Rurouni Kenshin

The Silent Sword

by Moguera

 

Disclaimer: See prologue

And now the next chapter in my epic story.

 

Chapter 5: A Family Matter: The Shukuchi Duel

 

            As Soujiro headed down the hill, he was greeted by someone he had not expected to see yet.

            “Mr. Shinomori,” said Soujiro, quite startled by the man’s appearance as he practically materialized out of the shadows.  How could anyone conceal his movements with a trench coat like that? he wondered briefly.

            “Misao has been taken prisoner by your enemy,” said Aoshi flatly.

            “I know,” replied Soujiro, “I’m sorry, I should have seen that coming.”

            “Do not worry,” said Aoshi, “Misao is a strong woman and can take care of herself.  She would not want one of her friends foolishly getting himself injured in an ill advised attempt at a rescue.”

            “So what then?” demanded Soujiro, “Are we just going to leave her?”

            “No,” replied Aoshi.  Soujiro’s eyebrow twitched.  Did anything ever faze that man?  He then gestured for Soujiro come with him.  “Follow me,” he said.  Then, looking over Soujiro’s shoulder, “And you as well.”

            Soujiro turned to see Takezo on the path behind him.  Soujiro realized that his mute friend must have seen Soujiro departing and followed him.  As he turned back to Aoshi, he saw that the man had already begun to return to the city.  Soujiro sighed and began to follow him.  He could only hope that following Shinomori to wherever he was going wouldn’t lead him into the sight of Saitou’s agents.  Despite the fact that he knew the risk, Soujiro realized that it was what he would have to do if he ever wanted to be a true disciple of the Hiten Mitsurugi style.  It was what he would have to do if he ever wanted to regard himself as a man as well.

            And so they followed Aoshi into Kyoto.

 

            Akemi was returning from yet another meeting with an informant.  This one had been a lead pointed out by Saitou himself.  In her time working for him, Akemi had learned how to work in the underworld almost as efficiently as the criminals that she hunted.  In the few years that she had been working for Saitou, the young woman had learned to do more than simply use the same sources as her Sensei.  She had learned to find her own contacts and build a small network of her own.  And while the information she received wasn’t nearly as good as Saitou, who had spent years getting men and women that he handpicked into positions where they could provide him information from all over Japan, it was more than enough to serve her purposes for the time being.  However, in this case, Saitou’s agents were proving more effective as it became clearer that Matahachi’s influence on the other side of the law was connected to a much more complicated web that spread across the entire country.  As such, she required information from men who were a part of a network that was at least equally expansive.

            And that left Akemi returning to the inn she had booked for the night.  The lamps had been lit in the streets, but they did not reduce the shadows in remote corners and secluded alleys.  Akemi knew better than to let her guard down, even here in the capital.  Sometimes, the heart of civilization was the perfect haunt of the most uncivilized people.  She knew from personal experience that many bandits, thieves, and criminals of an even worse nature lurked almost everywhere in the city.  Only the richer sections of the former capital were considered truly safe as many wealthy individuals made it well worth the while of the police to make sure that the neighborhoods in which they lived were kept, for lack of a better term, clean.

            The more Akemi thought about it, the more her thoughts drifted to the past.  It was on a night such as this, six years ago, that she had come face to face with the worse aspects of the city.  It was also that incident that had started her on the road that she was on now…

 

            Twelve-year-old Akemi had gotten separated from her family.  As hard as she had tried to keep up with them, the crowds of Kyoto had proved too dense for her.  One moment she had been looking at a selection of pretty kimonos in a shop front and the next thing that she knew, her family disappeared from her sight.

            Akemi wandered, hopelessly lost in the seemingly labyrinthine ways of the capital city.  Night was beginning to fall and the air was growing colder.  The darkness was deepening all around her.  And the fact that she was wandering through a section that the lamplighters had yet to get to didn’t help.

            As she walked past an alley that was even darker than usual, a grime encrusted hand reached from the gloom and clamped itself over her mouth.  Akemi tried to scream, but the offending appendage effectively muffled the sound of her voice.  She struggled as hard as she could, but as swiftly as the first, a second arm wrapped itself around her waist, effectively trapping her arms near the wrists and preventing her from using her hands.  Together, the two arms pulled her into the darkness of the alley.

            Quickly she was forced to the ground, the hand still refused to budge from its position over her mouth.  “What’ve we got here?” growled a husky voice that came from the shadowy man from above her, “Little girls like you shouldn’t be wandering around all alone at night.”

            The sound of that voice caused a panic in Akemi.  She struggled as hard as she could, but to no avail.  The man laughed at her feeble attempts at resistance and pinned her to the ground with his other hand.  The sound was joined by the evil chuckles of at least three others.  Akemi gave up hope then and there.  It would have been nearly impossible to get the one who was restraining her off.  But if there was more than one, then even if she could escape the first man, the others would be on her just as quickly.

            “What say that we have a little fun with the lass?” the man enquired to his companions.  The others quickly assented to the suggestion.  Their words were followed by many lewd suggestions.

            At the thought of what was about to happen to her, Akemi renewed her struggles, knowing in a remote corner of her mind that she would fail.  She realized that she was just about to be raped, all alone in a dark alley, save the four men who were about to violate her, and would probably be killed afterwards.

            With the hand that had been restraining her, the man grabbed a handful of her kimono and pulled hard.  The fabric tore as it came away from her body.  Akemi began to sob, realizing that her life was near its end.

            Then, the sound of grating metal filled the alley.  Moonlight, spilling across the entrance, gleamed off the blade of a drawn katana.  The tall, well chiseled man was dressed in the uniform of the police.  From where she was, Akemi could see over her captor’s shoulder and into the man’s eyes, two amber points in diamond shaped pools of white.  Gripping the katana near the pommel with his left hand, the man held it almost casually as he strode into the alley.

            Her captor immediately released her and turned around to confront the officer.  As he did so, Akemi saw him draw a knife.  He held it in his left hand, keeping the blade behind his back so that it wouldn’t be given way by any light from outside the alley.  She was still too busy gathering her wits after being released to shout out a warning to her rescuer.

            It turned out that her warning was not needed.  No sooner had her captor turned fully to face the newcomer, then a sword flashed in the night.  The blade severed the man’s head at the neck and sent it tumbling away. Blood spurted from the victim’s neck, splashing over Akemi and her rescuer.   As the beheaded criminal dropped to his knees and finally toppled over forward, the police officer stepped over his body to face the others in the alley.

            Instinctively, Akemi began to crawl in his direction, trying to get out from between him and the remaining men in the alleyway.  The officer paid her no mind as she crawled past him.  Ignoring the fact that she was drenched in the blood of the man he had just killed, Akemi turned and watched in awe as the officer faced the other men.

            There were three others.  Two of them held knives not unlike the one the first man had wielded.  The third, who stood slightly behind them, held up a staff in his right hand.  He twisted his wrist so that the length of wood lay horizontally across his chest and then, gripping midway up the staff, pulled off what actually was actually the sheath of a concealed sword.  Stepping in front of his two cohorts, he pointed the blade at the officer.  “Who are you?” he hissed.

            The officer snapped his elbow straight while his arm was at a downward angle, sending flecks of blood flying from the blade.  Instead of answering his opponent, the officer stepped forward with his right foot, sliding it forward with his toes pointed at his enemy.  As he did so, he rotated his left foot perpendicular to the right.  The officer sank into the stance, settling almost all of his weight on his back leg.  Cocking his left arm back, he raised the blade of his sword to point at his adversary, holding it parallel with the ground at shoulder level with the blade’s edge on the outside.  Finally, he raised his right hand and rested it near the tip of his sword, the right index finger coming to rest just above the cutting edge of the sword while his thumb pinched it from underneath.  It was only after he had done this that he gave his answer.

            “The dead will have no use for my name,” he said.  The officer’s voice was as cold as ice.  Akemi could almost hear an underlying growl, like that of a wild animal.

            “What’s that?” barked the other man.  He raised his sword to attack, but the officer had already begun.

            The police officer sprang into motion with the fluidity of a wolf, pushing off his back leg and hurtling forward at his opponent.   As the other man raised his sword, the officer twisted his upper body, throwing his arm forward and thrusting the sword in a spear-like motion.  The blade’s point struck the center of the man’s chest and punched through without almost any resistance.  Blood spewed from the dying man’s mouth as the sword was buried up to its hilt in his body.

            The officer and his victim flew between the other two men, who stood stunned by the spectacle.  Akemi, the girl they had sought to take advantage of, sat forgotten near the entrance of the alley.  The officer twisted his leading foot and dug in with its edge, slowing him down.  At the same time, he braced his right hand against his enemy’s chest.  His upper body snapped back like a whip, his right hand shoving the corpse from his blade and throwing it into the back wall of the alley with enough force to break the wood of the building the sealed off the end.

            The other two men backed away from the officer.  He sneered as he turned to face them.  Wisely, the two offenders decided that it was in the best interests to run.  Unfortunately, the policeman was not about to let them escape.  As they ran, he took up the stance he had been in earlier and lunged at the man to his right.  He aimed low this time, hitting the fleeing man right behind his left knee, slicing the tendons there and effectively relieving him of the use of that leg.  In one fluid motion, the officer began the same process of halting himself that he had used before, while pulling his sword arm out to the side, cutting the sword free from its place in his enemy’s leg and bringing it up and out in a backhanded slash that cut through the other criminal’s back at chest level, ending the man’s life before he even hit the ground.

            The last man collapsed due to his injured leg.  Whimpering pitifully, he backed away from the officer, scooting on his butt until his back met the alley wall.  “P-please,” begged the man, “Show mercy.”

