Note: I am portraying intimate moments between Kenshin and Tomoe much earlier than depicted in the Manga or the OVA. I would like to explain the reasoning that led me to portray their intimacy at an earlier stage.

Firstly, in the Manga, intimacy is not portrayed straightforwardly due to its publication in Shounen JUMP, targeted at a young audience. However, historically, before major Western influence, Japan was indeed sexually liberated. Pre-marital sex was commonplace, and in certain classes, it was even encouraged. The restrictions related to sex were mainly imposed on the Samurai class due to their emphasis on bloodlines. Apart from that, divorce and remarriage were prevalent, applying to both men and women. It was also common for women to initiate confessions. Female chastity was not deemed a strict necessity, partially influenced by the gender ratio in Edo-period Japan, which was heavily male-populated. In the early Edo period, the ratio was approximately 4:1, increasing considerably by the end of the period but remaining around 2:1.

Returning to the specifics of the Manga, I must note that I have read it in both English and Japanese. In the beginning, when Kenshin meets Tomoe, he addresses her as "Tomoe-san" and uses the pronoun "Anata," a polite form of address. However, by the chapter where he mistakenly almost kills Tomoe in Kohagiya, he has already started addressing her with the pronoun "Kimi" instead of "Anata." Since "Kimi" is never used with the suffix "-san," he is likely addressing her as "Tomoe." Both forms are not normal, and even in modern Japanese standards, they denote intimacy. Considering he was already using Yobisute, he is essentially declaring to everyone that Tomoe is his woman. Additionally, Tomoe is three years older than Kenshin, making Yobisute outside of intimacy impossible. It's worth noting that during that time, some men used less polite forms of speaking with women, but Kenshin did not follow this trend. Even as a little boy, he addressed three girls, Kasumi, Akane, and Sakura, with a "-san" suffix, and when he first met Tomoe, he used "-san" with her.

Thus, they were already intimate before going to Otsu. While much of that intimacy, particularly on a mental level, may have originated from Kenshin's side, it's evident that Tomoe was not oblivious to it. When Kenshin, after almost killing her in Kohagiya, suggested she leave, Tomoe responded assertively with, "I will be with you for a while longer." Not seeking permission or expressing her desire, she unequivocally stated her intention to remain with him, indicating her understanding that he would not ask her to leave.


"Stop," I whisper to my heart. But it seems to have surrendered itself to its own destiny, much like I have. With every other beat, I feel this throbbing pain. I notice her breathing, just mildly erratic. I ponder whether she felt even a fraction of what I did.

This moment seems as fragile as falling snow. As if with a single touch, it will melt and disappear, as if it never existed. I wonder, what did she feel for me? What is she feeling now?

That's when the dreadful realization hits me.

Feel for me?

Me?

"Shura,"

"Oni,"

The voices of people describing what they see us as suddenly appear in my head. For a moment, the throbbing pain turns into a painful crushing sensation, and I feel my stomach churn.

What if that's what she thought of me while letting me touch her?

Was she frightened of me?

Did she consider me a loathsome monster? Did I repulse her? Is that why she remains silent now?

I become acutely aware of a crippling fear, realizing that I'll be plunged into an abyss if I see disgust in her eyes for me.

I become aware of my palm twitching slightly from anxiety, and I curl my hand into a fist.

"Do you..." I say, my voice carrying an unexpected tone of reluctance that surprises even me.

"...find me disgusting?" I complete my sentence, realizing my fist has tightened even more. In fact, it has constricted so much that I can almost feel the nails of my fingers digging into my skin.

I hear no response from her for a few passing moments, and then she turns to look at me. In this dim room, I can't seem to make out the details of her expression, yet I know the face she is making.

"Why?" she asks, in her usual way.

"Because I am..."

"a hitokiri," I find myself reluctantly responding to her.

I sense an unexpected movement of her hand, and soon, her touch graces my cheek. It's as if all the tormenting aches I felt in the passing moments have dissipated. Her palm feels slightly colder than the skin of my cheek. The sensation of her fingertips on my skin evokes that odd feeling again.

I enfold my palm around the wrist of the hand she uses to touch my cheek, and in that play of darkness, all my unspoken desires and yearnings unfurl like a painting. Almost instinctively, I draw her into my embrace, realizing it only when I hear a slight gasp from her and feel that soft, delicate body melding against me.

