[FFML] [fic][rk][cont] Rurouni Yahiko Chapter 13: Meeting at the Mansion [fic][rk][cont] Rurouni Yahiko Chapter 13: Meeting at the Mansion

[Abdiel]

On October 31, 1884, during the third week of Yahiko
Myojin's recovery

from the sword wounds he suffered at the hands of Soujiro
Seta, a flash
mob of peasants and farmers claiming to be part of the Jiyu
Minken Udo
(Freedom and People's Rights Movement) spread chaos and
bedlam across
Chichibu, Saitama.
 
The overtaxed and oppressed people went straight to their
usurers and
burned off all records of their debts. Afterwards, the Meiji
Government
suspected the ensuing riot to be an attempt by the Jiyuto
(Liberal)
Party to overthrow the Choshu-and-Satsuma-dominated administration.
Incidentally, the Jiyuto disbanded right on the eve of that
particular
event--on October 29--which Satoru Sakaguchi mentioned to
his daughter
Kyoko after arriving at Shinshu from Yokohama.
 
Eventually, the Japanese Imperial Army and the Tokyo Metropolitan
Police
suppressed the rebellion with superior firepower and overwhelming
force.
All the same, Tetsuo Akahori's largely unattended meeting
within Jusanro
Tani's repossessed mansion in Shinshushin, Nagano happened
during the
aftermath of that momentous event.
 
 
========================================================================
 
 
Rurouni Yahiko
A Rurouni Kenshin Continuation Fan Fiction
By Chester Castañeda
chester.castaneda at gmail.com
http://www.fanfiction.net/~abdiel

Is this chapter _finally_ going to be an episode of substance and
consequence? Well, let's not jinx anything by making
presumptuous
promises!
 

========================================================================

Chapter 13: Meeting at the Mansion


========================================================================
 
 
Within the limits of Jusanro Tani's former mansion lying
outside
Shinshushin...
 
"Way to go, Yoshi-boy! You sure saved our butts that
time!" Gan
applauded after bowling over the Togakudan dog-pile atop
him without so
much as a grunt or a "Pardon me." He soon after
unleashed harsh laughter
fit for a king so disfigured by inbreeding that he
couldn't chew his
food by himself, which overshadowed his intention to
convey his
happiness over the fact that men, in contrast to women
and children,
usually kept off the crotch area when involved in a
contest of
fisticuffs.
 
With a self-induced slap to the face, Yahiko slid his
hand from forehead
to chin, gave his supposed comrades token sidelong
glances, and wished
that the ground would eat him up then and there.
 
On his left was a pumpkin-haired, turnip-banged,
eye-patched, and wig-
wearing weakling, and on his right was a compulsive
gambler, stalker,
and hoodlum loser wannabe who could create large craters
on a whim yet
had an infant's grasp of right and wrong. All the trio
needed now was a
dusty soup bowl for loose change and they could pass
themselves off as
eccentric, street-performing hobos.
 
"Uncool, huh? Yeah. Maybe we are," the
hedgehog-haired young lad
paraphrased Raedo's allegations as a fleeting desire to
dig a hole on
the ground to hide his head with teased his mind. He then
remembered Gan
doing just that to him and Minoe yesterday, which made
his shoulders
slump in defeat.
 
"Yay! The Sanbaka are back together again!"
Minoe's face bloomed like a
dandelion, and just as quickly wilted like one after Gan
and Yahiko
attempted to "draw wine" from his head in
traditional winemaking
fashion.
 
"DON'T CALL US THE THREE STOOGES, YOU DUMBASS!"
the pair echoed before
realizing that they were hypocritically beating Minoe up
after they
saved him from getting beaten up. "Er, sorry,"
came another
unintentional chorus from the two.
 
Tittering as though he were playing with a bunch of
rambunctious
neighborhood scamps, Minoe rubbed his head to ease his
pain. "No
worries. Like I told you, I'm used to it. These bandages
aren't just for
show, you know." However, his hunched posture and
shaking hands conveyed
an altogether different message.
 
The trio walked around the estate's sloping lawn and
expansive garden at
a deliberate pace, taking their sweet time to admire the
fresh, earthy
scent of manicured grass, the scenic view of Nagano's
Hida mountains,
the spotless marble statues of foreign origin whose
significance went
over their Japanese heads, and the exquisite way the
western-style,
chocolate-and-cream mansion blended with the reds,
browns, oranges,
sepias, tans, burgundies, and other color variations of
the surrounding
flora and foliage.
 
It was a shame then that the three weren't paying that
much attention to
their ambient, painting-like surroundings, their heads
wrapped around
more trivial... or perhaps not-so-trivial... pursuits. 
 
"What the hell is up with you?" Yahiko asked
the runt of the Togakudan
pack as he turned his head from side-to-side in cadence of
each word he 
spoke. The Tokyoite's attempts at eye contact were met
with a downward
gaze and a helpless shrug on the kowtowed Minoe's part.
"How can you let
that guy bully you like that? Be a man! You should be
able to stand up
for yourself! You should man up and punch him on the nose
when he pulls
crap like that!"
 
Minoe tilted his head in askance and looked at Yahiko
with a flushed
face and a pursed mouth before choking down a melodious,
high-pitched
titter. "I... I'm afraid I can't do that."
 
The off-put Yahiko leaned back and rubbed his nose as he
stared at
Minoe without blinking for a full second. "W-What? I
mean, why...?" He
could've sworn that the boyish oddball giggled at him for
some reason.
 
Minoe cleared his throat, brushed his turnip bangs back,
and waved off
Yahiko's concern while swiftly changing the subject.
"No, never mind.
Uh, in regards to Raedo-sempai's temper, let's be
reasonable. I _did_
make him and my teammates starve throughout breakfast.
Also, I still owe
them breakfast money that they're probably going to take
from my share
of the loot once this assassination matter is over. The
grant that
Akahori-dono-chi gave us is pretty hefty, and he's
considered an expert
in the field of domestic spying partly because of the
Togakudan's
research."
 
