Author's note: There is something many readers of the manga do not understand about the era in which Battousai existed. The Edo period had sexual oppression primarily for samurai, especially samurai women. However, for other classes, premarital sex was actually common, and people often had their first sexual experiences at a young age. If you doubt this, please look up the practice called "yobai" (夜這い) or "night crawling."
Considering that most of the Ishin Shishi took shelter around the hanamachi (flower towns or pleasure districts), it's unlikely that Battousai had no sexual experience. This is further supported by his relatively undisturbed demeanor when Tomoe remained in Kenshin's room, which would be unusual for a man with no prior contact with women.
As the afternoon lingers, a thick blanket of dark clouds obscures the sun, casting a subdued gloom over the world. The mysterious man sits alone by the window in the dim room, his eyes fixed on the unending torrent outside. Yet, what draws one's attention in this chamber is not the dreary sky that weeps without cease, visible through the window, but the man's Crimson hair.
In this somber atmosphere, the shoji door slides open, and Tsukiko enters, adorned in the intricate finery of a geisha. Her eyes, like the surface of a pond disturbed by raindrops, mirror the Crimson hues of the man's hair upon which her gaze rests.
Tsukiko moves closer to the window, taking her place beside the young assassin. The rain paints Kyoto in shades of grey, and in that quiet moment, she says, "The rain has a way of painting the world in melancholic beauty, doesn't it?"
Battousai, a man of few words indeed, casts a sidelong glance at her. He neither acknowledges nor rejects her observation. His silence, a wall he erects around himself, stands firm even in the face of Tsukiko's unspoken affection.
Tsukiko has long been aware of this about the young man. When Ikumatsu first assigned her to serve him - a youth precious to her lover Katsura Kogoro, the young leader of the Ishin Shishi - she found herself surprised. Before her stood a man barely of age, as beautiful as a woman, with unusual features: crimson hair and light-colored eyes. She had thought such a young, inexperienced man would soon bare his heart to her. To some degree, she did not mind being the object of the beautiful youth's infatuation. Yet nothing of the sort transpired. As time passed, this young man's walls slowly beckoned her to venture beyond them, to cross the boundary he sets in such an impenetrable, yet effortless manner.
She is the sole woman to have drawn near to him, in the days surrounding his Genpuku. This fact swells her with quiet pride, as she observes young Maikos offering their affections, only to be met with his icy rebuffs.
She has long considered herself the closest to breaching the fortress he has constructed around himself. Their embraces are placid affairs; she often finds herself frustrated at being the lone enthusiast. Were it not for his body's reflexive responses, she might wonder if her touch stirs any sensation in him at all. Not once does he attempt to explore her form, nor seek out her lips. He permits her actions without resistance, and when the act concludes, he invariably takes his customary seat by the window, gazing outward. He does not even allow his eyes a moment's rest.
Tsukiko extends her hand, gently grazing his. The delicate world of her touch lingers in the air between them. As ever, he offers no discernible reaction. Neither accepting nor rejecting, he allows the contact to persist. As her fingers brush against his, she senses the chill of his emotional remoteness, an unassailable barrier. She is aware that even this small allowance is one he grants to no other geisha or maiko. Even Harukaze, who had shared fleeting interactions with him, found herself unable to penetrate the invisible wall surrounding him.
As the man continues to gaze outward, Tsukiko's eyes mirror the reflection of the young assassin. She struggles to quell the fluttering of her heart at the sight of him, yet resigns herself to the unyielding distance he maintains, daring not to voice the emotions that echo within her.
Time slips by. Tsukiko murmurs softly, "I will bring your dinner." As she departs the room, she slides the shoji door closed behind her, returning shortly with the evening meal arranged on lacquerware. She places it gently on the low table resting atop the tatami. Tsukiko has long been aware that the man before her regards sustenance with utter indifference.
Today, something unexpected catches her eye. As she gazes up at the man, she notices his typically indifferent eyes fixed upon the lacquerware with unusual intensity. Something has stirred the world within his eyes, revealing emotions carefully concealed beneath the surface. In those eyes, always cold and distant, she glimpses a flicker of feeling, elusive and fleeting.
What captivates him so? Tsukiko follows his gaze, curiosity piqued. Is it the food served? No, that cannot be - nothing unfamiliar graces the table, merely the usual fare.
Yet as she observes him, she realizes his attention might be drawn to the flowers delicately painted on the lacquerware's surface. Never would she have imagined his interest captured by something so fragile, so delicate as a painted blossom. She finds it endearing, almost unbearably so. A beautiful trace of a smile plays upon Tsukiko's lips as she regards the young man.
She says, "The flower is beautiful, isn't it?"
"Plum blossoms," he responds. Tsukiko continues to watch the man, his gaze still fixed upon the lacquerware's surface, his unusual behavior intensifying her curiosity.
"Do you like plum blossoms?" she asks, the smile lingering on her face. This question, however, causes the young man to look at her almost immediately, a mixture of surprise and strange vulnerability in his eyes.
"No," he says, shifting his gaze away from the lacquerware's surface.
Tsukiko does not understand. She thinks perhaps he is too embarrassed to admit interest in something as delicate as a flower.
For the first time, Tsukiko watches as the enigmatic man consumes every morsel on his plate, leaving nothing behind.
It does not cross Tsukiko's mind that the man she burns for with the flames of unrequited love, the man who to her has remained wrapped in layers of cold indifference, he too is burning in the same flame of unrequited love, he too is drowning in the icy cold waters of longing and restraint, he too is trying to reach out to someone who has surrounded herself with walls that she does not let anyone trespass, except it is not her.
