Archive of Our Own

Kabuki-chou is a haven for hoodlums, merchants, dealers, the riches, the homeless, rebels, police… A mix pot of every taste society can offer, a fabric stained with all kinds of unwashable gravies whose stank you can only brandish walking around these streets. Naturally, it is also a place where people’s lives hang like crops on the field, out in the open for crows and rodents to peck at. If one wants to survive in this pandemonium, one must have a cunning head and a screwy enough attitude to survive, to be the smaller seeds refuging within the leaves. Just enough though, so as not to be caught in the frenzy.

“Hey, have you heard? About the Jouishishi.” A male voice whispered in the dead of the night.

“Those casted away samurais? Yeah, isn’t the Katsura faction cooking up something?”

“Shhh! Idiot! Keep your voice down. Do you want your head cut off? There are rumours about them planning another attack, we should steer clear for the time being.”

“Tch. What a pain in the neck. Don’t those bastards know when to give up…”

The two men, engrossed in their surreptitious conversation, fail to notice a drunk retching by a pole nearby. 

Hugging his now empty belly, the drunk laments through his hazy stupor, “Even ghosts of war have come back to haunt the living… gosh, what has this world come to…”

…

This is not a place for the naives. Even more, this is not a place for a child with little to no defense. Shinpachi, unfortunately, overlooks this fact. That’s his mistake number one.

“Don’t step in my bar ever again!”, shouts the enraged manager as he hurls the bruised body of the 16-year-old boy out of the threshold. Shinpachi hits the ground with a loud “thwack”. Seeing the boy who just ‘rudely spilled their orders’ get ‘the discipline’, the Amantos chuckle behind the wall as his previous employer fawns over them with flattery. 

The sweet farce is so disgustingly forged that Shinpachi wanted to click his tongue and spit. However, he is more on the civil side of the spectrum, and also doesn’t want another fist to the face, so he resists the urge. Those assholes definitely deserve it, though. 

Now there is an even bigger problem at hand. Their secondary source of income is gone with the wind. Big sis won’t be happy. Both of their earnings combined barely scratch the overdue debt imposed on the dojo their father left behind. With him jobless, they aren’t capable of affording it.

“Ahhh, what do I do now… Big sis will kill me…”

The young boy groans as he braces the upcoming rumble in his stomach. He hasn’t eaten for the day. And with the bad news, he would probably miss dinner, too, since Shinpachi would go in hiding for tonight. Then the thought of charred eggs and vegetables pulled from another dimension beats down the idea. Otae can’t be entrusted with the kitchen, otherwise, not only would they starve, they would also be homeless. Even though it seems to be already at the deep end, the golden rule of the thumb is: situations can and will get worse.

Begrudgingly, Shinpachi dragged himself in the direction of Koudokan dojo. 

Really not looking forward to his sister’s fury right now, he strolls on the long, winded way. Gears in his head turning. He needs to concoct a plan to break the news to Otae, one which would leave him breathing by next morning, and hopefully with most of his bones intact. He can’t be too direct. That's a one-way ticket straight to hell. A story might work as a cover to an indirect distressing reveal, but it could easily be countered with the usual, “how’s work today?” Right… a different strategy then, a diversion, perhaps. Shinpachi can show up a little battered to stir sympathy from his sister. Otae isn’t cruel, just a little aggressive. Surely, she would take priority to treat his wounds rather than pushing about work. Then he can slowly break the news to her. 

That should do it. Shinpachi is roughed up, a few more external injuries would be a piece of cake, he only needs to…needs to… Is there anything that can cause damage but at the same time not painful? Should he slide off a staircase? That would snap more things than needs to. How about a hammer? Lord have mercy, a staircase sounds less dangerous. Then a stick? Jumping down from a tree? Ah that won’t work, not this, not this…

“Aaaaahhhh!!! It’s all deadends anyway!!!” Frustrated, Shinpachi screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Is there anything troubling you, young man?”

Too caught up in his ultimate plan, the boy fails to realize he had wandered into a trash-filled alley. The stench is starting to tickle the roofs of his nostrils. All sorts of junks stack on top of more junks, pressed together leaving a narrow track to squeeze in. In the middle, a man sat, eyes glancing over with concern.

“I heard the commotion from over there. Will a conversation help with your unease?”

“Oh, I didn’t see you there. Sorry to disturb.” Shinpachi apologetically recoils. The man calmly shakes his head, the staff by his side jingles.

“There is no need, young man. I’m merely a feeble man who listens to the voices of the people. Surely, your story would be one worthy of attention.”

There was something unidentified in the man, the way he suddenly appeared from nothing and presented himself with chivalry. While there is a certain sense of tranquility clinging onto his monk robes, a gut feeling indicates that this man is much more than to meet the eye.

“I just lost my job.” Dejectedly, Shinpachi revealed. It was obvious when the monk had seen it all transpired from the other side of the street. Getting a new job these days is extremely difficult, especially when you are a samurai who is only fluent in the way of the sword, hence that much is enough to bring forth a portion of his struggle.

“I can see that. You must have worked very hard, not to mention dealing with all kinds of troubles associated with this line of work.”, the monk says, understanding. “Customers don’t appreciate your effort enough, the manager doesn’t care about your well-being, you work more than you get paid”, He spares a sympathetic look. “It’s must be a huge disappointment… you can’t buy your DS cartridge!” And inside Shinpachi, something shatters. “Don’t be upset, young one, I can lend you-”

“No, you’re not getting it. It’s not about the cartridge-”

“All little boys dream of a cartridge set of their own. I understand, I have experienced first hand sibling squabble over whose turn to play game-”

“I haven’t mentioned anything remotely related to videogames-”

“And even if you have grown up, men’s hearts are like that of young boys-”

“Would you stop with the cartridge already! It’s you who is obsessed with Bentendo, isn’t it?!”

“Oh, so it’s not DS games? Then would you like some Pocari?”

“It’s not about Pocari!”

“A shame.” The monk relents.

“Well, since you don’t seem so interested, I guess I’ll just leave.” Huffing, the young man turned on his heels. What was he thinking, meddling with some strangers, then letting the precious time for plans to prolong his life went to waste. He is about to turn around the corner when the monk said.

“Is this about your family then?” The certainty in his voice causes Shinpachi to stumble. “Samurais are men of honour. They won’t fret over meagre meals. In fact, samurais should eat meagrely. There ought to be something else at stake.”

The young man turns back in disbelief. What is this stranger saying? Something so far off yet hits too close to home. “I think I should go now.”

“Of course. I won’t stop you. However, isn’t it more sensible to get rid of some of the burden, so you can focus on the solution after?” A pair of sharp eyes peered from under the straw hat, “talking things out is often the go-to remedy, you know?”

The monk scoots to the side and pats on the new space just opened beside him. His perceptive gaze then softens, as if he was inviting an old friend instead of a random kid passing by, the sort of amiability that comes from just family and life-long buddies. For all the shenanigans this man has displayed over the ten minutes Shinpachi knows him, the man does seem to possess wisdom and temperament akin to one of religion.

