away from the kid, he started patting and scrapping the blood from his face. "'Said I'm ok" Kenshin scowled, barely mumbling his words under the returned weight of his hurt pride. Now that was more like his stupid pupil.

He gave both the vase and the rag to the boy, stepping back and on the floor of the hut to kick the snow out before taking a seat. He looked on as Kenshin washed his face, taking special care around the bump in which the gash must have surely turned by now, and was about to zone out when the mumbled words finally reached him:

"You think I can do it?"

Three winters. Three winters since that day, and it was now that he had doubts? Uncorking a bottle of sake, the man took his time pouring himself a drink; if he had to guess, it seemed it wasn't the snow but the cold that brought back those memories. He finally acknowledged the boy, warily expectant for his answer.

"No."

The shock drained all blood from Kenshin's face. "M– Master!" he stuttered, taking a sharp step forward just before Hiko continued, "I told you Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu demands it all from its wielder, remember?" His stern voice resonated despite the snow muffling every sound around them. "No matter how hard you try, you won't be able to master it and it still will take its toll on your body; you're not built for it." Despite Hiko's best efforts to get him up to par, Kenshin remained too small, too frail. Even now, especially now, frozen as the air around him. "Do you quit?"

"No." A genuine smile drew itself in the man's lips. That resolute response, those gleaming eyes; those were the hallmarks of his simpleton, stupid pupil.

"Then, it's time we meet an old friend of mine."