A quick refresher for Japanese terms:

A yukata is a casual, summery kimono-like garment. A wakizashi is a short sword, the second in a set worn by samurai in feudal/Edo period. A bokken is a wooden training sword. Onsen is a bathhouse. Kunai is a diamond shaped knife used by ninja. Shuriken is a throwing star.

In the Aoiya

Light slanted on the floorboards of the Aoiya, obscured and uncovered over and over by the steady coming of guests into the main hall. The music of shamisen strings floated in the air, two women in bright floral kimono were strumming a romantic Edo ballad to the laughter and chatter of guests. There were small children running around, giggling happily with food smeared on their faces, chased by their caregivers in relaxed yukatas. This did not look like a place where shadowy street figures fought back the likes of organised vagabonds. This did not look like a place where muscled folk guards intimidated muscled gang intimidators from extorting other people's teahouses.

The Aoiya Inn, Hiko Seijuro thought, looked rather unskeevy for a front that held a place in Kyoto's underworld.

Hiko Seijuro the Twelfth stood at the entrance, taking in the peaceful scene and mulling over Sae's words to her in her head. Find who controls the underworld, who has influence in the streets, and she'll find where missing children go. That had been her logic. After weeks wandering the rural areas, the city was all she had left. But was this really a place that could help her find Miki? Was this really logic that would pan out?

Hiko lingered in the doorway too long. An employee who had been engaged with other guests became suddenly free to swerve in her direction with a large, gaping smile on her face. "Hello, Madam!"

She, like the other employees, was dressed surprisingly casual in a stripped blue yukata. She bowed shortly, her long rope of a braid whipping so hard though the air Hiko had to dodge it as she came up again.

"Welcome to the Aoiya! Are you here for the restaurant or for a stay?"

"…A stay."

"Right! We do breakfasts, lunches and dinner — today we have Nana and Tachibana on the shamisen — and if you stay for a week we have discounts for the onsen baths down the street! How great, right?! And, and, and — we have a storyteller coming in tonight for the children! " the young lady said, with barely a pause for breath. "The Tale of Momotaro, the Tale of the Bamboo cutter, all that good, good stuff! What's your favourite story?"

"…Momotaro is fine."

"Isn't it? Good choice, I adore it. Please follow me! How many are with you?"

"…Just myself."

"Ah, of course! Any requests? Sunny room? Towels? The onsen down the street is very good. "

"…I'm fine."

The employee continued to go on about the excellent weather they were finally having. She led Hiko into the estate away from the bustling main guest hall where the strums of the shamisen slowly bled into the distance. Going along a long stretch of corridor, the slanted light faded suddenly from the floorboards as a cover of clouds concealed the sun outside. Hiko stopped. The employee had travelled almost to the end of the corridor until she noticed Hiko had stopped following. "—and we have an origami hour with Omime — that one's not just for kids! —Is there something wrong?"

"No, er, Miss…"

"Just Misao," she beamed and Hiko felt a little bad to have to start questioning her now, "Makimachi Misao!"

"Ah, Miss Misao. Actually, I came here to find someone. It's quite important to me."

Misao nodded agreeably. "Certainly, who are you looking for?"

"The manager of this place," Hiko replied surely. "Kashiwazaki-san."

"Him? That old gramps doesn't run the place anymore, he leaves all the hard work to me! Like, just last week he forgot to order in more rice. Can you believe?! A restaurant! And inn! Out of rice?! I was gone for a few days tops, and he was about to let all our patrons starve! I bet if it were up to him, all—"

"—I beg your pardon, Misao," Hiko added quickly before she could take off again, "but I'm not truly here to see Kashiwazaki-san per se."

"—Oh?"

"I'm looking for one called Okina."

"Ah! Okina."

Misao seemed to freeze on the spot, mid-thought. Then she relaxed just as suddenly, losing the abrupt tension in her shoulders as she nodded her answer. Though she was smiling, the air of her had changed. She was on edge now. Hiko was on edge as well — there would be no reason for that reaction unless there was someone here to be uncovered.

Misao seemed to look past her shoulder before answering. "And what business do you have with Kashiwazaki-san?"

"Well, that's between Okina and I," Hiko said in a level voice. "I just need to speak to him." She smiled, trying to be sincere, but Hiko could only see Misao draw further and further away. To temper her thoughts, Hiko lied. "He and I are friends."

