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The Courtship of Lady Tokio

by Misaki Toyodome ::: 22.Mar.2005

Chapter 22 - Snow and Scarlet

Koumyouji, 17th January 1865 -

Tokio took a deep breath, her eyes half-closed as she set her sights on the target. Channelling her concentration, imagining the path of her arrow to the centre circle, she raised her arms above her head and drew the bow. A physical draw but a spiritual release, the natural result of her meditation. She let fly, and knew in that fraction of a second before it left her hand that today was not a good day. The arrow missed the outermost ring of the target, skidding violently to a halt against the frame. She held her stance for a moment, focusing on the wayward arrow, then exhaled dejectedly and lowered her arms.

'Shooting with technique merely improves the technique, shooting with the spirit improves the spirit', she chastised herself. If she was trying to improve her spirit, it had made little progress that day. It had made very little progress in the last couple of months in fact. She started the process again, determined to keep a grip on her mind this time. It was no use, however – fleeting and disjointed images threatened to swallow her view, and the arrow missed again.

Those images, her fears, they came welling up no matter how often she tried to suppress them. A man with red hair and a scar on his cheek, faceless men in blue coats, rain the colour of blood, her father murdered, amber eyes shining through darkness, an explosion, and memories of swords that had struck too close for comfort. Tokio was agitated and it did not agree with her.

She frowned as though she was concentrating on the target, but instead her mind was picking its way through events over the last couple of months. Her father – who had decided to winter in Kyoto – had relieved her of all official duties.

"It is only right that I wish to protect you, Child. Your duties have put you in danger, and in order to minimize those risks, you will be suspended from your court position," he had said.

That meant no working with sensitive information. No work relating beyond the walls of Koumyouji. Whenever she left the compound, which was very rarely these days, she was under strict guard. It meant no contact with the Aoi-ya – frustration made her heart beat more pronouncedly when she remembered that Okina had offered to find out more about the Battousai; now, she had no idea what might be happening. She had grown so accustomed to knowing all the latest developments in Kyoto that now she felt considerably ignorant and cut off from the world. This isolation left her feeling more vulnerable and prone to fits of confusion, which did nothing to help her mood. Though neither her father nor she would say it, the fact that she was essentially redundant meant that in the event that she was captured again, she would have no information for her kidnappers to wrest from her. It made sense, her father always did, but she still resented the fact.

Besides this, her father had been keeping a close eye on her. It was out of the question that she meet Saitou Hajime, and she missed him. She had not even the chance to write a note to Mibu. She had seen the Shinsengumi when they came to pay their respects for the New Year. It had been a formal event, and it was not as though she could talk to Saitou then, only able to greet him along with the other members and guests. She also had held a bit of a staring match with Hijikata. She bit her lip as she smiled ruefully – she had lost, partly because it was not fitting for a young woman to stare so challengingly at a man of his rank, and partly because she grew reluctant to meet his cold-blooded glare. She had not been able to talk to Saitou; however, she had bribed O-Kiku to discreetly slip him a fine bottle of shouchuu to take back. It was the New Year after all, and also his birthday.

Saitou Hajime – the most she had seen of him this last while were fleeting glimpses when she had been to Kiyomizu Temple. Under the watchful eye of her escort, it was not sensible to approach him, except to exchange the barest and most courteous of greetings as appropriate for a lady of Aizu and a captain of the Shinsengumi. Then again, it would be suspicious if she were to acknowledge him every time, so she didn't, and those times had to be content with merely looking at him, and looking at him looking at her. She was not content with merely looking at him. She missed him something terrible.

She had felt so frustrated then. Now, he was gone to Osaka, and she thought she would give almost anything for even just a glimpse of him. She missed him so.

The sudden flight of a bird brought her back to the courtyard and the bow in her hand. She refocused on the target as she prepared to shoot again. This time, she imagined all of her fears and frustrations placed there. She drew the bow, calmly, resolutely, and released. This time, it struck right in the heart. If only life were as simple as to place her inner demons on that centre circle and slay them, she thought wistfully.

Life was never that simple. As she strung another arrow, it began to snow, brightly and lightly. Kyoto was beautiful when it snowed.

Saitou frowned out the window of his quarters in Osaka. Saitou frowned where other people would have gazed or smiled. It was beginning to snow, and although he was relatively indifferent to weather, snow could delay his return to Kyoto. Kyoto – he frowned not at the snow, but at the thoughts it inspired in him. He really shouldn't care, he had his assignment to complete in Osaka. Homesickness? Was this homesickness? Better to be homesick than lovesick, he snorted, and he would never admit to the latter.