Shinpachi complies, and recounts his circumstances. In the past, he was a much smaller boy, much more vulnerable. He remembers Otae spread out her arms to shield him from the mean kids in their neighbourhood. Those same arms also embraced him in a safe cocoon, when she stroked his head and whispered, “it’s alright, Shin-chan”. Then came his father who punched them for messing with the kids next door. Father never stopped scowling. Scowled in the face of frugality and his tormentors. Scowled until his dying breath.

“These days, samurais must abandon their swords, but you must never forget the sword inside your soul.” He said on his deathbed, eyes still staring at the sky. The young boy had thought his father had seen something beyond their caging horizon. However, the older he got, the more detached those notions were. All he saw were swarms of debts and an obsolete dojo his father left them.

“Monk-san, do you think the world is unjust?”

The monk closes his eyes and sighs, a sigh long and bitter as though he had seen too much and had heard too much, not just from this barely matured young man, but also from so many more he had crossed paths with. The thumb, which wrapped around his staff, rubs against its corresponding forefinger and the lines on the man’s face tighten.

“To be honest, at this state, the world definitely is. Hence, there are resurgents. An animal driven into a corner will fight back. Nevertheless…”, he rises from amidst the wasteland, “you are still young. There will be many doors opened to you, at the same time just as many pitfalls. And as your pioneers, it’s our responsibility to clear away those pits, so you can reach the door you deserve. For now, young man, protect your sister, and live your life to the fullest. A new sun will dawn on us.”

Shinpachi follows the man’s fluttering robe. His form emanates a sense of dignity, as well as a sturdiness in contrast to his long, soft hair. A realization nags in the back of Shinpachi’s mind, and his eyes widen, “You are a Joui.”

The monk- no, this man is not a monk- smiles at Shinpachi’s inquisitive look. “Hmph. Take care, young man.” He nods and bids farewell. 

Left to his own devices, Shinpachi curls onto himself. The monk was right, talking does do wonders. Well, maybe he doesn’t need any more plans, especially not a definitely-unintentional-and-healthy dose of self-harm. Otae would be furious, but it’s not the end for them. Suddenly, the burden weighing in his chest doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. 

Brimming with a newfound determination, he crawls out of the trash and stands tall on his feet. The sooner this predicament is resolved, the less time he will spend wondering about “could have”s. Shinpachi dashes out of the alley and runs toward home. His body is so light it could fly, and the swelling optimism paints feathers to its metaphorical wings.

That’s his mistake number two. Too blinded by hope to spot incoming sabotages.

A voice shouts “Watch out!”. There are sounds of rubber skittering against bitumen and the world turns black.

…

Next time, he wakes up under an unfamiliar ceiling. He doesn’t ask who he is or where he is. It’s overdone at this point. Instead, he remembers agonizing over which instrument to use on himself. In other words, survival. Well, apparently that’s taken care of, because a marrow-deep sting blossoms in his left ankle as soon as he tries to move. Then aches spread all over his body. Dammit, he’s suing the hell out of whoever’s the careless driver.

“Oi, the glasses boy is awake”, says an old woman by the counter when he readjusts in the seat. Cigarette smoke curls around her face. “Honestly, can you go one day without causing trouble for me? The bar isn’t even open yet, asshat.”

“If you would stop prattling about the damn rent. You’re the reason why I’m beating my ass off running around for errands!” Another voice retorts. This one belongs to a man. When Shinpachi spins around the seat he occupied, a big, dark… mass of black approaches. The thing has the shape of a human, wait… it was a human, more precisely, a man entirely covered in black from head to toe, not a single spot left clean.

“Sorry, kid. The ink covered my eyes so I didn’t see you, and I had a hangover. Though, to be fair, you should have paid more attention. Anyone with half an eye can see a massive, gooey heap of ink speeding towards them, not to mention those big-ass glasses. Technically, it’s largely your fault, so no suing, alright?” Victim-blaming? Alright, this guy is going straight to court.

“Hey!”, the woman scolds as the black thing drips from the man, “don’t dirty my shop. I’m counting the damages together with your rent.”

In response, the black mass kicks air and wiggles his upper limbs, splattering more black liquid all over the place. Then as though that wasn’t enough, the two white dots peeping out of the muddled body glance back, challenging. He was an uncooperative and ill-mannered mass of black. The old woman, who is revealed to be his landlord, drags another smoke and gestures to the back, “you, take care of him”, and the man flinches.

From a room behind, a new, tall man, whose hair glows a peculiar white, emerges. He strides over with an imposing air, and, before his target could flee, effortlessly grabs the ink-drenched man by the collar despite meeting with ferocious retaliation. The troublemaker is promptly kicked out, the front door firmly shuts at his face. As if he just took out the trash, the new man casually dusts off his smudged hands.

“Bastard! I won’t forget this! I’m gonna carve this deep into my memories! It’s here to stay and stay it will ten years later! Just you wait!” There are angry shouts, and consequently, frantic revving of engines, and… pathetic coughing from an exhaust pipe. “Ahh! The ink got in the chassis!” After several other tries, the engine roars to life (though still hacking like a dying cat) and fades off in the distance. The large man remaining retreats to the back of the shop.

Watching it unfold, the old woman clicks her tongue, “That guy is not a thug, but he might as well be one. Can you imagine, running over a kid then leaving him with a broken leg.” Her shrewd eyes turn to look at Shinpachi, “How’s your leg, kid?”

The wretched limb is wrapped in ten-so layers of cast, limply laying on two seats on its own is an answer enough. When he commands it to move as usual, it doesn’t budge. “Of course, the bone is broken.” She says, then calls to the room the man with odd hair color just disappeared to, “And don’t forget the crutch.” 

The woman circles around the counter and settles on the seat by his bandaged foot. She takes time with every of her movement. One can say her age is the factor at play, but Shinpachi reasons it has more to do with preferences: not the type to hurry things. When her current bud burns out, she pulls out another from the black sleeve and lights it. “Well, at least that man had enough heart to bring you here, even if unconscious. Consider it some saving grace from his rotten personality. Had it been some other bastard, you would have a problem, kid.” She pauses, and sighs. “What am I even saying, I can’t expect both of my tenants to be somewhat decent, not when half of those frequenting these streets are criminals.”

The man returns with a tray and a crutch. He offers his employer a cup of tea, Shinpachi a cup of tea, then does some cleaning behind the counter.

“Don’t worry about the medicine and bandage”, the woman sips from her cup, “that ink-squirt disaster will have to pay for those. If your injury acts on, you can ask him a favour, cost-free. It’s his job, anyway. Just come to Snack Otose.”

…

Crutch in hand, Shinpachi staggers home. It takes a while, and is pretty exhausting having to haul a busted leg.

