Hi! Hope you are all safe and well. There will be a trigger warning from here on because child trafficking and slavers will be an element of the story. Nothing graphic, but please be aware.
'The night before' is literally chapter 5.
The night before
Whistles rang shrill in the air, a collective cacophony all wound up together like springtime cicadas singing in competition. When Saito got to the scene and an officer started blowing a whistle practically in his face, he slapped it out of their hand. He already had a mind splitting headache without a dozen officers trying to recreate an orchestra with just their whistles for instruments.
"Stop it!" Saito snapped. "Stop all of them. All of them! How many police does it take to secure a crime scene? Stop calling for reinforcements, it's counter-productive."
He went up to the officer who'd found the second body. He was currently crouched by it, his torchlight abandoned at his side as he stared blankly at its face.
"…Have you identified her?"
"Not for sure. But the description matches that of Isaku Doa. One of the two reported missing only days ago by Isaku Iriya. I know, because I took their statement. And she's still wearing the same clothes she was described wearing the day she went missing."
"Hn," Saito mused. "…How old was she?"
Mishima Eiji, his police cap scrunched in his hands, shuffled uncomfortably. He finally pulled his gaze from the body to Saito and answered with practiced composure. "Six."
Saito picked up the torch. He hovered it over. "What's that in her mouth?"
Eiji took one of the slips he'd fished out the victim's oesophagus and held it up to Saito. Saito took it between his gloved fingers, smoothing it out.
It read: Heaven's Justice
By the hand of Himura Kenshin.
The twin gingkoes leered.
Now
Outside the guest room of the Aoiya inn, Kamoda stood to attention. He hadn't the slightest understanding why Commissioner Fujita had, after debriefing him of everything he'd seen last night, cleared his entire day's schedule to silently walk him to an inn.
Maybe he had finally snapped. Maybe he was finally using the weeks of leave he'd acquired and never used — maybe he was blowing state money on geishas behind closed doors. That would explain why he'd picked Kamoda of all people to stand guard. Spineless, indecisive Kamoda, who had failed big time by acting as he did at last night's crime scene. Useless, fireable Kamoda, who hadn't the backbone to tell on him.
It was an odd time to go to a holiday inn retreat, what with the double murders that happened. If it were anyone else, Kamoda would have felt icky. But inwardly, Kamoda was somehow…relieved that the man was human, each with their vices. Taking a break. Getting some much needed time off. Winding down. Even if it involved marching Kamoda almost murderously into the happiest inn in Kyoto only to shut the door in his face. The man was blunt like that.
"Officer Kamoda?"
Kamoda turned to search for the surprised voice. Slipping between two guests, another uniformed officer was making his way towards him, an arm raised to catch his attention.
Kamoda moved to greet him. "Officer Eiji. Hello."
"Hello."
They exchanged short bows.
Eiji, his hair cropped neatly short, smiled kindly up at Kamoda. He was a rookie having only entered the force for about the tenure of Commissioner Fujita's command, but one wouldn't know that working with him. Eiji might have been young — not yet eighteen — but he always acted in a professional manner, mature beyond his years. Kamoda had always held a bit of affection towards him. And consternation. Eiji's brother, an honoured officer sent to spy on home-grown terrorists years ago, had been killed in action. Now here was Eiji, ever keen to take on as hard assignments as his brother had. He had the drive to climb the ranks where Kamoda did not. No doubt, the Commissioner was aware of this.
"What are you doing here, Eiji?" He looked around for his non-existent partner. "Are you making an arrest all by yourself?"
Eiji rolled his eyes at that. Kamoda kicked himself inwardly. What right did he have to patronise him? They held the same rank, and therefore, were perfectly equal.
"Are you with the Commissioner?" Eiji asked.
"Yes. I'm standing guard."
"In there?"
"In there."
"I have to see him."
Eiji moved to pass him.
Kamoda reluctantly put up his hand to stop him. "You know I can't let you do that, Eiji," he said apologetically. "You know how he hates to be interrupted."
Eiji narrowed his eyes. "He cleared his schedule today. Why?"
"Who knows."
"He never skips work."
"I know."
Eiji pursed his lips, looking like he was weighing the pros and cons of charging into the room. Vacantly, he said, "…He was supposed to have a meeting with Sir Yamagata."
"What?! Now?"
"He's missed it already."
"…Damn."
Kamoda cursed again in his head. Yamagata Arimoto, one of the higher ups in the government. He hated Fujita's guts. He was always the one to veto police actions and had delayed much of the work the force had tried to do on various occasions. It wasn't just Kamoda who had a sneaking suspicion he just disliked Fujita personally. Now that Kamoda had heard a certain rumour about the Commissioner's past, he had the idea that had something to do with it.
As another, even more incredulous thought slid into Kamoda's mind, he paused. What was Fujita thinking? —Had he axed his meeting with Yamagata, the government official who held his career in his hands — to go fool around with geisha in an inn?
While Kamoda was having trouble picturing that, Eiji had decided he was patently fearless, and shot past Kamoda to slide open the door.
Kamoda panicked. Eiji hero-worshipped the Commissioner. He adored him. What would the rookie think, seeing the Commissioner in such a delicate situation?
"Eiji — wait!" Kamoda cried, as he stumbled through the doors as well.
To his relief, the Commissioner was not actually lounging in the arms of beautiful, expensive women. But the relief was short-lived, because the Commissioner's blade was drawn, crossed in deadlock with another swordsman. Short, red-haired, with a cross-shaped scar. The man that had been at the station the day before, personally invited. They just stood there, pressing into each other's blades hard, teeth locked in grimaces. Then an armed woman ran at the Commissioner, breaking a hard, wooden sword on his neck.
The Commissioner, caught off guard (off-guard? How was that even possible?) — fell.
"Commissioner!" Kamoda yelled.