"Friends?" Misao looked Hiko up-down. Then her great smile returned to her face. "Friends, I see! Alright, I'll sit you down in a room and you can wait there while I get him for you, yeah?"

"If you'll please."

Misao led her straight past the corridor up the stairs, far away from where she'd originally planned to room her. Hiko went along, not really phased by the new development.

"I've some urgent matters to share with Okina, you understand," Hiko went on, wanting to put her at ease. "Just some personal matters. As well as a request. It would be ideal to see him as soon as possible."

"Yes," Misao said, guiding Hiko to a room. But Misao also stepped inside, closed the sliding door behind them, and then walked casually to the closet. She snapped the closet open.

Inside was a selection of strings, a system of bells that ran throughout the inn; Misao strongly tugged on one. Though no sound could be carried to Hiko's ears, Misao had at once alerted all the other sound-sensitive employees in the upper levels.

"About that, there's no way you're friends with Okina, or I'd never heard the end of it!"

With that, a patter of footsteps sounded down the corridor. Before long half a dozen employees burst into the room behind Misao. Her face set like slate, her strongly pushed down ki rose as easy as a released breath. Between one moment and the next, she was ready for battle, surrounded by lackeys. All of them were armed. Suddenly this was a place where shadowy street figures fought back organised crime, a place where muscled folk guards intimidated their marks to the click of Misao's fingers.

"Who are you and what do you want with Gramps?!" Misao said, raising her voice.

Hiko just stood there in the centre, having not moved an inch since the room filled up with enemies. "Um. Well. My intensions were true. I have urgent matters to speak of with Okina."

"What kind of urgent matters?" one of the men called beside Misao, his short hair closely cut. He reached into his clothes, producing a large, hooked kunai blade. Hiko's stomach plummeted. These were not any old thugs. These were ninja.

"The kind where I will raze this inn to the ground if I don't see who I came here to see," Hiko snapped.

"That's it! — Oniwabanshu, take her down before Grandpa gets back!"

The large man with the hooked blade came at her first. She'd half expected him to be bumbling and clumsy like most of the Yakuza, but he was fast and technical. Hiko evaded his strikes before jabbing the fingers around the hilt of the blade as it came down on her, loosening his hold it as she moved. The man hesitated, eyes shut reflexively in pain, giving her a chance to use Ryūkansen.

This time, she used it as a counterattack, sidestepping her opponent and moving past them to the other two coming at her. The air swivelled in the room. She didn't pull her sword. There were children in this place, families. Instead, she pulled her wakizashi, using the hard hilt of it to hit the back of the man's head, then aimed at the other two. All of this happened at incredible speed, half of them down in mere seconds. Hiko kicked away their weapons as they slumped over unconscious.

"No!" One of the others flew to the downed men, checking him over. The rest of them charged at once.

A man with a bandana over his forehead came at Hiko with only his fists, outfitted with gauntlets. Hiko crouched, splitting her coat to deliver a punch. The cloak was useful even in a fist fight as it concealed attacks until the last moment. She caught the man on the shoulder, moved when he continued to throw the same attack, and then used the principle footwork of the Ryūshōshen to strike him under the chin.

"Shirojo! No!" The woman with long hair unsheathed an oversized shuriken. She circled her.

Hiko gritted her teeth, eyes flickering to the remaining ninja, making quick decisions. She needed to see Okina, meaning she needed goodwill and killing these ninja were not an option. Crouching, she readied herself before propelling off at full speed.

"Wh— where is she?"

"Careful! She's using high speed!"

Hiko appeared behind long-hair, cracking her at the side of her neck and then pulling her to slam into the wall. Her oversized shuriken sailed through the air wildly, cutting down a painted room divider. A glint of light caught Hiko's eye and she whipped back just enough to feel the wind of a small shuriken rocket past her face.

Hiko spun around, facing Misao. "Leave Omime alone," she seethed and, inanely, Hiko turned back to glimpse what kind of ninja held origami hour every other weekday.

Deadly quiet now, Misao peeled off her yukata, revealing a navy, battle-ready uniform. Hiko's eyes narrowed. Though she was small, a bit short, Misao had the lean build of those who were accustomed to physical exertion, with her legs being almost entirely made up of hard, packed muscle.