He did allow himself to worry though, albeit through the lens of his sense of duty. The Shinsengumi were enforcers of law and keepers of peace – an assassin or two on the loose was definitely not conducive to this end.

"Don't worry, Saitou-san, I'll keep an eye on her and a look out for attackers while you're away." Okita had pretended to reassure Saitou, although Saitou had asked for nothing. "You know, I might get lucky. It's not unusual for the handsome bodyguard to win the affections of the girl."

"Ahou. You have the affectations of a girl, perhaps, but the affections of one? Don't make me laugh. You don't like it when I do." Okita was trying to needle him, Saitou knew, but Okita would keep his word.

He brought the cup of tea to his lips, and mentally cursed for not ordering something more satisfying. He remembered the night of the New Year. The shouchuu Tokio had presented him had been of very high quality. A drink fit for men who respected drink. He had nearly kept it all for himself, except that he had been discovered by Harada, Okita and Nagakura who pried it away from him and forced him to share. It had taken less persuasion than it might have, since he was already on his way to being drunk.

Tokio – she would be going to Kiyomizu tomorrow for her ritual prayers. It would be almost two weeks since he had seen her last...

"Saitou-sama, how nice to see you," she had approached him on the steps and bowed. Her escort stood behind her, looking as though he thoroughly disapproved.

"Takagi-san," he had nodded his head. He did want to talk to her, more than he would admit, but he was not the type to make polite conversation to pass the time of day, and especially while there was someone around to listen to them.

"How are you keeping?" That formal tone of voice she used, so distant and concealing. His eyebrows twitched – etiquette be damned. Still, he felt he should tell her he would be out of town.

"I've been assigned to track some Choushuu roushi. We've reason to believe that a large group of them will be arriving in Osaka soon. I will be heading there myself in two days to investigate."

"... I wish you every success." He caught the fleeting impression of distress before she assumed a personable smile. She looked up at him and added, "The streets of Kyoto will be that much more unsafe with you gone, so please return to us quickly and unharmed." She knew that he had been watching out for her from the shadows, standing guard, unseen, against the dangers that were out there. He knew that she knew. Her escort had turned away from them for a moment to watch a group of monks descend the steps. She took the opportunity to slip an omamori from her obi, which he swiftly took from her. "Please, take care."

'Tokio, Tokio, there is no point in hiding behind a smile when your eyes give everything away,' he had mused then. She would miss him, he could see, more than she already did, and that was already too much for her peace of mind.

"Ojou-sama," her escort called out, as though to rebuke her for spending too much time talking to unsavoury characters. Saitou had held her gaze a few seconds more, before turning around and walking away.

"Safe journey," he heard her call out from behind. Without looking back, he raised a hand in greeting, and he knew that she smiled.

He realised that he had been gripping the cup, and consciously relaxed his hand. Tokio's omamori was in his other hand. It was not that he was a superstitious man who put much faith in such things as charms or amulets, but it was not a bad feeling to know that someone cared for his well being. As the snow began to fall more heavily, it obscured his view of the street. It was not a bad feeling to be missed by somebody, especially if that person was Tokio, he reflected.

- Kiyomizu, 19th January 1865 –

The crunch of fresh snow under her boots felt particularly satisfying that day. It was so crisp, and clean, and just the right depth to ensure the best kind of footprint. Kyoto was beautiful. Snow instilled a sense of peace, however deceptive. There was no trace of the daily violence of the city, it lay hidden beneath a bright white. She crunched on, looking back once to check that her footprints were indeed following her, a testimony that she had been there. She pursed her lips as she saw her escort mindlessly stepping into the trail she had made, stamping her existence with a heavier step. These escorts bothered her. Always keeping an eye on her, always wary, mistrustful, and always keeping her bound, even when she was outside, to the confines of Koumyouji. She missed the sense of freedom she had had whenever she walked with Saitou Hajime. And even if it was just the illusion of freedom, she missed it nonetheless.

It was as she was dwelling on Saitou's absence from the city that the colour red caught her eye. It took a second for her to freeze as she registered what she was looking at. Or rather, who she was looking at. The feeling that her heart had burst through her chest, in a flashing instant, her throat was dry and her palms clammy. She looked around wildly; her escort was oblivious to her sudden dread, and the streets were deserted. She looked back again, at where the redhead was sitting outside a tea house, and he looked back, and she thought he thought he recognised her. There was no mistaking him, albeit now he had a new scar crossing the older scar on his left cheek.