"Shishou!" Eiji yelled.
It was Eiji's cry that moved Kamoda first. He'd never seen Eiji's eyes that wide, that confused, darting between the audience of people watching on the sidelines. It was as if he knew these people, the way he stared at them. Kamoda already had his rifle in his hands. Thinking nothing, he acted on instinct, pointing his rifle at the Commissioner's opponent. The short redhead. He pulled the trigger—
But his feet lost balance out of nowhere. A man had punched into the floor, reducing it to sand, sawdust, flying particles — and he pounced on Kamoda as the shot fired off into the roof, his clothes flashing the ominous word, Aku.
"KAMODA!" Commissioner Fujita actually screamed. "DON'T SHOOT BATTOUSAI!"
His words shocked both Kamoda and Eiji. But Kamoda wouldn't get another chance to act.
A woman yelled, "Sano, stop him!" and his rifle was yanked out of his hands by sheer force. Unarmed, Kamoda squared up to Sano, the muscular man wearing Aku on the back of his clothes, flitting two hard strikes at him. But Sano deflected easily, throwing an uppercut that hit him on-mark in the jaw. Kamoda wobbled to a stop. He lashed out, but it was no use. Sano had easily wrestled him to the floor, bending his arms behind his back.
Kamoda opened his eyes just in time to witness a civilian teenager come rocketing in. Paper stars fell out every which way from his clothes like a trail of breadcrumbs. He was the only one in the room who took no notice of this. After a once-over, he pointed his own wooden bokken at the downed Commissioner, who was still getting his bearings resting on a knee.
"Yahiko!" the redhead cried. "Don't!"
"What happened? What did he do?!" the Yahiko boy said loudly, waving the wooden sword in the Commissioner's face. "Who got shot?!"
At this point, Eiji had gotten over whatever had caused him to freeze to the spot. With his face scrunched in unbelievable offence and determination, he unsheathed his sword. In a quick, graceful arc, he lifted it into what Kamoda could understand was the Gatotsu stance.
"Get away from Shishou!"
Eiji charged with speed Kamoda had no idea he had. The other teenage boy — Yahiko — seemed to react just as fast — side-stepping at the last moment, spinning with wooden sword to make a counter attack. But Eiji, well-trained, recovered. He sent a side-slash towards Yahiko. Yahiko ducked. He sprung back, slashing his sword upwards — an attack stronger than Eiji's slower defence.
But the attack failed before it was struck. Yahiko's wooden sword was still just a wooden sword — it split apart at Eiji's real, lethally sharp blade. Something even more bizarre happened as the teenagers struck their final blows — a strange, red blur flitted before Kamoda's vision, shifting bright mist, when the man the Commissioner had been fighting appeared beside Eiji.
He easily manoeuvred Eiji's sword with his own, spinning it around, wedging it hard into the floor. The scuffle was over. And Kamoda had no idea what had just happened.
Then, before the dust had settled, another, less weighty pitter patter of feet sounded upon the floorboards. A young child waddled belatedly after Yahiko. With every few steps, the child bent to pick up a dropped paper star, all the way into the room. Another redhead.
"Nii-chan?" the child called. He tilted his head, his eyes falling on the mysterious, strange, wrong, backwards blade the redheaded man was holding. "Are you practising? I can help, Papa! I can spa!" he cried.
The adults in the room, including the man pinning Kamoda's arms behind his back, all seemed to loosen up, calm down, and look vaguely embarrassed.
"He means: spar," Sano added over Kamoda's wriggling.
Commissioner Fujita, his ears red with stress, looked at the child with wide, enormous eyes.
"…Himura. What the hell is that?"
Downstars
The calm music of shamisen strings, and the laughter and chatter of guests in the meeting area made up white noise in the distance that was easily and abruptly cut off by the door shutting behind the employees as they left the room. Employees that were ninja in disguise, existing in broad daylight, so skilled in their illusion the Aoiya seemed every bit the peaceful inn all within the city had been led to believe.
Hiko Seijuro the Twelfth sat in a beautifully furnished room plied with tea, her cloak wrapped around her. Okina sat opposite, making small talk about music and the price of rice that soon fizzled into a silence. It was not uncomfortable — Okina, sharp as he was, seemed to be aware of her lung sickness, and allowing her silence without question was his way of being polite. Hiko was grateful for the rest. She used the time to breath in and out, in and out, forcing her heartbeat back down to normal to recover from her episode.
After a few moments to collect herself, Hiko Seijuro the Twelfth looked up.
"Years ago, there was a village at the base of Mount Atago. It was small, filled mostly with poor farmers. However, the land was conquered by a strong, well-known family," she said. Okina nodded, shutting his eyes as if imaging her story.
"The elder Himura Kin was a samurai, known for his influence and ruthlessness, leader to his clan. His son, Masakazu, was training in swordsmanship with his father. The both of them purported to serve the Shogunate," she continued in a monotonous tone, as if she did not personally care for these people she was remembering. As if they were truly distant figures in a cautionary tale, told to children to keep them humble.
"Masakazu was strong, proud, and almost as ruthless as his father," Hiko's lip jumped a little. "Together they were quite formidable and, to put it lightly, very hated. Especially by their neighbouring rivals. The equally strong Hanadas."
Okina sighed, and his eyes flashed with some recognition. "I remember the man. The tyrant Himura Kin. Regarded as little more than a lord of bandits, in my day. Though I only know this through hearsay, being based in Edo." He sat back with a smirk he didn't bother to hide, the lines on his face shifting in some dark amusement. "I suppose karma does dole out justice sometimes. They died, didn't they? In a fire."
Hiko nodded.
She could still remember the little line of smoke rising into the air in the evening light. By nightfall the sky was still bright, thick with smoke that blotted out the stars and reflected back the red of the flames.