            If at all possible, the officer’s sneer became even more vicious.  “Mercy has no place in my heart,” he replied coolly, “There is only one thing in which I believe.”  As he spoke, he drew out every word.  “AkuSokuZan.”  As the last syllable escaped his lips, the officer brought his sword down, drawing a line of glowing red across the criminal’s face and ending his life.

            The men thus disposed of, the officer turned to face Akemi.  She squeaked in fear and tried to pull up the shreds of her kimono to cover herself as best she could.  The officer seemed not to notice this as he slid his sword back into its sheath.  Instead, he reached up and unbuttoned his jacket revealing another, thinner shirt underneath.  After shedding it, he draped the garment across Akemi’s shoulders.  The girl sighed in relief as she pulled it tight about her.

            The officer rested a hand on her shoulder.  “Come,” he said simply.

            As she allowed herself to be led by the man, the girl looked up at him.  “Excuse me,” she said politely, “But who are you?”

            “I am Goro Fujita,” replied the officer, “Assistant inspector of the police.”

            She nodded.  And together, they walked off into the darkness.

 

            It had been a strange relationship ever since.  Inspector Fujita, or Saitou as she came to know him for who he really was, had not hesitated in locating Akemi’s family.  However, Akemi had lost all interest in her relatives’ way of life, that of circus folk.  She instead asked Saitou’s permission to stay with him and his wife.  Surprisingly, Saitou had been more than willing to accommodate Akemi’s request.  Not long after she joined, Saitou began to teach her the basics of swordsmanship.  Along with this, he taught her the tricks of the trade of being a government agent.

            Later on, Akemi decided to learn her own style, one different from that which her mentor used.  And so she departed from him for a while and began studying intently as she prepared for the day she would join him in service to the government.

            About six months back, Akemi had returned to Saitou, her training complete and prepared for her first assignment.  Akemi had handled the issue with little difficulty.  She was quickly given other jobs to do and she accomplished them all perfectly.

            This new task however, was much more of a challenge to the young woman than any of the other jobs she had taken on in the past.  The fact that it required her to make use of her teacher’s information network instead of her own was a testament to that fact.

            Abruptly, Akemi’s thoughts returned to the job at hand.  She sensed a potent presence nearby, one that could only belong to a swordsman of considerable skill and fighting spirit.  Turning in the general direction, she let her senses guide her to the source of that mysterious feeling.  Finally, her eyes lit upon the shadowy figure of a man skulking in the shadows.  Her eyes narrowed.  It was unlikely for someone with such a potent aura to be in any way well practiced in the arts of stealth.  The fact that he moved rather ineptly from one to another proved her suspicions.  But then again, the fact that he was carrying something heavy over his shoulder and yet was able to move with relative amount of secrecy seemed to testify that he might not be what he seemed.  Upon closer inspection, Akemi realized that the bundle over his shoulder was actually the limp form of a young woman.

            The agent knew immediately that this was a different situation from the one she had found herself involved in all those years ago.  For one thing, she was able to identify the victim as none other than Misao Makimachi, a member of the Oniwaban Group and someone who was undoubtedly more than capable of defending herself from the odd criminal.  Also, the man who carried her limp form was identifiable as the man who was said to have been working for Matahachi.

            Her interest piqued, Akemi followed them as the man made his way across the city while keeping the woman over his shoulder.  Akemi, while not near as good as a trained ninja, could still move easily through the shadows without being noticed, provided she kept her distance from her target.  Thus, she was able to avoid the man’s notice as she tailed him on his way.  He led her to an estate that was a fair distance from any of the other high class sections of the city.  The presence of the sizable courtyard and the mansion therein was enough to raise her suspicion.  If a particularly violent incident were to occur near or around this area, or even within it, it was unlikely that the police would ever know, perfect for a man who was plotting deadly revenge against his relative.

            A solid wall encircled the compound with a wrought iron gate at the center of the wall that faced towards the interior of Kyoto.  Akemi nodded to herself, understanding that the purpose of that wall was to prevent someone from doing exactly what she was trying to do.  The fact that it was solid meant that the only way to see what was on the other side was to get into a position above the wall.  And while many of the buildings that lay across the street from said barrier would have provided a sufficient vantage point, her silhouette would still have been exposed in the light of the nearly full moon.  Fortunately, the terrain was in favor of any would be spy.

            Like many estates of the time, the architects of this particular home had taken advantage of the topography.  For the purposes of drainage and waste removal, the mansion itself was situated on high ground within the estate.  The slightly sloping ground was just visible to Akemi if she looked at the wall from the right (not 90 degree) angle.  From her vantage point, Akemi could see that the ground was mostly clear, save a few decorative hedges and flower gardens, meaning that anyone approaching the mansion would have almost no cover.  Matahachi had certainly chosen this place with a mind towards fending off potential intruders.

            Having all the information she needed, Akemi decided to report to Saitou straight away.  With Matahachi found, all they had to do was wait for Soujiro to show up.  Then, the Tenken and his idiot cousin would be theirs.

 

            Soujiro could only gape as Aoshi lay out a large sheet of paper on the table.  Aoshi and Soujiro, along with Takezo and the man that Soujiro knew by the name of Okina, had shut themselves in a private room in the Aoiya.  The sheet that Aoshi lay out before them was a fully detailed map of a mansion on the other side of the city.

            “This is where Matahachi lives?” asked Soujiro.  When Aoshi nodded, Soujiro’s jaw nearly hit the low table.  “How did you get this?”

            “The night we first met you at Seijuro Hiko’s home, I detected a presence in the woods not far from the house.  Later, on our way back, Misao and I doubled back to investigate the woods around Hiko’s cottage.  We found the dead body of one of Hajime Saitou’s agents.”  Soujiro was noticeably pale at this information.  And he should have been.  Now that he knew that one of Saitou’s men had been found practically on his doorstep, Soujiro was certain that a confrontation with Saitou, something he didn’t want at this particular time, would have been certain.

            “That would mean that the presence you felt would have come from the person who had slain that man,” observed Okina from the side.

            Aoshi nodded in agreement.  Soujiro had other questions though.  “How did you find out about Matahachi?” he wanted to know.

            “After our find in the forest, we of the Oniwaban tapped our best sources to track down every iota of information we could find concerning you in recent times.  It soon came to our attention that your cousin, or step-cousin rather, was gradually gathering men and consolidating his resources for an act of retribution against you for something you did to him in the past,” said Aoshi.  Soujiro was quite relieved that he left it at that.

            “What did you do to raise the ire of your own cousin?” asked Okina suspiciously.

            Soujiro gulped nervously, trying to figure out how he could best explain what this was all about.  Fortunately, he was rescued by Aoshi’s timely intervention.  “That is unimportant,” he interjected, “What matters now is putting our plan into action.”

            “Your plan?” asked a baffled Soujiro.

            “It was actually Misao’s idea,” said Aoshi, “She formulated it herself after we had gathered everything we could on the matter.”  Soujiro blinked.  He might have been hearing things, but he swore that he heard a small note of pride in Shinomori’s voice.  “The fact that she was captured by one of Matahachi’s men indicates that the plan is working perfectly.”

            “You mean she meant to be captured?” demanded Soujiro.

            “Yes,” replied Aoshi, “After Misao felt that she was becoming closer to you as a friend, she realized that Matahachi might try to use this to his advantage and use her as a lure to bring you to him.  So, she decided to allow herself to be used as the bait in this fight that Matahachi has set up.”

            “But why?” Soujiro wanted to know.

            “In reality, Misao’s purpose in being captured was to get herself safely behind enemy lines.  Matahachi’s henchman will probably stow her in his mansion so that she will be close at hand should he need to threaten you with her life.  This also means that Misao is now in a position to weaken Matahachi’s defenses from the inside.”

            “I see,” observed Soujiro, “And she came up with this plan by herself.”

            Aoshi nodded.  Soujiro blinked again, this time thinking he was seeing things as he caught the smallest flicker of a smile crossing Aoshi’s face.  Maybe Master Hiko had hit him over the head a few too many times.

            Okina took up the line of conversation.  “One of the most important assets that we were able to obtain was this,” he pointed to the sheet on the table, “This is a map of Matahachi’s compound, including a complete layout of the mansion.  With this information, it will be easy to pinpoint the most likely location’s Matahachi’s men.  From there, we can figure out a way to enter the compound without being detected.  If we can get to Matahachi himself with the least amount of confrontation possible, then we will be better prepared for the actual battle.”

            He took up an ink brush and drew several swift X’s on the paper.  “These,” he pointed out, “Are the most likely places occupied by the outermost guards.  Okon, Omasu, Shiro, and Kiro will take out the guards positioned here...”  Okina circled a cluster of three marks.  They were by one of the street side corners.

            “Excuse me?” asked Soujiro, “Why not come from the rear?”

            “In basic study of tactics, coming at your opponent from the rear is one of the most predictable courses.  It is the obvious choice because it is the least defended quarter of any opponent, unless of course he expects that attack from the rear, in which case it is as dangerous as approaching the enemy from the front.”  Okina’s eyes narrowed as he continued.  “Every bit of information we have managed to gather concerning Matahachi Seta suggests that he is a shrewd strategist at the very least.  He is more than likely prepared for an assault from behind.  And besides, in a fortified location, there is no real difference between that locale’s front and back, so anyone would guard both the same at the very least.”

            Soujiro nodded.  Matahachi could indeed be clever when it came to certain things.  When he had visited the branch of the family, Soujiro lived with; he took a certain amount of pleasure in joining Soujiro’s stepbrothers in tormenting him.  However, Matahachi had always been a bit more subtle in his torments.  Soujiro remembered one incident in particular.

