V

THE SWORDSMAN (II)

"What a waste…"

Kenshin raised his gaze through the thick tuft of red hair that shielded his eyes from the sun. The brawny young man—Koshijiro, as he had introduced himself,—looked almost comically mournful, with brows knitted at the most pitiful angle over the spilled tofu. He had been helping to pick up the dirt-covered sardines one by one as if the slippery skin was the worst thing ever; but apparently it was the half-block of fermented soy that truly struck a cord. The redhead scoffed. He would have laughed at his face if it didn't actually hurt to see his dinner on the ground: Iori-san had masterfully haggled each bit of it, even managing to get a peddler to sell her two radishes for half the price he was selling them by the dozen. She stretched every coin and good she could trade since the first time they went to buy groceries, and he was well aware that a fare share of the reason why she had to it was himself. So, if it rattled the young man so much—Kenshin wondered, carefully grabbing the biggest pieces of tofu and putting them back into the bucket,—where had the honorable warriors been before the theft? Weren't they supposed to be patrolling or something?

His stomach growled in anger.

"Uh—… I'll talk to the merchants and get new ones for you…" the young man suddenly sounded small, withdrawn… sorry? Frowning, Kenshin rushed to cram any and every bit of salvageable food into the bucket: "They won't be happy to be asked for more free stuff."

"Yeah, I guess I didn't think it through" the young man replied scratching the back of his head.

Kenshin rolled his eyes and stood up, the brimming bucket firmly held between his arms. He was half way to Iori-san, squeezing through people and watching out for any loaded street peddlers, when he noticed the crowd started to thin out around him. He looked up to find Koshijiro following close by. Whether Kenshin liked it or not, him being there was most likely the only reason no one had trampled over their food. Or himself. And although he'd like to believe it was because the top of the young man's head reflected the sun like a polished mirror, everyone's eyes pointed towards the two ornate swords in his belt. But if it was just because of that, how come no one else had swords?

"Thank you, Ken-chan" the woman greeted as she fixed her collar; the baby had been as hungry as the redhead was, but unlike him, the baby still had food and a comfortable place to sleep through the whole thing. The boy couldn't help a smile creeping to his lips. He brushed away the last of the pebbles still stuck to his chin, trying to hide the tiny bit of pride he took in having kept the baby safe.

"By the way, what's that you're carrying in your back, kid?"

He turned around to tell the young man about the sword when he felt the woman's hand squeeze tightly one of his shoulders: "It is an errand for my husband, he is a smith, you see," her smile was just on the side of strained, "I am guessing you are not from around here, are you Koshijiro-san?"

"So you noticed," the young man smiled broadly, scratching the back of his head once again, "yeah, I'm from Edo; the Kamiya of Edo."

Kenshin left the brimming wooden bucket at the woman's feet as she continued to chat about what cities she did and didn't know, the different customs each one had, the different families they knew… Puzzled, he tried to find her gaze to no avail, but the grip on his shoulder tightened more and more every time he was about to open his mouth. And still, she kept the man-boy talking: "… Yeah, I've only known Serizawa-sensei and Maekawa-senpai for a couple of months; I came looking to make a name for myself," he continued, "they are… tough, but honorable men."

A pause.

"… Tough?"

The young man's eyes darted to the side.

"Umm… I think it's enough chat, right?" he excused, and the woman smiled politely at that. Finally. "We should get going, I should take you home," Home? But I—Another firm squeeze stilled his tongue. "I need to get going… to help with the search for the thieves that is."

"Oh, yes, I am sorry; I guess you don't want to keep the magistrate waiting."

"Well, it wasn't their first time, so…" the young man's gaze darkened visibly.

And so did Iori-san's.

"Koshijiro-san… it was just a kid, a scared kid."

The young man's eyebrows knitted once more, but this time they were straight, somber: "It wasn't their first time" he repeated, it seemed, more to convince himself than the woman.

"Well of course not!" Her voice raised, startling both of them, the baby, and maybe even herself as she continued in hushed but pleading tones: "Not with the harvest like it is, not with the taxes! And certainly not if they are punished or executed when they so much as complain…!"

"Iori-san," the young man tried, "I understand, but—"

"No you don't!" Defeated, Koshijiro's shoulders dropped. "If you did, if you truly did," she held the baby tighter, "you wouldn't defend your master cutting a kid's hand over a bit of rice!"