She took a sip of her tea. "They didn't just die in a fire. They were slaughtered. The Hanada and Himura clans were at war with each other for years until the Himuras finally wiped the Hanadas off the map." Hiko scoffed. "They were thorough about it, too. Weeding out every possible heir, beheading every man and boy with even a hint of distant Hanada family blood. The remaining Hanada loyalists, stripped of their lands, stripped of their power, lay siege to the Himuras in the night. They used a fire to smoke the people out. Then they slaughtered everyone. Burned everything to the ground." Hiko ran a hand through her hair. "The clan head perished. And Masakazu, only a few weeks renamed with his noble warrior's name, as ever — copied his father."
"Good riddance," Okina remarked, and Hiko tensed up in agitation, despite every inch of her knowing he was in the right. "…But what does this have to do with your missing disciple?"
"Everything!" Hiko started. "Because the Himura and Hanada feud is still going," she said, "Because Himura Kin had another son. My boy, Himura Miki."
Okina was quiet for a moment. "It was well known that Himura Kin only had one son."
"He lied," Hiko said. "…Miki suffered from an illness that left him very weak. Because of this he was pampered by his mother. But otherwise, he was ignored by his father. He alone survived his family's demise."
Hiko swallowed, trying hard not to cross her arms or ball her hands into fists. "But now the Hanadas know of his existence." Hiko couldn't help her scoff. "They can't restore the Hanada Clan. The male line has been quite soundly extinguished. So all they have left is retribution. And they won't stop this feud until the entire Himura line is dead."
"Hm." Okina shook his head sadly; like he'd seen it all before, and couldn't truly bring himself to be surprised or sorry. "An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. And sons for sons."
In the woods, slashing away vines, high-strung to the point of flinching at sounds of stoats and weasels like a kid afraid of the dark, Hiko Seijuro swallowed her pride and started screaming. "Miki! Deshi! Miki!" She screamed and screamed until she stopped breathing. Then she leaned on a tree, opening her mouth to draw breath and getting no relief from it. No cold rush of air into her lungs, no physical satisfaction. She just stood there, sword in her hand, gasping over and over as her lungs failed her.
Guilt suffocated her. Hiko did not delude herself, she knew exactly what she had done. It was test, she would not tell herself, because it was cruel and underhanded. She read the strangers' ki, let them approach in the round, knew they would attack, and sent her deshi into a closed off space to fend for his life. Then she sat back and watched, thinking that would shock Miki into using her ryu.
And he'd used it. He had no choice.
It was Hiten Mitsurugi ryu or his life.
What absolutely animal logic. What unabashed cruelty. Something Himura Kin would do without flinching. Something she'd once promised herself she'd never inflict on a deshi of her own…Hiko gasped and gasped, going light headed…until suddenly air occupied her lungs again, airways clearing of its obstructions…
But why should she be guilty?
Kill or die. That was the only choice one made when faced with real hardship. The inevitable. Even if Miki wouldn't face it now, he'd face it in the future. What difference would it make to teach this lesson now? The world was cruel, and Hiko had to carve out a bloody place for her to exist in. She knew, and he knew: swordsmanship is the art of killing. It was not a test. It was a taste of reality.
Hiko wanted to make sure that if it was between Miki's life and the life of some other samurai filth he'd choose himself. Because he was her chosen heir, the vessel to carry Hiten Mitsurugi ryu, and she'd kill a hundred men, a thousand, to ensure his survival. The line of Mitsurugi ryu, borne from the Sengoku Era five hundred years strong, could not die out. The legacy of the great masters of the past relied on her, twelfth of her name. She killed her master for this, and he killed his to hand it to her, and he killed his, and his, and his. Mitsurugi ryu was power and discipline and knowledge more precious than life.
Nothing else mattered. She would eventually die, and Miki would eventually die — but they, eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, on and on — they had a duty to ensure 'Hiko Seijuro' lived on.
She refused to be the weak link.
Hiko the Twelfth got up, wiped her mouth, and continued looking for Miki.
In the sunny Aoiya hall, the shamisen song had ended. Okina, a ninja himself no matter how he put on a weak man's visage, had been testing her ki all this time. Hiko now understood that was the reason he'd left her so easily in the rain before. He'd felt her fighting prowess and knew she'd have no trouble fending off a few thugs in the mud.
"All of this. All of it is for a child?" Okina echoed, his eyes soft.
Though he could test her ki right now, feel its agitation, it's riled sincerity, he could be none the wiser to what was going on in her head.
"Yes." Hiko thumbed the empty tea cup in her hand. With a soft smile on his face, Okina poured her another cup. "I will do anything to get my baka deshi back."
Her eyes flickered above the cup, ready to gauge the old man's reaction.
"You must know that children have been targets in this city," Okina said solemnly. He was not startled by her blunt words, nor her emotion. He sat up suddenly, straightening from his old man's haunch, and between one moment and the next, he was ninja. No longer having tea, but talking business and unspeakable things. He leaned forward darkly.
"Seijuro-dono. How old did you say your deshi was? Twelve?" Okina inquired, and watched Hiko tense up in her seat. "They don't want infants," he said dismissively. "Too hard to look after. Too brittle. Anything older than fourteen? Too old. Unpredictable. Uncontrollable. Not as easy to mould into pliant slaves. They want obedience for where these victims are being funnelled. Out of Kyoto, where there is civilisation and law enforcement and parents. Off the main roads, where there are people with eyes. Into small villages. Rural areas. To farmers as farmhands. To kitchens as kitchen boys. To pleasure houses. Geisha houses. Most of them will end up indentured servants. All of them will be used until they die young. Then they'd get a new batch in."
Hiko could feel her stomach turn. Okina finished by taking a sip of his cold tea. "That's the kind of thing we're up against. Isn't it, Aoshi?"