Hitokiri Himura Battousai had indeed returned to Kyoto.

The fear, the rumours, the dread things that stalked her in bad dreams – there he was, brazenly in broad daylight, and he was looking at her.

"Ojou-sama?"

Tanaka asked more reproachfully than concernedly. She looked at her guard, and tried to say something but no sound came out. If Himura Battousai had recognised her and decided to act, there was no moving fast enough to escape. Tanaka might be an experienced swordsman, but so were many men who had fallen to the lesser-looking man. Such a small figure, barely taller than herself. He still did not look older than fifteen, sixteen at most. Was he really the one responsible for all the assassinations? She glanced back at him again. He was drinking his tea, no longer watching her. He looked so... Haunted. Guilty. Would he kill her? He looked younger in the light of day.

"Ojou-sama!" Tanaka asked her more loudly this time.

Her mind raced – she knew she should get back to Koumyouji as fast as possible, and she knew that she shouldn't let morbid curiosity get the better of her. And yet, when she spoke, she said,

"I am sorry, Tanaka-san, but it seems as though my boots have broken. The snow has seeped in and drenched my feet, and they are so cold and numb, I hardly think I can take another step."

"But Ojou-sama!" Tanaka sounded exasperated. "I told you that it would be better not to go to Kiyomizu until the snow had cleared."

"I know, and I am sorry." A voice in the back of her mind was literally screaming at her to get away from there, and still she started towards the teahouse. "Please, I will wait here. I would be most obliged if you could find a palanquin or some new footwear, I am so sorry for the inconvenience." Mentally, she made a note to reward Tanaka later, if she should still be alive.

Tanaka made a face as though he would like to swear, but not in front of a lady. Preferring expediency over his orders not to leave her side, he started off. As far as he was concerned, he would not be gone long, and the only person around was a short, poorly dressed youth.

The youth watched as she approached. She stared him straight in the eye, stopping a few feet in front of him. If he was going to kill her, he could do it in a flash without even standing. She couldn't for the life of her understand why she thought he wouldn't.

"... Is it not cold outside?" Her voice was steady when she worked up the nerve to speak.

"... Too many people inside."

There were two customers inside, looking out curiously at the young man who preferred to take his tea in the cold and the young woman who had approached him. They thought it a strange, stark contrast, the poised elegance of an aristocrat and the frayed swordsman with unnatural hair. Two customers were too many for Himura Kenshin at that moment. Any number of people was too many for him to deal with lately. He wouldn't even be out on the street except that he was supposed to meet his contact here. He eyed the girl as she sat down next to him, wondering why she bothered if he terrified her so. Not that it was obvious, but these things he could read easier than a book. He recognised her, of course, she had been the one in Matsudaira Katamori's carriage. He reckoned that he should kill her, but he really did not want to. Not now, not after what he had just been through...

"... Do you still believe that you are fighting for a better Japan?" He looked at her sharply. "Peace and harmony, as you claimed?"

"... Yes." He had to say yes. If he did not, then it would be disrespectful of all the lives that had been sacrificed to his ideal, and all would have been for naught.

She studied him for a moment, and he felt that she had become calmer now, more sure of herself.

"So will you kill me also?" The blunt statement jarred him. A similar question had been put to him, what seemed an age ago.

"... No."

"Why not?" It was asked more out of curiosity than as a challenge, and a morbid curiosity at that.

"... I don't wield my sword just for the sake of it. Our enemy is the Bakufu and their soldiers, not ordinary civilians."

He was not in the mood to talk, but he did, thinking not of the girl beside him now but of another, whom he had tried to explain his cause to before.

"I am the Bakufu." This time, she was bolder. "I am that which you seek to destroy."

"... You are unarmed. I do not draw against an unarmed person."

"So, if I were to reach for a sword, you would strike me?" She lowered her gaze and murmured, "Is it really that simple?"

He shut his eyes.

"You know that it is not." He could feel the scar on his cheek start to sting again.

"And the great and mighty ideals of the Ishin-shishi? You still fight for them?"

"We are fighting for the future." He was resolute in this statement.

"The future? Tell me, will the future you envision be run by cowards who kidnap women and use them as leverage?"

Her personal sense of injury fuelled her words, although she heard the cautionary voice in her head shouting 'unwise!' to provoke the Battousai. It earned her a murderous look that ought to have stuck at least a foot out of her back. Her blood ran like ice and the sense of cautious calm she had assumed evaporated quicker than her breath in the cold air.