            It had been the first time Matahachi had come to visit since Soujiro’s stepfamily had taken him in.  At that time he was still allowed to sleep in the house at least most of the time.  But then Matahachi had come.  After learning about Soujiro, his cousin, or stepcousin actually, ranted on about how worthless Soujiro was.  That night, Matahachi stole into little Soujiro’s room while he was sleeping on a worn futon, something probably pulled from the bottom of a garbage heap.  Matahachi had purloined a jug of his stepfather’s best sake from the kitchen and proceeded to pour it, carefully, all around the futon, careful to splatter small amounts on Soujiro’s face and hands, but mostly saturating the blankets and mattress with it.  After that, Matahachi left the jug by Soujiro’s head.

            That morning, Soujiro was awakened not by daylight filtering in through the windows, or the sounds of morning.  What woke him was being bodily lifted from his futon by his enraged stepfather.  The man, whose anger was only enhanced by one of his frequent hangovers, did not hesitate to heave Soujiro’s little body at the nearest wall.  After the child slumped to the floor, his stepfather proceeded beat him savagely with his hands and feet until finally, his rage was spent and he got tired of the little boy’s continuous smile.  He left, ordering that Soujiro would be spending the night outside for a month at least.  And, despite his injuries, Soujiro was forced to haul the same number of rice barrels that he was always told to; even though it meant that he carried them late into the night.

            Matahachi was cunning and evil when it came to ensuring that Soujiro suffered while he was there.  However, his schemes were always carefully concealed so that somebody else discovered and initiated Soujiro’s agony.  Matahachi himself never actually participated in beating Soujiro, preferring to goad other people into doing it for him.

            “Soujiro,” Okina’s hand crossed Soujiro’s line of sight, startling him from his reverie, “Earth to Soujiro.  What’s the matter?”

            Soujiro smiled at the elderly man.  “Why nothing,” he said, “Just some old memories.”

            “Well,” stated Okina firmly, “Now is not the time for reminiscing.  We have a job to do and we have to get it done.”

            “Yes, of course,” said Soujiro, nodding vigorously.

            “Now,” said Okina, continuing his plan from before, “Once the guards at this point are taken care of; you, Takezo, and Aoshi will enter the compound.  The hedges here,” he pointed to the drawing of the hedges on the map, “Should provide you with sufficient cover as long as you maintain the proper angle of approach.  Now, once you are inside and under cover, the others will attack the other street side corner in a very blatant manner.  This attack will draw the attention of the other guards and they will come running.  When that happens, you and the other two will make a break for the main mansion.  Once inside, it’s up to you to find Misao and deal with Matahachi.”

            Reaching over, Takezo gently took the ink brush from Okina’s hand.  Then, he pointed to himself with the butt end of the brush and drew a circle around the guards at the rear corner of the compound, exactly across from where the Oniwaban group would begin their attack.

            “You wish to be a part of the diversion?” inquired Okina.

            Takezo nodded.  Okina looked down and saw the wisdom in the young man’s tactics.  With a second point of attack, the guards would be spread thinner, which would make the job easier for all concerned.  However, Takezo wasn’t finished.  He drew a line to the rear of the compound from the point he would attack from.

            “I see,” observed Aoshi, “A pincer movement.  Whilst we come in directly from the front, Takezo will approach from behind and we can maneuver to catch our enemies between us.”

            “Very good Takezo,” agreed Okina.

            Soujiro and the others nodded.  “We will begin at nine tomorrow night,” stated Aoshi.

            “So that way Matahachi will be caught off guard because we came an hour early,” observed Soujiro.

            “Correct,” agreed Aoshi.

            Okina sighed and got to his feet.  “Now that that is taken care of,” he said, “It is time for you and your friend to get some rest.  Tomorrow will be an important day for you and it is important that you are at your best when we begin tomorrow evening.”

            Aoshi stood up as well.  “Follow me,” he instructed.  He led Soujiro and Takezo to a spare room at the Aoiya.  There, they could rest for the night.

 

            “So this is her,” observed Matahachi as he glared contemptuously down at Misao’s bound and gagged form, “The girl that my bastard cousin’s heart belongs to.”

            “That is what it seemed to me,” agreed Ishiro.

            “And her capture will bring Soujiro to us?”

            “Yes.”

            “Excellent.”  Matahachi rubbed his hands together eagerly.  “I can’t wait to dispose of that whelp,” he hissed, “And then,” he smiled lewdly down at Misao, “I will make good sport of this one before I send her to join him in Hell.”  His smile grew.  “She certainly looks like she could provide me with a great deal of…entertainment.”

            Ishiro grimaced slightly.  That man has no shame, he thought, disgusted.  It would be his pleasure to remove Matahachi’s head once this was over.  The man was beginning to try his patience.

            As two of Matahachi’s lesser cronies bore Misao’s limp body away, Ishiro prepared to excuse himself for the night.  He needed rest after all, if he wanted to be at his best when he fought Soujiro tomorrow night.

            “One moment Ishiro,” said a cold voice off to Matahachi’s left.  Ishiro looked over and saw that Kojiro had been there for the entire time.  “Are you certain that Soujiro will show up at the time that has been prescribed for the match?”

            “No,” said Ishiro, levelly, “In fact, I am certain that he will not appear at the appointed time.”

            “Of course,” agreed Matahachi, “Now that we have this Makimachi woman as our captive, we will have undoubtedly made an enemy of the Oniwaban Group as well as my cousin.  Undoubtedly, he will enlist their aid.  They will make an attempt to approach this mansion in a stealthy manor and try to confront us when we are not ready.”

            “However,” added Ishiro, “They are not likely to be willing to jeopardize our captive’s life by being late.  Therefore, they will try to strike early.  Fortunately for us, that means their window of attack will be small at best as the Oniwaban Group will want to wait until nightfall to begin their attack.  Since it is midsummer, night is coming much later than any other time of the year, meaning the margin between nightfall and ten O’clock is very small indeed.”

            “I see,” remarked Kojiro.

            “Now, I would like to excuse myself so that I can prepare for tomorrow’s battle,” said Ishiro, heading for the door.

            “As would I,” agreed Kojiro.

            “You are dismissed then,” replied Matahachi.  As the other two left, the vengeful man began plotting, wondering how nice Soujiro’s head would look on a pike.

 

            Misao slowly opened her eyes.  To tell the truth, she had been conscious for a long time now, long enough to hear Matahachi’s vile plans for her once he killed Soujiro.  However, it certainly wasn’t in Misao’s best interests to give the man what he truly deserved back there, not with two very strong swordsmen in the room.  Those two were extremely dangerous.  She could tell from the strength of their presence as neither made an attempt at hiding his swordsman’s spirit.

            Looking around, Misao took her bearings.  She had been placed in a windowless room, probably some kind of storage.  Because of that, there was no light to help her.  Very carefully, Misao discerned the nature of her bindings.  Her hands and feet were bound and her mouth was gagged.  The ninja didn’t quite understand why they had bothered to gag her, probably so that when Soujiro came her screams wouldn’t lead him to her.

            Not that Misao had any intention of screaming.  Flexing her muscles, she began to test the robes binding her.  They were tight, but not as tight as they could be.  Not only that, but the ropes holding her arms were tied right at the wrist and behind her back.  A normal person might have been unable to do anything about that kind of handicap, but as Misao’s actions soon proved, bringing her knees up as high as she could so that she could slip her arms under her feet and up in front of her, escaping that position was not a feat of contortionism that escaped the young ninja.

            Using her teeth, Misao pulled at the knot in the rope.  Fortunately for her, it was looser than she feared.  After a few tries, she finally loosened her bonds enough that she could free her hands without completely untying the knot.  Misao wanted the bindings intact later.

            Now that her hands were free, Misao was able to check up on her current condition.  Carefully, she brought a hand to examine the tender spot on her head where her assailant’s sword hilt had connected.  It hurt when she touched it and the spot was caked with dry blood, but she would live.  As far as Misao could tell, she had no other injuries.  After that, Misao lifted up the gag that silenced her.

            Checking her pockets, even the hidden ones sown into her sash, Misao smiled.  Her captors had at least been smart enough to make sure she didn’t have any weapons on her.  None of the spare kunai she carried in case of an emergency could be found.  But that was just fine with her.

            After making sure she was alright, the girl turned her attention to the ropes around her ankles.  Like the ones that held her arms, Misao merely loosened the knot, not untied it.  After freeing her legs, Misao carefully got to her feet, feeling around and above her with her hands.  That way, she wouldn’t get any unexpected surprises, like a low ceiling.  Fortunately, she appeared to be in a relatively spacious but empty chamber.  Next, Misao carefully felt her way over to the nearest wall, where she carefully used her hands to probe all the way around the room until she found the door.  She pressed her ear to it and listened for the sounds of any guards that might be outside.

            Not hearing anything, Misao carefully slid the door open a crack and looked around the outside as well as her peripheral vision would allow.  Confirming that no one was in her immediate line of sight, Misao opened the door a little further and slowly leaned her head out, casting a quick glance to either side, making sure that no one was standing by the door out of her line of sight.  Having confirmed that no one was around, Misao made a much more detailed analysis of her surroundings.

            Her room appeared to be on one end of a hallway that went about twelve feet before turning sharply to the left.  Opening the door a little wider, Misao slipped out and closed it behind her before creeping down the hall and carefully looking around the corner.  No one was in sight.  Misao’s next job was to make sure that she was properly oriented so that she could move quickly when the time came.  According to the map of the mansion she had memorized before being captured, she had only to follow the hall and take a right to reach the largest room, which was presumably where Matahachi would confront Soujiro.