Hiko turned around. The tall man she'd expected lingered in the corner, arms crossed looking pensive as ever. He was out of the striped yukata, dressed in a long coat of some sort with a glaring yellow collar. Aoshi seemed to just take in the scene for a moment, surveying Hiko as she stared back openly. Then his eyes flickered to Okina.
"…Are you done blathering on about useless things?" Aoshi stepped forward as Hiko got up. Without looking at her, he said, "Don't let the old man fool you. He is completely incensed by the subject matter. He's even gone back to his old ways. Torturing men for information. Isn't that right, Okina?"
Hiko's brow rose at that. She filed the information away.
Okina gave a small, controlled smile. "Must you embarrass me in front of my guest?" he tutted. "Insolent Aoshi."
"The only insolent one is you. Acting as if this information is yours to give. When your methods achieved nothing."
Aoshi turned to Hiko. He held out a hand. Hiko looked down at it as if he meant to give her something, but there was nothing there. After half a minute, Aoshi retracted his hand.
"The Western way of greeting," he said awkwardly, but Hiko didn't understand the explanation. Aoshi inclined in the slightest bow instead. "But I shouldn't be so forward. Shinomori Aoshi."
Hiko inclined her head. "I am Seijuro," she introduced officially. "…How is the Okashira?" Hiko asked tentatively.
Aoshi's face did not show a shred of emotion as he said, "Fine." He turned suddenly, staring down Okina with a poisonous look. "Why don't you tell your guest how the Okashira attained those injuries?"
Okina opened his mouth and laughed. "Hahaha! As you wish, Aoshi. As you wish, I will not take credit that is not mine. Forgive me, Seijuro-dono," Okina started, calming himself down, "Our little Misao is the leader of the Oniwabanshuu right now. Days ago, she came across a tip to catch some Yakuza in the act of hauling goods. Imagine our surprise when she comes back with a wound in her side, smiling like no tomorrow, telling us she'd found their base."
"So you found them?!" Hiko piped up.
"One of their bases," Aoshi deadpanned. "But yes. Misao has drawn up a map."
"Your disciple is the right age," Okina added, "and he disappeared at the right time. There is a good chance you may find him tonight by raiding the base."
Hiko shut her eyes, halfway to relief. She teetered on the edges of expelling a torturously held breath, and the experience of knowing not to get her hopes up. "Thank you. That's all I needed: a lead to the slave traders. I shall go tonight." Hiko nodded to them both with neither of them on her mind. Her thoughts were already elsewhere: how long Miki had been missing, whether she could find him before the Hanadas did, what condition he might be in.
When she'd come back to the house, when she gave up on the Hanada woman, when the blood of the Himura bodies had already run cold, she found Miki's sword. Sheathed and neatly placed on the ground where she'd left him. The discovery had stung a little, then. That Miki had made a decision that day she had yet to understand. Now she did. But now that sword gave Hiko a much more practical concern. Without his sword, Miki was defenceless. Hiko marched towards the door, gripping Winter Moon with a white-knuckled grip.
But before she could take her leave, Aoshi produced a longsword out of nowhere, blocking her path. He shook his head once. "Going alone is suicide."
"I wouldn't be so sure, Aoshi," Okina said.
Hiko angled her own sword to push his away. "You would slow me down."
"In a fight? ...Perhaps," Aoshi conceded, "But wouldn't a guide who knows Kyoto city be much to your advantage?"
Hiko weighed her options again. These were ninja. Fighters who refused to fight in the light, who imbued themselves in the art of deception, surprise attacks, infiltration. Their warfare was smoking things out from the inside. Lighting a fire and then watching people burn. Cutting them down as they fled to escape. The ways of the ninja were not of the code of bushido; they were like oil and water, dark and light. And they were beneath the honour of samurai. Not worth the notice of an onna-bugeisha. Hiko could not truly trust Okina — ninja did not live to be old men if they were lousy at their craft — and she wasn't stupid enough to give these people her title and name. Moreover, Aoshi had been one of her attackers and the only one she couldn't finish off in an instantaneous fashion. Going with him at her side was a risk.
Aoshi stood darkly, awaiting her answer. "We go at sundown. Under the cover of night." He dipped his head. "I will be your second."
Hiko sighed.
In the past maybe she'd see her way out. Maybe she would take offence and turn Hiten Mitsurugi ryu upon them in broad daylight. But that was not now. Right now, Hiko Seijuro the Twelfth was fast reaching an inability to care. If she would kill a hundred men, a thousand, a hundred thousand, what is it to work with a ninja for a night? Her pride did not matter. Miki did.
"Very well," Hiko inclined her head towards Aoshi. "We leave at last light."
Aoshi nodded in agreement. Their business was concluded, and somewhat surprising to Hiko, he propped his sword casually against the wall. Then he reached for some tea. There wasn't a cup laid out for him, so he just helped himself to Okina's. Hiko wondered a moment what this man did for the inn. Clearly, he was a ninja at his base of operations, but did he also greet guests at the door like the Okashira? Did he also wait tables and change guest bedsheets? And the Okashira. She had called him 'Aoshi-sama.' But he acknowledged her as his superior. It was as if within these walls things were upside down.
"But Aoshi," Okina started as the man turned, and Aoshi looked poised to flee the room, "I think you're forgetting something. Do you think Misao will approve of you taking this mission?"
There was a smug undercurrent to Okina's words that Hiko pretended not to notice, but which Aoshi focused-in on keenly.
"Are you willing to go without her blessing?" Okina pressed.
"This isn't a mission," Aoshi declared with almost petulant force. He shuffled uncomfortably, his eyes darting half a second to Hiko. "…It's just returning a favour."
Okina chuckled. "If you think that is enough to placate her."
"We are not telling Misao."
"You forget yourself, Aoshi."