“Koudoukan dojo”, the plate by their gate announces. Yet with such stentorian labels, this place has no students attending for years. No students equals no income. And no income equals the Shimuras have to loft a hefty debt with their own labour. It’s not so bad(anyone would have to pit their bodies for a piece of food), if not for the loansharks.

When Shinpachi enters, he is half-expecting a hurricane of punches from his sister, but what actually happens makes him wish he was punched a thousand times over.

Otae, the sister he knows to be stronger than anyone, is being dragged away by the familiar Amanto, their loan holder. Two of his burly retainers trail behind.

Shinpachi wobbles over, looking ridiculous. The wrapping on his injuries loosens as it cushions his feet with each careless step. And like that, he blocks the way.

“Big sis”. He says. The sentence comes out as a question. Otae doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Oh, isn’t it the little brother? Back from work?”, the sickly green Amanto greets. His welcome fools no one. “Sorry, boy, you’re too late. Your sister already agreed to come with us.”

Shinpachi stares at his sister. Her pink kimono is neat. The brown hair they share is tied up into a ponytail, hardly a strand out of place. Otae is the same as ever, but her darkened gaze is casted downward.

“Where are you taking her?”

“Since you two obviously can’t pay the debt, she’s gonna have to work for me. I even so generously gave you the option to sell the dojo, and for your info, this run-down place doesn’t worth that much.”

“What kind of work?” His fist itches, clenching and unclenching.

The Amanto purses his lips and rolls eyes. He rummages a clinky bag and pulls out a poster. On it is a picture of a voluptuously dressed woman. “Highleg Shabu Shabu. Operates on my spacecraft so the Bakufu dogs won’t come sniffing. Your debt would be cleared after a few years, assuming inflation stays constant, heh heh. And if she wants to continue working, I’ll consider it. Be thankful, you samurais nowadays might just shrivel in card boxes for homes. It's what you deserve anyway-”

The obnoxious smirk disfigures when colliding with Shinpachi’s knuckles. The Amanto lanky, green body flies off the ground and slides an impressive 5 feet, before friction spares it out of pity. Seething with rage, the crutched young man hobbles toward his subject of anger. The cast on his leg threatens to fall off and he could care less. At this point, an arm or a leg wouldn’t matter, as long as this scoundrel hands off Otae.

Of course, the two retainers aren’t just there to be pretty. Before Shinpachi could shove his crutch down the Amanto’s throat, he is thrown to the ground, left at the mercy of his attackers as they repeatedly stomp on him. Every hit. Every pain. This is the fate of samurais. Trampled on, bushido stripped away and desecrated by a newly established era at the hand of invaders. In their own homeland. What a joke.

He hates it, hates it to the bone, the place that has abandoned its own people, abandoned his family and his sister-

A flash of sakura-pink slashes through the air, plunging at the shadows towering over a helpless Shinpachi. Otae strikes with the sadism of a beast, relentless and unforgiving. Even though appearing charitable and soft-spoken at first glance, which she is, if one stays on her good side, Otae earned herself a notorious reputation when the dojo was still open. For this, it baffled Shinpachi why his sister surrendered herself when she had never bent to anyone’s will before. Patience and concession, perhaps, but not docility, and he is proven right when Otae sprung up against their oppressors. Fortunately for the Amantos, they collapse before she can actually, quite literally, tear their heads off.

"Listen here, scums." The woman stares down on the heap of defeated Amantos. "You can take away our home. You can force us into work. You can humiliate us. I was prepared to deal with waste of space like you anyways. But, if you hurt even one follicle on my brother's hair…", she spits, snarling in disgust, "I'll make you pay with blood. Rip out the guts, and feed it to the dogs. It's what you deserve anyway."

“Shin-chan”, she addresses her brother, though still facing away. To guard the front, maybe (but he knows the real reason runs deeper than that), “This dojo was important to father. And what’s important to father is important to me.”

“Big sis… you can’t.”

“This place holds so much of our memories. Everyone, father, Hajime-nii,...you.” Something drips, leaving bruises where it permeates the ground, “It hurts too much to let go. If I’m going to suffer losing it, I’d rather suffer keeping it.” She crouches down, her arms wrap around him protectively, as though he is back to being a little boy who fitted right into her embrace. The intuition of a brother urges the warmth to be returned. All this time, he has been the one receiving. For once, let him reciprocate it. Let him give her his share… But before Shinpachi can loop his arms around his sister, Otae’s voice hardens, “So let me go, Shin-chan.”

The familiar warmth shimmers and slips away from his fingertips. Otae leaves with their loan owners, flashing him a bitter smile.

Shimura Shinpachi's third mistake: he can't do anything by himself.

 …

To put a stop to it, he's going to return to where it began. The vicinity in the afternoon pales in comparison to its counterpart in the morning. Pedestrians have refuged in their homes to avoid the burning heat, which could be felt through a measly sandal weaved out of straws.

His former workplace lies ahead, and Shinpachi crosses the street, hoping to see the person he is looking for. The trash pile doesn't change from a few hours ago, except the heat makes the stench even more prominent. 

"Monk-san~" Shinpachi calls, already knowing the mysterious man is no monk. By pure logic, the presumed Joui should have withdrawn far away from his previous hiding spot, being a wanted fugitive, however, a gut feeling warrants the man is within hearing range. 

"Monk-san." Shinpachi calls again, this time more urgently. A gust of wind walks by, and something clinks behind him. "Y-you really did hear me." A shiver runs through him. It’s kinda creepy.

"You are too confident, young man." The man under a monk disguise smiles fondly under his hat. He pays a cursory glance over Shinpachi. "My guess is something unpleasant happens in between our meetings."

"Monk-san", the young man pleads, "please help me. They got my sister."

"Oh. That's not very good. Did they force your sister to work for them because you couldn’t afford to pay them?" 

“What are you? An Esper?”

“It’s not Esper, it’s Katsura. Considering Yui too had to sell herself to a bunch of vampires, the conclusion is pretty simple. You just need to put two and two together. See, Gintoki-san, I told you even diabolical shoujo visual novels will come in handy-”

“Anyway”, before the conversation can get out of hand, Shinpachi grabs it and stuffs it in a heavy bag. The bag is reserved for unnecessarily verbose dialogues from unfunny funny men. “Monk, no, Katsura-san, please lend me a hand in rescuing my sister from the Amanto. This is what the Jouishishi movements are for, right?”

Jouishishi love to put their words of magnanimity and chivalry on a band and run across the town shouting their slogans, or at least that is what Shinpachi is led to believe. Katsura, however, does not show such interest. 

“Young man, I’ll have you know that by associating with a rebel, you, too, would be considered a rebel by the government. Your sister might be spared, but for you, there’s no turning back.” His low tone underscores the gravity of the decision. The hem of the straw hat sharpens the gaze peering under it. 

Forcing down the lump in his throat, Shinpachi gathers his breath. He knows. He has seen broadcasts of police boasting about their purges: an entire faction decimated in one night, and the new specialised force ransacking Edo like hounds looking for blood. He has seen the black lined with gold uniform the other day, haughtily swinging their Bakufu-distributed swords around as though mocking the old samurai’s banished swords.