Gan elbowed Yahiko aside and waltzed in front of Minoe,
jumping right
into the conversation before the samurai kid could bring
up a certain,
unimportant detail regarding the seventy-two sen he still
owed the
Togakudan. "What _does_ your team specialize in? You
told me earlier
that they handle research. What kind of research do they
take care of
exactly?"

Minoe owlishly jerked his head to the side in order to keep Gan from
disappearing into the blind spot created by his eye
patch. That
particular quirk of his was partly cultivated by his
fellow Togakudan
companions' antics whenever they were in a "bully
the new guy" mood.
 
"I'd love to say, 'We take care of covert government
information as
secret service agents' or something to that effect, but
then I'd be
lying; that'd sound too cool for it to refer to us. We're
more in the
business of spying on or blackmailing our clients'
enemies. We're
bottom-rung, bottom-feeding spies, to be sure."

"Huh. So the Togakudan is sort of like the bakufu's Oniwabanshu, only a
lot more pathetic," Gan supposed, which made
Yahiko's ears perk up. The
brutish oaf took Minoe's word with a grain--or even a
whole silo--of
salt because of the victimized spy's understandably
biased views, but
otherwise believed him for the most part. "Both your
groups are composed
of spies and bodyguards as well, you know."

"You're giving us way too much credit. It's more like the Togakudan is
the antithesis of the Oniwabanshu. We're not as cool as
them, we run
away from a major fight nine times out of ten, and we're
basically
glorified snitches. There's really no comparison, truth
be told," Minoe
divulged as Yahiko mouthed, "Glorified?" with
an upturned nose.

"Hmmm? Antithesis? That's a hell of a big word for you, Patches," Gan
jibed, to which Minoe replied, "U-huh. And if you'd
like, I'll say it to
you slower," without missing a beat.
 
"Cut the 'Manzai Comedy Hour' act. We're getting
sidetracked," berated
Yahiko before pulling Minoe aside and further querying,
"What do you
know about the Battousai Group? Amakusa Shogo? Is Amakusa
the same guy
as the red-haired, cross-scarred man who finished off a whole
gang of
poser terrorists three weeks ago? Tell me, Minoe!"
 
"Sure! I'll tell you everything you need to know,
Raedo-sempai! Just
please stop shaking me like a cowbell! I'll do whatever
you want!" Minoe
beseeched as he resisted the urge to heave _and_ hoe,
which at least
made the snarling and moody Yahiko come back to his
senses.
 
The former street rat snorted in dismay, relinquishing
his fervent hold
on the pirate doppelganger. "Man, you really are a
wimp, aren't you? I
can't believe you've managed to join that
rough-and-tumble crew, what
with you being such a mayflower and all," was the
boy's passive-
aggressive way of deflecting his guilt over his
overreaction.
 
"Not to mention that mouth of his. Even with his
goofy smile and
unassuming manner, he has a way with words. It's not
really surprising
why his Raiden-sempai pummels him so much," Gan
interjected, still
stinging from Minoe's earlier rejoinder.
 
At that moment, Yahiko's eyes shone as though he'd just
witnessed the
flowery afterimage of a Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu technique.
After putting two
and two together in regards to what made Minoe's
personality tick, he
realized, 'A guy who looks like a total pushover but has
a sharp,
sarcastic tongue? Huh. That sounds mighty familiar.' 
 
Yahiko was about to superimpose the image of the
coconut-husk-wigged and
eye-patch-wearing nut with the vision of the
carroty-haired, girlish-
looking, and cross-scarred rurouni when Gan interposed,
"Now that we're
all here, we might as well apply for that bodyguard
position. I'm not
privy to what's going on, but whoever it is we need to
stop, I'm sure
we'll do fine."
 
"Stop pretending that the plans you've intended to
do from the very
beginning are things you've come up with just now!"
Yahiko yelped at
Gan, but was subsequently blindsided by Minoe's patented
burst of
inappropriate exuberance.
 
"Really? I'm so happy! We three are working like a
team now! The Sanbaka
are here to stay!"
 
Yahiko and Gan didn't bother admonishing the stubborn
Minoe using
weapons, hatred, and violence. For a change, they simply
decided then
and there to ignore Minoe whenever he referred to their
group as the
Three Stooges. Or rather, they promised to do so right
after hammering
Minoe into the ground like a railroad spike. 'Next time,
for sure,' they
pledged.
 
"Us Three Stooges should always stick
together!" Minoe was right; he
truly was immune to getting rung like a New Year's bell
on a daily,
even hourly, basis. 
 
After spitting out some blood from his mouth, Minoe
grabbed Yahiko by
the shoulders and offered, "Come on, Yahiko-chi!
I'll tell you all the
stuff Raedo-sempai thought he'd hidden away from me about
the Battousai
Group! That way, you two can help me catch one of those
rebels and give
me the push I need to join the upper echelons of the
Togakudan! I'll
even use my would-be influence to make you two honorary
Togakudan
members!"
 
Yahiko's mouth crooked into something that was neither a
smile nor a
frown. "Er, no thanks on the Togakudan offer, Minoe;
but I'm all for
getting more information about the Battousai Group. Tell
me what you
know." His quirky lips eventually curved into an
outright smirk.
 
Gan backed away and gestured at both Minoe and Yahiko
with upraised
hands and a wide stance. "Whoa. Settle down. _You_
were able to pilfer
information out of a group whose whole existence relied
on hiding
information, Patches?" The thug smoothened his
bandanna and straightened
the collar of his open vest. "Well, I guess you'd
have to be _that_
sneaky, or else it wouldn't make any sense why you were
accepted into
the Togakudan in the first place."
 
"Mochiron mochi!" Minoe bleated.
 
"What have you got for us, Minoe?" Yahiko
pressed, leaning forward to
better hear the zany yet helpful amateur spy's words.
 
"Well, because they're called the Battousai _Group_,
it's only natural
that there'll be more than one of them, right? In regards
to the
_Battousai_ part of their name, it stems from their modus
operandi of
having their individual members incorporate certain
aspects of Battousai
lore into their fighting styles and specialties. For
example, a member
of theirs, Amakusa Shogo, has a sword style rumored to be
the closest
technique there is to the strongest Ishin Shishi
manslayer's Hiten
Mitsurugi Ryu. I've even heard of a Battousai of Speed, a
Battousai of
Strength, and so on and so forth."
 