            Misao followed her own mental instructions.  True to her intuition, the room she was looking for was right where it should be.  Having confirmed that, Misao scouted back along the way she had come, carefully taking note of all the possible hiding places along her routes, both in case of hidden guards, and for her own use when she made her move.

            When Misao returned to her room, she pulled the gag back down over her mouth.  She then slipped the bonds around her legs back on and tightened them, but intentionally leaving key points loose so that with a simple jerk, she could free herself from the ropes.  She did likewise with her arms, though tying her own hands made the task somewhat cumbersome.  That accomplished, Misao slipped her arms back under her legs and behind her, so that she was in the position she had been in when her captors had brought her to this room.

            After that, Misao let herself fall asleep.  She would have to have all of her strength and fortitude, as well as her wits for the next night if she wanted to help her friends.  A year ago, Misao had sworn that the temperamental little girl who had searched fruitlessly far and wide across Japan for the man she loved was gone, in her place was a calm, collected agent of the Oniwaban Group; only when she was on duty, of course.

 

            Saitou took a long drag on his cigarette as he listened to Akemi’s report.  A small part of him felt pride in the fine agent that the little girl he had rescued all those years ago had become.  In many ways, Saitou felt as a proud father should.

            Slowly, he exhaled the smoke out from between his lips.  It blossomed outward from him and formed a misty gray barrier between him and Akemi.  “I see,” he said finally, “So Matahachi has made his move then.  That means that it is only a matter of time before Soujiro makes his appearance.”

            Akemi nodded and added, “However, it appears that we will have to deal with the Oniwaban Group as well.”

            Saitou nodded.  “With the Weasel as their captive, Shinomori and his agents will no doubt step into the battle.”

            “But will they work with Soujiro?” Akemi wanted to know.

            “That is indeed a good question.  I was wondering myself why Matahachi would take the Weasel, of all people, hostage.”  He sucked up another lungful of smog and blew it out.  “Perhaps she and her friends at the Oniwaban Group have discovered Soujiro’s current location and have actually begun some sort of relationship with him.  I can see no other reason why Matahachi would have taken someone who would otherwise be so unrelated to the Tenken hostage.”

            “Should we move to capture Soujiro and Matahachi both when they meet?” asked Akemi, “With us knowing the truth about Matahachi and knowing that Soujiro will come out of hiding soon to confront him, we can easily ensnare them both.”

            “Yes,” agreed Saitou, “If the Weasel truly has some kind of relationship with the Tenken, then when Matahachi’s goon took her hostage, he undoubtedly left a semi-formal challenge behind him.  That challenge is most likely set to begin tomorrow night at the earliest.”

            “Why then?” asked Akemi.

            “Because he has at least some honor,” replied Saitou coldly, “He wants Soujiro to have time to prepare himself for the match, which explains why it will be tomorrow.  It will be at night because Matahachi does not want Soujiro to be apprehended while he is en route to their duel.  Soujiro will be able to move freely once night falls, so that is why Matahachi will set the time then.”

            Akemi nodded again.  “So what should we do then?”

            “We do nothing.  I will go in and deal with the situation alone.  You will wait around the outside of Matahachi’s compound and give pursuit should Soujiro escape.”  Saitou ground out the lit end of his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk.  Akemi nodded, understanding that orders were orders.  “Until tomorrow night then,” finished Saitou.

 

            The sun rose over the city of Kyoto.  It shined cheerily from the horizon.  To some, it was the only barrier between them and the chaos to come.  For when the sun went from the sky, blades would be drawn and blood shed.  So it was in Kyoto.

 

            Seijuro Hiko awoke and was surprised to find himself alone for the first time in years.  That of course meant that he had to fix his own breakfast.  While he did this, Hiko pondered the goings on.  He wasn’t sure about Soujiro, but Hiko knew that Takezo wasn’t the kind of person to just up and leave with no reason.

            Thinking about the two of them, Hiko snorted.  They were just like Kenshin, utter blockheads.  Deciding that since he had no one to train with that day, Hiko went to work on his pottery, something he had been neglecting in recent weeks.  He would find out the truth of the matter when Soujiro and Takezo came back; and he was sure they would.

 

            Soujiro tucked away a considerable amount of food at breakfast.  Beside him, Takezo did likewise.  The same was true of all the people in the Aoiya that belonged to the Oniwaban Group.  Novice fighters might have balked at the idea of eating so much food before an important battle, but experienced warriors knew the importance of staying well nourished.

            Kuro came in, balancing another tray of food.  “Eat up guys,” he said cheerily, “There’s plenty more.”

            Omasu entered the dining room from the front area of the restaurant.  “I’ve closed the Aoiya and posted a notice that it’s undergoing repairs,” she said calmly, “That’ll give us time until tonight.”

            “Very good,” said Okina, “Now sit and eat with the rest of us.”

            Omasu nodded and joined them at the table.

            After breakfast was finished, everyone helped clean up the dishes.  That done, they began, each in his or her own way, to prepare for the battle ahead.  Despite his best efforts, Soujiro couldn’t keep his thoughts off of Misao.  How was she supposed to take care of herself if she was being held captive by Matahachi?  Most certainly, he would not bother to see that she was fed.  She was probably sitting in whatever dark hole that Matahachi had stashed her in, hungry and alone.

 

            Misao was indeed hungry, and she was indeed alone.  She was hungry enough that she seriously considered freeing herself again and going off to pilfer a meal.  Fortunately, her rational side kept that idea in check.  She could hear the sounds of activity outside the room, meaning that it was probably daytime.  It also meant that there were people out there who might see her exiting the room.  Even more importantly, someone would probably be checking on her in a short period of time.

            Even as that thought crossed her mind, the door of the room slid open and a man bearing a tray of food came in.  He left the door open behind him and walked across the floor to where Misao had propped herself up against the wall.  Misao carefully analyzed him.  It was the man who had captured her and brought her to Matahachi.  Her eyes slowly drifted to the sword that he wore at his waist.

            “Who are you?” she asked as he set the tray down in front of her.

            The man reached around behind her and untied her hands.  Misao flinched inwardly, realizing that a man of his skill would probably notice that the ropes binding her had been deliberately loosened.  As he freed her hands, he didn’t answer her question.  Instead he said, “Eat.  I am certain that you are hungry after last night’s incident.”

            Misao eyed him carefully, wondering if there was some kind of deception.  Was the food perhaps poisoned?  Perhaps Matahachi or this man who was now in front of her recognized the threat she presented and intended to make sure she didn’t cause any trouble during the upcoming fight.

            “I can see that you are wondering if there is some duplicity behind this,” commented the strange man.  He smiled wryly as he took a seat across from her.  The man pulled the sword from his sash and set it down beside him.  Misao noted that he placed to his left, a sure sign that he recognized the threat she presented, “I can assure you that the food is not poisoned or in any other way harmful.  If we wanted to kill you, we would use much more…simplistic means.”  To emphasize his point, he patted the sword beside him.

            Misao nodded.  She was now certain that the man was being truthful.  She reached down for the chopsticks and began to fill her stomach at a rapid clip.  “Who are you?” she asked again between mouthfuls.

            “My name is Ishiro,” replied the swordsman, “And that is all you need to know regarding my name.”

            It was enough for Misao.  She continued eating.  After she was finished, Ishiro picked up the rope he had discarded earlier and retied her arms.  Misao knew better than to try anything.  If she did, he would cut her down in an instant.  And she was waiting until night to make her move.

            To her shock, Ishiro tied her hands out in front of her, but even more surprisingly, tied them exactly the way he had found them, with the knots loose so that she could escape easily when the time came.  As he stood, bearing the tray with him, Misao could only ask, “Why?”

            Ishiro gave her another smile.  “I do not doubt that you know what Matahachi intends to do with you when his cousin is dead.  That man’s lack of any true principal disgusts me.  I would rather see you escape back to the Oniwaban Group or perish in battle trying to help your friend.  Either way, it doesn’t matter to me.  But other than giving him Soujiro’s head on a platter, I’m not going to give Matahachi anything that he wants.  I am even feeling very tempted to take his life myself after this is over.”

            “Why are you working for Matahachi then if this disgusts you so much?” Misao demanded.

            Ishiro’s smile widened.  “Because of Soujiro,” he replied simply.

            “Did he do something to you?” Misao wanted to know, “Kill a member of your family, someone you loved?”

            Ishiro chuckled softly.  That chuckle increased in volume and intensity until it became full laughter that had him doubled over in the doorway.  “If only it were that way,” he said, after finally catching his breath.  He looked back up at Misao.  “I have no personal vendetta against Soujiro or anything that he has done.  The only reason I work for Matahachi is because I look forward to fighting Soujiro, testing my skill against his skill, my strength against his strength…my Shukuchi against his Shukuchi.”

            “Shukuchi,” Misao said thoughtfully.  She had heard that name before, but had never really understood what it was supposed to be.

            “Ah,” observed Ishiro “I see that you are somewhat unfamiliar with the Shukuchi.  I’ll give you a little hint.  When I struck you down last evening, I approached you with the Shukuchi.”

            “It’s a charging technique?” Misao inquired.

            “A good guess,” answered Ishiro, “But not quite correct.  The Shukuchi is so much more than a simple headstrong charge.  It is speed beyond speed.  It is a technique that uses unrivaled legwork to bring the target to within reach within an instant.  It is a skill that allows one to move fast, yet with such an amazing degree of maneuverability, that one can strike from multiple directions almost simultaneously.

            “You have traveled with Himura the Battousai and, as a result, have undoubtedly born witness to his incredible god-like speed.  But the Shukuchi is beyond that, so swift that the naked eye cannot even begin to perceive it.”  Ishiro grinned, showing off a mouth of perfectly white teeth.  “That is why I want to do battle against Soujiro.  He and I use the same technique of legend.  And I wish to see, which of us can truly be called the master of the Shukuchi.”