Realization hit the redhead like a rock: How people walked a bit too far around the swordsmen. How merchants had crammed as much reverence as they could in every word when talking to them. How no one dared to meet their gaze. How having a sword made it a given to 'get' something instead of to 'buy' it. How it was a second, but when that severe gaze paused on him, its disdain made the redhead squirm.

"Please, Koshijiro…"

There was no saying 'no' to Iori-san.

The boy bolted, weaving through the dense maze of limbs and wares towards the river that split the village in two. On the other shore, the outskirts sprawled deep into the hillside to the northwest, the place where the merchants said they had their 'rat's nest'. But as he neared the river mouth, the crowd came to a stop. Drawn by the fishmongers' calls, which hoarded purses left and right, it formed a thick, solid wall all the way to the bridge. Could he—? No. Biting on the fear of running out of time, the redhead darted left towards the alleys.

The raw edge rattled furiously in Kenshin's back as he vaulted over barrels, crates and drunkards until he finally hit the riverbank. Not knowing how far ahead the swordsmen were, he pushed on, rushing towards the bridge. As the boy run past some kids sparring with sticks on the shore, his eyes stuck to them for a second too long and it hit him: he wouldn't know he found the kids even if he happened to stumble upon them. All he could think at the time was catching Seikū before he fell, and as soon as he did, the thief had kicked dirt into his eyes in his attempt to escape. His chest tightened with the realization that he was after a random kid with a checkered kimono and no a clue on where to start looking. Still, the redhead stubbornly held onto a hunch, and jumped on the bridge's railing to avoid the crossing crowd: There was a place he knew kids gathered to play in the outskirts of Otsu; where roasted chestnuts and tea awaited them when they had nothing else to eat; where they could run and hide when things at home got rough… where they glared at him for days as he waited for Iori-san: The midwife. She had to know. It was a long shot, but it was the only one he had.

Now deep in the endless rows of thatched roofs, the boy dodged other swordsmen along the way: groups of two or three at most, questioning people on the children's whereabouts. Maybe there was still time...

But that hope came crashing down with the sword that cut through a small checkered sleeve.

The shriek was deafening. Kenshin couldn't even hear the midwife's cry, pleading for mercy. Couldn't hear the wail of the young ones, clinging to her robe as they saw the pool of blood expanding in thick gushes under the kid's stump. ThebloodtheswordsthescreamsthePAIN. It was that night, all over again.

No, he thought. Never again.

With his heart beating loudly inside his head, the boy charged. He felt his throat tear in a soundless scream as the tip of his bokutō grazed Serizawa's jaw. The man was fast, but it was enough to make him staggered backwards, giving the redhead a chance to grab the kid and push him as far away as he could from the bloodied sword. And just in time at that.

"You fucking half-bred brat!" the man roared as he seized Kenshin by the hair, hurling him to the ground and knocking the air out of the boy's lungs. Gasping for air, he barely managed to dodge one, two very sharp blows that would have ended it then and there; but as soon as he dodged, the man was over him again, his sword rushing towards the boy once more. Fear creeping rapidly within, the redhead parried the third blow only to see his bokutō split in two as if it were paper, the sickly thin edge now buried in the ground just a breath away from his head. That was no training, no bone-breaking sparring; there was murder in the man's eyes. The thought gripped his throat. In the past three years, the most he had feared was pain: He would shake it off and try again. Now, one bad choice would be his last.

Throwing the bokutō's hilt at Serizawa's face, the boy rolled right. He clawed at the dirt to get some distance between the two of them, the man's mad roar pushing him so hard that he felt his nails bend backwards in his desperation. If only there was a stick, a stone, anything he could use, maybe then someone would come and…

"Die."

He was still half-crouching when the blow cut through his back. The blade rang inside his head as he tumbled, feeling something stiff, metallic, hard digging into his spine. It rolled over him, below him, jawbreaking soft as he came to a stop with his face against it. He tried to open his eyes. It hurt all over.

"… A sword…?" the boy heard him grumble, still very much alive. The blade in his back, he remembered. "You fucking scoundrel!"

Gritting his teeth through blood and dirt, he felt the relentless grating sound of the man's steps closing in, his sword rattling as it dragged behind him. Serizawa was waiting, damnit, he was waiting for Kenshin to get up.

You can't make it, boy.

His eyes snapped open. His master's voice sounded impossibly clear in his head, the terrible truth he uttered as they left for Otsu making his stomach drop. The ground below him was wet with spit and blood, a tooth glinting white in the red and gray mess.

You can't make it.