Yahiko slammed his fist on the palm of his hand before
waving his index
finger around in an excitable manner. "Oh, I see.
They call themselves
the Battousai Group because their leader is a Battousai
wannabe--all of
them are Battousai wannabes! I get it now."
 
Gan kept on nodding his head throughout the whole
dialogue in feigned
interest; the fact that he wasn't interrupting his fellow
stooges
anymore was quite telling.
 
The Son of Tokyo Samurai let out a cathartic sigh. Unlike
Keisuke and
his goons, the people he was about to confront didn't
merely use the
Battousai name in vain. They backed up their claim with
actual talent
and ability in the sense that at least one of them was
skilled enough
to handle a whole legion of thugs. Granted, it was still
a shameful use
of Kenshin's infamous moniker regardless, but at least it
wasn't as
shameful as what the Hiruma brothers or Kyoko Sakaguchi's
tormentor did.
 
"Then again, none of those clowns in the Battousai
Group could ever
match Kenshin's speed, strength, and skill. Amakusa may
have allegedly
killed a thousand policemen, but who cares? No one could
possibly keep
up with Kenshin, especially when he was still in his
prime. It's the
quality of the opposition that counts, not the
quantity."
 
"Huh. You talk as if this Battousai guy was the shit
or something. I bet
you that he won't even last a second against guys like
Hijikata Toshizo
or a healthy Okita Souji." The Shinsengumi-obsessed
Gan had never heard
of the acclaimed "Strongest Hitokiri of the
Bakumatsu", and it showed.
 
Yahiko raspberried Gan. "Who was it that won the
Bakumatsu anyway?
Certainly not the overhyped, overrated,
strength-through-numbers
Shinsengumi and their bakufu overlords! Besides, I've
seen Kenshin wipe
the floor with Saito Hajime firsthand, and that wolf-like
bastard with
cockroach antenna for bangs is probably the strongest
swordsman of the
lot! The Shinsengumi aren't so tough!" the
Kenshin-worshipping inheritor
of the sakabatou shot back, even though he should've
known better.
 
Gan moved his neck backwards as his mouth formed an
ear-to-ear grin that
made his chin appear twice its normal size. "A
wolf-like bastard with
cockroach antenna for bangs? Jeez, everybody knows that
Saito Hajime
has a sleepy-eyed expression and isn't a bastard at all.
The Saito you
know must be some sort of faker, a fictional character,
or an urban
legend! Whoever 'created' that Saito of yours deserves to
be written a
mountain of hate letters from _real_ Shinsengumi fans
everywhere!"
 
"Whatever, you obsessed fanboy," Yahiko
groused, his forehead bearing
down on his brows' ridges so hard that it veiled his
eyes. 'He probably
never even met the guy.'
 
Just then, Minoe took a page out of Yahiko's book and
pulled the boy
aside in order to query, "Really, Yahiko-chi? You
know who Hitokiri
Battousai is? Can you tell me more about him? Please?
It'll really help
me out in moving through the ranks of the
Togakudan!"
 
Yahiko's face paled at the sight of the demure Minoe. He
went through a 
couple of soundless gasps and false starts before somehow
squeaking,
"Er, sure. Sure. I'll help you out, Minoe. But
seriously, why are you
even bothering with the Togakudan? They're a bunch of
bullying losers
anyway. You should get better career prospects than those
snitching
assholes! They're not worth the trouble."
 
Minoe's eyes sparkled so brightly, nearby moths would've
circled around
them. "You mean it, Yahiko-chi? Because I'll leave
the Togakudan in a
heartbeat to join the Sanbaka!"
 
"I know nothing of these Three Stooges you speak of,"
Yahiko deadpanned,
but was caught flatfooted as Minoe waxed melancholic--or
rather, waxed
despair masked in implausible deniability.
 
"I don't really mind the things Raedo-chi... I mean,
Raedo-sempai and
the others put me through. There are worse things in life
than a bump
or two on the head. In a sense, the things they do to me
mean nothing
to me at all. Really, I'm okay."
 
"Gee, Patches. That sounded really pathetic. Thanks
for making me feel
better about myself... I think," Gan shared as he
gave the cowed
Togakudan understudy an affectionate pat on the butt.
'Hmmm. That was
softer than I expected.'
 
A hair-raising shriek, a slap, and a wrapped-up sakabatou
strike later,
the unfazed yet lumpy Gan elaborated, "You should
get better role
models than that chamber pot you call a leader. Hey, how
about Kondo
Isami-sama? Now there's a man among men that a girly boy
like you should
emulate!"
 
Minoe's lips curved ever-so-slightly as he muttered
through fluttering
lashes and pinkish cheeks, "No, thank you, I already
have a role model
to follow." Realizing that he'd said too much after
both of his
unwilling cohorts peered at him for far too long, he
backtracked, "And
Yahiko-chi has a role model too! Himura Battousai, isn't
it? Oh, if only
I were like him. Powerful, strong, ruthless,
unbeatable--"
 
"--Effeminate, kind to a fault, possesses a martyr
complex, looks good
in a dress," Yahiko enumerated, much to Minoe's
confusion.
 
"Eh?"
 
'That wasn't exactly an 'oro', but it's close enough for
me,' Yahiko
mused. "Do you want to know who the real Himura
Kenshin is?" He
reflexively appended "Kamiya" to Kenshin's name
in his mind, but then
decided that doing so would just amount to him splitting
hairs. "Well,
you're already off to a good start. Come on, let's buy
your sempai
those meat buns they never got. My treat."
 
His eyes crinkling as he let out a genuine smile, Minoe
bobbed his head
and chirped, "M-Mochiron!"
 
 
===
 
 
The heads of Tetsuo Akahori and Soujiro Seta shot up and
jerked towards
the western-styled hinged doors of the repossessed
mansion's study
after hearing consecutive knocks of ascending speed
reverberate upon the
the thick, wooden surface.
 