“If big sis can live and be happy, I won’t mind joining hands with the Joui.”

No hesitation, even Katsura looks a little surprised, “I see. Very well.” Katsura pats him on the shoulder. “Then I’m looking forward to our collaboration. We should hurry, but first, there’s one thing need to be done.”

“What is it, Katsura-san?” Shinpachi asks, trying to grow accustomed to the name. He sets a small reminder not to mention it in public, though.

“The Shiroyasha. One of the Four Heavenly Kings, a legendary force which came close to checkmate the Bakufu near the end of the Joui war. Renowned for his demon-like prowess and ghastly white appearance, he was feared by both enemies and comrades alike”, the man tells. A light of endearment shines in the way he talks. “I caught wind that a man who fits the description is hiding in Kabuki-chou. With that man on our side, not only would liberating your sister be as easy as a walk in the park, but the Joui will also gain an indispensable ally.” 

“Then are we going to ask for his help?” Shinpachi gulps. Already, he is treading on risky territory.

“Yes.” Katsura replies with as much decisiveness as eagerness, jiggling his staff, signaling the new recruit to follow. Couldn’t help with a newfound sense of adventure as well as uncertainty, the young man chases after the only beacon of light his immature prospect catches. Shinpachi isn’t well-versed in Joui activities, and is even more clueless about this paladin who garners such accolades from Katsura. But even this dubious man idling in a trash-filled alley is more reliable than anyone else he could think of. No one would bat an eye for a mere kid in these streets of hoodlums. 

In his disillusioned mind, this is the only way. 

It was then, by some cruel twist of fate, a blur of black blasts past the crack of the alley and hits Katsura point blank. The poor man screams, catapults like the rocket renowned astronaut N*il Armstrong rode in, ricochets against a speeding truck, twirls several rounds mid-air before being sucked into a lone five-story tall tree which conveniently sits on the side of the road because this ‘accident’ needs a punchline. 

*Thwunk!**Smack!**Crack!* “ACK! My back!”

Unceremoniously receiving the full impact of the fall, Katsura lays and gives up on life. 

“K-Katsura-sannnnn!!!!”, Shinpachi yells in astonishment and waddles over. He holds his new acquaintance’s trembling body.

“Y-young man”, the wounded man spits blood, “find the Shiroyasha *cough**cough*... he… he is our *cough* last hope- BWEHUEHUE!”

“Katsura-sannnnnn!!!!”

“Don’t joke with me”, the culprit of the accident struts over as if life owes him a villa by the beach, “First the hangover, second the squid, and now this?! My pocket is empty and I’m too busy for more bullshit! Ahhh, Ketsuno Ana, forgive me for missing your late-night astrology yesterday!” He rambles on and on, about squids being bad omens and about his deadbeat mopet which might have just caused a homicide. “Hey, glasses! Is that guy still alive?”

Too stunted with a possibly dead body at his disposal, Shinpachi’s head snaps front and back, from the bleeding-out man to the drippy black heap zooming in.

“Be quick, would you? Do you need a lift to the hospital?” The heap of black snatches the body from Shinpachi.

The man in tattered robe doesn’t reply… because OF COURSE he doesn’t! The ocean is blue, Dory is blue, Shinpachi’s life is hella blue, but nothing compares to the deadly blue that is Katsura’s face. The rough way his body is handled causes Shinpachi to wince in sympathy. Imagine how many more bones could be saved if this man is given an actual stretch instead of a massive frustration in human form. The man covered in ink, unfortunately, doesn’t operate on the same logic and proceeds to do the last thing a sane person would do in his shoes.

“Hey, wake up, asshole! I’m asking you!” He slaps Katsura’s blue face.

”He won’t wake up even if you slap him! Actually, he won’t wake up ever!”

The man’s eyes, his only feature visible under thick globs of ink, gazes at Shinpachi’s panic with unfathomable insolence... Then he slaps Katsura again.

“Hey, wake up, asshole. I’m asking you.”

“You did the same thing! How’s that gonna change anything?!”

“Wrong, glasses stand. I changed the intonation, see? From expressive to narrative. Sounds more polite, right?”

“The hell it does!”

Then, by miracle, Katsura stirs. “Ugh…”. His cracked lips mumble.

“Hmmm? What did you say?” The man leans in closer, “Don’t drive me to the hospital”? Are you sure, dude? Your injuries are pretty bad.”

More mumbles.

“”I’ll be fine. Just leave me here”, you say? Okay, suit yourself.” Then he carries the limp body like a sack of potatoes and dumps it in the trash. 

“Mission complete. Back to work.”

Shinpachi slips out his sole sandal and chucks it at the dyed mop of head. “You totally just made that entire conversation up, didn’t you?!” The footwear stays because of the ink, but Shinpachi also thinks it’s because of the man’s sticky personality. 

Undeterred, the man hops on his matching mopet and plucks out the sandal. “Listen kid. It’s been a long day, and my patience is running short. Your friend will be fine, I assure you. Man’s honour. Taking blows like a pancake he did, he didn’t sustain any grave wounds. How do I know? My slaughtered clan have an omnipotent eye that can see through any ninjutsu.”

He steps on the pedal. The engine hacks but revives anyway and takes off, because none of this is his business. He is just a passerby who gets roped in by the sheer absurdity of coincidence. Now leaving the scene behind, it thankfully wouldn’t add any more work to the stockpile with tentacles and a very boisterous mouth that spills black juice for defense mechanism, bestowed on him by a wrinkly fisherman who only has a few coins to spare. 

He would capture the squid, get his payment, call it a day. No more nuisance, no more worries and this writing doesn’t need to get unnecessarily redundant, if not for a sudden additional weight on the backseat.

“What is this now?” The man drawls tiredly.

“Take me to Snack Otose.”

“I meant it when I said my patience is running thin. It has been a long day, and all I want is rest. How about this? You go home, I get my job done and we can call this off until tomorrow, when I have the energy to deal with it, alright? Save you more detergent to wash your pants, too.”

Shinpachi glances down, indeed, the ink has seeped into his hakama. 

“Please, I need to go to Snack Otose.”

“Why should I help?”

“You broke my leg. You owe me one.”

“It’s not like that leg is broken forever. Don’t be a drama queen.”

“Because of it, I couldn’t protect my sister when she was taken away.”

A knot of ink is spitted out of the exhaust pipe, causing the whole vehicle to jerk at once, but Shinpachi’s free hand grabs tightly under the seat, anticipating the rider’s reaction. After a moment, the man says, “Playing the guilt-trip card, aren’t we?”

“Please.” 

The upper part of the dripping heap expands, it keeps there, debating whether the next course of action is worth it, then deflates when air rushes out of the man’s nose. “Fine, the squid is getting more troublesome than my pay is worth anyway.”

