First off, I must apologize. I promised Niou for this chapter, but, well, the muses got in the way. No worries though. Part Three is entirely focused on Niou. And Yagyuu, of course.

Warriors and Generals - Part Two: Rikkaidai

Characters (in order of appearance) : Sakuno, Ryoma, Momoshiro, Sanada, Yanagi, Atobe, Sengoku, Yukimura, Akaya
Pairings: Sanada/Atobe, mostly implied
Rating: PG-13
Words: 7777
Summary: In which Ryoma worries over Tezuka and is confused, while Atobe awakens, Sanada trains and Sengoku thinks about the past. More of Rikkai, and Yukimura, are revealed as Akaya reminiscence about twelve years ago, when he was a thief living on the streets of Rikkaidai.

Part One: The Generals


“How is he?”

Sakuno looked up from where she was washing her hands. At the sight of the newcomer, she blushed slightly.

“Ah, Echizen-kun…” She bit her lip. “Tezuka-taichou has stopped bleeding yesterday, but he still has a high fever… There’s still a chance that… he…” She turned away, fidgeting with a wet cloth.

“But you won’t let him die, will you?” Echizen’s tone was firm, and there was a confidence in it that Sakuno didn’t feel.

“I-I don’t know, Echizen-kun. His wounds are many and he had lost a lot of blood.” She stuttered, still blushing and unwilling to meet Echizen’s eyes.

He stepped forward and grasped her hands suddenly. Sakuno gasped, eyes widening at the rare sight of Echizen’s oddly earnest smile.

“I trust you, Sakuno-san. You won’t let taichou die, will you?”

“No, no,” She shook her head frantically, long hair nearly flying into her mouth. “O-of course not!”

Echizen nodded, stepping backwards and releasing her hands. Sakuno blushed darker, clenching her hands into fists. Turning her gaze to the floor, she bit the inside of her cheek.

‘Echizen-kun’s hands were so…warm…’

“Thank you, Sakuno-san. I feel better now. I’m sure Tezuka-taichou will heal faster in your care.”

Sakuno’s head shot up, eyes wide, just in time to see the sliding door close with a low, strangely final ‘click’.

-

Momoshiro stood when Echizen entered the room, head low.

“What did Sakuno-no-kimi say?”

“Nothing useful. She promised me that she won’t let taichou die, but that’s it.” Echizen shrugged nonchalantly, crossing his arms.

“Nothing?” Momoshiro unconsciously mirrored Echizen’s action. “You were gone for almost an hour and she didn’t say a thing?”

“I didn’t talk to her all that much.”

He sighed, “Echizen, you stood outside the door for the better part of the hour just watching Tezuka-taichou, didn’t you?”

Echizen shrugged again, but, this time, Momoshiro was sure that he was sulking.

“I don’t get how he lost so badly to Hyoutei’s Atobe. He defeated me. He’s not supposed to lose.”

Momoshiro threw up his hands, exasperated. “I knew it. I know you will be brooding over taichou’s loss. Hell, everyone is, even though we were the ones who won.” He stepped forward. “Look, Echizen, Tezuka-taichou lost to Atobe-san because of his injury-“

“He defeated me with that injury. And no one knew about it except Oishi-fukutaichou,” Echizen pointed out, arms still crossed. “Atobe fought dishonourably; he aimed for taichou’s shoulder on purpose.”

“Have you ever thought that Atobe might just be a better swordsman than you are?” Momoshiro asked, sardonic. “He made Tezuka-taichou go all out with him, and you didn’t. Really, Echizen, there are stronger samurai than your father or Tezuka-taichou. Atobe-san is just one of them. I doubt that he counts now, though. After all, he’s probably dead.”

“We burnt down Hyoutei’s castles and pissed the hell off their citizens just to make sure that all those bastards die. I sure hope he is.” Echizen grumbled.

Momoshiro narrowed his eyes, lifting a hand to deliver a swift smack to the side of Echizen’s head. “It is unworthy of you to speak ill of the dead. Do you want to be haunted or something?”

“I’m just speaking the truth.” The sixteen-year-old glared, rubbing at the sore spot on his head.

“Hold your tongue, then, if you have nothing constructive to say. You may be Tezuka-taichou’s student and a better swordsman than me, but I am higher ranked.” The older man smirked. “Please remember that.”

“Yes, yes, whatever you say, Momoshiro-senpai…”

Momoshiro’s eyes softened. “Tezuka-taichou is a human man, Echizen, no matter how strong of a leader or a samurai he is.”

“My father is a human man and a samurai, and yet I have never seen him lose. Not even once.”

“Tezuka-taichou is not your father!” He grabbed Echizen’s shoulders and shook the younger man, hoping that it would drive what he was saying into that thick skull. “Echizen Nanjiroh is a ronin. Tezuka Kunimitsu is Seigaku’s General. I am of no place to say this, but while Echizen Nanjiroh’s deeds were indeed great, Tezuka-taichou ranks far higher in my mind and heart. Do not confuse between the two, Echizen!”

Echizen knocked his hands away, glaring, “I’m not confusing the two! It’s just that…” He bit his lip, shaking his head frantically. “I’m not confusing between them! My father is a pervert and a bastard and, no, I’m not sorry for disrespecting him like this. Tezuka-taichou is the first man whom I completely respect! That’s why…”

Echizen paused, as if to gather his thoughts. Momoshiro knew better than to interrupt, and thus remained silent, waiting.