Soujiro moved from the wall he was slumping on to answer
the door, but
stopped after Akahori motioned him to back down. Just
then, the door 
swung open anyway with a booming echo that jarred and jolted
the entire
manor to attention. 
 
Trinkets jiggled, and the room's token globe spun wildly
as the open
entryway brought upon two brisk-walking individuals whose
dueling
shadows swallowed the exposed parts of the carpeted
floor. On the
flipside, the dynamic entry of the stiff-lipped gentlemen
served as a
breath of fresh air to the overall cramped stuffiness
that had entrapped
the quarters.
 
At the very least, the two new arrivals had the courtesy
of bowing and
exchanging their respective greetings to Akahori and
Soujiro before
walking off to opposite sides of the room. The Ten Ken
himself laughed
off the entire affair as he shut the door and went
straight to the bay
windows that overlooked Nagano's famous mountain peaks.
Politics amused
him the way human nature did; the world in his eyes was
nothing but
contradictions without logic or sense.
 
"I'm sorry I'm late, everyone. I did the best I
could to get here in
time. I hope you understand," the younger of the two
visitors--perhaps
even the youngest person in the room next to Soujiro--apologized
with a
hand over his head, three low bows, a mustachioed smile, and
a shrug of
his shoulders. 
 
"I was expecting a busier schedule today, what with
last week's civil
unrest nonsense putting Japan to a halt and all. Then
again, I promised
the Prime Minister to at least check on you and your
affairs as a favor
to him. I heard you're going to rid our government of yet
another
budding rebellion; I believe Japan has quite enough of
those already."


The younger politician couldn't help but curl his lips
into a snarl
while the older gentleman opposite him exchanged hushed
pleasantries
with Akahori. "On the other hand, I should have expected
_him_ to be
here as well. I do hope that he and his cohorts are doing
fine after 
disbanding their party _just before_ the Chichibu riots
happened. That's
a hell of a coincidence right there, if I do say so
myself. Don't you
agree, Akahori-san?"
 
Akahori choked back a chuckle as he nodded at his guest's
insinuation
before he strode towards a corner of the room just beside
Soujiro, the
windowed door, and the grandfather clock where he could
get a better
view of the upcoming proceedings. Meanwhile, the outspoken
forty-five-
year-old envoy helped himself with the open bottles of
wine before
hearing the person he'd just antagonized speak his mind.
 
"Huh. Is that so? Well, while I'm sure that the Rikken
Kaishinto Party
and the Prime Minister's cabinet are getting their
undergarments up in a
bunch just to pin the blame for the Chichibu incident on a
disbanded
party, the nation's widespread sentiment of dissatisfaction
is hardly
the fault of just one party," countered Akahori's
oldest friend and 
confidant, a forty-nine-year-old diplomatic veteran who
also supported
the cause of the Jiyu Minken Udo under the banner of the
now-defunct
Jiyuto Party.
 
"Yes, because inciting rebellion among disgruntled
peasants is the right
way to go about addressing their woes. Nothing solves the
problems of
hunger, debts, and the high cost of living better than
outright,
mindless violence," came the rebuttal of Akahori's
junior by just one
year, his tone raised an octave higher and his face
flushed with the 
anticipation of running an opponent through with the
sharpness of his
tongue.
 
"Of course, I should have expected as much from a
person who plays on
both sides of the fence. Because of what happened in
Chichibu, every
member of the Liberal Party should be tried for treason,
especially when
one considers the fact that they're even willing to take
_criminals_
under their wing."
 
Fully aware of his compatriot's attempts at baiting him
into an
embarrassing temper tantrum, the aged diplomat stiffened
his neck, paced
towards the door, glanced at the paintings on the walls
as he gathered
his thoughts, halted, turned around, and carved through
every last
logical discrepancy of his tormentor's arguments with
utmost impunity.
 
"Who's the criminal here? I myself have never conspired
against my
country or gotten involved in any embarrassing scandals,
so I have
nothing to hide from the Prime Minister or the Emperor.
Besides which,
I'm a _Choshu_ diplomat, so I have no vested interest in defending
the
innocence of the Jiyuto save for the sake of objectiveness."
 
He took a step forward, snatched his attacker's wine
glass away, and put
it on a nearby table to get the alcoholic's undivided
attention. "So
much for the administration's claims that the Jiyuto was
responsible for
the Jiyu Minken Udo's little coup. Then again, the logic
leap they've
taken in order to link the rebels acting in the name of
the Freedom and
People's Rights Movement together with the Liberal Party because
they
both have the word 'jiyu' in their names is nothing short
of brilliant.
Indeed, this is our leaders at work right there."
 
"That's the stupidest retort I've ever heard. With
all due respect to an
elder of your stature, I couldn't disagree more with what
you're
insinuating," the younger elected official hissed
through his gnashed
teeth and rictus grin. 
 
The elder of the two debaters opened his mouth to
protest, but his
unspoken words shrunk back and sought refuge behind his
throat in the
face of the forty-five-year-old man's methodical
onslaught.
 
"You're a self-admitted member of the Jiyu Minken Udo,
your status as a
Choshu diplomat be damned. Ergo, your assertion that the
Jiyuto is being
unfairly treated is a false premise because the Chichibu
rebels
themselves have directly attributed their actions under
the banner of
your precious Freedom and People's Rights Movement. Don't
deny it, and
don't try to spin this fact into something that's
actually beneficial to
you and your political career!"
 
The older statesman--the oldest one in the room, in
fact--kept his voice
heard despite the rising volume of his fellow guest's own
intonation. "I
don't deny my involvement with the Jiyu Minken Udo. I
also don't deny
that what those peasants did was unjust or illegal.
However, they're
merely a symptom of the general discontent of the entire
country that
must be addressed, lest the Meiji Government goes the way
of the
Shogunate in the face of this new age."
 
"Oh please. It's your liberal propaganda that's
encouraging peasants and
the working class to choose treason over patriotism! The
radical and
extremist ways of the Jiyuto is not how Japan will meet
the dawn of the
new century! Traditional values must be kept, or else we
might as well
let the foreigners run roughshod through our country with
their
exploitative treaties and whatnot!"
 
