Author's note: I wanted to discuss some history of this chapter. To me, the way they showed Tomoe finding Kiyosato's body seemed to be a plot hole in the live action. There were several ways to travel from Edo to Kyoto during the Edo period, but it would take at least around 12 days. Since Tomoe and Kiyosato weren't married, it would be unlikely that she'd live with Kiyosato. Even if they were married, she'd likely stay with his family and not come over to where he was posted for Mimawarigumi. The manga, however, does not touch upon this subject. On another note, the way that Ishin Shishi controlled Kyoto was by instilling fear in people, and delivering the body parts of the men they killed was common. Kenshin was in charge of killing, but there were people who would take care of the remaining part of the work. With that said, several parts of the plot have been rewritten.
"Yet nothing can be found about the Yukishiro household."
It is not that his statement puzzles me, nor that it presents any particular difficulty in comprehension. Rather, it is the curious fact that no matter how I turn it over in my thoughts, I arrive at the same conclusion: it is of no consequence.
Indeed, it bears no significance whatsoever.
Her identity, her origins, her purpose here, all the unspoken words she keeps to herself - none of it holds any importance anymore.
When did these matters cease to concern me?
I find I cannot pinpoint the moment when they faded into irrelevance.
What remains is the simple truth of her presence, her very existence in my world.
As these musings flow through my consciousness, I can almost perceive her form - that delicate figure, seemingly poised to vanish at any instant.
Even if every aspect were a fabrication, I have no desire to uncover the truth until she chooses to reveal it.
I fear that in seeking answers, I may lose sight of her forever.
I become aware of an unusual heaviness in my body. While my thoughts continue their ceaseless cycle, my attention drifts intermittently to the sound of falling rain, as if seeking respite - not unlike a drowning man desperately clawing towards the surface for a breath of air.
"Tomoe-chan!" The voice of Okami-san reaches my ears, and I find myself gazing at her figure seated directly before me.
"I called you at least three times!" She declares.
I struggle to comprehend the situation unfolding around me.
"Does it taste bad again?" she inquires.
"Taste bad?" I echo, bewildered.
"The Miso soup."
"Does it taste bad?" She repeats, leaning her countenance slightly closer to mine.
What could she be referring to? I observe her for a moment before casting my eyes downward. There, upon the low table, I perceive a bowl of rice and Miso soup. It dawns upon me that I am, perhaps, partaking in the midday meal.
A sigh escapes her lips.
"I have given you rice and Miso since you don't seem to eat much of anything. If you don't even eat this..."
"You'll fall ill."
Another sigh accompanies her words.
Am I becoming a burden to her? It seems likely. Okami-san appears to be a kind-hearted soul, and I find myself wishing she would not trouble herself with one such as I. Surely there are others more deserving of her affections. I fear I would bring nothing but sorrow and emptiness to her life, as I seem to do to all who surround me.
The least I can do is not burden her with worry.
I attempt to bring some of the Miso Soup to my lips, but that peculiar sensation of nausea envelops me once more, and I find myself ceasing after a few morsels.
I glance at Okami-san, only to discover that she is observing me, and she heaves another sigh.
I wish not to trouble her, but what recourse do I have? My body rejects sustenance, accepting only the barest minimum for survival.
Suddenly, I feel a gentle hand upon my back, and I turn to see Okami-san gazing at me with a melancholy smile. She says, "It's alright. You don't have to force yourself."
I have been truly endeavoring to eat, if only for her sake, as I do not wish my existence to cause her any distress. But what am I to do? Food has lost all flavor.
I sense the nausea creeping up once more, and I rise to clear away the low table.
As noon approaches, though the clouds have devoured all light and the sky is now adorned in shades of grey, making it difficult to discern whether it is midday or the cusp of evening, I observe the falling droplets.
I gaze down at the puddles formed by rain in the garden's soil. Tiny frogs leap about, seemingly in delight. Are they truly joyous at the rainfall? As I observe them intently, a desire to understand them better wells up within me. I wish to know if the raindrops truly bring them happiness. I lower myself to examine them more closely.