            “That’s it,” demanded Misao, “You mean that you just want to test your skill against Soujiro’s.  Why don’t you just challenge him to a bout in that case?  It would be much more honorable.”

            “A year ago, I had my own ears in the underworld,” began Ishiro, “It was then that I heard rumors of an assassin who worked for the insurgent leader, Makoto Shishio; rumors of a young man whose skills rivaled those of the legendary Hitokiri Battousai.  They were tales of a smiling killer who could vanish in a burst of speed so abruptly that none had time to react before the killing blow was struck.

            “Not much later, I heard news of Shishio’s defeat at the hands of the Battousai, and then rumors of Shishio’s greatest soldier wandering around, a broken man with a broken blade.”  Ishiro’s head sagged.  “I almost lost myself in my disappointment.  I had so hoped for a battle with the great swordsman, Soujiro Seta, only to hear that he now had little or no intention of ever killing again.  Simply walking up and asking for a match between him and me would have gotten me only half a fight at best, against half a man.  But, with you as our captive and knowing that you mean a great deal to little Soujiro, means that it is now conceivable to bring out the great killer that Soujiro Seta once was, the man they called the Tenken.”  Ishiro walked out and began to close the door behind him.  “That is why I have done all this.”  The door slid shut and Misao was once again in darkness.

 

            It was rather late when night finally fell over Kyoto.  In the gathering darkness, Soujiro, Takezo and the Oniwaban Group prepared for battle.  Matahachi’s estate faced inwards towards the city, with the street running in front of the main gate.  Soujiro and Aoshi waited on the southwestern corner while the others got into position.  At a silent signal from Aoshi, the four other Oniwaban members from the Aoiya went over the wall.  Several muffled thuds came from the other side, along with a few muted groans, nothing that would carry across the grounds.

            In a flash, they were back over the wall and heading north to the next corner, which was where they would start their main attack.  Now it was Aoshi and Soujiro’s turn to go in.

            The two went over the walls as quickly as they could, dropping down among the bodies of five separate guards.  Most of their weapons were still in their sheaths as the sentinels had not gotten a chance to draw them before they were hit.

            Aoshi used his hand to motion Soujiro forward.  Together, they made their way along the hedges, careful to keep on the northern side of the low bushes, knowing that once the attention caused by the main attack was directed that way, they would have been easily spotted on the south side of the hedges.  About halfway to the manor, Aoshi stopped and crouched down as low as he could.  Soujiro followed suit.

            They were so intent on their purpose, that of not being discovered, that they did not notice the shadow that slipped over the wall behind them.

            The wait lasted for about eight minutes.  At that time, a loud thud echoed across the estate’s grounds.  A whistle sounded from the northwestern corner.  Guards poured out across the grounds, heading towards that small piece of ground.  But that whistle was soon answered by a second, this one coming from the northeast corner.  Takezo had obviously gone to work over there.  The guards quickly divided themselves, each heading off in the direction that would get him to a fight the fastest.

            Their way now cleared, Aoshi and Soujiro broke from their concealment and sprinted for the front door.  Soujiro knew better than to try and use the Shukuchi.  It might have been fast, but it was loud and would announce their presence to Matahachi and his men like nothing else.

            The two men made it to the door without incident.  Quickly Aoshi opened it slightly and they both slipped inside, closing it behind them.  Had either of them even noticed the shadow behind them, they would have realized that their pursuer had not followed them to the door.  All the better for him in any case.  A miniscule light flared in the darkness beside the hedges.  The dim orange glow from a lit cigarette only barely revealed a slight smirk and two diamond-shaped amber eyes.

 

            The front door opened into a large atrium.  The hallway was much wider than the door suggested and the ceiling rose high above the heads of the two swordsmen.  In front of them, the hall ended a fair ways down.  There, two broad stairways covered with green carpeting rose up to a second story.  Between the feet of the two stairways was a single double door.  According to map that Aoshi had acquired, beyond that door was a wide, symmetrical room, the place they were most likely to encounter Matahachi.

            The atrium itself was empty.  There were no people, no decorations, and no furniture.  It was completely bare.  Aoshi’s keen mind realized that adding decoration would have been stretching Matahachi’s funds to the limit.  It hardly mattered though.  The only thing that truly did matter was the door in front of them and the battle that waited on the other side.

            Shinomori strode forward.  “Come,” he beckoned, urging Soujiro to come with him.  Soujiro nodded silently and walked alongside Aoshi as they approached the massive doorway.  As one, the two of them placed their hands against the separate panels and pushed, opening the door to reveal the room beyond.

            Soujiro was sorely reminded of the room where he had fought his duel with Himura.  However, this room was much larger than the Room Without Space.  The ceiling in here was as high as the ceiling of the atrium.  Faint moonlight filtered in from the windows that lined the wall where it met the ceiling.  On either corner, there was a torch.  Candles had been placed in various other locations around the room, in places where they would be out of the way.

            And there, on the far side of the room sat Matahachi.  He was seated lazily on a cushion, his sword on the floor to his left.  In his hand he held a single cup of sake.  A jug sat on his right.  Matahachi sneered when his eyes fell upon Soujiro.

            “Welcome cousin,” he said condescendingly, “I’m glad to see that you value the life of that harlot so much.”

            Soujiro was nearly knocked over by the wave of palpable anger that came rolling out of the normally stoic Aoshi Shinomori.  He could understand Aoshi’s frustration easily.  Soujiro wanted to go and behead Matahachi himself, but doing so would have been suicidal.

            Kneeling on either side of Matahachi were two swordsmen.  Soujiro could gauge the level of their skills quite well considering the strength of their respective spirits.  And these two were incredibly strong.  The man who sat on Matahachi’s right caught his attention quickly.  That man was staring intently at Soujiro, his gaze marked with determination and a will to succeed.

            “It is in this room that I will finally have justice for the lives you have taken whelp,” continued Matahachi, “But rather than dirty my hands with the likes of you, I will let someone more adequate handle your execution.”

            He turned to regard Aoshi for the first time.  “And you,” he said evenly, “Must be Aoshi Shinomori.  I am sure that you are agitated by the abduction of one of your people.  But she deserves no less for associating with this ingrate bastard.”

            Aoshi strode forward, revealing the long sheath he held tucked under his arm.  “The time for talk has passed,” he said coldly, “Action is the only conversation we will have now.”  Slowly, he grabbed either end of the weapon with his hands and withdrew the two kodachi from their sheath.

            “Indeed,” agreed the man who had been scrutinizing Soujiro, “Let us begin.”  He stood and strode deliberately towards Soujiro drawing his sword in the process.  He leveled it so that it pointed straight at the young man.  “The time has come, Tenken, for you to meet your peer.”

            With that, the man tapped his foot against the ground once, and once only.  He vanished in a cloud of splinters and flying dust as the floor crumbled under his strides.  The only sign of his passing was a trail of destruction that was making a beeline for Soujiro.

 

            Takezo had dropped down from the wall right into the middle of a group of guards.  He deliberately slowed his attack to allow one of them to sound the alarm and bring more defenders running.  The more he could attract away from the other end of the compound, the easier it would be for Soujiro and Aoshi to enter the mansion undetected.

            Once he believed that he had their attention, Takezo held nothing back.  His sword flashed through the night, leaving streaks of the light that reflected off its well polished blade.  The swordsman’s movements were fluid and swift as he flowed from attack to evasion and back to attack.

            One of the fundamental lessons that Master Hiko had taught him about the Hiten Mitsurugi style was that it would be more efficient in the long run to evade an enemy’s attack than parry it.  Parrying required more strength than the subtle shift of weight that allowed him to dodge enemy strikes with the narrowest of margins.  In addition, evading a strike left Takezo in a better position to counterattack.  A foe committing himself to an attack often leaves himself open when he misses, with his weapon in the most inopportune position to defend himself from the inevitable retaliatory strike.  That was one of the reasons the god-like speed of the Hiten Mitsurugi style was such a crucial aspect.

            Ducking under the swing of another sword, Takezo brought his own sword in an upward sweeping strike that smashed the sword into his foe’s chin, knocking the unfortunate man off his feet and into the mercenary behind him.  Takezo moved his left hand to grip the handle near the pommel.  As he did so, his next enemy came at him with an overhead slash.  Takezo allowed the momentum of his initial swing, which had been up and to the left, to feed him directly into a perfectly executed sidestep.  The enemy’s sword cleaved through thin air.  Takezo turned his sidestep into a spin.  As he spun he released the sword with his right hand and allowed his left arm, hand holding the sword, to come about in a backhanded slash that struck his enemy behind the neck in a perfectly executed Ryu-Kan-Sen.  The force of the blow was enough to send the man flying into the ally in front of him, knocking them both to the ground and out of the fight.

            The battle continued.  Not a single one of the guards’ attacks touched Takezo, who wove among them like a phantom, striking at will.  Though it seemed like an eternity, the fight was over in less than two minutes.  Casting a quick glance around to make sure that he had eliminated all of the guards, Takezo headed for the back door of the house.

 

            Outside her room, Misao could hear the faint sounds of battle.  Apparently the others had come to rescue her.  Counting that, Misao knew that the time had come to make her move.

            Pulling her arms apart, Misao easily loosened the ropes around her wrists and slipped free of them.  It was then a simple matter to remove the cords that tied her legs together.  That taken care of, Misao, working out of memory from what she had learned of the room’s layout from last night, went to the door and put her ear to it.  On the other side, she could hear the faint sounds of two guards talking nervously.