"You're overreacting. I myself as well as many
others in the Jiyuto
Party are opposed to the unequal treaties. In fact, the
reason why so
many peasants revolted from the get go is partly because
of the lack
of action in that front as well as the extreme amounts of
debts they've
acquired because of our high taxes."
 
"Are you now acting as the spokesman for these
criminals? Have a bit of
dignity; abandon your misguided beliefs so that you can
still save
face."
 
The elder had had enough of his inferior's insinuations.
"Criminals?
Save face? That's rich coming from a man with an actual
criminal
record! I'd ask you to clean up your act, but there's no
way that'll
happen because you just can't clean _dirt_. You should thank
your lucky
stars that you're part of the Prime Minister's clique, or
he would've
booted you off his cabinet long ago!"
 
"All right, I've heard enough," Akahori
interrupted his visitors as he
made them sit down on the nearby chairs and poured them a
couple of
drinks. "At times, it seems to me that all I really
need to keep me up
to speed is to have you two quarrel over the latest
issues. But we've
gotten to the point where we're drudging up ancient
history, so it's
best that we let the matter drop for now."
 
Akahori stooped down at the edge of his seat, interlinked
his gloved
hands together, and let the glint of his spectacles
shield his probing
eyes. "Now tell me, Inoue-kun. Kuroda-kun. As you
can see, you're the
only two of many who are supposed to be here in my little
mock meeting.
What brought you two all the way here in Nagano despite
the threats to
my life?"
 
 
===
 
 
Meanwhile, at the edge of the Nagano Prefecture's
territory, a speeding,
horse-drawn carriage holding a VIP of sorts headed
straight into the
mansion located at the outskirts of Shinshushin.
 
"Miss Akahori, we're about to approach your father's
mansion. It's just
a few more miles from where we are," the long-haired,
pony-tailed driver
of the stagecoach shouted amidst the thunderous thud of
hooves.
 
A ghostly pale girl with blank, slate-gray eyes and creamy,
milk-white
hair idly nodded before staring at the glass pane that
framed the blur
of sight and sound outside of it. Her smooth, soft skin
shone in stark
contrast to the crimson sedan chair she nestled herself into
like ivory
wrapped in velvet. 
 
"Thank you," the girl gently droned at the
lanky and limber person
sitting atop the coach's perch in an even monotone. Her
previous
attempts at introducing some sort of emotion into her
inflection were
met with horrendous results, so she believed she was actually
doing him
a small favor by sounding "nonchalant".
 
Her socked-and-sandaled feet rested firmly on the cushioned
floor while
her untouched lap cloth formed a puddle of fabric beside
her. A pair of
dark-tinted sunglasses given to her as a gift by some foreign
dignitary
whose name she'd long ago forgotten lay in the middle of the
cloth.
 
Her ashen irises moved back and forth in a frantic pace, making
it hard
for her to focus her vision on any particular place or object.
Her line
of sight eventually traveled from the window to the driver
in a pendulum
of involuntary motion even as she shielded her eyes with
her long, ivory
hands whenever a particularly bright glare shimmered from
outside the
carriage window. 
 
The tinted spectacles she had available served as her typical
shield
against the unforgiving sunlight. However, her other pair
of glasses--
the clear, prescription ones--transformed the things around
her into
vivid yet crooked parodies of themselves for some reason,
so she
ultimately decided against wearing any glasses if she
could help it.
 
Oh right, she almost forgot; she was also being kidnapped
by her own
driver. That wasn't originally part of her weekly itinerary,
but she was
willing to accommodate this circumstance into her schedule.
After all,
it couldn't be helped.
 
It had already been three days since she and her coachman
left the docks
of Aomori. Neither of them had talked about the
kidnapping issue, but at
that point of their journey, neither of them needed to.
At least, that
was how the Akahori daughter viewed it; she couldn't speak
for her
kidnapper.
 
She should've suspected something was wrong as soon as
she noticed no
other hired help present at the wagon's dickey box. There
was no footman
on the footboards, no outrider escorting them to clear
the way, no
shotgun messenger to act as a guard, and not even a
faithful carriage
dog scampering beside the stagecoach. Yes, her father
tended to dote on
her in every conceivable way a wealthy man would; she
wasn't oblivious
to that fact, at least.
 
Moreover, she should've been more suspicious of the one coachman
that
offered her a ride from the harbor of Tsugaru, Aomori all
the way to
the distant region of Shinshushin, Nagano. None of her
other servants
dared disobey her father's implicit orders to keep her
from straying
away from the waterfront, so she shouldn't have been so
trusting of her
overeager driver.
 
In spite of this, none of her attendants were
particularly helpful in
her desire to not be imprisoned in the inn near the
Aomori docks and to
be at her father's side at this critical juncture of his
political
career, so she figured she might as well take up her enthusiastic
would-
be kidnapper on his offer. She reckoned that if she had
that dedicated a
captor, then she might as well humor him, abduction be
damned.
 
Sure, she _could_ give her coachman the benefit of the
doubt; maybe he
was a genuinely inexperienced-to-the-point-of-criminal-negligence
manservant who was willing to risk his livelihood in
order to
accommodate the whims of a spoiled little girl and fulfill
a misplaced
desire to help reunite father and daughter together
during such an 
inauspicious time, but she wasn't nearly that naive or
optimistic.
 
The convolution of their eventual escape--which involved
a carriage ride
from the Tsugaru docks to the nearest train station, an
overnight train
ride from Aomori to Fukushima, a short rendezvous at
Kanto's Gunma in
order to retrieve a horse-and-buggy they used to travel
right up to Ueno
before discarding that vehicle in favor of an
expensive-looking
stagecoach they used to drive across the border--clinched
it for her.
The garden-path setup of their travel details seemed a bit
_too_
familiar to her for her tastes.
 
In the end, she decided to play along with her subjugator's
game,
enjoying the benefits of food and travel up until the point
where he
chose to reveal himself to her. She cooperated all
throughout that
time, which suited the both of them just fine. Being
accustomed to
long stretches of awkward silence allowed her to see just
how good her
latest hostage taker was at his work.
 