"A ninja base," Hiko remarked. "And in the heart of the city, too." She huffed. "How curious."

"Is that so surprising? You still carry a wakizashi like a samurai!" Misao cried.

"Like a samurai?"

Misao charged at her, shuriken clasped snugly between each of her knuckles. She let go of them, sending a wave all aimed at Hiko. Another flash of light glared in the room, a cobalt gleam, and the the shuriken were directed towards the floor, pinned into the hardwood. Misao seemed to blink, confused. Hiko's hand was clasped over her sword hilt as if she had never drawn it. She could see Misao's eyes move again and again, toiling in thought. They had barely crossed weapons, but Misao's breath was already laboured, heavily so, and one arm was wrapped defensively over her left side.

When she released her side, it came away wet. Hiko's brow creased in understanding. Misao was injured. In her agitation, an old would had reopened.

"…Who are you? I've never seen anyone else move as fast as…" Misao trailed off, then recalibrated with new fistfuls of shuriken. "Forget it. I'm not letting you get to Gramps."

Another moment passed, where the door slid open to funnel in another wave of uniformed ninja. "Misao-sama!" another ninja girl cried.

"Okashira, we're here!" another man cried.

"Okashira, are you alright?"

"This is the target, Okashira?"

"Okashira?" Hiko echoed.

They all turned on Hiko with their weapons while it was still dawning on Hiko that Misao, the one charging at her with shuriken, was the leader of this ninja base. She had limited choices. Fight and kill the already injured Okashira and have all avenues of help be withheld from her by this Okina figure. Or cause an even larger disturbance, which would startle the families and children on the ground floor. Or let herself be restrained, where the ninja will likely kill her — after all, Misao had treated her as an ineffable enemy the moment Hiko had uttered 'Okina.'

She made her decision. Hiko the Twelfth sucked in air, pushed her latest attacker into another, moved to the side, and then jumped out the three storey window before a last hail of shuriken could pin themselves to the walls.

Upstairs

A few floors above in the connected guest rooms, Saito's Gatotsu wedged into the table, pointed straight through, and aimed with pinpoint accuracy at Kenshin's head.

Though Kenshin was blinded by the table, the only way Saito could attack was predictable. Kenshin had moved immediately, unsheathing his sakabatou halfway with the speed of battou-jutsu. The flat side of the sakabatou caught the tip of Saito's sword, shielding him from the attack. They broke apart, both bounding back to gain distance — Saito kicked the table off his sword — the table tumbled through the air, about to crash into Kenshin — before it was sliced clean apart into two pieces. One half flew to one side, cracking the wall, the other crashed straight through the window panels, plummeting to the garden outside.

Kenshin rose from his crouch. In his right hand, the sharp, back-edge of his sakabatou gleamed silver. The back-edge had never cut a person in its tenure, and had never been used recklessly, it was as sharp as the day it was made and kept that way.

Then Kenshin, upon a short breath, turned it back to the front — to the blunt edge.

It was a show of Kenshin's conviction; how sure he was of who he is, how true he was to himself, unwavering, incorruptible — but this, just like in the morgue, inflamed Saito.

Sano jumped to his feet, hands curled into fists, but as he ran up behind Saito Kenshin kicked a piece of teapot at him. The porcelain bounced off Sano's chest, stopping him in his motion. "No Sanosuke. Please let this one."

Sano looked between them nervously. "...Kenshin..." It looked as if he wanted to rebut. But something came over him, making him hesitant. Perhaps the familiarity of this scene: if both Saito and Kenshin wanted to fight, no one could stop them. Kenshin apologised to Sano mentally.

Years ago they were in this exact same situation: he and Saito enclosed in a room, themselves, the ghosts of themselves, and their swords scuffling about like beasts butting heads, locked in trance. Years ago, Kenshin was weaker in soul, not as crystal clear in the mind, not at peace — with one wrong step he'd fallen back into the past amidst the quagmire of Bakumatsu, where Saito's uniform was zig-zagged blue, his hair long in that familiar ponytail, teeth bared. For a moment, Kenshin was fourteen and battle-hardened. He was Battousai, in the flesh. Roused by Saito from beyond the grave. Possessed and malevolent.

But that was not now.