            Misao knew that she had to act fast.  She needed to take out the two henchmen quickly and quietly, before they could get off a warning to their fellow men.  Carefully, Misao slid the door open the tiniest bit so that she knew to the best of her abilities the exact location of the two men guarding the door.  As she had hoped, their backs were to the door and neither had noticed the fact that it had opened slightly.  That, of course, was to Misao’s advantage.

            Misao’s plan started with the man on her right.  She sighed inwardly, realizing that this plan was something along the lines of what the Misao of the old days would do.  Unable to hesitate any longer, Misao threw the door open all the way.  Moving as quickly as she could, she struck the man on her right with a knife hand right to the windpipe.  That disabled him neatly.  Grabbing a handful of the now falling man’s kimono, Misao pivoted and used all of her weight to throw his body at the other guard.  Before that guy could react, he was clobbered by the improvised missile that had been his comrade.  That knocked him off guard enough for Misao to finish them both with some swift, well placed blows.

            Standing over the two unconscious men, Misao smiled at her handiwork.  The old method had its uses after all.  To make sure that no one caught onto her escape right away, Misao pulled the two unconscious men into the room that, until recently, had been her prison.  Before leaving them in there, Misao searched them for anything that could prove useful.  She was lucky enough to find a couple of daggers hooked to the belt of one of the guards.  They weren’t as well balanced as her favorite kunai, but they would serve in a moment of desperation.

            Satisfied with what she had done, Misao left the two guards in the room they had been guarding and slid the door shut.  Anyone who spotted the door would at first think that the guards had abandoned their post for some reason or another.  That would buy her some time.  Now able to move about freely, Misao made her way towards the room where the main battle was taking place.

 

            Soujiro’s body reacted before his mind came to grips with what was happening.  As if it acted of its own volition, Soujiro’s sword flew from its sheath to perfectly parry his opponent’s first attack.  Steel rang out against steel as the other man’s sword seemed to just bounce off of Soujiro’s.  The man leapt back a few paces and stood ready for another attack.

            Soujiro carefully sized up his adversary.  “I believe it is impolite to initiate a duel without first announcing yourself,” he said calmly, trying to buy more time to study his enemy than anything else.  He was sure of it.  That had been the Shukuchi.  Well, actually it was two steps short of it.  But Soujiro realized that if this man wanted to, he could use true Shukuchi.

            “Forgive my rudeness,” replied the man, “I am Ishiro.  I have been eagerly awaiting this fight, Soujiro the Tenken.”

            Soujiro calmly rested the back of his sword against his shoulder.  Tapping his foot against the ground, he said in response, “I no longer hold any connection to that title.”

            The man glanced down at Soujiro’s foot and chuckled.  “Don’t you think you’re being a little overdramatic Tenken?” he asked, “There’s no need to build the suspense with that incessant noisemaking.”  With that, the man pushed of the ground.  As his foot touched down, he vanished and came at Soujiro, this time with one step speed.

            One does not think when facing the Shukuchi, that is if one does not want to lose his head or some other vital part of his body.  Soujiro relied on his newly honed ability to read his opponent’s emotions and predict Ishiro’s next move.  Quickly, the young man pulled the sword back over his head, where it intercepted a lateral slash aimed at his backside.  Even as the swords parted, Soujiro was already moving again.  Shifting his weight to the right, he brought his sword in an upward sweeping parry on his left flank that neatly picked off the next attack.  Twisting to face the direction the attack had come from; Soujiro backpedaled, his blade perfectly blocking a series of three attacks in succession that came in at varying angles.  Even as he did this, he heard the wall to his left implode.  Again the sword came around.  This time, Soujiro gripped the handle with his left hand while bracing the back of the blade with his right.  With this, he was able to stop the powerful airborne attack Ishiro had attempted to use against him by launching himself from the wall.

            Ishiro touched down and again leapt away.  Smiling eagerly, the man regarded Soujiro with renewed respect.  “I am surprised that you were so apt at defending yourself from such an attack,” he admitted, “You are truly worthy of your title.”

            Soujiro did not respond.  His mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do.  As long as Ishiro continued to attack before Soujiro could bring his own Shukuchi into play, Soujiro would be at a disadvantage.  As long as Ishiro used the Shukuchi when Soujiro could not, Soujiro would be forever on the defensive and unable to launch a counterattack.  What to do? he wondered.

            At a loss for anything else, Soujiro began to tap again.  Ishiro raised an eyebrow.  When he spoke, his voice was quite irritable.  “I thought I told you to lose the theatrics Tenken,” he hissed.

            Brooking no argument from Soujiro, Ishiro vanished yet again with the Shukuchi.  This time, the rapid pattering of feet raced up the wall and out onto the ceiling.  Ishiro descended on Soujiro like a tone of bricks.  But the boy was more than ready for the attack.

 

            Aoshi had been watching the exchange with interest.  Soujiro Seta was indeed an excellent swordsman.  And now that he had a chance to see the young man’s skill for himself, Aoshi could appreciate how Soujiro had earned his position as Shishio’s right-hand man.  But nonetheless, the Leader of the Oniwaban Group had not come to watch his ally fight.  He had come to save Misao and to ensure that the threat that was Matahachi Seta was eliminated; though Aoshi was certain that Misao was taking care of the former herself.

            Thus, it came down to whether or not he would help Soujiro with his fight, or face off against Matahachi and the other man.  Looking at the other man, Aoshi was certain that he was a swordsman of some considerable skill.  Ignoring the battle going on almost right next to him, Aoshi strode purposefully towards the other end of the room.  The second man stood up to face him.

            “I have heard the strength of the guardians of Edo Castle,” he proclaimed, “But if you are the last of their number, then perhaps you are not as strong as I once thought.”

            “And you are?” inquired Aoshi.

            “You may address me as Kojiro,” replied the swordsman.  Drawing his sword, Kojiro discarded the sheath and took up a very familiar stance, the Gatotsu.

            Aoshi brought his two kodachi up in front of him and held them crossed with the longer right-handed one in front of the other.  “Let’s begin,” he said.  His body blurred as he charged fluidly towards his target.

            Kojiro did not stand idle as Aoshi hurtled at him.  Pushing off, Kojiro launched himself at Aoshi, sword held at ready.  As they closed within striking distance, Kojiro thrust forward with his sword, hoping to impale Aoshi with it.  However, Aoshi was not one to be caught so easily.

            Holding the blades of his kodachi flat against each other, Aoshi brought them up and caught Kojiro’s sword between them.  That alone would not have been enough to stop the attack, but Aoshi wasn’t done.  Even as he intercepted Kojiro’s blade, Aoshi lifted it up with his own swords and pivoted so that he turned to the left while sliding his body to the right.  He dropped his right kodachi away from the sword and made a complete turn while keeping the left blade against the sword for as long as possible.  Aoshi was now too close to Kojiro to actually cut him with the longer, right-handed kodachi.  So instead he slammed his elbow into the man’s midriff with enough force to send Kojiro stumbling away.  But Kojiro wasn’t finished yet.  Even as he stumbled, he brought his sword around, trying to cut at Aoshi’s back.  Aoshi’s response was to reverse the grip of his right kodachi and use it to block the attack.

            Kojiro halted his stumble and reassumed the Gatotsu stance.  Aoshi’s response was to charge again.  Kojiro watched him closely, wondering if Aoshi hoped to catch him off guard by attacking before Kojiro could begin his own charge.  Aoshi was now too close for Kojiro to lunge, so instead he simply thrust forward.  For the briefest instant, Kojiro was certain that he had hit Aoshi Shinomori.  But he was surprised to find that his blade met no resistance as it slid into where Aoshi was supposed to be in front of him.  His surprise turned to dismay as he realized that Aoshi was no longer there.  Catching a glimpse of movement to his right, Kojiro turned and swung his extended arm.  As he had thought, Aoshi was there.  But seemed to become transparent and vanished completely even as Kojiro’s sword met him.  As far as Kojiro could tell, Aoshi was still moving to the right, so if he turned further.  This time there was nothing.

            Kojiro was beginning to feel the icy feeling of panic running through him.  Turning around yet again, Kojiro saw Aoshi appear then vanish again almost as quickly as he came, leaving behind a blurred afterimage that vanished as well.  Kojiro snarled in frustration.  Where was he?

 

            Soujiro managed halt Ishiro’s attacks for the second time.  Coming to a halt, Ishiro stared at Soujiro, frustrated.  “Why aren’t you using Shukuchi?” he demanded, “Why are you simply standing there.  This is a duel of masters of the Shukuchi.  I want to face an opponent who uses the same technique.”

            Soujiro shrugged.  “I’d like to,” he said, “But I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance to use it yet.”

            “What do you mean?” Ishiro wanted to know, “I’ve given you more than ample chance to…” his voice trailed off as he realized what Soujiro meant.  A whole range of expressions crossed his face then, anger, disappointment, disgust, amusement.  Finally, Ishiro halted with a face that was something between disgusted and amused.  “You mean that you still have to tap?” he marveled, pointing at Soujiro with his sword, “You mean you weren’t showing off, that you really have to tap in order to use the Shukuchi.”  Ishiro gave a harsh barking laugh.  “I can’t believe that a man like you could have ever been called the Tenken.  If you still have to tap to use the Shukuchi, then you have no right to call yourself a master of it.”

            “I never did claim to be a master of Shukuchi,” replied Soujiro, “And I didn’t know that it was possible to have the rhythm down without tapping.”

            “A true master knows the rhythm of Shukuchi as he knows himself,” said Ishiro.  He tapped his foot on the ground at exactly the right rhythm without having to measure it out.  “A true master breathes in the rhythm of the Shukuchi.  His heart beats that rhythm on a constant basis.  A true master never forgets the tempo of Shukuchi.”