To his credit, the coachman was at least hospitable. Perhaps
she was
being too hard on him, since he was doing quite well for a
person
who was obviously rushing to meet some sort of deadline.
She afterwards
wondered when they would have lunch. She usually ate like
a bird, but
taking a break during an almost uninterrupted journey would've
been a
nice change of pace.
 
"You're a dutiful daughter, aren't you? It's such a
shame that you ended
up with an inhuman monster for a father,
Rin-ojou-sama," the driver
drawled in a rather straightforward manner, which mildly disappointed
Rin--not because of his words, but because she was
looking forward to at
least a few more hours of respite.
 
Rin's "frowning" mouth moved barely an inch
southward; otherwise, her
expression remained the same. She'd hoped that their
charade would've
lasted a while longer--at least until dinner--but alas,
her captor
eventually decided to act upon his well-prepared yet painfully
obvious
plans. And for her, nothing telegraphed a kidnapper's intent
better than 
telling her outright how much he hated her father. It was
almost a
tradition for them to do so.
 
"I suppose this is the part where you reveal that
you're kidnapping me
as revenge against my father," Rin mentioned with
nary a flinch or a
blink, peering at the man who served as her escort for
nearly a week
straight with shaky irises. "If not, then my
apologies for my
presumptuousness. Is there any particular reason why
you're airing your
grievances right now of all times?"
 
The carriage driver moved his head back, held his hand
over half of his
face, and barked three measured laughs before taking
proper hold of
the horses' reigns. "You already knew? For how long
have you known?"
 
Rin narrowed her eyes in an attempt to get a better view
of her driver
and hostage taker. Depending on the distance between her
and what she
stared at, she'd either see a perfectly clear picture or perceive
just
parts of it while the rest remained completely blurry.
 
"I'm not totally blind. You were all too keen to
offer me a ride to
Shinshushin when I asked for one. You probably would've
taken me by
force if I hadn't volunteered, so I offered you the path
of least
resistance. You were hired as one of my newest bodyguards
just a few
weeks ago. My father has been known to lose all sense of
logic when it
comes to protecting me, so kidnappers pretending to be my
bodyguards has
somewhat become the standard modus operandi against us
for quite
sometime."
 
The both of them remained exactly the way they were, with
the coachman
maintaining his control over the galloping horses and Rin
sitting
perfectly still on her seat, her relaxed voice in perfect
contrast to
her controlled breathing and motionless body.
 
As an afterthought, Rin consoled, "Don't
misunderstand. You were among
the better kidnappers I've ever seen. It's just that I've
seen better;
it's not your fault. Of course, I've seen much worse, so
you've done
quite well."
 
The faux-manservant chortled at his prisoner's conceit
even as she
attempted to either comfort him or rub salt in his
painfully transparent
scheme. "So why did you play along to my sham for
such a long time if
you already knew the truth?"
 
"I have lots of reasons. I don't want to be hogtied
at the back of a
carriage for one thing, and I don't want to be carried
along like
luggage for another. I can't vouch for your
trustworthiness, but my
gamble paid off, and I wasn't hurt in the least so
far," Rin remarked
evenly while staring at the floor, unused to making eye
contact for an
extended period of time. "Also, this is the fastest
and easiest way to
get to my father. Thank you for your help, by the
way."
 
"Ha. That sounds halfway logical. Still, do you
really love the devil
that you call your father _that_ much?" The gangly coachman
sneered.
"You're braver than you look. Any number of
horrifying things could've
happened to you in this journey. Are you really so
innocent, arrogant,
or stupid to think that you can manipulate your kidnapper
to do whatever
you want?"


"Don't take this the wrong way, but there's nothing
you can possibly do
to me that would scare me in the very least." For a
girl who wasn't used
to making eye contact, her stare pierced right through
the driver's
insides.
 
"You almost sound like you're threatening me."
 
"I'm just stating a fact."
 
The man clucked his tongue over his mouth in a manner reminiscent
of a
house gecko, his shoulders squared and his line of sight still
trained
on the road. "Fair enough. You saved me the trouble
of having you bound
and gagged. You have my thanks as well. Lord knows that you
stand out
like a sore thumb regardless... No offense. But don't
worry, Ojou-sama;
I'll take you to your father. God willing, you'll help me
make sure that 
justice is served without anyone else getting hurt."
 
"That's a strange sentiment coming from a criminal. Who
exactly are
you?" Bees and hummingbirds had more variation in the
buzz of their
fluttering wings than Rin had with her voice.
 
"Oh, that's right. You've impressed me so much by your
powers of
deduction that I thought you've already figured out who I
am," the
carriage driver supposed with a chin rub and an
irremovable smirk. He
turned towards Rin, took off his cap and ponytail, and
let loose three-
feet worth of luxurious burgundy hair; his war banner
that flowed and
danced with the wind.
 
"You don't need to know my name, but for all intents
and purposes, I am
the Hitokiri Battousai," he introduced as he took
hold of the young
maiden's limp wrists, his calloused hand sporting a strange
hole in the
middle of its palm.
 
"The Battousai Group," she limply ascertained.
She would've looked
surprised if she could, but only for the benefit of her
kidnapper. Then, 
without so much as a warning or a moment's hesitation,
she snatched the
"hitokiri's" collar, tugged and popped the
buttons off of his vest,
kicked the door of her coach, grabbed hold of her shawl
and her colored
bifocals, and jumped out of the moving vehicle.
 
"R-Rin-ojou-sama...!" the androgynous Battousai
doppelganger sputtered
by instinct before halting the horses' momentum with a
tug of the reigns
and a mighty shout of "WHOA!" 
 
The abrupt stop caused the undercarriage to splinter and
break from the
strain, the wear-and-tear of traveling with only
intermittent breaks
from Kanto to Chubu taking its toll on the wheels, axles,
and chassis.
Providentially, the skidpan and the lancewood shafts was
able to keep
the rickety stagecoach together long enough for the
Battousai
impersonator to leap away from harm.
 