"Stop! Serizawa-sensei!" Koshijiro's voice cut through that awful sound "Please!"

The sound stopped right next to him. "What the hell do you want now, Kamiya?!"

Seizing the opportunity, the boy lashed out, only to bite the dust again with a heavy kick to the back. Serizawa was taller. Sharper. Stronger.

You can't make it with your strength alone.

"The thief's been punished, it's enough! Please! Let's go back—!"

"Is that a fucking joke?!" Serizawa roared, "I'm not gonna let scum think they can go around mocking us, discrediting us!" the boy tried to fight back when the man doubled down, putting more and more of his weight on the boy's back until he forced a painful cry out of him. "I'm gonna show this half-bred scoundrel what justice is, oh yes: I'll make an example out of this piece of shit…" the man spat, and the redhead felt the raw edge now peeking out of its cradle of straw, digging into his shoulder.

… So you'll have to do with speed, with wits.

"He's no scoundrel, he's just a kid! A good kid! He's the one that was helping the woman, remember—?"

"I'm no idiot, Kamiya, I remember this brat! He came at me! He interrupted justice! What the fuck is your point?!"

"You chopped a kid's hand, how is that justice?!" the young man cried, and if he had held any hope that Koshijiro put a stop to that madness, that hope fell apart along with the young man's voice.

His fingers curled around the raw blade.

"But that is justice! We are justice!" Serizawa bellowed, and he extended his arms as if to show something around him. "The peace they live in, the roof over their heads, the goddamn ground they walk on is made with the blood of our fathers; it's on us to keep them from burning it all to the ground! And what do we get for it?! They go whoring and then whine they can't pay their dues! They mock us and plot against us! I've known leaches more honorable than this treacherous vermin!"

It will be harder: pushing yourself to be faster than anyone else, read any and every move and attack in the blink of an eye.

The man grabbed the redhead by his neck, pressing him against his crotch "They should suck my dick and be fucking happy I let them have at it!"

Slash. The swordsman screamed.

But that it's the only way you can do it.

A bright red gash run upwards from his loin, his flesh opening with every staggered step he took. Kenshin spat his blood to the ground, his eyes locked onto the swordsman's every move and his raw blade now glinting red in his hands.

The man lounged, fury and pain barely dulling his sword. But this time, it rang as the boy blocked it, metal against metal. Kenshin bit through the pain of more than one cracked rib, of the unfinished edge digging into his palms with each blow. He had landed a good one, but there was no way in hell he'd be able to keep up with the intense barrage. He grit his teeth, feeling himself being hammered down and down and down…

Don't just block dammit! Dodge!

The instant the blade came down on him, he loosened his grip. His hips turned away by a fraction, his own sword almost resting beside his forearm. This was it. If he failed, it wouldn't matter any more. If he failed, he would be dead.

Go!

His whole body tensed as both swords clashed, repelling each other with their combined force. He let his arms follow his sword and the edge came around his head to the other side. The swordsman's eyes grew wide, fear and disbelief as the edge grew closer… And he never saw the blow coming.

This time, it took no metal to make his head ring: the redhead fell to the ground, clutching at his head as if trying to stop it from splitting in half. He had him, fuck, he was sure he had him! And yet Serizawa stood proud before him: a hand in his neck, barely holding himself together, but still standing; still pointing the butt-end of his hilt towards the blinding pain in the boy's head. His vision blurred. He was going to die…

Fuck, he was going to die.

A flash of white blinded him. Cloth ragged, billowing, like a gust of wind. He knew that feeling… he knew that cape very well.

New year, new chapter, new chapter bi-generation! If I had known it would take more than 5k words to complete this chapter, I'd certainly would have planned it better not to bore you to death haha (please don't kill me)

Please let me know what's ok, what's good, what's bad and what could be much much better! What do you think of Koshijiro? And Iori-san? Also if you ended up reading by mistake for the "naruto fans made me jealous" part: Meant to refer less to the magic part and more to the convolutely awesome ploty stuff. Not that I don't love magic, but it wasn't what I had in mind specifically when I started the Ainuverse (part of other stuff in the burner, yes, let me know if you want to know more)

Next chapter will be the last on the Tiny Kenshin arc (I SWEAR I already have the epilogue... I'm struggling with keeping it short though... and monologues, I suck at epic awesome monologues); from next chapter onwards, here comes the Teeny emo Kenshin we all love. Thank you very much for reading! And for those who leave kudos, you make. my. day!