Kenshin was not cornered, unbalanced, unhinged. He was in the Aoiya, surrounded by horrified friends, family. He had let Saito in on goodwill, but now he was going to take it back. Saito grunted, charging to employ an upward slash. Kenshin evaded. Kenshin held the sakabatou at the ready, fending off another one of Saito's attacks, parrying strikes with enough strength in them to break bones, jumping from underhanded slashes to his legs. He spun to parry another hit, and though he was breathing fast his eyes locked onto Saito's with a clear look.

Kenshin was no longer Battousai and there was no effort in having to cage that beast — there was nothing there, no well to draw from. Any hope of rousing that phantom was futile. If Saito thought this could do anything to bring back the past, he was a fool and an idiot.

But all thought of Battousai escaped his mind when Saito's sword met Kenshin's again and he clamped down on him — putting them in a battle of endurance Saito knew he would always have the upper hand in, what with his height and weight. Pushing the sharp back edge of the sakabatou towards Kenshin's face, Saito spat, "You never told me you hailed from a clan."

"…Oro?"

Kenshin's arms began to sour. He broke first, jerking dangerously forward and kneeing Saito in the solar plexus before breaking. The hit stunned Saito just enough for him to get away — but Saito turned in his pain, right fist hooking Kenshin in the shoulder.

Kenshin winced, briefly touching down to the floor. His shoulder burned, and he knelt there to pass the throb. "A clan? What are you talking about?"

Saito held his own abdomen, face twisted like he was silently screaming, but all that came out of him was that same condescending, insufferably casual voice, "And not just any so-called, grandstanding clan." Saito went on as if he hadn't heard Kenshin at all. "A powerful one. A glorious one. One so infamous, everyone was hunted to death like dogs."

His eyes, bright from adrenaline, flickered up to Kenshin. "Except you, apparently."

Saito recovered first, straightening up and pointing his sword at Kenshin with a manic look. "Imagine the labour I could have saved, the blood I could have kept in my body, if the Hanadas had actually finished the job and murdered every last one of your name. It would have saved a good quantity of Third Unit men. It certainly would have saved on this entire sequence of serial killings. It would have saved a hell of a lot on tabloid printer ink."

This time, Kenshin attacked first. He shot forward, disappearing, causing the ugly, mocking smile on Saito's face to wipe away at almost comical speed — and for Saito to raise his sword to defend against an airborne attack he was too disordered to see. Even if he knew to expect it. Saito was…off.

"Saito!" Kenshin chose to clash swords with him. He chose to attack where he knew Saito could defend instead of putting the full force of a Ryūsuisen down on his shoulder. He managed to push Saito back before landing, sheathing his sword in a single stroke. His body ached with some familiarity.

"This one has no idea what has gotten into your head — but you can be sure I will use the blunt edge of this sword to knock it out."

Saito clenched his teeth, he was moving again. Kenshin narrowly dodged a sideways swipe before bounding forward, slashing with battou-jutsu. Saito moved.

But he moved too slow. He caught the hit on his left side.

Kenshin blinked. Saito should have been able to evade that. There was something wrong with him — beyond him being in no condition to fight right now. It was his legs. Saito's legs had been skewered clean through during their fight against Shishio by Usui the blind sword. Even though his sword was as powerful as ever, and his technique as flawless as it ever was — he wasn't able to keep up the speed of his Shinsengumi prime.

Kenshin regarded him darkly, refusing to let anger cloud his mind. Think. Why did Saito attack him? Kenshin ran his words in his mind again, but nothing he'd said remotely made sense to him. A clan? Hanadas? What did these mean?

Kenshin lowered his sword a little. "Let's stop this."

Saito said nothing.

Kenshin had the succession technique. Amakakeru ryu no Hirameki. Saito knew. He knew practically every move set in Kenshin's arsenal, and he his. Saito had seen Amakekru in action. And he was willing to go against it.

What Saito didn't know was that Kenshin's body was also not what it was. Years ago, that very same Ryūsuisen would not have just pushed Saito back. It would have been enough to shatter his sword — if Saito were less experienced, if he were less wolfish, it would have shattered his arms. But that, too, was a bygone time.