He landed seconds before the matchbox carriage crashed
into a birch tree
and broke into a thousand pieces of screaming wood and
sawdust, the
liberated thoroughbreds stampeding straight into the
neighboring
wilderness without direction or purpose.
 
"Like father, like daughter," was the lesson
that the fake Battousai
learned just now. Tracing the horse-and-carriage tracks
back to the
place where the intrepid Rin made her daring escape, the blood-haired
man with a large scar shaped like a crucifix over his
exposed chest
resolved to make use of his passable medical knowledge to
search for his
mortal enemy's greatest weakness. 
 
For example, he inferred that he should head for the
shadiest part of
the forest, complacent with the knowledge that a
half-blind young woman
with a biological distaste for sunlight shouldn't be very
hard to find,
especially in this sweltering mid-afternoon heat.
 
 
===
 
 
In the inner sanctum of Akahori's guestroom--a place that
doubled as the
curtain-bearded man's study, which was why it was filled
to the brim
with the typical trimmings of books, shelves, cabinets, a
grandfather
clock, chairs, luxurious carpeting, tables, candelabras,
candle sconces,
a fireplace, expensive portraits, windowed doors leading
straight to the
terrace, and more--the Oyakata's fellow politicians had already
settled
down and took their respective seats, engaging in calmer chitchat
that
slowly but surely progressed from trivial to grave.
 
"How does it feel to be a big fish in a small
pond?" Kaoru Inoue, an
arrow-mustachioed diplomat about two years older than Akahori,
asked
congenially as he stirred his drink by waving his wine
glass around an
imaginary circle.
 
Akahori snorted and rolled his eyes. "All the other
so-called big fish I
know have stayed clear of this place because of tonight's
looming
threat. I had to abandon all pretenses of having a
meeting halfway
through my preparations against the announced
assassination, seeing that
I only have you two attending so far."


The brush-mustached and slightly balding Count Kiyotaka Kuroda
cleared
his throat, pouring himself and Akahori two glasses of what
he
identified to be rare European-style wine made mostly
unavailable to the
East because of the phylloxera plague that ravaged Western
vineyards at
the time. The shortage forced Japan to create their own
small-scale,
non-rice-based alcohol production line through imported
vine stock. In
any case, the wine connoisseur figured he might as well
show his
appreciation of the expensive alcoholic beverage by savoring
it to the
last drop.
 
Akahori turned his attention to his former fellow compatriot
from
Hokkaido while Inoue quietly sipped his drink. "Is
it foolishness or
bravery that brought you here, Kuroda-kun?"
 
Kuroda chuckled for a couple of seconds before halting
altogether. "I
should ask you the same question. It's amazing how you
were able to
organize everything despite being the target of
ultra-religious rebels,
Akahori-san. Most other people in your shoes would have
taken a foreign
diplomat post overseas. You're either amazingly brave or astoundingly
foolish--maybe both."
 
"Please, call me Akahori-kun. You're only two years
younger than me,"
Akahori insisted by patting and clutching Kuroda's
shoulder before
letting go, opening up a bottle of sake this time around,
and refilling
Inoue's empty glass.
 
The rigidity of Kuroda's back gradually softened as he
slouched on his
cushioned chair. "As for you, you don't look a day
over forty. What's
your secret? I do hope that when I get to your age, I'll become
that
spry a forty-seven-year-old man! I don't know you do
it."
 
Kuroda swayed forward before catching himself. "Nevertheless,
the fact
that you were able to influence so many officers to join
your cause even
in these dire times of civil disobedience and peasant rebellions
is
quite the remarkable feat," the count took note as
he downed his glass
of red wine in one shot.
 
Akahori's spectacles glinted, the light from the nearby
windowed doors
obscuring his eyes and overall facial expression.
"Is it now? Yes, it is
fascinating. But it's not as fascinating as seeing the
former head of
the Satsuma domain come all the way here to have drinks
with the man
whom he hates the most."
 
Kuroda paused for a minute. "Nonsense! I don't hate
Inoue-san at all!"
 
The Oyakata sniggered, and Kuroda laughed along with him,
the latter's
eyes wide and darting all over the place. 
 
In stark contrast to Inoue's earlier confrontation with
Kuroda, the
elder statesman served as Akahori's mediator of sorts this
time around.
"Now, now, Akahori. Kuroda-kun is merely doing what
is expected of him.
He's as loyal and dependable as our late comrade,
Kawaji-kun, was."
 
"May he rest in peace," Kuroda murmured by
reflex before beaming with
gratitude towards the conciliatory Inoue. "Thank you
for such high
praise; I feel honored to be compared to such a great man!"
 
Even with his shiny, obscuring glasses, Akahori's sharp sneer
was
unmistakable. From there, the Oyakata barked with laughter,
which
compelled Kuroda to scrunch his face with furrowed eyebrows
and a
wrinkled forehead.
 
"Yes, Kawaji-kun will be sorely missed. Because he'd
served as Okubo-
dono's shadow for all these years, then perhaps some of Okubo-dono's
greatness must've rubbed off on him! Why, the fact that
he became such a
'major' player during Shishio Makoto's coup d'etat practically
gives him
the license to have a statue made after him, even! It's a
pity then that
no politician dares to even mention Shishio's name to the
general public
nowadays."
 
"Are you trying to say something, Akahori-san?"
Kuroda queried, gripping
the arms of his chair and making his clenched fists' knuckles
turn
white, his nails digging hard into the wooden finish.
 
"Nothing of the sort. Nonetheless, I am concerned about
how Ito-dono and
Yamagata-dono are treating you, Kuroda-kun. Have they
sent you to this
meeting to find out just why I was able to get the
cooperation of the
Tokyo Metropolitan Police? Or are you doing this to curry
favor with
them in order to regain the credibility you've lost after
the Hokkaido
Colonization Office Scandal?" the Oyakata supposed
as he rubbed his
bearded chin with a gloved thumb.
 
Kuroda stood up from his seat, his nostrils flaring and
his body as
motionless as an untouched landmine. He felt his face
numb up, the room
spinning slightly at the edge of his vision. However, he
made no attempt
to give Akahori a piece of his mind, demand an apology,
or even hiss,
"I don't like your tone of voice, Akahori-san."
 