The relentless pitter-patter of rain persists, showing no sign of abating. Its tireless rhythm fills the air with a constant, melancholic sound.
In one of the more spacious chambers of the Okiya, where Katsura Kogoro often spends time with his beloved Ikumatsu, the atmosphere appears unchanged at first glance. Yet, a subtle difference hangs in the air, perceptible only to Ikumatsu's keen senses.
Ikumatsu's gaze lingers on her lover, who typically regales her with words. Today, however, he sips his sake in silence, his eyes never meeting hers. He seems lost in a sea of contemplation. Ikumatsu, too, remains quiet, unwilling to disturb the flow of his thoughts.
As time slips by wordlessly, he suddenly inquires, "Tsukiko is close with Himura, isn't she?"
Though taken aback by this unexpected query, Ikumatsu betrays no surprise. She responds with measured calm, "Although, I feel sad for her, it does not seem to be the case."
He turns to her and says, "What makes you say so? He has never been closer with any of the other Geishas, right?"
Ikumatsu notices his furrowed brow. She says, "That is true however it does not mean that he is close with her."
"There is a world of difference between physical and mental closeness, you see."
"You can be in front of a person but not with the person."
"Just like how right now you are in front of me but not with me." Ikumatsu smiles mischievously after saying that.
Katsura looks at her with a mild expression of surprise and then chuckles saying, "Nothing escape you, does it?"
To that she smiles back sweetly.
"Does he worry you?" She asks.
He looks down and says, "Almost a year ago when I first met him, he still had the bearings of a boy, even though his eyes were sharp, determined, filled with the fire of idealism."
"Even now when I look at him, his eyes are still the same. It still burns with the fire of idealism. Even though now he is a hardened warrior and less of a boy." He continues to sip Sake as he speaks.
Ikumatsu listens carefully as he speaks and says, "You adore him do you not?" She smiles while saying that and continues.
A sigh escapes his lips as he utters, "Sumanai, Ikumatsu."
"Can you have Katagai and Himura called here?"
Upon entering the room, Himura's eyes fall upon Katagai, who is already present. His gaze shifts from Katagai to Katsura before he takes his seat.
Katsura turns his attention to Himura and speaks:
"Himura, good work on handling Mimawarigumi, with this it will take them considerable time to have their dogs after us."
"I will be taking my leave from here tomorrow."
"But I need you to be more careful than ever before."
"With how you have handled the entire intelligence Wing of Mimawarigumi, Matsudaira will have you as a priority target."
Himura listens attentively to Katsura's words, offering a nod of agreement in response.
A momentary hush falls over the room, and Katsura's countenance betrays a sense of deep contemplation.
Katagai breaks the silence with a simple "Katsura-san," as though he has divined the thoughts occupying Katsura's mind.
Himura, however, maintains an impassive demeanor, awaiting further words from either of his companions.
Katagai's gaze returns to Katsura, and an expression of impatience slowly spreads across his features, a detail that does not escape Himura's keen observation. This impatience grows more palpable with each passing moment.
As if unable to contain himself any longer, Katagai speaks: "The woman." These two words alone are sufficient for all present to understand the subject of his concern.
He proceeds: "I think you should know"
"We have done a background check on her, to find out more about her,"
"But..." A pause ensues, and a frown creases his brow before he continues,
"We found nothing."
"We could not find any trace of her family."
Katagai fixes his stern gaze upon Himura, his eyes unyielding. "You do understand what that means, don't you?" he intones, his voice heavy with implication.
"From her upbringing it is almost clear that she has been brought up in an educated household, considering her mannerisms, it is a Samurai household," Katagai continues, his words measured and deliberate.
"Yet nothing can be found about the Yukishiro household," he adds, a note of suspicion creeping into his voice.
As Katagai's words hang in the air, Katsura observes. His eyes are drawn to Himura, who stands frozen, his countenance inscrutable. The young man's thoughts remain a mystery, locked behind an impassive mask.
The silence stretches, thick and oppressive, until Katagai's voice cuts through it once more. "It is too dangerous to keep someone like that around," he declares, his tone brooking no argument.
Yet Himura remains motionless, neither moving nor blinking, his mind seemingly adrift in some distant realm of thought.
Katagai's voice rises again, persistent and unyielding.
"It is not only that, we have gone through every single place in the red light district and no one has seen a woman like that," he states, his words laden with significance.
Katsura's gaze lingers on Himura, his eyes searching, as if seeking something hidden.
Himura's countenance is distant, his voice carrying an emotion both far-off and palpable. Though the sound is unmistakably his, it seems to belong to another as he utters, "If you are done speaking I will take my leave."
His words are characteristic, yet the manner in which he speaks betrays a deep, concealed pain. This does not escape Katsura's perceptive eyes, which take on a tinge of melancholy as he watches Himura depart.
"Himura!", Katagai calls out in vain.
He exhales heavily as Himura exits the room.
"I don't think he understood what we were trying to say," he remarks, sighing once more.
"He does."
"He does more than anyone else."
"But love is a strange thing and it impacts men in odd ways."
"You see, a man can fight the entire world for the woman he loves but he probably can never fight against her even for the entire world," Katsura observes.
"That may be true but it is Battousai!" Katagai responds.
"Even for him it is not an exception it seems."
"Because even while you were saying why she cannot be trusted, in his eyes there was no speck of anger, just sadness," Katsura says, his expression bleak.