Kenshin's eyes stopped briefly at Megumi. Megumi, holding the wall and looking at Kenshin with strained, haunted eyes. Megumi's past warnings echoed in the back of his mind. Ken-san, you can't keep using Hiten Mitsurugi ryu. It's ruining you. Every time you use it, you deteriorate a little more. If you keep on pushing yourself, one day you won't be able to fight at all. Use of Hiten Mitsurugi ryu now came with tension in his muscles, a margin of bearable pain, and a familiar leaden ache.

But Kenshin could not mind this right now.

Saito rounded on him, broken teacups crunching beneath his boots. He walked off the injury. He walked off some of itching fury. He lifted his sword into Gatosu position again and circled Kenshin. Then he began to talk.

"People died last night, Battousai. One of them was a Yakuza. Hiko Seijuro was at the scene. But, fine, gangsters are scum! Maybe that one deserved it. —But the other was a civilian. A nobody civilian who had reels and reels of those—" Saito's eyes darted to the single limp, wet calling card on the floor, "—stuffed down their mouth. And there I was, sitting behind my desk, doing the grunt work of scrolling through mountains of dusty Tokugawa records, until I was greeted with the fact that you lied to me. You lied to me. I thought you wanted to catch the killers. I thought our goals aligned. Penance to those who deserve it. But you lied — to save your own pride?"

"Saito!" Kenshin yelled. "Just spit it out!"

"They're twin ginkgo leaves," Saito sneered. His sword veered away, pointing towards the soggy calling card, wet from spilled tea and falling to pieces. The ink of the triangular botches ran everywhere. "It's not just any old symbol. It's a clan insignia. A kamon. The twin ginkgo leaves of the Himura Clan."

Downstairs

A tall woman fell out of the third storey window.

Shinamori Aoshi closed his eyes, opened them, closed them, and then opened them again. The layer of dust that had begun to settle quickly rose again as the woman leisurely got up and started dusting herself off. There was a hole through the paper and balsa windows above and he wasn't sure if he was supposed to do something about it.

His quiet and peaceful meditation time had been disturbed first by some guests yelling, then the Okashira's yelling, and then the window bursting and then falling into pieces to the floor. Aoshi didn't move from the tranquil garden pagoda he was sitting in. The woman seemed unhurt, save for her dirtied clothes. If it was an inn brawl, surely someone would have stopped it from escalating all the way to the third level?

All of sudden, Misao herself jumped from the third storey broken window to the second storey balcony. The sight made every inch of Aoshi seize up in stress, undoing hours of meditation. She was not supposed to be moving in her condition, let alone fighting. "Hey you!" she shouted, hands clenched on the railings and knuckles adorned with a set of sharpened kunai. "Don't you dare run! If you want Grandpa you go through me!"

Misao rolled into a backflip, dispensing her shuriken during the move. Skilled as Misao was, she'd thrown the shuriken with the full weight of her falling momentum, the shuriken now moving at dangerous speeds with an always-startling amount of accuracy. Aoshi got up, eyes darting to the defenceless woman who'd just taken a fall out of a high window, about to be filled with shuriken. He froze mentally when he realised that he there was no way he could stop the shuriken in time.

But, out of the blue, the woman pulled a sword from beneath that enormous cloak. The movement was so fast it would have been incomprehensible to a common civilian's eye. Out and in. Sheathed almost as instantly as it was drawn. Aoshi had only ever seen speed like this from masters of battou-jutsu — and one master in particular. By the time Misao had landed and gotten up, the shuriken were scattered at a safe distance and her cloaked attacker had already flickered to her side.

Hiko lifted an arm high into the air, ready to deal the finishing blow to knock the Okashira out unconscious. Suddenly, another man seemed to whisk between them, pushing the Okashira out of the way and swiping beneath her feet. Hiko was forced to jump to evade, giving him time to gain distance.

A pair of pensive, intense eyes watched Hiko with an almost animal instinct. He, too, was wearing the matching casual, striped yukata, and the intensity of him seemed a little mismatched.

"Misao," he said quietly. Misao looked extremely wide-eyed and confused in his arms.

"Aoshi-sama?" She twisted, immediately rolling out from under him to point at Hiko. "Aoshi-sama! — she — Okina — intruder!"

"I can see," he said, turning around to face her. "A former onna-bugeisha. How peculiar."

Hiko frowned. "Former?"