"You shouldn't worry about your shortcomings _too
much_, Kuroda-kun.
I've once heard that the person who is usually punished is
never the one
who did the deed. He is always the scapegoat. Lucky for you,
you have
enough friends in high places to keep you in office for a
long, long
time. Who knows? Perhaps you'll even get to run this
country someday.
You never know," Akahori spewed his backhanded words
of encouragement
with the glibness of a salesman.
 
Kuroda let out a low growl, but did nothing else. This
was neither the
time nor the place for such shenanigans, the fallen statesman
reckoned.
Conversely, had his slackened tongue not rolled into his throat
just
then, he would've lambasted Akahori then and there. Besides,
there was
no need to confront a man who was, for all intents and
purposes, already
dead.
 
The Meiji Oligarchy had abandoned Akahori to be fed to the
wolves,
knowing full well that no matter what scheme or contingency
plan the
infamous Oyakata of Hokkaido came up with, there was no
escaping the
wrath of the religious rebel whose sword style even resembled
the one
used by Hitokiri Battousai--or so Kuroda deemed, anyway.
 
Toshimichi Okubo's immediate successor for the Satsuma
leadership
inwardly considered the events as karmic revenge against
the man who'd
helped ruin his political career altogether; the
sniveling whistleblower
who conspired with the leader of the Rikken Kaishinto conservatives
in
order to embarrass and dishonor the Ito Administration by
revealing a
fraudulent scheme it had to sell government assets to Hokkaido.
 
Kuroda knew that he was in the wrong and that he deserved
his fall from
grace, but he also knew for a fact that Akahori himself
was part of the
whole operation before he snitched about it and got away
from the
scandal scot-free. By the count's estimations, seeing the
smug snake
finally get his due was worth the lengthy trip down to
the remote
Nagano Prefecture.
 
After composing himself for a minute or so, Kuroda
stiffly clarified,
"The Prime Minister and the Defense Minister has
nothing to do with my
being here, Akahori-san," as he clutched his throat
and smiled for
exactly two seconds.
 
Before the self-righteous Akahori could interject yet
another implied
insult at Kuroda and incur the ex-Satsuma leader's
rumored drunken
wrath, Inoue remarked, "My, my, Akahori-dono! You make
it sound like
Kawaji-kun was some sort of Okubo sycophant, my friend! That
couldn't
be further from the truth. Kawaji-kun has done quite a
lot in keeping
the government stable and intact after Okubo's
assassination. Our
present Prime Minister would've had his hands full had our
comrade
not followed through the late Okubo-dono's mission to
borrow Himura-
kun's strength to repel the Shishio uprising."
 
"Is that so? It wasn't my intention to portray
Kawaji-kun as anything
other than the hero he truly is or was, Inoue,"
Akahori indirectly
apologized while giving the livid Kuroda a token glance.
"I wouldn't
dare risk raising the ire of any Ishin Shishi supporters.
Perish the
thought."
 
"Please, Akahori. There are no more bakufu or Ishin
Shishi in this day
and age. Only politicians," Inoue corrected as he
put his half-empty
wine glass down on the nearby table.
 
"Oh, that's right. There have been quite a lot of
people who'd rather
refer to the former Ishin Shishi as members of the Choshu
and Satsuma
clans even though both Okubo-dono and Katsura-dono have
long ago passed
away. Saigo-dono himself turned out to be a traitor to
our new
government. As such, in some politicians' minds, there's a
big
difference between the 'true' Ishin Shishi and what's
left of them in
the Ito Administration." Akahori stroked his
chin-beard as he paced
around the room.
 
Despite Inoue's best attempts at compromise and because
of Akahori's
roundabout insults of Hirobumi Ito's governance, Kuroda felt
obliged to
slump back to his seat, cross his arms, and comment, "It's
also
regrettable that Akahori-san is among those in the
oligarchy who
approved of handing out pardons to the surviving members of
Shishio's
troop. I mean, it's really lucky for him that all the
brave policemen
he has gathered here today aren't privy to that information.
Who knows
how they'd react to such a controversial issue once it's
brought up?"
 
Akahori could only tilt his head as he looked over the
irate count's
shoulder. Noticing the older man's stare, Kuroda instinctively
turned
around, only to have his sweat turn cold upon noticing
the beaming, 
indecipherably blissful face of Soujiro Seta--Okubo's
true murderer. At
the back of his mind, he could almost hear Akahori mention,
"Give anyone
enough rope, and he'll calmly hang himself," as he gulped
and retreated
into his suit's stiff collar.
 
"There are men who become great because they
surround themselves with
other great men, lifting themselves together in new
heights of
excellence. Then again, there are those who beat their
own path by
using the circumstances they've been dealt with to define
their own
greatness," Akahori glibly declared, sitting down on
the chair at the
back of his desk, his back hunched forward, and his hands
forming a
steeple in front of his face.
 
 
===
 
 
Next: Shogi piece arrangement.
 
To tell you the truth, the Togakudan is a shout out to a
rather
infamous filler episode in the Rurouni Kenshin anime. The
one
involving Sanosuke and a dog. However, unlike their
Kenwadan
counterparts, the Togakudan aren't wearing
"Kunimitsu" cat masks
of "Tekken" fame.
 
Also, Suwa is an actual place found in Shinshushin, but
Nojiri
isn't. Moreover, the "That's a hell of a big word!"
quote
originated from a "Whose Line Is It Anyway?"
joke. Man, I love
that show. Ryan and Colin are natural-born comedians. Finally,
the quote about Yahiko realizing the source of Kenshin's
strength
comes straight from the Rurouni Kenshin manga, during the
Jinchu
Arc.
 
Disclaimer: All characters used in this fanfic (save some
others) 
are the rightful property of Nobuhiro Watsuki and Sony. This
disclaimer also covers all the other copyrighted material
that
are far too many to mention here. Don't sue me please,
I'm very
poor.
 
Wala na akong masabi,
Abdiel