…

Snack Otose. The name has a familiar ring. While Kabuki-chou is a mixpot of everything, that isn’t to say there is no hierarchy at play here, quite the opposite. Somewhere as unruly as here attracts all sorts of power-hungry forces, and four of them surface. The four Devas. 

One is Empress Otose.

Though Otose is named only as an old woman who runs a bar and nightly tends to her drunk patrons, even fools know not to reckon with her. Initially, Shinpachi doesn’t understand why. He has only heard about the Devas through rumours. However, now that another name has come into play, the hidden piece of the puzzle shows itself. 

Shiroyasha. The scary man with white hair who works as a bartender there.

The young man slides open the door, and is greeted with the sight of a wrinkled woman in dark kimono. 

“Otose-san! Where is he? The bartender!” He hurries his crutch over. Shinpachi is aware he can be considered rude, barging into someone’s turf and demanding for one man, but he doesn’t have the leisure to sweat over small details right now.

The woman, in contrast, is a picture of calmness. “Him? Out for a job. Should be back in a few hours.”

“He’s out? Where? Please tell me, Otose-san. I need him urgently.”

Rinsing an empty glass, she replies, “Then there’s nothing I can do to help you. He can be anywhere in Edo.”

What does she mean, “anywhere in Edo”? What sort of business would require venturing out of the vicinity of this town? It’s ridiculous. Shinpachi wants to say she’s joking, or even lying. But then for what reason would she hide the truth from him? 

Suddenly, before Shinpachi is a blockade he has no way of breaking.

“I beg of you. The last of my family is in danger. She’s going to do something she will regret.”

“What does my tenant have to do with this?”

“I know that man is strong! I’m a student at a dojo, I can tell!”

“Still, I don’t know.”

“You must have some clue! Isn’t he your employee? Shouldn’t you be aware of where he usually goes?”

He has to find the Shiroyasha. That man is his only hope.

“Sorry, kid.”

Sorry. Oh, right, sorry. When has he heard it? The fake sympathy distant relatives and neighbours paid at the Shimura’s funeral. With the man of the family gone, two children were left behind to fend for themselves. Then the children of those people beat up the siblings. 

Sorry. The loan owner said with a smirk and extorted them.

Sorry. What a meaningless word.

“I see. That’s how it is, huh?”

Otose doesn't even spare a glance. Indeed, this is how people in this place live: apathetic and extremely selfish. It’s a style of survival.

“As long as he protects you, you don’t have to worry a thing, do you? What happens to other poor saps doesn’t matter, does it?”

Like those who benefited from his father’s debts, after they sucked him dry and left him to rot.

“You only need to care about yourself.”

Ken Shimura died with his eyes open, because he couldn’t rest in peace, not when those cornered him were still out there living their best lives.

“All of you… ALL OF YOU IS THE REASON WHY-”

“Oi.”

The old woman lit up another cigarette. She blows out the smoke and taps on the counter, unbothered.

“This kid has a big mouth. He’ll scare off my customers. Do something about it.”

It's no use trying to reason with commoners in this town, when will he learn? He doesn’t know what he was expecting. Huffing, Shinpachi cuts around the entrance, fully intends not to step in this place ever again. 

“Where are you going?” The other tenant chins on his mopet. His question is thrown out casually as if it’s about the weather.

“Since that man isn’t here, I’ll make-do by myself”, he is aware this is leading to yet another mistake, but there is not much else to be done. “You don’t have to chase me out. I’m leaving.”

“Hang on. You are jumping to conclusions here, kid. That baba didn’t ask me to kick you out into the mud, though I’m sure you deserve it.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I’m saying that I’m lending a hand.”

…

And back they are. On the deadbeat mopet. During the short ride, Shinpachi explained to his (begrudging) benefactor what transpired, and warned him about this risky work. The man didn’t seem fazed even one bit. He was more concerned about the ink making an upturned U-shape between Shinpachi's legs and cracked jokes about it. 

“Um, are you sure we are doing this?”

“You are getting help for free. Don’t complain.”

“You owe me first, though. And I still can sue you whenever I want. But as I said”, Shinpachi has already mentioned, highlighted, and underlined multiple times this one point, “the Amantos are armed. Can we go up against them?”

“I may have been reduced to a joke, but I ain’t gonna lose in a spat. Some aliens compare to the drunk old cougars at the hag’s place? Fat chance! Also, weren’t you eager to get yourself decked earlier? Why the scaredy cat now, Shinji-kun?”

“The name is Shinpachi.” He corrects, but indignance dissipates shortly when a fresh rush of shame washes over. Whilst trying to identify the source, his mouth runs on its own. “They have guns. That place is located up high so that the authorities can’t interfere. They won’t hesitate. You can actually,… you know.”

The young man waits for an indignant jab, or a condescending laugh. Instead comes a light snort. “First you condemn us for abandoning your family. Now when someone actually helps, you back down. See the hypocrisy?” Shame is really hard to swallow, Shinpachi realises. Not that the idea never occurs to him. For all the selfishness, all the cruelty, people are just trying to live their lives. He understands, deep down. Otae and Shinpachi have been doing the same thing, scraping scraps left in the barrel and scrambling to get a headstart regardless of underhanded tactics. No one has it easy. Life is just that unforgivable. The thing is, it also gets more tolerable to pin the blame on someone. If no one is at fault, everyone is.

“Don’t get me wrong. The residents in this town certainly are a nasty bunch. Just look at the hag. They are like gravies, smelly stains that won’t be scrubbed off even with triple-power Tide pod. But maybe that’s why you can’t underestimate the gravies. Even the most cloddish hobo is fighting, whether for a piece of rag or to kick some Amanto's ass, the will must not break. Same goes for some shaggy guys who run over people and never take responsibility. There is something to be protected no matter what.”

“You must never lose the sword inside your soul”, Shimura Ken said with his eyes wide open.

“And besides”, the man continues, but it is as though he is speaking into the distance, far, far away, “I won’t die so easily. That’s a promise.”

The travel path narrows as they ride out of the streets into salty air by the harbour. The sight of blue slips into view and attaches itself to the side of the road. In the distance, ships honk after one another, creating an ear-blearing discordance. The harbour is also where spaceships often rest and recharge. One in particular is about to take off.

“That one!” Shinpachi points at the soaring ship. The man pulls the brake and stops the hacking sound by their ears.

“Oh no… How are we going to get there? Big sis!” The young man hollers. He shouts after the ship, as if it’s going to magically hear him and duck down. The man next to him only looks mildly annoyed, possibly at the prospect his new job just increased in difficulty. While a sudden surge in challenge is certainly a pain, nothing beats the screechy wail of a teenager. Pushing a pinky in his tortured ears, the man considers between telling ‘Shinji’ to shut up or whacking him in the head. Before the decision could be made, however, a new character arrives at the scene. 

“Hey, you two are riding together, right?”

An officer curbs behind the unfitted duo. He lowers the screen shield, craning his neck out, “The boy isn’t wearing a helmet. That’s dangerous. It’s gonna hurt a whole lot if you crash, you know? Be responsible and give the kid some proper protection! It’s not that costly- hey!”

