***WARNING***

Underage drinking.

Teeny-tiny glossary:

Genpuku: Coming-of-age ceremony; the point from which you stop being a Wakashu (teen-ish) and are considered a man.

Hakama: Wide pleated pants.

THE GENPUKU (I)

Early in June, the valley bloomed emerald green under the rain. It washed the streets of Kyoto clean, and filled them with hope and the promise of the coming harvest. But with the summer sun around the corner, the soaked earth began to steam. The air became so dense it crept up the hills around the valley, and reaching the tops, hung heavy over the mountain's ridges.

Even when he was already gasping for air.

"E— enough!" Kenshin swatted away the man's blade with a half-hearted thrust and hunched over. He looked like a fish out of water, gaping as if there was not enough air in the world to catch his breath. Desperate. Painful. Hiko wiped the sweat from his brow before the last word could take form in his mind.

"Come on, boy," he panted. Sneer in place, he rested his weight on the tip of his sword—Mother of gods, what sweet relief… his calf had been killing him,—took a deep breath, and riled: "Get over yourself already or you'll be making dinner today. Again."

Still hunched over, his pupil stared daggers at him. If looks could scream… Still, the boy should have been used to the heat by then, to the way the muddy ground sucked at the soles of his feet every time he lunged forwards—it was his fourth time at it already. Hiko frowned.

The smug edge of his voice turned sour: "You're not here to play. Come. Now."

Forcing his breath almost to a halt, the redhead straightened up. As unfocused as it was, his eyes held his master's gaze—and he turned around.

Hiko's brow twitched: "Oi…"

The redhead started towards the shaded that awaited them just some dragged feet away.

"Don't make me regret taking you in."

"Why?!" the boy exploded, teeth gritted even as the rest of his body leaned dangerously wherever he was moving. "We trained already! It's enough—"

"We are training, boy; for as long as I say so."

"There's no way a fight drags on so long!"

"Of course not, you idiot," Hiko's voice thundered,"because you'd be dead already."

That last part slapped the boy sober.

Warily, he lowered his head. At least his stupid pupil was smart enough not to peel his eyes away from him. The man had not moved an inch, but his weight was no longer casually resting on his sword. His feet well planted on the ground, one pointed towards the redhead, the other was ready to bolt ahead.

"Come at me," the tower of a man ordered. "For real this time."

Gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, the redhead's gaze hardened: "I don't want to hurt you."

Suddenly, master and pupil were back to that day, two moons after that first night at the forgotten shrine: You're not a wife to cook your way through living here, boy! Hiko had confronted him, slapping the ground with the newly finished blade, It's time you learned what you've been really practicing for.

Behind thick locks of red, his eyes followed Hiko with caution. There was not a trace of the trademark smirks and sneers in the man's lips.

"You're an arrogant brat if you think you can so much as land a single hit on me. But I will hurt you. If it needs be," Hiko stated as he started circling him slowly. The edge of his blade glinted, standing proud in front of him like a rearing snake. "Unless you snap out of that sissy thought of yours of not hurting anyone."

The redhead forced himself to hold his gaze. Hiko knew for a fact the boy's body was screaming at him to run: His clear eyes darted from feet to leg to arms and eyes studying his master's stance. Foot pointing forwards, back knee ready to lunge, right hand relaxed—can he flip the sword? No, he can't. Still holding his gaze, Kenshin took a step forward. He was fighting back the chills running down his spine. He readied his sword.

The deafening cry of the cicadas fell silent.

"Come," the man's voice thundered, "Now."

Kenshin charged.

Parrying the man's forward thrust, the redhead ducked and twisted to dodge the following blow. He kept spinning, feeding the sword his speed. He connected to his master's sheath: Ryūkansen Tsumugi, the mountain of a man approved before ramming him. The blow threw his pupil backwards. He rolled away, guarding himself in the distance when the hit they both knew had to follow connected, and jumped forward. Pushing his sword from both ends, he parried his master's downward blow: a hefty Ryūshōsen that made the man stagger. Pain struck Hiko blind as he felt the familiar snap in his calf. Too much. In the air, he knew the redhead's heart leaped: a chance.

"Ryūtsuisen!" the boy roared and his sword came down like a hammer, forcing the mighty Hiko Seijūrō the Thirteenth down. To a knee.

Heaving heavily and weak in the legs, Kenshin smiled. It was just a second, but the bastard saw the hint of surprise in his master's dark eyes. Hiko smirked back, something like pride flashing through his face after that moment of weakness.

"… You always favored that damn move," he admitted, still holding his blade back as a shield over his arm and neck, "but…"

The boy never saw it coming: the blunt thrust to his gut with the mouth of his sheath, not enough to break anything but enough to kick the wind out of him.

Kenshin doubled over, coughing violently.

"You've learned well," Hiko started as if his pupil wasn't gasping for air before him. Using the sheath as a makeshift-cane, he helped himself stand. "Still, it's not enough: People are stupid, they don't know when to stop," he continued, pacing around the boy as his eyes lit up with rage from the ground. "Next time you go at it, finish what you started," he pointedly taped at the thin red line at the base of his neck.