Aoshi turned back, swiping the tail of his coat behind him in a long, offended swoop. "She was shot through the side. She risked her life for this lead. She would insist on directing the mission. And she will die overzealous," Aoshi said bluntly. "We are not telling her about this 'favour' because we value the fact that the Oniwabanshu, for once, has a worthy Okashira."
Okina went quiet, seeming to soak in those words. Aoshi was too, as if he were surprised at himself for saying it. Hiko watched Okina and Aoshi distantly.
Finally, Aoshi faced Hiko with a look. "Nothing we have said leaves this room."
Hiko crossed her arms. "So long as you take me to these Yakuza, I don't much care what you do or say in your own time. Show me the way. Take me to the base. You will have my silence easily."
Aoshi relaxed, which was an almost imperceptible change in his shoulders.
"Fine. Enough, Aoshi," Okina started again jovially, and clapped his hands together. "Go away. What Seijuro-dono needs right now is rest. She has a big night ahead of her. Why don't you make yourself useful and fetch our esteemed guest some taiyaki snacks."
Upstairs
Kenji stood at the threshold of the room, eyeing everyone in wide-eyed fascination and forgetting his scrunched up origami shuriken balled up in his little hands. He'd been brought up in a dojo, where he usually wrestled around in the dust with the other kids and joined in the fray when adults practiced swordless judo throws. He often watched people tousling while practicing Kamiya Kasshin ryu and loved whacking every leg within sight with sticks Yahiko liked to keep him supplied with.
It was no wonder that he saw nothing strange about the carnival of adults at each other's throats. The view of Kamoda getting manhandled by Uncle Sano, Yahiko nii-chan crossing swords with another big brother, and Mama and Papa standing over a surrendered police officer, put a huge smile on Kenji's face.
Kenji scuttled across the floor to pick up the top half of Yahiko's bokken. "Nii-chan, it's broken."
"…Yeah." Yahiko stepped in front so that he obscured the real sword stuck in the floorboards. "That's what happens with you play with a katana outside of the dojo, got it, punk?"
Kenji scoffed, a high pitched blubber. "Yer lying. No it's not."
"Yes it is."
"No it's not!"
"Yes. It is. And I have proof."
"What proof?!"
"You're holding it. Grow a brain, Ken-chan!"
"Yahiko," Kaoru cried, "Enough!"
"Wha — me? — He started it!"
"No I did'n!"
While they argued, everyone began to move. Sano got off of Kamoda, helping him untwist his arms before dragging him up to his feet at once. Then he patted his shoulder like they were friends. Megumi dived for the firearms, fumbling around with it until the bullets expelled. Eiji yanked his sword out and hid it dutifully from view until he could sheathe it out of sight. Kenshin sheathed his sakabatou, held out a hand for Saito, then dropped it knowing he'd hate the gesture. Saito sheathed his own sword, getting up and rubbing the back of his neck.
They got to work.
The wooden debris was brushed up into a small pile under the broken window, with the remaining half of the tea table propped up against the wall. In the hubbub, someone had actually called for room service, before long Megumi was pouring tea in a line of painted, floral cups. Whoever had called for service had evidently been too embarrassed to ask for another table, so they just placed the cups neatly on the floor.
"Commissioner," Megumi said sternly. "You should let me check you over."
Saito reacted by looking at her as if she was out of her mind. "I'm fine."
"Kaoru broke her bokken with the help of your neck. You need something for the swelling."
"Hn…"
They sat in awkward silence while Megumi allowed Saito to peruse her selection of balms. Eiji and Kamoda were quickly ejected from the room, courtesy of Saito, who'd harshly rebuked them in hushed tones huddled in a corner. The two trailed out and shut the door. It seemed even Saito didn't want to cause a scene in front of the child now babbling and prancing about everyone's legs. Especially since he commanded Kamoda to get back in and take away the firearms. Saito seemed to just stow everything away in a single breath. Now he was calm and placid as ever, with just a few hairs out of place.
"Pa…Papa!" Kenji kept pulling on Kenshin's hair before Kenshin leaned down to let him whisper in his ear.
"Oro? No, no, no — not now Kenji. We can have dango any time in Tokyo. This is Kyoto. We can't eat dango here, that we can't. The dango is poisoned, that it is! Do you want poisoned dango? This one thinks not, that he does."
As everything piped down, Kenshin, Kaoru and Megumi sat on one side of the tea. Saito sat on the other. Sano sat leaned onto the back wall while Yahiko stood like a bodyguard. Kenshin talked more about the dangers of Kyoto dango until he accidentally caught Saito's eye.
"…Oro, Kenji," Kenshin started, "ororo, look here. This is Papa's…" He paused. "…This is Papa's friend. Saito-san—"
"Fujita."
"—Fujita-san."
Kenji took a moment to stop pulling Kenshin's hair and look at Saito. With a few wide-eyed blinks, he retreated shyly to Kaoru.
"Kenji, that's so rude! What do you say to Papa's guests?" Kaoru chastised. As if she hadn't slammed her bokken into his neck. Kenji reappeared from behind Kaoru to give a small bow.
"Hello…"
Saito stared. Then he gave a small, reserved nod. Kenji shied away, but smiled.
"His name is Kenji," Kenshin said sheepishly. "You'll have to forgive his manners, that you must."
"I was not aware."
"Yes. Well. Now you are."
"Do not interrupt," Saito said. "I was not aware…you were so dim as to take your child with you to Kyoto in the middle of your being accused of murder." Saito sat back, as if to take a breath and spare his ire on something that was clearly not his business. "What in damnation happens in that thick head of yours, I wonder?"
"We couldn't leave him alone in Tokyo," Kenshin said defensively. "It's his birthday soon. This lowly one is not low enough to miss his son's birthday."