"Cowards who use women as leverage? Why don't you tell me what you mean?" His voice was so soft and deadly. 'If she had anything to do with Tomoe...' He would kill her. At least, he felt he could.

"I was kidnapped by eleven of your men. They did not survive the ordeal. A twelfth man seeks my life in retribution." She answered quickly, desperately wanting him to stop looking at her like that. As though all the blood he had shed, he would make rain down on her. He exhaled slowly, reigning in his fury.

"... I am sorry to hear that." Was he? She couldn't be sure, but he seemed sincere. He paused for a beat. "My wife was taken from me, by Bakufu men. I tried to save her. She died."

It was the first mention he had made of Tomoe's death of his own accord. It hurt like hell, because it was hell. And the girl looked stricken. He could feel the pain rising. He continued, in a voice that was almost dead.

"You ask me why I fight for the Ishin-shishi? I fight in order that we might have peace one day, that ordinary people can live without fear or misery." Like he had wanted to live with Tomoe. "Fear and misery, caused by unjust rule, a corrupt government, a tyranny of power over the weak and poor. I don't care about Joui or Kaikoku, all I care is that people be allowed to live in peace and harmony. To that end, the Bakufu must be brought down."

That last statement spurred her to speak.

"The Bakufu? It is the Ishin-shishi that are to blame for causing fear and misery. With their war-mongering and their fear propaganda about the foreign powers! They are destroying people's lives!"

"... What do you know about fear and misery?" He fixed her again with a cold glare. "What would you know about being weak and poor?" Low words, stinging words. "... I take it that you've been brought up in a rich, samurai household. More than enough food on the table. More than enough clothes for winter. You can afford to rest when you're ill. You can afford to laugh and make merry."

"I know about fear and misery." Her small nostrils flared in indignation.

"Oh, did you read about it in a text? Did your nurse tell you stories?" He gritted his teeth. "Or have you ever been beaten for not bowing quickly enough to a man, simply because he carries a sword by birthright? Maybe you were sold into slavery. Did your family die for drinking fouled water, because the lord of your village would not allow them access to a well? No, for you it's been a life of privilege, of luxury, and ease."

Her cheeks were flushed scarlet now, and she would not meet his eyes. He paused, breathing deeply, and added,

"It is not your fault that you were born to a good family. But it is neither the fault of the poor that they were born poor, and the weak are not to blame that they have no rights."

That was his true ideal, he recalled, not some political rationale. The ideal of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, to defend those in need. But he had not done enough – he had not been able to save the one he had most wanted to protect. And it wrenched his stomach inside out, he wanted to scream and shout and tear his heart out of his chest, it hurt so much. Instead, he drank his tea. He, who had had nothing, had gained something, and then had it taken away again. This was the weight of human life, now he knew, and he had borne all that he could never bear to experience again.

Tokio dared to look at him again, and saw the wound on his cheek had reopened. Drops of blood fell to the ground, unfurling scarlet onto the snow.

"... I am sorry." It sounded so feeble in the wake of his sorrow, and she was not sure for what she apologised. "I am sorry for you." He did not answer.

She wondered at him, the self-styled defender of the defenceless.

"... You should never have joined the Ishin-shishi as an assassin... You care too much and you think too deeply." She said firmly, regretfully.

"... I could not allow myself to stand idly by as people suffered." He closed his eyes, his efforts at communicating with the world for one day had taken its toll. "I vowed to do what I could do, to bring about a new era of hope for Japan." His promise had cost him too much, but he could not afford to stop now.

"... It is a shame that things are the way things are." She stood up. Tanaka had just turned the corner, coming down the street with a palanquin. She looked down at him, and asked gently, "How old are you?"

"... What does it matter?" He gauged her cautiously.

"It doesn't, I am just curious, is all..." She murmured.

"... How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"... I am not older than you."

"... I am sorry that we could not meet under different circumstances." The pauses in their conversation brought the palanquin closer and closer. "... Thank you for your time today. I appreciate your indulgence..."

The implication being that he could have killed her at any time, and she certainly knew it. She bowed low, as Tanaka called out to her. As she began to walk, the red-haired youth called out to her.

"The nights of Kyoto will become more dangerous and unpredictable. Have a care." She looked at him questioningly, but he said no more. She bowed again, and then carefully climbed into the palanquin. Himura Kenshin watched it move away down the street, the escort throwing him a curious look. He wondered why he had talked so much. He probably should have killed her. Katsura's messenger was late. And his cheek was still bleeding, scarlet onto snow.