The irresponsible adult slaps his ink-drenched flap on the handle, printing an unflattering hand shape in addition with smaller droplets splatter around. To add to injury, the liquid trickles down lazily. It can’t be bothered to at least keep a nice hand shape. 

“My new car! Boss is gonna kill me!”

The side wing flies open. The officer shrieks at the smudge, tears in his eyes, then whips at the culprit…. only said culprit is no longer there but in the driver’s seat.

“Aaaaaand off we go~~”

The patrol car lurches ahead and off into the horizon. Both man and vehicle disappear in a blink of an eye, leaving a distraught police and a very confused Shinpachi. Before he could ask a question, a vrooming sound of engine hovers above and stops by the edge.

“Yo, welcome abroad”, the ‘surrogate’ driver says with the wing door wide open.

“Um… what did you do?” 

“Secure a way to get us both on the ship. Now hop in.”

“I think I just witnessed a crime.”

“It’s not a crime if no human is harmed in the process.” 

“No, I wanna keep my criminal track clean.”

“The moment our butt touched the same seat, we were already partners in crime. Now shut up and get in the car, Shinji!” With a free trip to the police station a mere meter away, the man grabs Shinpachi’s glasses and flees.

Shinpachi’s fourth mistake: his entirety only worths a pair of glasses-

“HEY! Cut it out! I’m not a pair of glasses! Don’t reduce a whole human being to a pair of glasses!

He clings onto the seat just in time the car takes off. Hauling both a crutch and a deadweight leg is no easy task, especially when you are dangling on a shaky car manoeuvred by questionable driving skills. The thing swipes left, right, almost rotates a 180 and back.

“Do you know how to operate this thing?”

“Hang on there, I’m trying to figure it out! I have a driver’s licence”, the man reassures, but he doesn’t sound so convinced himself. “I-it’s all good!” Ink drips down his eyes, and by instinct the eyelids flutter shut everytime a drop manages to bypass the  brittle barrier that is the lashes. Human's evolution has given us monkeys the eyelashes to keep sweat from entering the eye(and woo mates with sparkly eyes even though the personality is a disappointment). Yet despite all these contrived defense mechanisms, the lashes are not infallible and nothing proves this better than thick sloshy ink weighing down the rails and advance.

"It’s alriiiight! The sky is clear! The clouds are bright! Nothing can go wrong- Yuck, I can't see!" He swipes across the eyes. "It stinks, too! What is this? The taste of karma?! Because I called an old man stinky?! That guy must be having a field right now! I always knew he was petty!"

"I don't know what you're talking about but please get this thing going!!"

"It's going!! Just not very stable!!" Not very stable is a massive understatement. 

"Then make it stable!!!"

"I CAN'T!!" The man panics. His blether makes less and less sense. “Come on! Get off of me! I told you it was years ago! Good spirits stay where they are, okay?! Please?!” He reels the wheel like a captain reels his boat… which should not be possible because cars’ control wheels can afford only 2 rotations unlike boats’ which can afford many… He broke the control wheel?!

Shinpachi cries desperately as the patrol car lunges like a mad bull. They are then only a short distance from a collision, and the speed is only ticking up and up.

"We're gonna crash! We're definitely gonna crash! Ahhhhhhh! Aneue!!!!!"

"Pleaseeeee! I’ll give you 300 yennnnnnnnn!!!"

What's inevitable is inevitable. The out of control car smashes into the spaceship in the most sorry manner. Its butt sticking out of the wreckage. Smoke screens the surrounding.

Shinpachi drops off, relieving in the tension leaving his arms and staggers inside. He waves off the dust… and sees his sister struggling under the green alien.

"You scoundrel!" The crutch launches squarely on the alien's face and the slimy thing tears itself off its victim.

"Shin-chan!" Otae briskly gains composure and runs to him. The man accompanying them goes to retrieve the crutch.

"Shin-chan! Shin-chan!" 

"Big sis!"

"Shin-chan…" she opens her arms, ready to take him in, and, "THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, DIMWIT!"

Clinching a big swell just sprouts on his head, the young man yelps.

"What are we gonna do now, you just doomed us, see!?" She grabs Shinpachi by the collar and shakes so hard his head is about to fall off. Otae may not have decapitated her family's tormentors, but Shinpachi isn’t sure he’s gonna survive the same way.

"Big sis *ack* I c-can-t… breath…"

And she hugs him.

"You big idiot."

The large rows of shojis open at once. Ten and twenty guns point at them, all ready to fire. The Amanto he just punked holds his nose and retreats behind his retainers, safe behind rows of poised violence. Otae squeezes her brother a little tighter.

“Tch. I warned you. Stupid samurai.”

"Hey now, gentlements. Let's not, shall we? Can we resolve this with same old conversations? No one gotta get hurt." The man raises two hands placatingly, trying to dissolve the tension.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Just some passing good-for-nothing. We mean no harm, alright? Just gonna fetch our lady here and scram.” The man inches in closer, inserting himself between the siblings and the Amantos. His hand goes on the hip, but it only stays there, doing nothing in particular.

The Amanto, on the other hand, arrogantly flexes his chin.

“Well, then I gotta bid my sorry.” Barrels cock at them, “Cardbox rats who sneak onto my paradise will not be spared.”

They aim to hit anything vital. Without any law enforcement in sight, these Amantos can do whatever they want. If some bumpkins are gonna mess with the business, the fastest way is to get rid of them, then erase all the traces. When you’re in someone’s ship, you play by their rules… except before any gunman can pull the trigger, a clean flash cuts through and the attackers fall in one swoop.

In the man’s hand is a long object, colored the same as the rest of his body, except it appears much more solid. A sword, perhaps? That man has been carrying a weapon the whole time!? If the ink can hide an entire sword, what else can that man hide under his belt?

“You- you are…” A samurai.

“Hurry up, Shinji. Get your sis and run!” More backups arrive at the scene, but they don’t stand a chance. In the blink of an eye, the man is already at their tiptoes, bashing with a force enough to snap steel, leaving the victims crumpled like dry leaves. The dark blur sweeps from target to target, erratic with seemingly nonexistent rhythm, efficiently taking down enemies. The retainers pile in, only to be wiped out in a maelstrom. Their number caps at a battalion at most, but it is as if even an army won’t be enough to stall this frenzy. Upon seeing such savagery, only one thing comes to mind…

A demon. 

“His style is so… fierce.” Otae mutters. Unfortunately, they don’t have the time to admire such bizarre swordsmanship. There’s a ship to be escaped from and her brother can’t run. 

“Big sis!?” 

“Hang on tight, Shin-chan. It’s gonna be a ride.”

Taking advantage of the gap created, Otae sprints past the Amantos with Shinpachi protesting on her back. 

“Quiet down. You have been screaming this whole story and I bet the audiences are tired of it.”