The redhead could have protested, having tilted his sword away just in time to score the skin, not of cut it. But he knew it would only help Hiko make his point, so he just spat a breathless "You cheat!"

"There are no rules. No stances. No forms in a real fight, boy. This is all the more true when you are protecting someone," his words were stern —not as a reprimand, but as a lesson. "Now come, before you pass out on me."

The mountain of a man pulled his pupil to his feet with a single yank to his raggedy clothes. Then, as the boy kept vehemently cursing under his breath, Hiko leaned down to pick up Kenshin's sword. It was, for lack of better words, wholly underwhelming: It was not made of rosewood. It was not polished, nor coated in clear lacquer. It did not have a twin dragon handguard, nor the silk-wrapped hilt that Hiko had hoped for. That sword was decidedly not worthy of the second-best student of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu; but even if his stupid pupil did know he had to trick a polisher into thinking he was offering his work to an honest-to-god shrine, the very least the man expected was a frustrated, self-righteous sermon from him every now and then—not the wary respect, almost to the point of fear, every time Hiko challenged him to go for the kill. Something the boy definitely did not feel when he held the raw blade so firmly against Serizawa that the metal dug into his flesh. Something he would have to abandon if he ever wanted to truly protect anybody in need.

• • •

"There you go."

Kenshin slid down the mossy edge of the water barely managing to take off his hakama. Bruised and hazy, he let his legs dangle in the water until the first bite of the cold wore off before jumping in. Once there, he allowed the gentle caress of the waterfall to wash away the anger, sweat and grime of that day's training, his head bowed between his knees. He didn't dare to move until the last lock of matted hair dissolved, pooling at his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Hiko uncorked the fresh jug of sake he had left to cool there that morning —the bastard knew they'd end up there eventually. Removing his sandals and socks, the man dipped his feet into the brook.

"Old man'sh shouph," half-muttered, half-bubbled the redhead without turning around.

"Oi…" the man growled in response "I'm still twenty-six."

A spark of malice curved the redhead's lips: "Sho old...!"

The master of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu was not one to demean himself with trivial provocations. That said, he was not the man beneath the cape, who hurled his steel-plated socks full speed at the redhead. But, not satisfied with the searing pain in the crown of the boy's head, Hiko finished him off with the vilest of lies: "Big words from a boy who just stopped wetting his bed."

"That was three years ago!" Kenshin squealed in protest, feeling his cheeks burn, "And I'm not a boy any more!"

"Having your first morning wood does not make you a man, boy."

Oh god. Throwing his arms in the air, the boy disappeared beneath the water with an exasperated groan. It was always like that, always: If he said the sky was blue, the man would jump, kill all the birds in the bloodiest way and call the result 'red'. He had bitten his tongue and bowed his head yet again today, letting the cynical remarks and outright insults fly over his head. But his master always went the extra mile to get his point across.

Such an stupid pupil.

Shutting his eyes tightly, the redhead fought back the urge to breathe: Perhaps then Hiko would listen for a change. But, being realistic, he would just struck him in the back of his head and diss him for not trying harder. Defeated, he sat up slowly, not letting on how desperately he needed to breathe again. With just his eyes bobbing up in the water, he peeked at his master: Predictably, the man continued to drink, unfazed.

As he wriggled his toes at the bottom of the brook, the stream remained oblivious to his struggle. What do I have to do? he wondered.

"For starters, don't be a whiner."

"Master—!" he cried, caught thinking aloud.

Hiko sighed, maybe —just maybe— feeling the joke was already getting old. "Ok, then: To do what?"

"To be… acknowledged."

The man stared, evidently struggling to wrap his head around something. "When did you learn such a word?"

"Otsu," the redhead replied trying to get that out of the way as soon as possible. Still, he managed to get a jab in: "You never taught me any."

"Well… Had I known you could learn–"

"Master!"

With a grunt and a muffled thud, the man decidedly placed the jug of sake to his right. "Well then, come: let's drink as men."

Taken aback by the tone as much as by the outcome, Kenshin stood still in the middle of the stream. His clothes clung uncomfortably to his limbs, water dripping down his legs. He could hear his master say something about him looking like a cross between a fledgling and a scarecrow, but the redhead was in the midst of a realization: He was fucked. If he backed up, he lost; if he drank, he lost; if he tried to break that goddamned jug on his master's head, he lost. Well, he thought, he had nowhere to go than down. And he would do so with his head held high.

He sat cross-legged beside his master, a look of defiance glinting in his eyes. The mountain of a man grabbed the cord tied to the neck of the jug, lifted it against the back of his hand and downed a generous amount of the fresh wine before handing it down to him: "Cheers."

Kenshin took the jug with both hands and let it sit on his legs for a second as he braced himself for the worst. He had seen Hiko drink his weight —and then some— along the years, but he never partook of the ceremony. He didn't want to end up like him, so bitter and cynical he couldn't seem to bear a moment without a drink. But he had none-the-less set that trap for himself and walked into it anyway. "Cheers," he repeated, resigned. He rose the jug above his head and glugged.