- 21st January 1865 -

For how many nights over the last two months had she lain awake, with only her thoughts for company? And they were not the best of companions, given their recent preoccupations. She closed her eyes. Every time she thought about her encounter with Himura Battousai, she felt the urge to bury her face in the pillows, draw the covers over her head and cry. But she didn't, and instead opened her eyes again, stared up at the ceiling, looking for patterns in the grain of the wood. Himura Battousai, he was a good man. It disturbed her, and reassured her at the same time. Her face flushed as she remembered his contempt for her privileged background. 'What do you know about fear and misery?' She could hear the accusing words still ringing in her head. She had not been able to think of an answer, and she still could not.

Himura Battousai was a good man. Just like Saitou Hajime was a good man. It disturbed her, because sooner or later, they would meet, and they would fight. One good man fighting another. It reassured her in another way, that the man who was at the frontline of their enemy was not someone they should be ashamed to fight. Choose your friends with care, but your enemies more carefully still.

She thought about the wife who had died. Had that been what the Yami-no-Bu had told Okina about? How utterly disgusting. Her stomach churned. Selfishly, and ashamed of her selfishness, she wondered whether Saitou would mourn her like Battousai mourned. If she lived with the fear that Saitou would be lost, did Saitou believe that he would protect her? Had it been the same for the Battousai? And even now, after she had met him, or perhaps especially because she had met him, she shuddered when she thought about him.

She knew the fear of losing someone, but she only knew the fear, and not the actual loss itself. One expects to lose men at times of war – it is when the women and children are lost that people are surprised. Although they really should not be; the weak are always the ones who suffer first and most.

How had he become what he had become? 'So young, he must be younger than I...' He fought for a new Japan, not on the grounds of ideology or politics, but because he wanted people to have a better chance at life. It was so simple, and for all its simplicity (or rather, because of it), it was irrefutable. He fought for peace. So did Saitou. She wished for peace. So why then was all this violence taking place? What reason for this turmoil? It hurt her head to think about it. At the most basic level, that was all people wanted, to live in peace. And yet, it would be other people's lust for power that decided their fate.

His warning, she reflected, had been ominous. She had some inkling what he meant. If he had emerged from the shadows to be out in daylight, it meant another had taken over his role as assassin. If Himura Battousai was now a warrior on the frontline rather than an assassin in the dark, who would be taking his place as the killer? She fretted while she lay still, the candle having burned out, cast the room in a deeper gloom.

"Saitou-san! Welcome back!" Okita called out to the lanky figure who was approaching, as though it were perfectly natural to be meeting on the rooftops of Kyoto in the middle of the night.

"Okita, isn't it past your bedtime already?" Saitou asked by way of greeting.

"Good to see that you're as disagreeable as ever."

"Here." Saitou tossed an object at the seated man as he took in the view from the vantage point. Okita had found a good spot. From here, he could see most of the inner courtyards of Koumyouji.

"What is this?" Okita eyed the gourd warily.

"Sake. From Osaka."

"Haha, trust you Saitou-san to bring alcohol on a stake-out!" He uncorked the bottle and took a deep gulp. And spluttered and gagged. "What the hell! Saitou!" He flung the bottle back at Saitou, who caught it and held it out to Okita again.

"It's medicinal." Saitou glared at Okita. "You should go back to Mibu. Nobody gains anything from you freezing your ass off up here."

Okita shouldn't be out in the snow, and it galled him that he was partly to blame. Saitou had not explicitly asked Okita to watch the compound while he was away, but among the things he had not explicitly asked, sitting out in the freezing cold was certainly not one of them.

"... I don't expect any special treatment from you." Okita said quietly, a small sense of injury creeping into his voice.

"Hmph." Saitou raised his eyebrow. "The drink is disgusting. I hardly think I'm doing you a favour." He took out another bottle. "Finish that and I might share this with you." He took a swig, the warmth and sweetness all the more delicious for the brisk night air. Okita wrinkled his nose and drained the gourd, coughing again as he swallowed.

"Ugh. That is vile." He snatched the other bottle from Saitou's hand, and Saitou glared at him. "Aah, that's much better." Okita sighed. "When did you get back?"

"Two hours ago. You missed the briefing."

"Hahaha, was Hijikata-san annoyed?"

"That man is always annoyed." Saitou snorted.

"Things have been quiet here while you've been away." Okita took another mouthful, ignoring Saitou's outstretched hand demanding his drink back. "It was really nice, and everyone was happy."