Releasing her wrist, my hand glides to her waist, tracing the gentle contours of her form. Every fiber of my self-control strains against the desire that longs to unravel every layer of fabric from her skin, to touch every inch of that exposed flesh, exploring each texture and curve.

My lips follow the trail of her wet hair, gliding downward along the contours of her beautiful face. They find her cold earlobe beneath a cascade of damp strands. With gentle fingers, I move her hair away, tucking it behind her ear, and begin to delicately caress her earlobe with my lips. I sense her hand clenching onto my kimono, gently pulling at it as my tongue traces the contours of her ear, an attempt to infuse warmth.

I notice her breath quickening, a soft breeze on the skin of my face.

Her breaths, her voice—I crave to hear more.

I allow my lips to trace down the beautiful arches of her chin, caressing parts of her jawbone, and slowly moving to the side of her neck. I suck on her skin, feeling the firm grip of her hand on my kimono tighten, almost tugging at it. As I indulge in the taste of her, I hear her emit a soft moan, the sweetness of it sending shivers.

My lips part from the skin of her neck and find her lips. This time, there's no leisure, no fragility—only a desperate, urgent hunger, as if endeavoring to imbibe every essence of her to sustain life.

In the embrace, temporal boundaries fade into insignificance, as if minutes and hours have surrendered to the eternity we've created.

The dream concludes with the echo of Shishis' footsteps downstairs.

We slowly separate, if not for the lingering taste of our shared intimacy in my mouth and traces of it on my lips, I would wonder whether what transpired between us was a mere figment of imagination.

I feel her slowly separating and withdrawing from me, and in my mind, I try not to think about how much of my mind has become hers and how defenseless, how vulnerable I am to her.

The resonance of their voices shatters the trance in which I had immersed myself. Yet, amid the echoes, the moments of intimacy with her flicker and surge through my mind. In this room cloaked in darkness, I find solace, grateful that its obscurity conceals the expressions etched upon my face from her discerning gaze.

I turn my back to her and walk toward the Shoji door. I pause for a moment, exhaling deeply as if seeking composure.

"You should change, or you will catch a cold," I say, contemplating the unfamiliar sensation of concern for someone over such a trivial matter.

As I conclude the sentence, I open the Shoji door and make my exit.

As I close the door behind me and descend the stairs, I encounter the familiar face of Iizuka-san, speaking in his usual tone.

"Himura!" he exclaims, pausing to scrutinize my face closely.

"What's wrong with you... your face is all red," he observes in a calm yet surprised tone.

I attempt to hide my face from his gaze and proceed along the corridor, preparing to make my exit.

"Nothing," I respond, trying to put some distance between us to dissuade Iizuka-san from further inquiries.

That man possesses an unnecessary acumen in deciphering the details of people's lives.

"Himura," Iizuka-san says, breaking the tranquility around us.

"We need to talk."

I nod in agreement, and I follow him. We leave Kohagiya, and I feel the raindrops falling on me. I realize that rain has never felt this gentle, this painfully sweet.

"We are going to Ikedaya," Iizuka-san informs me.

"Nakamura-san is there."

"Nakamura-san?" I repeat.

Iizuka-san responds, "Yes."

"He would like to talk to you."

"To me," I respond with a partial repetition of his sentence as I contemplate the content of the conversation that happened between Nakamura-san and Katsura-san.

We soon enter Ikedaya and step into one of the rooms. Once inside, Nakamura-san is seated with five or six other Shishis, their dejected shadows cast by the lantern-lit room mirroring their expressions.

Nakamura-san, who had been devoid of expression during his conversation with Katsura-san, now wears a changed face.

"Himura," he says, sipping Sake from the cup.

"Can't you have a talk with Katsura-san?" He sighs and takes another sip.

Seating myself behind one of the low tables nearby, Nakamura-san glances at the other Ishin Shishi members in the room, signaling for them to leave. They exit one by one.

Once I'm certain they're out of earshot, I remark, "I doubt that will do anything."

Nakamura-san looks at me, a trace of annoyance evident. "Do you think his position will be unharmed if he goes against the retainers of the Choshu domain?"