"Birthday?" Saito put down his teacup, but he did it with so much force he ended up breaking it in the process. The teacup just splintered in his fingers. He was trying to be courteous, trying so hard to be calm, but he might as well have thrown it against a wall. "You are being framed by belligerents, and you worry about counting your whelp's candles?!"
For some reason, Kenshin was more perturbed that Saito understood the Western custom of birthday candles than anything else.
But Kenji startled at the raised voice. Saito's eyes, back with its wolfish glint, wandered to him. Then he shut his eyes and rapidly composed himself. His voice went very small. "…My apologies. Kenji-kun. How old are you turning?"
Kenji bobbed his head to one side. "…Four."
"…A joyous occasion."
Kenji nodded with his head at an angle.
"Yes, that's right, Kenji! Four!" Kaoru praised, and Kenji beamed. "Yahiko, if you could," Kaoru went on politely, and in the short pause before another argument could bubble up, Yahiko obliged without complaining. Yahiko held out his hand. Kenji clasped onto it gratefully and also didn't complain when Yahiko led him out of the room.
"You owe me another one," Yahiko called behind his back to Kaoru.
There was another rest of awkward silence. Suddenly, out of the blue, Saito picked up the teapot and began refilling the tea. A gesture of apology for what had transpired. And a begrudging truce.
Kenshin, looking anywhere but at Saito, accepted the refilled tea.
He started over. "This lowly one was not aware you had taken a disciple, Saito."
Despite everything, Kenshin couldn't help the smile on his lips. On the last day they were in Shingetsu Village, a town abandoned by the government that Kenshin and Saito had freed from Shisho's rule, Saito had promised to take in an orphaned boy before finding him a more permanent home. Eiji was the younger brother of one of his men that had perished in duty. Small, grieving, and endlessly determined. It occurred to Kenshin that Eiji simply never left Saito's care. Instead he had entered into his tutelage.
"But seriously, Gatotsu?" Sano piped up from the back. "You taught a real life kid Gatotsu?"
"I can't believe I'm saying this," Megumi said, rolling her eyes, "but he is literally your age when you were a street brawler for hire."
"Damn. Is he?"
Kenshin smirked. He'd been surprised Eiji had pulled that attack. A rendition of a technique designed by the second in command of the Shinsengumi, Hijikata Toshizo. Perfected by Saito to suit his destructive, precision-style attacks. It was his own invention, and a closely guarded secret. For him to teach it to someone else made Kenshin flagrantly aware of what position Eiji held in Saito's eyes. This revelation shocked him, in some way. That Saito had a private life outside of being a wolf, being commissioner; and somehow, Eiji fitted into that. That Saito valued Eiji enough to pass down his favoured technique.
Kenshin looked down. His mind went wandering…
Wandering to Hiko.
Saito had taught Gatotsu to Eiji, and not only were they still both alive and well, Eiji had grown up to be part of the force directly under Saito. They talked and worked together. Eiji had even drawn in Saito's defence. None of them had tried to murder the other. There was no need.
"How old is he?" Kenshin asked.
"Old enough to control his sword arm. He will not be pulling Gatotsu on anymore civilians if he wants to keep his sword arm," Saito grimaced. Kenshin's smile dipped and faltered, and he gave Saito a warning look. Saito waved it away. "Enough drivel. That's not what I'm here for."
"Then what are you here for?" Kaoru asked pointedly.
Saito breathed in hard as he stared daggers at her. He gave her a look that said he was already being deeply courteous so as to not bring up her ambush attack. Though he was not going to forget it any time soon. In a smooth motion, his hand wandered to his sword on the floor at his side. He seemed to just gaze at it in thought, not picking it up.
"…They had you wear a wakizashi." Saito's eyes flickered up to Kenshin. "The Ishin Shishi."
A heavy, tense moment passed, where Kaoru, Megumi and Sanosuke steeled themselves. They all knew how Kenshin's past was a sensitive topic. How Kenshin had surrendered to them by telling them about the scars on his face. They each looked to him with concealed thoughts. If Kenshin did not answer, they would fight for him, admonish Saito, bring up things such as warrants and rights in this Meiji Era. But there was no need. Kenshin took a breath.
"Yes. This one was given one," Kenshin said quaintly. "…A lot of protocol was put in place. This one was handed a wakizashi. A daisho set. My identity carefully concealed — not only from the outside, but also within the Shishi. Okubo did not know. Saigo's faction certainly did not know. I was passed off as Choshu to the Satsuma. I was passed off as an affiliate to the Choshu. My superiors completely denied my existence to Tosa. Aizu. The truth of my status was deeply secret."
Kenshin smiled a little, a small hint of irony after all these years. A well-kept secret that did not mean anything, anymore, and hadn't for a decade. "This lowly one was never samurai."
"I don't understand," Sano started, his eyes wide. "…You were Hitokiri Battousai."
"Don't you know this much?" Megumi seemed shaken. Though she knew what Sano had meant, she still rushed to explain. "One is born samurai. Kaoru was born a daughter of samurai. Yahiko was born a son of samurai. The Commissioner was born into a samurai clan. Ken-san…" her lips curled into a smirk, savouring the irony. "Ken-san is simply a swordsman."
Saito sat stock straight in seiza position, listening intently. It occurred to Kenshin that Saito had thought he, like many revolutionaries and agents in the unrest of war in Kyoto, had come from noble beginnings. Samurai were noblemen, that was a fact of life. Saito himself had come from that caste, even if he was once cast out. All in the Choshu Clan, including Kenshin's commander, Katsura, were descendants of old samurai blood. It was a reasonable connection to make, to assume Kenshin was the same.
Saito's eyes gleamed, the cogs turning in them. He was in deep thought, obviously in turmoil. A peasant boy at Katsura's side. A serf without heritage in the ranks of the upper echelon revolutionaries — this ludicrousness was outdated now, it mattered no more than their feud in war, and the people who would have revelled in its absurdity no longer existed.