            Soujiro just shrugged again.  “I’m afraid I never had a chance to master that to such an extent.”  He began to tap his foot against the floor.  This time, Ishiro allowed him.  Even as he pushed off of the ground, Soujiro said, “But I certainly know how to use it.”

            He vanished in an instant, using the true Shukuchi.  True Shukuchi was very different from any of its lesser forms.  If anyone had studied the difference between the Shukuchi and its lesser forms, they would have noticed something interesting.  As the Shukuchi technique is used, each footfall impacts the ground with tremendous force, smashing apart whatever happens to be there.  But the closer the user gets to true Shukuchi, the shallower the impact crater gets.  At true Shukuchi, the user’s feet impact and leave the ground with such speed, that there is no time for the energy of the footfall to be transferred into the ground, meaning that true Shukuchi leaves no such trail of destruction in its wake.

            Ishiro knew this well enough and vanished as well.  While there were no longer any exploding floorboards, the sound of their footsteps could be heard constantly.

            As they raced across the room, they came together for brief instants.  They rarely ever got off more than one strike.  And so it continued.  They came together, parted and came together again at a different point.  The fight was carried out rather awkwardly as they were almost always meeting at odd angles where an exchange between the two of them became difficult.  Sometimes they met around or among the other pair of dueling men in the room, but they were always so swift that they were gone before the others realized their presence.  So intent were the combatants on their respective adversaries that they hardly noticed one another’s battles in the midst of their own.

            Soujiro attempted to get an edge on Ishiro by running up the wall.  While on the wall, he met Ishiro coming from the other direction.  Soujiro brought his sword in at neck height.  His attack would have beheaded Ishiro had the man not been holding his own sword vertically in front of him, blocking the attack.  Even as they passed one another, Ishiro turned around and began to pursue Soujiro on the wall.  Soujiro had no intent of allowing that, so he turned and began to run straight up the wall.

            When Soujiro reached the top of the room, he ran out onto the ceiling and pushed off to come flying at where Ishiro was following his path.  An explosion of wood and dust appeared where Soujiro kicked off.  His attack was perfectly calculated and Soujiro was now coming at Ishiro from overhead, at least from Ishiro’s orientation.  Ishiro was not one to be caught off guard though.  He raised his sword above his head and braced the back of the blade with his left hand.  The extra leverage was needed as Soujiro impacted with terrific force.  Time seemed to freeze as the force of Soujiro’s strike drove Ishiro’s feet into the wall, splintering the wood.  But Ishiro was able to fend off the attack.  Using every ounce of strength he possessed. Ishiro pushed back, the reacting force pushing him further into the wall.  Soujiro, having no such leverage and having spent the momentum of his attack, was quite easily forced back.  Using his sword as a lever, Soujiro forced himself away from Ishiro and out into the air a fair distance above the floor of the room.

            An instant later, Ishiro pushed off of the wall and leapt at Soujiro in the same manner that Soujiro had at first attacked him.  Their blades connected as Soujiro parried the attack.  Both combatants fell towards the floor below.  As they did so, the hacked at one another, trading mastery of the Shukuchi for mastery of sword technique as they slashed, thrust, and parried their way to ground.  When they landed, the two of them clashed their blades together one last time before leaping apart.

            Ishiro’s face was coated with sweat, but he looked well otherwise.  Soujiro, on the other hand was both sweating profusely and panting slightly.

            “You look somewhat fatigued Soujiro,” commented Ishiro, smiling broadly, “I must admit, for someone who still has to tap, your skill in using the Shukuchi is impeccable.”

            “Thank you, sir,” replied Soujiro between breaths.

            “But I must say that what you make up for in skill, you lack in endurance,” Ishiro pointed out, “The longer our battle continues, the more to my advantage it will be.  I can obviously outlast you when it comes to using the Shukuchi over an extended period of time.”

            “That is true,” agreed Soujiro.  Now he was unsure of what he should do.  If I don’t end this fight soon, my death is assured, he thought.

 

            Kojiro was growing tired of chasing shadows.  Every attack he had launched thus far had met nothing but air.  Aoshi seemed to fade in and out of view like some kind of phantom, appearing behind, beside, and in front of Kojiro.  There seemed to be no way he could catch Aoshi.  And if Shinomori launched an attack, Kojiro would most likely be caught completely off guard.

            Aoshi appeared again in front of him.  It was then that Kojiro got an idea.  Instead of wasting time trying to kill what he couldn’t, he would study Aoshi’s movements and determine the weakness of his method.  So instead of attacking, Kojiro carefully observed Aoshi’s form as he faded out of sight again.

            “Have you given up Kojiro?” Aoshi asked, not stopping, “There is no way you can defeat my Jissen-Kenbu.”

            So that’s what it is called, thought Kojiro.  He watched as Aoshi again appeared and vanished.  Then he began to understand.  Kojiro realized that there perhaps was a way to defeat Aoshi’s technique, but his time would have to precise.  Kojiro couldn’t afford to let his guard down for an instant.

            Aoshi used Jissen-Kenbu by moving with perfect fluidity and constantly varying speed.  Whenever he slowed down was when his blurred image appeared, only to vanish again as Aoshi sped up just as quickly.  As a result, it gave Aoshi’s form a somewhat insubstantial nature and made his actual location impossible to determine as he circled around his victim.  But, in order to use Jissen-Kenbu, Aoshi had to maintain a high center of gravity.  A high center of gravity was important because it enabled him to change both speed and direction with the slightest shift of his weight.  But if he tried to launch an attack from that position, it would have no power.  In order to attack, Aoshi would have to lower his center of gravity so that he could put his body into his strike, meaning that before he attacked, Aoshi would first have stop using Jissen-Kenbu, creating a brief moment where he would be between stances and completely off guard.

            All Kojiro had to do was wait until Aoshi switched from offense to defense and victory would be his.  Having figured that out, it was now only a matter of figuring out where Aoshi would attack from.  He had to logically assume that the only place Aoshi would not attack from would be from directly in front of Kojiro.  But that still left the Leader with plenty of options.  The only thing Kojiro could do was wait and try to react quickly enough when Aoshi did attack.

            Kojiro watched and remained motionless as Aoshi continued to flit about him without pause.  Abruptly, Aoshi appeared on Kojiro’s left again, but this time his image was solid and clear.  Kojiro knew at that moment as Aoshi stepped to keep his feet further apart that this was the moment he had been waiting for.  Without hesitation, Kojiro leapt into the air…

            …Just in time to avoid a storm of six attacks accompanied by Aoshi’s announcement.  “Kaiten-Kenbu-Rokuren!”  All six attacks came at the same time and would have been unstoppable had Kojiro actually been there to receive them.  But Kojiro was now above Aoshi’s head.  Kojiro watched with satisfaction as Aoshi stumbled through the empty space and now presented his enemy with his back.  Kojiro nearly laughed out loud.  This was the perfect opportunity.

            “And now you die Aoshi!” yelled Kojiro gleefully, “Gatotsu Second Stance!”  Kojiro plunged downward, his sword leading.  He thrust just as he came into reach.  The blade pierced the back of Aoshi’s coat and cut through with ease.  Kojiro laughed triumphantly as his attack struck home.

 

            Matahachi smiled eagerly as he watched Kojiro plummet towards Shinomori.  With that man out of the way, finishing off Matahachi’s bastard cousin would be a simple matter.  Looking over, Matahachi let a feral grin spread across his face when he noticed that Soujiro was looking much more tired than Ishiro.  His servant was doing his job perfectly.

            Matahachi sighed contentedly and poured himself another cup of sake, a victory drink to wash down the sweet taste of revenge.

 

            Soujiro gathered his wits as he regarded Ishiro.  Right now, Ishiro held a considerable advantage.  Not only could he use the Shukuchi without any hesitation, but he could also use it for a much greater amount of time than Soujiro could.  The young man was worried.  How could he possibly win against an opponent who could outlast him so easily?

            The answer seemed simple.  He had to end this battle…now!  But how could he do that?  Then, the answer hit him and Soujiro knew what he had to do.

            Soujiro remembered what Mr. Shishio had once told him about Mr. Himura.  “Himura the Battousai may have given up slaying others,” he said half scornfully, “But no matter what he does, what kind of changes he makes, what kind of sword he takes up, there is nothing he can do to eliminate the spirit of the legendary manslayer that lives within him.”  Shishio laughed at that thought.  “When someone locks away a part of themselves, they have to make a door for it to go through.  With that door comes a lock and key.  The key is always some kind of emotion that characterizes the aspect of the personality that that man has locked away.  In the Battousai’s case, that key is anger.  Make Himura the Wanderer angry enough and the door to Battousai the Manslayer will swing wide open.

            If what Mr. Shishio had said was true, then Soujiro had to find that emotional trigger that would return him to his former self, the Tenken.  Almost instantly, Soujiro knew exactly what emotion that had to be.  The Tenken had been born that night the unspeakable fear of death welled up in Soujiro so much that he struck down his own family while smiling in terror (quite the oxymoron, no).  Fear of death was what would bring out the Tenken that he had sealed away inside of himself.

            But despite himself, Soujiro could not find that fear.  He no longer feared death in the same way that he used to.  Killing a great many people had changed that.

            “I must say that fighting you has been a great privilege and honor, Tenken,” announced Matahachi, “But the time has come for me to fulfill my contract with your cousin and for you to die.”  With that, he vanished.  Soujiro knew that he had an instant left to live.

            When the realization hit him, Soujiro thought mournfully about the new life he had been building for himself, of the friendships he had made with Takezo and Misao, of his relationship with his new master, a man who understood him better than anyone else ever had, and of the hopeful future that had been before him.  And Soujiro knew that he didn’t want to die.