Aoshi seemed to look taken aback for a moment. He sighed, then, glancing once to Misao. "If you want to cling to the past, I will not begrudge you that. What with this being a ninja's base in the heart of Kyoto city in this age. But…" Aoshi stepped forward, standing next to Misao. "I can only do that so long as I know you mean no harm. Clearly, I cannot do that."

Hiko looked him up and down, two swords tucked and hidden away by her cloak again. "I assure you I am only here for business. This scuffle was unwarranted." She looked to Misao. "Okashira, I bade you accept my apology."

Misao's eyes narrowed. "The name Okina doesn't exist in Kyoto, except to us — or to those who mean him harm," she said sternly.

"I said I was a friend," Hiko lied.

"You came into an inn armed to the teeth with swords," Aoshi said monotonously. "You attacked my Okashira. You destroyed our window. You are no friend to Okina, nor are you a friend to the Aoiya." Aoshi stepped forward, taking a single kunai blade out of Misao's hand for himself.

Hiko made a displeased face. She parted her cloak to show her swords, a stout warning.

Aoshi did not heed it. He shot forward fast — faster than Misao, faster than Shirojo, Omime, faster than the rest of the lot — with one precise strike he thrust the kunai where Hiko's head would have been if she were a second slower. But she was faster than that, much so. Hiko flashed past the weapon, appearing behind Aoshi in a dusty haze; he swivelled to turn, but she was already moving again, knocking the kunai out of his hand with a favourite of hers — a hard jab to his fingers with the hilt of her sword.

Aoshi dropped the kunai only to catch it with his other hand. He shook his fingers, then went in again. Hiko was planning to end the fight with godspeed when — her breath stopped short in her throat. But Aoshi was coming at her.

Hiko simply held onto her last remaining breath, and drew her sword fully this time. The soft ring of Winter Moon clashed with the kunai — but then a wild act of god happened — what looked like half a tea table came plummeting down from the ceiling — right down onto Misao.

Hiko tried to gasp, but air refused to come back to her. Aoshi also gasped sharply, abandoning his fight with Hiko to get to Misao in time. He leapt at the last moment, reaching her right before the falling debris crashed down on her head, arms raised to shield them both.

But the debris never came down on them.

The half tea table was sliced again in half by battou-jutsu.

Aoshi and Misao looked up. They were in time to see Hiko sheathe Winter Moon, quarter of a table at either side. For a strange, quiet moment, they all looked up, wondering from where the blasted table had come from.

Then Hiko dropped to a knee and began gasping strenuously for breath.

Aoshi rose slowly while Misao scrambled to get up. As they composed themselves, they just stood there, watching Hiko heave for breath. Neither of them could do anything.

"Aoshi?! Misao!" An old, harried voice called out from behind them. The two spun around.

"What on earth are you doing to my friend?!" An old man yelled at them.

"Your…" Misao trailed off, spinning back to eye Hiko.

Aoshi reversed the kunai he had been holding onto with a death grip, and handed it back to Misao. He shed his outer yukata layer, handing that over to daub her blood. "It seems there was a misunderstanding."

With that, he stalked off.

Okina walked up to Hiko, bowing politely. "I'm so glad you've changed your mind about staying at the inn. The weather has finally improved a little, hasn't it?"

Realisation dawned on her, and Hiko looked up with saliva stuck to her mouth.

Okina, the old man with the umbrella, bowed. "Won't you stay and enjoy a home-cooked meal, my friend?"

Hiko stared. "I'm glad it's not too late to take up your offer."

Upstairs

"You," Saito's sword veered back onto the hapless, foolish former rurouni, "—You are a Himura. I understand now. These aren't just another wave of street-side thugs intent on using Battousai's scary name. These impersonators are connected to you. Himura, not Battousai. And you tried to escape liability by holding back information. That's a lie, in my book." Saito shrugged. "By omission, maybe, but all the same in the end."

Himura paced around the room, moving as he did to keep equal distance. "Why would this one do that…" he seemed to begin to say, but then his eyes flashed. The bastard knew he'd kept information from him. Saito could smell the guilt on him. But it was gone as soon as it had come.

Himura continued to keep his cool, his eyes staring up at Saito unblinkingly. Calmly dignified, solemn and lofty. Without any emotion other than the faint sense of indifference directed at Saito's rage. Sharply in contrast to Saito's animalistic stalking, his rattled demeanour and his shaking knuckles.