“It’s not fair! Everyone has been so cool except for me! Even that random man turns out to be such a badass! What do I do? I’m the main focus of this story and have been portrayed as nothing but a whiny kid!”

“You are indeed a whiny kid”, she kicks an Amanto into the wall and keeps on her stride, “I mean, if not you then who else is feisty enough to be the straightman?”

“Bis sis. This is the part where you said something encouraging.”

“Ah, right. But that’s kinda cliché, isn’t it?”

Shinpachi doesn’t bother to retort. That would make this cliché scene even more cliché, which makes a bigger point that it’s time to close this boring fic and do something more productive. Really, the author doesn’t have a knack for writing and characters suffer for it. Shinpachi should just throw the towel at this point, throw away all the pretentiousness of a protagonist and do the first thing that comes to mind. He loops his arms around Otae’s shoulders, whilst her hands support his weight. The siblings, together through thick and thin. Well, it's not his ideal scenario, but this would do it. 

"It's not such a bad thing, really, being feisty and whiny. Better to stay the kid in his youth than to risk your entire future."

"Big sis…"

"When you barged in, I was scared out of my life. I knew they wouldn't show mercy."

"Big sis."

"And when those assholes pointed their guns at us, I thought "Both of us can't escape this place alive". If so, at least you had to make it out."

"Hey."

“If something happens to you, I-”

“Sister.” He pats her shoulder lightly. Otae’s voice is too calm and even, like an exterior to cover the storm brewing underneath. She is sturdy and unyielding, but Shinpachi is aware his sister is not invincible. He reasons, maybe this is why the Shimura has two children instead of one. “It’s okay. We have gone past that stage. What’s important is we are still alive. As long as we are, then at some point we can just laugh about it, that you did a very dumb thing and then I did a very dumb thing.”

“Exactly. But what you did was dumber.”

“We aren’t starting a competition here, sis. Though if it's about who's dumber, you're always a step ahead of me.”

Of course, picking on Otae is like poking a bear with a stick. No sooner than when the last word left his mouth that it's shoved right back in as the back of her head pounces him in the face.

"Ow!"

"That's what you get. Don't think you're safe just because I'm carrying you."

"Cheater." Shinpachi pouts. He makes an annoyed grunt so that she knows he is doing a face. Throwing a tantrum is a no-no, but apparently being a disgruntled little brother gets a pass.

She chuckles. So does he. 

When the giddy atmosphere subsides, he says, "Please don't do something this reckless again. If the dojo makes you happy, then I'm willing to work days and nights, getting run over by every mopets in Kabuki-chou and crashing hundreds of Amanto's ships. But if for the dojo that you cry, then I don't need it. Ten thousand dojos or none doesn't matter to me, but just one sister would make a world difference. It's the family that counts."

“Since when are you this wise-sounding? What happened to the usual tsukkomi Shin-chan?” Otae remarks thoughtfully. “No, it’s just me, isn’t it? You have always been growing right before my eyes, I’m just not paying attention. Haha, that’s good, it means that you can search for and walk on your own path.”

“I want to protect you… and maybe understand what father had meant before he died.”

“I want to keep the memories of our family alive, that are contained in the dojo he left us.”

"Then let us return."

"To our run-down dojo.”

In their hearts, they know this is what their father would have wanted. His voice back then was rough, but warm. Even though the man himself is long gone, it still resonates with the souls of the children, delivering words of wisdom, of valor, of-

“AAAAAAAAA… Run, Shinji!!! They still have the guns!”

The man catches up with them.

“What’s the point of you fighting then freaking running away?! That entire paragraph describing how cool you were is out of the window now! Have some self-respect as a faceless character, would you?! Kakashi-sensei and Obito are gonna cry! Their gimmick is totally trashed!”

“Cut me some slack! I fared better than my canon counterpart! If anyone’s a disappointment, it’s you, you whiny glasses stand!”

“Come again?!”

A bullet jets through their exchange. A whole rain of bullets follows. 

"Dammit! There's no time for arguing! Where are we heading to??"

"How the hell should I know?!"

They run through the passageway, tailed by a horde of angry mobs with guns. Lots of guns. The guy’s attempt at disarming the gunmen was pretty much for nothing. Ultimately, they still have to dodge bullets like dodgeballs. At least dodgeball can be fun, and it doesn’t leave holes in your body. Bullets are neither of those.

Sitting at the end of the track is an illuminating door, from which a soft thrumming sound emits. Before them stands a gigantic orb. From the orb protrude a plethora of tubes and wires. Traces of emerald glow across the surface of the orb. Its ethereal light is splattered all over the place, blinking in the same beat of breathing, as if it’s a living being.

This is the control room, the heart of the ship.

And the scruffy ink man is already making his way to the main ‘vena cava’ of said heart. The pointy end of his sword is ready to puncture the metal.

“No! Stop! Don’t touch that thing! It’s powering this ship-”

“Oopsie Daisy!”

The room starts to turn and the rest is history.

…

The shore is beautiful and quiet on most days. There is much to appreciate about this landscape: the ships idling away, the gentle breeze, the stars gleaming on the water's surface,... and a humongous ship plunging into the heart of the ocean.

It was quite a commotion. People scurry, shout and try to make sense of what the heck is going on. Pieces of the vessel drift ashore, churned and disfigured from the sheer force it crashed with the water. Police soon arrive at the scene. Everyone inside that ship is pronounced dea-

“HANG ON! Are you seriously doing a fake-out?! How many times will the fourth wall be torn down and then have to mend itself?! The poor wall! Think about our sanity! The poor readers' sanity! Your own sanity! At least make an effort to write actual humour!” Shinpachi makes a fuss as he struggles to stay afloat. Otae swims in to help him. The man covered in ink clutches onto a piece of rubble with one hand. Some of the liquid is washed off into the ocean, but most is still stubbornly stuck on.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

His legs wiggle underwater and get caught in something squishy and sticky.  When he inspects the muddled water, a large, shiny eye stare back. This thing is the source of his terrible day. 

“You damn squid! Gotcha!” He scoops up the creature and holds it tight with his other hand. The squid emotes by farting another stream of ink into the water. Apparently, this fella is the pet of the old man(quite an exotic pet there). It got bored of the aquatic tank and made a tour around the streets. And caused a ton of frustration for the man hired to return it to the tank. “Yeah, you ain’t getting out of this. The fun’s over.”

The man smirks under the ink, he would ask the old client for extra fees, since he has to break his back recovering this impish pet. 

“And you aren’t getting out of this either.” Standing with his arms crossed on the sand, a man with wavy white hair says disapprovingly. His look is akin to a mother’s looking at her 3-year-old, who just soiled himself and smeared the ‘product’ all over the walls.

“Y-yo, senpai! What a coincidence, I found the squid-Ouch, ouch! It’s gonna tear! It’s gonna tear!” The drenched man is hoisted from from the water by the ear. 

“The officers said a man covered in black liquid stole their car. By any chance would that be a certain lazy, insolent, good-for-nothing samurai?”