Despite everything, neither of them had remotely cared about the other's past. If not for these series of killings, they would have gone on the rest of their lives without even the curiosity. But now Kenshin sat in a room, poised to let the likes of Saito dissect his life. Saito looked as if he wanted to ask something, like how Kenshin could possibly had slipped in between Choshu ranks. How utterly unheard of this was: that Battousai was a no one.
Instead, he snapped his fingers. "Mishima. Enter."
A moment later, Eiji entered and bowed formally. "Yes, Shishou." But he rose and smiled delightfully at Kenshin.
"Eiji! It truly is so good to see you!" Kenshin bowed a little and smiled largely as well. "You've grown so much. It brings this one more joy than you can know, to see you grown up and well like this."
"Himura-san! I'm so happy to see you as well! It's been so long — con-congratulations for you and Kamiya-san!" he grinned, dimples sinking into his cheeks, making his face light up like a bulb. But then he quickly dimmed as he dipped to say, "I'm so sorry about before! I really didn't know what was happening and—"
"—And I'll speak with you about that later," Saito finished for him. "Mishima. Tell Hitokiri Battousai what developments happened last night."
Eiji knelt next to Saito and nodded. "Right. Himura-san, everyone. You must know that for the last four months, there have been a series of murders done by what we suspect is an attempt to use your infamy…as—as others have done before. However, we think differently now. We don't think they're using you, we think they're targeting you, Himura-san. Bodies have been left out in alleys and—"
"Speed it up, Mishima," Saito said. "The Himura Clan."
"Right," Eiji went on. "Shishou had a suspicion the symbols drawn on the back of the calling cards were integral. That it was a kamon insignia for a group or clan. We've had tons of people come in to identify it — but yesterday it was finally identified. We found it in old, Tokugawa records. A clan kamon with two gingko leaves." Eiji looked up at Kenshin. "Belonging to the extinct Himura Clan."
Eiji paused. Saito sipped his tea. Kenshin shut his eyes in as if in pain. Sano got up from the back wall and plod himself down closer to the rest of them.
"The Himura Clan," Eiji went on, glancing at Saito, "—All the records said was that they perished in a feud against another clan, called Hanada. Last night, the victim we found had more of the gingko leaf calling cards with your name on it." Eiji's eyes went downcast. He went quiet for a moment, anticipating shock that did not come.
"Like the one Saito showed us?" Kaoru piped up.
Eiji nodded.
"Well, what's novel about that? Many incidents of this kind has happened these past few months," Megumi said. "People hate Battousai — we're aware!" she said snidely.
"No—" Eiji shuffled uncomfortably. "Himura-san, they — they literally had your name on it. Not just 'Battousai.'"
"Himura," Kenshin said.
"No. Your personal name." Saito silenced them all with a look. "Kenshin."
Saito rejoined in the conversation. He turned back to Kenshin, looking at him with barely concealed tiredness.
"Heaven's Justice. By the hand of Himura Kenshin." He repeated the new rendition of the slip with robotic quality. "Such a small change…with monumental repercussions. They know exactly who you are. They have sent you a message through the calling cards. And now that message has changed."
"They know I'm here."
"Indeed."
Kenshin sighed. "You thought this one was connected to them. You thought whoever is behind this knows my past. That they are from my past. That is why you wanted to know it. But this is the truth, that it is." Kenshin looked Saito stark in the eyes. "This one has no past."
From nothing, there was Battousai.
Kenshin used to wonder how differently his life would be, if he weren't in that field, Hiten Mitsurugi ryu in his small hands, spotted afar by Takasugi on his horse…
"Then there's only one question that needs to be asked," Saito went on. "You said you were surname-less. Only an childhood name, 'Shinta.' Simple. Who gave you the swordsman's name 'Himura Kenshin?'"
"This…" Kenshin's eyes widened. "This one's shishou. He gave me my name."
Saito did not smile, unamused. He just gave Kenshin a knowing look, like he already knew the answer. Like everything was going his way again, except every new confirmation was like a blow to the head, making him worse for wear. He enjoyed being right, but he couldn't even enjoy that satisfaction right now.
He snapped his fingers again, it seeming to reverberate in the silent anticipation of the room. "Kamoda. Enter."
Kenshin turned. Kamoda, one of Saito's subordinates, shuffled up to them and bowed formally. "Commissioner, you called."
"I did. Now, tell Himura what you witnessed last night."
The day dragged on.
Kamoda relayed the events he saw the night before, talking fast and floundering. He spoke about the body, the missing finger, the strange, cloaked man. The description of the man was like flash photography, coming into view from a void in Kenshin's mind. Tall man, long cloak, red collar, booze. Kenshin listened on grimacing. When Kamoda finished, Kenshin thanked him politely before turning to Saito.
"And you were there afterwards," Kenshin confirmed, feeling tired just from the morning. The only one who might be able to accurately identify the technique would be Saito. "You are sure it is Kuzuryusen?"
Saito's eyes narrowed. "There were nine cuts. About fourteen pieces of body we had to divvy up into little bags. Yes," he said curtly, "I think that was Kuzuryusen." He paused a second. His calm facade fluctuated a moment. He seemed inwardly to realise he hadn't a reason to hold back. "If I had any trouble identifying it — it would be because I've only witnessed that weak lampoon of an attack you perform."
Kenshin turned away, unbothered.
Saito struggled a moment. "What are the chances of victory if we both go against Hiko Seijuro?"
"Low." Kenshin shrugged. "…This one is weaker than Hiko Seijuro the Thirteenth."
"Of course you are," Saito dismissed. "—What about in your prime?"
Kenshin stared at Saito with an incredulous look. As he couldn't believe he was asking. It took effort for Kenshin to unclench his teeth. "When I left him to be Battousai, my master could defeat me in perhaps three strikes of his sword."