            Even as his blade was descending to make the final blow, Ishiro reversed his rhythm and stopped, leaping back away from Soujiro almost as quickly.  Ishiro was rendered speechless by his shock.  What had happened to the young man he had been fighting.  All of a sudden, Soujiro’s presence had completely vanished.  True, he was standing there right in front of Ishiro.  But he wasn’t there there.  All traces of emotion and fighting spirit had erased themselves from Soujiro’s being; leaving in their wake a void that took on the illusion of a young man with a sword.  Soujiro’s eyes were obscured by the strands of hair that hung down over his face.  But the small smile that he wore was completely visible.

            After a moment, Soujiro looked up to regard Ishiro.  Now both his eyes and lips were smiling.  But it wasn’t the savage smile of someone who liked killing.  Even though Ishiro hadn’t expected that kind of a smile from a man like Soujiro, he wasn’t expecting the one he got either.  He had been expecting a hollow, empty smile that didn’t reach the young man’s eyes.  But the expression on the Tenken’s face seemed nothing short of…radiant.  It was an innocent look, the beaming face of someone who saw a general pleasantness in all that he did.

            Ishiro gulped nervously.  So this is the infamous Tenken, he thought.  The young man truly was an unnerving sight to behold.

            Soujiro swished his sword back before lifting it up and sliding it back into its sheath.  His expression didn’t change in the slightest.  Then, he turned so that his right shoulder was facing Ishiro.  Looking over that shoulder, Soujiro went into the classic stance for the sword-drawing technique.  The one main difference was that his hand was a little low to provide balance for the charge to come.

            “Battoujutsu,” mumbled a horrified Ishiro.  He knew exactly what was about to come next.  No doubt, Soujiro planned on combining a charge using the Shukuchi with the already awesome speed of the Battoujutsu technique.  It would be an attack that would kill instantly.

            “I see that you have a pretty good idea of what I’m about to do,” observed the still smiling Soujiro, “That’s good.”  He let out a childish laugh, almost as if this were a game and the sword in his hand a mere toy.  “You surprised me a little in the beginning.  You see, when I worked for Mr. Shishio, the Shukuchi was my special trump card that I used against difficult opponents.  No one except Mr. Shishio knew of its existence.  To the other members of the Juppongatana, it was simply hearsay, a rumor.  Everyone else who had seen it was dead.  But you somehow knew that I could use Shukuchi.  But at the same time you overlooked my Battoujutsu which I was better known for because it rivaled that of the Hitokiri Battousai.  But now it’s time for me to make the two one and introduce you to my favorite technique, the only one that I ever named, the Shuntensatsu.”

            Ishiro gulped again and found that his mouth had gone dry from fear.  He took a step back from the Tenken.  There was no denying it.  Ishiro was about to die.

 

            Kojiro’s laugh of triumph turned into a cry of dismay as Aoshi’s trench coat collapsed limply, folding itself over on the blade of his sword.  Now Kojiro understood.  Aoshi had purposefully shown Kojiro his back and then used his billowing, coat like a blind.  While Ishiro’s attention had been focused on the brown leather item of clothing, Aoshi had slipped out of it and out of the way of the attack.

            Kojiro now realized how badly he had been tricked.  With his blade weighed down as it was, there was by the thick coat, there was no way that he could avoid or block Aoshi’s next attack.  Furthermore, because his vision had been obscured by the coat, Kojiro had no idea which way Aoshi had gone and therefore, which direction he would attack from.  Lacking any other idea, Kojiro guessed as best he could and swung his sword to the right, putting his whole body into the swing so that the coat went flying off the end of the sword.  Luckily for Kojiro, he had guessed correctly and Shinomori was indeed coming from his right.  Even as the coat billowed outwards to catch Aoshi in its folds, his two kodachi flashed and cut it to ribbons.  Aoshi plowed through the cloud of shreds he had created and charged for Kojiro, despite the fact that he had lost the element of surprise.

            Kojiro grabbed the hilt of his sword with both hands and brought the blade into a high guard position angled down and to his right to catch the incoming blade of Aoshi’s left kodachi.  Too late, Kojiro saw the trap that Aoshi had lain out for him.  “Double Kodachi style; Onmyou Kousa!”  With that, Aoshi brought his right Kodachi down on the back of his left like a hammer against a nail.  The force drove the left kodachi through Kojiro’s sword, snapping the blade in two.

            Kojiro leapt backwards and stared, horrified at the cleanly broken remnant of his favorite blade.  He began to shake when he realized that this was a pronouncement of his doom.  He was about to die by the hand of Aoshi Shinomori, Leader of the Oniwaban Group.  He had seen the skills of the great man first hand and understood how that man had risen to such an illustrious position within his organization.

            “It’s over,” said Aoshi simply.

 

            “It’s over,” announced Soujiro.  He grinned good-naturedly at Ishiro.  “Don’t worry,” he added, “I promise this won’t hurt at all.”

            Soujiro had risen up onto the balls of his feet.  He stared at Ishiro with the same innocent gaze that he always seemed to wear when he was ready to kill.  Then, Soujiro crouched down slightly, bending his knees a little further and lowering his heels almost all the way to the floor.  Inside, his muscles were coiling like springs, building power for the awesome burst of speed to come.

            “Here I go,” he announced cheerfully.  Ishiro only managed to catch a glimpse of Soujiro’s legs going off like twin pistons before the boy vanished before his eyes.  Even as Soujiro had been tensing for his attack, Ishiro had been about to kick off and use the Shukuchi to dodge the attack.  And he would have made it to, if Soujiro had been moving at Shukuchi speed.

            The door behind Matahachi burst off of its hinges and Misao rushed into the room just in time to catch the final instant of the battle.

            Behind Ishiro, Soujiro reversed his legwork so abruptly that it ripped apart the floor, creating a trench along the path Soujiro used to slow himself down.  His sword was drawn.  When Soujiro came to a halt, he looked behind him at the cloud of dust he had raised in his sudden deceleration.  For a moment, he couldn’t see through it.  When the dust began to clear, Soujiro could make out the motionless form of Ishiro.  The man was still standing.  But he seemed frozen and unable to move.  Finally, the man turned to look at Soujiro.  “That wasn’t Shukuchi,” he said.  Then, blood spurted out from the razor-thin cut in the man’s abdomen.  Ishiro’s upper body toppled over backwards while his lower half fell forwards.

            Soujiro just stood there, smiling.  Then, the sound of someone’s horrified gasp reached his ears.  Turning, Soujiro saw her there, standing behind Matahachi.  The stunned look on Misao’s face wrenched Soujiro free from the Tenken’s grip and brought him thundering back into reality.  The smile vanished and the full weight of what he had done settled onto Soujiro’s shoulders.  Shocked beyond all expression, Soujiro’s legs gave out beneath him and he fell to his knees, too stunned to do anything else.  His nerveless hand released the sword, letting it clatter to the ground.

            Nearby, Aoshi had been watching Soujiro’s finishing strike.  He was less than sympathetic towards Ishiro, but he was unnerved by how much Soujiro reminded Aoshi of himself.  Aoshi was so fixated on the spectacle that he did not see Kojiro turn and flee.

            A second clatter sounded in the room.  Matahachi’s enraged scream brought Aoshi back to the matter at hand.  “COME BACK YOU COWARD!” roared Matahachi at the retreating Kojiro’s back.  Kojiro paid Matahachi’s cry no heed as he rushed out the doors, leaving the broken sword behind.

            “Now there is only you,” intoned Aoshi grimly, as he strode purposefully towards Matahachi.

            Matahachi was shaking with rage as he reached for his sword.  He got to his feet.  “You’re mine,” hissed a blood chilling voice behind him.  Looking over his shoulder, Matahachi spied a very angry looking Misao, who had momentarily forgotten about Soujiro at the sight of the man who had caused them all so much trouble that night.  Matahachi saw the malicious intent on the young ninja’s face and couldn’t help but gulp.

 

            Kojiro rushed through the atrium and burst through the front doors.  What he saw outside froze him in his tracks.

            “Greetings,” said Hajime Saitou, casually tossing the still smoldering cigarette over his shoulder as he faced his former apprentice, “It has been quite a while Kojiro.”

 

Author’s Notes: This chapter was fun to write.  More than a few authors (including myself) have put Soujiro in a Shukuchi vs. Shukuchi situation.  I hope that mine is at least a little bit different from the others.

 

About Saitou:  When I first started writing this fic, I had not yet seen the entire Kyoto Arc all the way through.  This was due to the fact that I was out of town at one time and missed a considerable number of important episodes.  It wasn’t until I collected the DVDs that I really got a chance to get a better look at the character of Hajime Saitou.  When I began work on this story, I pretty much thought that Saitou was a pretty bad guy, plain and simple.  Sure, he may work with the good guys once and a while, but there’s no mistaking who the real heroes are.  But the more times I watched the series through, the more enamored to Saitou’s character I became.  In fact, he’s become one of my favorite characters after Soujiro.  There’s just something about that I’m gonna do my job, no matter what anyone else thinks attitude that’s quite appealing.

 

About Akemi: For this and the next chapter at least, Akemi is pretty much going to be a background character in this story.  Don’t worry; she’s going to have a much larger role to play later on.

 

And now a spoiler: I don’t usually do this, but I can’t help but gloat about my next chapter, which is going to include a Saitou vs. Soujiro battle.  Also, the very first strings that tie the current events to the ultimate plot line of this story are going to be revealed as well as the first hints of the story’s major villain.  I hope this little spoiler has wet your appetite somewhat.

 

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