“I wonder who it was, too! Dammn. Who can be such a menace? They really should rot in jail-Ow ow ow!”

“Yeah. They should.”

“Um, Shiro-bartender-san, he was helping us.” Shinpachi sheepishly approaches.  “It was also my fault that he did it.”

The large man stares as his ‘junior’ yelps in pain. Shinpachi can’t ask him about his identity yet. He would as soon as he has the chance. 

…

“Sorry. You mistook me for someone else. I never participated in the Joui war.”

The man Shinpachi believes to be the Shiroyasha blinks in confusion. 

“Eh?” Shinpachi blurts. He was confident  this man is the powerful Shiroyasha. White hair, well-built and a scar running across his face, all the details fit. If this bartender is not the one, then who could it be?

“If you need to find somebody, I’m sure the Yorozuya could help. Since you don’t look very well off, he won’t charge you so much.” The man who is probably just an ordinary man says. From inside Snack Otose, the old woman shouts, “Oboro! Go clean the counter, it’s almost open time!”

“Coming, Otose-san.”

Oboro politely nods at the young man. “I have work to do. See you around.” He fastens his tasuki, making a neat bow on his back, and returns to the shop. 

Shinpachi stands dumbstruck. Apparently, finding a legendary Joui warrior is not so straightforward. Well, it does no harm to ask for help at the Yorozuya, providing the fees doesn't cost an arm and a leg. Shinpachi won’t put it past the miscreant man who leads the business, but he can also use the broken leg to his advantage. Besides,…

“There is something to be protected no matter what.”

Shinpachi is curious what his father had seen before his death. Was it the same thing that Yorozuya guy saw?

He could be walking right into the fifth mistake(it’s the fourth one, dammit!), a pitfall like Katsura has mentioned, laid bare, but the thought doesn’t stop him from trudging to the second floor. Black prints of boots line up from the stairs to the entrance. The office is not magnificent, but not derelict, either. It looks just like any normal house, if not for the sign board hanging at the front, “Yorozuya Gin-chan”. 

The door is slightly ajar but no one answers after a few knocks. Shinpachi tries again, this time the Yorozuya’s boss replies from within the depth of the house, “In a minute. Make yourself at home”, so Shinpachi invites himself in. The footprints end in mist of steam escaping from the crack under a door. He assumes it is the door to the bathroom.

He slumps down the couch, listens to water running and waits. Scrubbing off all of that ink must take significant effort. At the same time, Shinpachi glances at the ink on his clothes. The man was right, this would cost a ton of detergent. 

After a long while, when the last ray of day has disappeared behind rows of mismatched buildings,the Yorozuya, now colored with human-skin pink rather than pitch black ink, throws himself on a couch on the opposite side, a towel draped on his head to dry off the hair. 

“You again? What do you want?” Yorozuya drawls, making it clear he isn’t thrilled to see this troublesome kid for the third time of the day, between each is an interval from a few to less than an hour. Too short.

“I have a favour. I want to find somebody.”

“Really? Can you come back tomorrow? I have finished two jobs within a day. Normally it’s just half a job per day. Maybe a third. Third time is not always the charm, kid.” He speaks in a tone Shinpachi describes as ‘can’t be more punchable’ and sticks a finger into his nostril. The man sits cross legs, half lying down. His other hand goes to scratch the behind. This guy’s gestures don’t look clean in the slightest, showers aren’t gonna save it. “It’s not ever, really. So don’t let me catch you for the third time today. Oh wait, you already did. Go home. I ain’t gonna host you.”

Shinpachi almost purses his lips. His lower lip is latching on his upper one tight. “Don’t do it”, the more mature lip begs, but the lower one, its junior, itches to show the attitude. It is this close to slipping and smacking that shaggy guy straight in the face.

“Um, so there’s this very important person I’m looking for.”

“A VIP? Is this dude rich? Can they pay my last three month rent?”

“No…?” The non-tsukkomi part in him bites back a retort. It's time for serious work, and he can't let the penchant for rebuking skits get in the way. “You know about the Joui war, right?”

And as expected, heavy air settles in the office. Shinpachi doesn't mean to make it somber, yet it seems even a blase man like Yorozuya knows when not to joke. His maroon eyes are unexpectedly fierce, now that they are fully trained on the client, a clear contrast from the lacklustre look he carried that entire day. Then…

"Yeah. What about it?" The man talks, not an ounce of concern in his voice. The towel is churned back and forth across the damp head.

"An acquaintance of mine wants to see someone from that war. Although we only met for a short time, I would like to repay what he did for me."

Yorozuya cocks a brow, almost finished with his hair.

"I haven't met this man yet. I thought I found him, but it was the wrong person. And now I'm left with no leads. Oboro-san said I could ask for your help, and considering the type of work you specialise in, maybe you know what to do…"

Under the white light in the office, a matching silver glows on the man's head. Shinpachi is suddenly reminded of this establishment's name. Yorozuya GIN-chan.

“Um, Yorozuya-san.”

“Yeah?"

“Your name is Gin, right?”

“Uhuh. It's Gintoki.”

“It’s because of your hair color, right? It’s silver.”

“Yes. And?”

“Is it possible someone has taken your hair as white? You know, it can look really white from afar."

“Well, silver and white are pretty close, aren’t they?”

Shinpachi gulps again, but the apprehension this time is for a different reason. He fidgets, then asks, “Have you heard of Shiroyasha?”

Gintoki rubs his chin, and contemplates the same way an old man scouring through his memories for his own name. "Hmm, how nostalgic”, he mulls, “They called me that in the war.”

“IT WAS YOU?!”

…

In a decrepit alley, a monk picks up a lone letter. 

“ Dear Monk-san,

I wish you are doing well.  I’m writing this as I couldn’t find you, let alone to personally thank you for helping me when I was down. Even though we didn’t get to do any real collaboration, I really appreciate your willingness to support me. 

I have found the Shiroyasha. He is indeed in Kabuki-chou. Unfortunately, he isn’t very interested in aiding your movement. I hope you understand. 

I’m sorry that I won’t be joining the cause, too. For now I would be working at the Shiroyasha’s, Gin-san’s place. My sister has returned and, despite it doesn’t look very feasible at the moment, we decided to restore our dojo. There is a lot to be prepared, and a lot to be learned, but I believe we will be fine. This is a grim place, and this grim place causes us all to be horrible. However, horrible doesn’t mean unsalvagable. There is still something that I have yet been able to see. So for the time-being, I would like to stay just another horrible resident of Kabuki-chou.

Again, thank you for everything and I hope you will see the sun you wish for.

The fired-errand boy.”

Gazing upon the neatly presented penmanship, a small smile creeps up on the monk’s lips. “Didn’t I tell you to just live your life?”

…

Kabuki-chou is a haven for hoodlums, merchants, dealers, the riches, the homeless, rebels, police… A place where people climb on top of each other just to survive another day. Yet even in somewhere as hopeless as here, there is still something to be expected.