A long, hollow silence deafened the room.
"Something still doesn't add up." Kaoru gave Kenshin a look, reminding him of their earlier conversation. "Kamoda-san said that Hiko Seijuro the Thirteenth came to the scene after Kamoda-san himself." She turned to Kamoda with an appreciative nod. "How could he have possibly perpetrated the attack if he arrived after? Why would he approach an officer if it would incriminate him?"
Kaoru pursed her lips, her brows drawn in a tight crease. "Kamoda-san," she piped up when no one spoke, "What is your opinion on the matter?
Kamoda blinked. "…Ms Himura…I don't believe this 'Hiko Seijuro Thirteenth' was the perpetrator," Kamoda said a little louder than he needed to. His shoulders sagged as everyone turned their attentions to him. "…I think—I've been thinking about what he said. He asked after how many attacks there had been…He told me to call for reinforcements. Also to 'Clean the place up.' And 'Leave the killer for me to deal with.'"
Kenshin took this in. Saito gave Kamoda a dirty look.
Perhaps Hiko had circled back after he'd done the deed…or he'd lied to get the police off his tail…Kenshin sighed loudly. As if Hiko cared about being accused. If he wanted to kill someone, he'd do it openly and happily. Kenshin couldn't make sense of this. He'd been trying not to think of Hiko at all for the past few hours. That seemed more than ever like a dead end thought.
"I think Kamoda-san's right," Kaoru said.
Saito turned to her tiredly. "Kamoda's opinions do not matter. Neither, fortunately, do yours."
Kenshin soured, and Saito turned to him abruptly. His ki had swelled.
"What?! You can't disregard your own officer's evidence," Kaoru sat up staunchly. "It sounds like Kamoda-san and Hiko-san were both witnesses after the fact."
Kamoda, who said nothing else, seemed to sink into the floor.
Whatever remained of Saito's patience also expired. But instead of stalking off, ending this exchange, he explained. "If this were any other case, that would put a damper on things. But, Kamiya girl, the evidence of Kuzuryusen is more than enough."
Saito got up suddenly. He inclined his head to them in gratitude. It took him tremendous effort. "…What are you going to do, Himura?"
Kenshin took a moment. "I need to think. This one will alert you in a few days."
Saito nodded languidly. He lingered in the doorway, eyes darting between escape out the door and Kenshin in the room. After a while, he spoke softly. "They are after you, Himura. Do you understand? The longer I cannot solve this, and the longer I do not catch them, and the longer you remain breathing in their eyes, the more civilians die each day."
Kenshin's eyes widened. "Saito. This one knows—"
"Do you?" Saito stalked back. "If you actually did what you purport to do — flip that mockery of a blade around and kill the scum who dare impersonate you — do you think there would be this many Battousais running around? This many hitokiris scattering calling cards like a free for all? Like a festival?!"
Saito scoffed. He looked at Kenshin like he could spit in his face.
Then he turned, and left. Kamoda trailed out after him with a weak apology. Kaoru and Megumi had gotten up, offended by the outburst; they watched them leave with troubled eyes. Sano still sat lazily, but his fists were suspiciously tensed.
As the guests cleared out, Eiji stayed. He came up to Kenshin and bowed deeply.
"Eiji!" Kenshin said, startled. "Please, there's no need."
"You mustn't blame Shishou." Eiji fiddled with his police cap. "He's just a little stressed. That's all." As soon as the words left his lips, Eiji realised how lame that excuse was. He shrunk a bit.
Kenshin just put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "This one knows how that man is." He huffed. "You were there last night, weren't you? The bodies. I'm sorry you had to see that."
Eiji shrugged. "It's my job. I've been an apprentice to the police since I was fifteen. 'Sworn in when I was sixteen. Bad things like this happen sometimes. It's my job to help when they do happen…you know. So don't be sorry." Eiji scratched his head sheepishly, looking at Kenshin with reverent eyes.
"Just like your valiant brother," Kenshin smiled.
"Like my bro," Eiji agreed. "…and you."
Kenshin's smile faltered a little. But Eiji continued on as if he'd said nothing. "Besides…I was lucky I was there last night. I was the one who found the kid. The longer they're out there, the harder it is to record accurate evidence, get clues on what happened…she might only have been dead for thirty minutes…"
Kenshin's heart beat faster as he digested those words. "…Kid?"
"Yeah. Didn't Shishou tell you? The civilian victim was a child. Six years old…horrible."
Notes.
Again, Himura Miki's story is a slightly expanded version of SiriusFan13's 'In Due Time' and some of Hiko 12's dialogue comes from ch 5 of that story.
There's quite a few parallels between mentors and their students in this fic. Including Hiko 12 seeing the relationship between an old mentor and adult student in Okina and Aoshi. Will she and Miki end up like this? Spiteful and troubled...but also familial and sincere. Probably not. The Hiten Mitsurugi ryu won't let them live to that age. She doesn't think about it too much. In the manga, the fight between Hiko 13 and Kenshin is interspersed between the fight of Okina and Aoshi. That's always caught my attention, that these two parallel things were happening.
And then there's Kenshin watching Eiji and Saito in awe. Here is Eiji at 17 and he has this working relationship with Saito. Saito passed on his signature technique to Eiji and it's...like a footnote. They continued on. That perspective is just boggling him a bit. He can't even see Kaoru and Yahiko in that strict kind of way, they're family. Kaoru and Yahiko is like 'I taught you Kamiya Kasshin ryu, now please play with my child for me.'
I slipped in 'Aizu' as one of the factions Kenshin listed because I once read a fic that briefly placed Kenshin in the 'Kinmon incident' 1864 (meaning it was his first year on the job) and loved that idea. It's been my head canon ever since.