"Ahou."

"I almost saw Tokio-san take a bath today -" Okita did not finish his sentence as Saitou's foot pushed him roughly off his perch. He laughed as he skidded to a halt, roof tiles clattering to the ground. He was about to climb back up when he noticed a movement about the Koumyouji walls. He glanced at Saitou, who was also staring intently.

Five shapes were rapidly scaling the walls. Even before they had disappeared over the other side, Saitou and Okita were making their way silently down.

Tokio was still staring at the ceiling, trying to will herself to sleep, when she heard the faint ring of steel on steel. She tensed, her heart beginning to pound as she realised the noises were getting louder and that they were too close to be outside the compound. She grabbed her robe and made to call the guards, but even as she opened her mouth, the sound of heavy footsteps approached and a tall figure burst into her room. The steel of his sword flashed in the night, and her heart skipped a beat.

He grabbed her by the arm, and snarled,

"Quickly!"

She nodded and allowed him to lead her, surprised and shocked and relieved and so, so glad that Saitou Hajime had returned. Her heart beat faster now, but for a different reason than just fear.

Suddenly, two figures blocked their path as they made their way through the corridors. A sharp whistling sound, Saitou's sword drawing an arc in the air, and five blow darts fell to the floor. Saitou lunged, his blade in his left hand, right arm extended in the momentum of the movement. The narrow corridor provided him with the advantage – his prey could not escape.

Tokio gave a loud gasp as his sword skewered one of the assailants, even as the other tried to make his escape down another corridor. She picked up one of the darts off the ground, flung it, nearly slipping on the blood drenched wooden boards. It struck the second man in the calf, and he muffled a cry of pain but kept running. Saitou yanked his sword out of the body, grabbed Tokio around the shoulders, pulling her to him, and was just about to run with her, when a door slammed open behind them. They heard a shocked intake of breath and a shout for guards rang out. The two whirled around, and came face to face with Takagi Kojuurou.

He stared at them blankly for a moment as the compound awoke and the alarm was raised. The dead man lying in a pool of his own blood, the spattered walls, Tokio's bare feet stained scarlet, and the man with the fierce amber eyes and a protective hold around his daughter's shoulder. In another second, Kojuurou regained his wits.

"Tokio! Are you safe?" He reached out for her, the worry sickening him.

"I am fine, Father." She reassured him, as calmly as she could manage.

Her father reached out to her, but she did not move. It was Kojuurou that walked towards them and released Tokio from Saitou's grasp. Saitou coolly met the older man's eyes, before bowing and leaving very rapidly for the courtyard where sounds of fighting could still be heard. Kojuurou and Tokio hurried after him. They arrived in time to see Okita dispatching of the last man left standing. The scarlet stains showed clearly on the snow, gleaming in the moonlight. Saitou was not there.

"What is the meaning of this!" Hirosawa dashed out of the building towards them, accompanied by ten men.

"Shinsengumi, Captain Okita Souji. At your service." Okita bowed calmly, and wiped his sword of blood before resheathing it. "Myself and Captain Saitou happened to be in the vicinity when we saw five people scale your walls. We followed and asked what they were doing. They attacked."

"This one's alive." Saitou appeared from the shadows, dragging an incapacitated man by the arm, a dart sticking out from his left calf. "The dart must be tipped with a sedative." He dropped the arm, and it fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Hirosawa and his men eyed the two warily, and slowly sheathed their blades.

"... Aizu are most obliged for your timely intervention." He exchanged glances with Kojuurou, who nodded. "If you would remain in the compound please, after we have cleaned up and checked that there are no more intruders, then I hope you won't mind answering some questions."

"Of course," Saitou spoke before Okita, "though I ask that you allow Captain Okita to return to Mibu to report this incident."

Okita opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself when he saw the look in Saitou's eye, as well as the look in Takagi Kojuurou's eye. It might be better for him to sit this one out. And anyway, he was feeling quite tired now after all the excitement. Let Saitou deal with the paperwork and officials and the irate and suspicious father. Okita bowed and took his leave, Tokio thanking him fervently in a low voice, and he acknowledging it as gallantly as ever. As he made his way to the gates, he looked back and saw Saitou and Kojuurou staring at each other, while Tokio and the others busied themselves in the aftermath of the shattered night. He was feeling tired – it would be good to get to bed.

As he walked back to Mibu in the dead of night, it began to snow again. Nobody would see Okita cough, and cough again, and the falling snow would quickly cover the scarlet drops that fell from his mouth to the ground.