Saito had lost his cool, and here was Himura, holding onto it effortlessly. High and mighty, looking at him like he was the crazy one. It enraged Saito beyond measure. Veins popped in his head, his red, unrested eyes staring daggers at Himura.

"How could you possibly think of protecting your identity over giving me a lead to the killers?" he said lightly.

"Listen. We don't have to fight," Himura said, and Saito felt sick. "This one thinks he understands now..."

"...Enough drivel."

Saito Hajime couldn't believe he thought he could possibly shake this man's hand. He couldn't believe he let him say 'we' and didn't tell him to take a hike. He couldn't believe he actually imagined, however brief and insane — standing at the back of a little crowd, smoking silently but watching intently, a wolf at a hitokiri's wedding. A different kind of invitation, in another context. Another reality.

…Utter ridiculousness.

The fact was in front of him, glistening like the moon in the dark.

Saito had gone soft.

Saito spat on the floor, expelling these useless thoughts, these flaws in his design. He began to circle Himura, falling back into their familiar dance. This time, there was not a grin to be found on his face.

"Saito, just hear this one—"

"Someone else is dead. And thanks to your dishonesty, I can gut you here right now and no one will ever fault me for that." Saito breathed in hard, his chest heaving. "Each one of my dunderhead superiors are convinced you are responsible. At least now, I won't have to go through the indignation of begging to differ."

He raised his sword above his head, arching into the true Gatotsu.

But Battousai, his face a still, blank slate, bowed out of battou-jutsu stance. With no seething retort, no anger, and no fanfare, he said, simply—

"I was born to peasants."

Saito's smile dipped a little. But then he gritted his teeth, and advanced. Himura unsheathed his sword — but did not use the succession technique. All he did was meet Saito's sword with his. Metal clanged in their ears upon contact.

"They were farmers. They died of cholera. Like everyone else in the farmland. Our land was already poor, but the daimyo taxed us into ruin regardless. We were serfs. Without title. Without anything — not even the right of having a surname. We had not the privilege."

Saito's face changed into something distinctly unlike him. A wolf caught in headlights. Eyes wide, reflecting back its own surprise. Its own shame.

Himura lifted his head. "Shinta."

"…What?"

"You gave me your discarded name. Now this one give you his."

Saito's anger simmered into ashes, but it hung like a phantom. Like he had learned something about himself he truly did not like. That he was…happy to be betrayed by Himura, as if it were the inevitable slap on the wrist for trusting where he shouldn't have. That he'd felt like he was going against his nature, extending something akin to kindness to someone who had cut down scores of his men during wartime. Men whom Saito buried. Men whom Saito had commanded to their deaths. But Himura had not betrayed him, and he'd jumped to the best conclusion he could live with.

What should it matter, if Himura lied to him? What did he expect, anyway? Was he supposed to take Himura as a paragon of truth? Was he truly that disappointed he'd lied? Or was he just glad to have reprieve from his own seething, pussing guilt.

Regarding Battousai as a friend.

Spitting on all his comrades killed by him.

Saito Hajime looked, in that one moment, more conflicted than he'd ever had holding a sword and hacking people to bits with it.

And what's more, Himura witnessed every bit of this.

As they stood there, swords still crossed between each other, each transfixed with the other's confession, a patter of footsteps ran up behind Saito. But he was too distracted to hear it or have any audio input reach his mind.

The Kamiya girl, wielding her Kamiya Kasshin ryu with all the might in her arms, slammed her wooden bokken into the back of Saito's neck. The bokken cracked in half, spinning in the air.

Saito shook, and fell.

Downed by a civilian girl.

Marvellous.

Notes.

Have you seen the new live action Rurouni Kenshin: The Final Chapter trailer? If not, here is it in eng sub: youtube (fullstop) com (/) watch?v=a7YIGvOAEbk (remove the brackets and add . and /)

I rewatched a bit of the anime and realised what a small inn the Aoiya actually was. Just imagine that the Aoiya in the fic has been renovated and refurbished so it's big and nice now, a popular family restaurant and inn! Misao is 23 here (omg, right?!) and she's now the Okashira, this will be elaborated on more later :)

Where is Hiko 13? He went home last night to put down his groceries.

Gin, Rori77 and Smile, thanks for hanging with me.