I meet his gaze, sensing a mixture of anger and annoyance brewing within his eyes. Yet, I know Nakamura-san is a wise man, not easily swayed by emotions or illogical orders.

"Do you really think what Katsura-san is saying does not hold any merit?" I say.

"What I do know is," I pause for a few passing seconds before continuing, "The Ishin Shishi currently has its hands full with Shinsengumi joining the forces of Mimawarigumi. I have not faced them yet, but the wolves of Mibu are a force to behold."

I realize that Nakamura-san has been listening quietly, and the emotions that were showing on his face have evened out.

After a while, he says, "Himura," and he pauses for a bit before continuing, "I would like you to stay with me while I leave Kyoto," and he looks at me, his gaze expecting an answer.

If this were any other day, the answer would be clear, but I realize that the response is not so evident to me today. Perhaps, I would like to stay here.

In fact, I would prefer to be anywhere else, anywhere except Kohagiya. The last thing I want to do right now is see her.

I contemplate for a moment as these thoughts continue to rush through me, and I respond with, "Fair enough."

"However, I would need Katsura-san's order for that."

I notice him smiling slightly, and he says, "That has been taken care of."

He continued to sip Sake from the cup, and after another quiet sip, he inquired,

"What prompted your decision to join Kiheitai and eventually align yourself with Ishin Shishi, following Katsura?"

"You don't strike me as someone easily swayed by his charisma."

I find myself taken aback by his question.

Initially, I assumed that fellow revolutionaries shared the same motivations as I did, that we all rallied behind the cause for similar reasons. However, it came as a surprise when I realized that, for different individuals, the term "revolution" carries distinct meanings.

I close my eyes calmly and respond to him, "The essence of revolution within Takasugi-san and Katsura-san resonated with mine. That is all."

Upon hearing that, he closes his eyes and sips from the cup again. I observe a gentle smile gracing his face once more.

He sips once, and again, and then once more, Each delicate sip, a quiet contemplation.

I listen as he speaks once more,

"Himura, what, to you, is Revolution?"

It's not that I don't ponder this question in my mind; it's just that I've pondered it so many times, in so many ways, and for so long that it has become a part of who I am.

"A fight to create a place where even the weakest can be happy," I reply.

In my mind, I can almost see blurry images of a time long ago—a time with a child who had parents and siblings, a home where children lacked toys, kimonos worn to the point of questioning their true color, a meager kitchen with nothing to cook, a small room where everyone slept side by side. Until one day, illness struck, leaving only the boy. Soon, that image fades from my thoughts.

He laughs upon hearing my response. After a brief chuckle, he remarks, "Who would have thought that you would have such a naive ideal about revolution."

His laughter doesn't startle me; I've heard it before.

As the conversation slowly concludes, I attempt to rise.

I hear him call someone outside and instruct, "Show Battousai his room."

I follow that man, and he halts before a shoji door, saying, "You can use this room while you stay here," before leaving.

I step into the room, observing its uncanny resemblance to the one in Kohagiya. However, I notice the absence of flowers in the Tokonoma. Yet, strangely, the faint fragrance of Hakubaiko lingers.

I come to the realization that the scent refuses to release its hold on me—or perhaps, just perhaps, it is I who cannot escape it.

The instant I settle into my customary seat by the window, unwanted thoughts flood my mind, thoughts I'd rather avoid at any cost.

"What is she doing now?"

"Is she sleeping?"

"Is she regretting being close with me? She must be."

"She must be thinking it is nothing but a mistake and trying to forget it."

As these thoughts race through my mind, I acknowledge an alien emotion taking root within me. Despite telling myself that she regrets, I recognize how much I yearn to be mistaken.

My fingers unconsciously find their way to my lips, and upon realization, I discover that I am already retracing the path where her lips met mine. Recalling that sensation once more induces an odd feeling within me.

"Stop," I admonish myself. However, this time, my efforts prove futile in banishing her from my thoughts.

I regret underestimating the Shishis, who grappled with matters related to women.

In fact, I discern that I would have preferred to have Iizuka-san by my side now. At least, his ceaseless prattle might have helped in diverting my thoughts. I inhale deeply in an attempt to compose myself and try to slip into slumber.