He choked. The bitter, burning taste after the first chug wouldn't go down without a fight but, his pride be damned, he would not be one to quit that easily: Mouthful after mouthful, Kenshin forced the wine down until the mountain of a man tore the jug from his hands.

"The heck are you doing?" Hiko asked in a tone only reserved for when he didn't want to wind him up, but why-oh-why did he have to be that dumb.

The redhead stared, pale and struggling to hold his liquor.

"Sake is to enjoy, not chug," he reprimanded, inadvertently peeking down the bottle as if to check the damage.

"But you—"

"I am twice your size and have been drinking since before you were sucking your mom's breasts," the man interrupted, and just as Kenshin was trying to form an image from that, he added: "Try again. Slowly. Think of it as a fine lady, will ya?"

Hiko leaned back as if to give his pupil some space. His brow was stubbornly knitted, but under the canopy, cradled as he was by a fresh moss mattress while lazily scratching one of his calves, he seemed… almost happy.

Noticing the weight of Kenshin's stare, the man recited: "Cherry blossoms in Spring. Stars covering the sky in Summer. Full moon shining in Autumn, and in Winter comes the snowfield…" Eyes far away and cheeks tinted red from the liquor, his brow relaxed a little. Then, meeting the redhead's eyes, he came back from his musings with a smug smirk. "All these things make sake taste good. If it tastes bad, it's because there is something wrong with you."

Kenshin looked back down at the bottle between his hands. He felt tingles on his cheeks, his chest, his fingertips. Still, he did not want to keep drinking, the thought only making him want to throw up. "If sake tastes bad, it's 'coz there's sumthin' wrong with me… isn't it?"

The whines of the cicadas took over the silence between them.

"Master…" he called, his tongue no longer feeling sluggish in his mouth: "I want to go to Kyoto."

Notes:
Waaah! 200 views? Thank you for reading and your wonderful reviews! You really make my day and push me onwards with this story -w-

Wah! I can't believe, 200 hits! Thank you all for reading and special thanks to everyone that left kudos and wonderful comments! You really make my day and push me onwards with this story -w-

[Mar 8th] Hi! Update-momma here: It was brought to my attention by a real-life reader (thank you!) that the chapter was just not there yet. I felt awful and ended up going over the whole chapter making changes. Overall events did not change, but I reordered everything and added some points to tighten this chapter up. I value your time deeply, and could not forgive myself for wasting your time with a chapter that did not leave you with *something*. I'm grateful to those of you who still dedicated your time to the previous version of this chapter, and promise not to make the same mistakes again. Thank you very much!

Hiiistorycal context. If any:

As mentioned, Genpuku marks the true moment a boy became a man in Edo Japan (regarding law, war, etc). I think it's a samurais-and-up custom, but as of today (March 3) I couldn't find anything to say that with 100% confidence. I do have some awesome books on the way though, so that may change later on.

Ah, Hiko's dream sword. He would be a fashion icon by today's standards, and oh-so-terribly poor. The rosewood scabbard and clear lacquer stuff was for realsies, some samurai really wanted to show off their wealth, although those swords would never see real battle. As for the guy Hiko tricked into finishing the sword? Most likely a polisher and/or carpenter; many people were involved in crafting a sword, it didn't fall into a single smithy (at least that I could find). It was art.

Heat stroke is a thing. Present conditions aside, it's a real thing that happens, all the more in hot, steamy-humid summers as they are in Japan. I think there's a heat dome or something like that that happens in valleys and makes it all the worse, but yeah, I guessed a kid who spent almost half his life in the snowy north would have a tough time with summer time sparring. And I didn't find a reference for time-appropriate sake-cooling systems, but bearing in mind that my parents used to do the same whenever they went fishing on a stream, it's not that much of a leap, right? Plus, I find it cute that he had prepared his jugs beforehand, knowing what summers do to his 'stupid pupil'.

Finally, regarding the shrine: It almost herniated my brain the first time, but when you find out that there are places that were already mind-numbingly OLD by the 1800's, a forgotten shrine in a mountain near Kyoto is not a far-cry from what could have happened. There are awesome works that pin down where Hiko and Kenshin trained before they parted ways, but I preferred to keep it a mystery for the most part... I promise it has nothing to do with how obsessed I am with mapping out 1860's Kyoto based on real maps for the next part of this story, oh noes. Still, I want to hear from you where you think it is located in this story =) Hint: It's not a good place to be if you don't want to let the chaos of the Bakumatsu to touch your naïve protégé.

PS: I DON'T ENDORSE UNDERAGE DRINKING. Although I did down my first wine glass when I was four, thinking it was cola, and fell asleep dancing to Xuxa with a smile. But I still wouldn't give a kid a bottle of beer. Sadly, the past was much, much more lax regarding almost anything to do with kids and underage activities, and this story won't shy away from that awful reality in the same way it didn't shy away from some awful things in the chapters before this one. That said, I'll be careful to keep posting as many warnings as apply (some of which I was blissfully unaware of their existence) so that you can chose to read or skip the chapter entirely. In both cases, I'm thankful for your support =)