Tsuyu-zora ya (Beneath rainy skies)
Kawazu no koe ni (Frog songs permeate the air)
Nure-somuru (Drenching all they touch)
Iro naki yo wo mo (Even this colorless world)
Irodoru inochi (Is painted by life's essence)
The lines materialize in my mind, as naturally as the clouds have engulfed the light. Soon, they transform into ink traces upon the white pages of my diary.
梅雨空や
蛙の声に
濡れそむる
色なき世をも
彩る命
Though this body has become a shell, old habits persist stubbornly.
They say even spirits follow their old ways.
She gazes upon the falling rain, a memory gently enfolding her consciousness.
"Tomoe!" The boy calls out, his face alight with joy. His smile radiates such pure happiness that one might believe the world had bestowed upon him all its blessings.
"Look here!" he exclaims, his hands cupped together as if cradling a precious treasure. As he parts his palms, a tiny frog leaps forth, returning to the welcoming embrace of its favored puddle.
The girl's eyes widen perceptibly as she observes the frog, now liberated from its brief captivity, joyfully splashing in the small pool of water.
She turns her attention to the blank sheet before her and, taking up her calligraphy brush, begins to write:
Hasu no ha ni (On a lotus leaf)
Shizuku korogaru (A dewdrop gently rolls by)
Kawazu emu (A frog smiles softly)
Tenchi no ma no (Between heaven and earth lies)
Chiisaki jiyū (This small, perfect freedom)
The boy approaches the paper, peering at it intently. He tilts his head to one side, seemingly perplexed by the kanji characters the girl has inscribed.
The girl gazes upon him, her visage graced by a rare smile, accompanied by a faint laugh.
"Knowledge," she remarks,
"has not bestowed its favor upon you as generously as happiness has. Is this not so, Kiyosato-sama?"
The boy, his countenance tinged with a subtle flush, retorts,
"Who cares about such small things!" With haste, he makes for the puddle before him.
In pursuit of the frog, he leaps onto the watery surface, exclaiming,
"If this moment is gone, it will never come again!"
And as is his custom, laughter bubbles forth from him, a sound so pure and joyous that one might believe him to be the happiest soul in all the world.
The persistent rain shows no sign of abating. A young woman's voice breaks the silence. I turn to see one of the Kohagiya staff gazing out the window as she speaks.
"Himura-san hasn't returned for several days, has he?" She addresses me, her eyes inquisitive. At the mention of his name, the world around me blurs into darkness. An involuntary shudder runs through me, which I struggle to suppress.
"The actions of the Choshu men these days are quite mysterious," she remarks with a hint of amusement. Then, "But you and Himura-san are close, aren't you?"
I offer no response.
Close? The word brings a wave of nausea. Memories of intimacy surface, accompanied by a creeping sense of revulsion.
Yet, I can still conjure the fleeting image of his profile - that of a mere child.
But, even a child can be a monster.
As the boy's face materializes in my mind, another memory intrudes. A hand, just a solitary hand. That was all that returned of Kiyosato-sama from Kyoto. The hand that had clasped mine countless times since our childhood, as we matured and came to understand friendship, affection, love. The hand that would always hold mine as he gazed at me with unbridled joy - that was all that remained of him.
Someone had chosen to leave it before the Shigekura household, along with fragments of his body and those of his guards. They had, in their twisted generosity, returned even parts of his less esteemed bodyguards.
Tears do not come, nor have they ever.
For is not sorrow the province of those who yet draw breath? I have already passed beyond that veil— Have I not, Kiyosato-sama?
And yet, curious it is that the patter of raindrops still reaches my ears.
A world bereft of Kiyosato-sama should not be, and yet the rain persists in its descent, as it has done for countless ages past.
Death and nonexistence, I find, are not one and the same. Though I have died, my essence lingers. Perhaps it is because this body has unfinished business—justice remains unserved. The perpetrator of the crime has yet to face judgment.
That judgment I resolved to mete out when I grasped the paper bearing the word "Tenchuu" that was bundled within the severed flesh and bones.
Kiyosato-sama, grant me but a little more time. Wait for me a while longer, and then we shall at last be united.
And yet...
The soft current of truth washes away the flames of retribution.