“I don’t get it. My father has never worked hard for his skills; at least, I’ve never seen him work hard. But taichou… I saw him training everyday ever since I first arrived, two years ago. He works incredibly hard, and he does it all for Seigaku. My father fights for himself and I have never seen him care for anyone or anything other than himself and perhaps his swords. So why did Tezuka-taichou lose when my father didn’t?! It doesn’t make any sense and it’s… it’s not fair.”

He seemed to deflate at the end of his speech, sitting down suddenly onto the floor. The last few words were so soft that Momoshiro had to strain his ears just to hear them. He sighed, sitting down beside his friend.

“I won’t say that I understand, because, honestly, I don’t. But just think: Tezuka-taichou will grow stronger after his defeat, because he’s that kind of person. Echizen-san, if he’s as you have said, will stagnate over time. You will be able to defeat him soon enough, when you have grown stronger, if that’s true.”

Echizen shook his head, “I want to defeat him when he’s at his strongest. It’s the only way I can show myself that I am stronger than he is, no matter what anyone says.”

Momoshiro laughed, reaching towards Echizen to ruffle his hair. Echizen barely managed to duck, smiling slightly. “I should have known that you aren’t one for the easy road, eh, Echizen?”

“That’s because the easy road’s completely taken up by your big size, Momo-senpai.” The boy grinned cheekily, running a hand through his hair to smooth it flat again.

Growling slightly, Momoshiro pretended to be offended. “Why you little… and I was just praising you too!”

---

Yanagi looked up from his book as Sanada entered the room, placing a small piece of embroidered cloth in between the pages to mark his place even though he didn’t need to.

“How is he?”

Sanada sighed, pulling a weary hand over his face. “The same as always. Sengoku reported no changes.”

“Patience, Genichirou; remember, sometimes no news is good news.”

“It’s been four days, Renji!” Sanada burst out, scowling fiercely. “He’s been asleep for days, and…” He clenched his fists, staring down towards the floor as he paced the room.

Yanagi sighed, an inaudible exhalation of air, before standing. “Genichirou, there is no need for you to frustrate yourself like this. Calm down, please. Sengoku is the best healer that we have. Trust his skills.”

“I know, Renji. You don’t have to remind me of that. But… I just…” he gave a short growl, rubbing furiously at his temple with a fist. “I need to do something. Training. A spar. Anything. I can’t sit here and do nothing except wait!”

“Then don’t,” Yanagi said quietly, placing a placating hand on Sanada’s arm. “Practice your katas if you wish to. There’s an empty spot in the garden just outside the infirmary. Sengoku can call you easily if Atobe awakens. It’s far better than for you to be disturbing him and his apprentice with your frequent and unnecessary visits.”

Sanada raised an eyebrow at the remark before shaking his head, chuckling softly. “Very true. And I won’t be disturbing your reading, I suppose?”

Yanagi nodded, barely repressing a smile. “That is an advantage, yes. I have not been able to complete more than a single page ever since Atobe had arrived.” He retreated, sitting back down and opening the book, “I place no blame on either of you, however. Your behaviour was perfectly understandable.”

“It was deplorable,” Sanada corrected with a smile. “Well then, my dear scholarly friend, I shall retire from your presence to train. Unless you wish to join me, of course.”

Shaking his head, Yanagi replied, “Not today, I wish to complete this section of this book today. It has some interesting ideas that might be useful to us. Seiichi had expressed an interest in it.”

Sanada shrugged, half out of the door. “I will never understand Yukimura and your fascination with literature of decades past, Renji.”

Yanagi’s soft laugh followed him out of the door.

--

The darkness is soothing, enticing, and he wants so badly to rest and fall into its comforting arms. He’s tired, so exhausted, and he just wants to lie down and sleep. Fighting Tezuka had taken half of his life, and seeing his beautiful city go up in flames just twisted the knife in his heart. He wants to sleep.

But something is calling him back…

“Keigo, can you hear me?”

Of course he can, he is tired, not deaf. But wait…

“Keigo, you’re safe now.”

“Keigo, wake up, please.”

“Keigo, you have to wake up. You are strong enough to fight against death. You can do it.”

Why should he fight? Whose voice is this?

“Keigo, please open your eyes. Find your way back here.”

Who are you?

“Keigo, open your eyes. Live, for me.”

Sanada? No…

“Keigo, I need you. Come back to me, please.”

Genichirou! Is that you?

He opened his eyes.

Everything was too bright, too loud, and his body hurt too much. He could feel the familiar firmness of a futon underneath his body, and he could smell the thick, cloying scent of burning herbs in the air.

Atobe closed his eyes again. The sounds of a sword cutting through straw echoed through the air, familiar and calming. He blinked slowly, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the open, un-shuttered windows.

Sanada spun through the air, twin katanas flashing in the light as he slashed through the straw dolls surrounding him. Decapitated dolls were already strewn around him, but Sanada didn’t trip, or even step, on any of the carcasses, avoiding them with his usual faultless grace. Red and orange leaves, the physical manifestations of autumn, fell around him in swift circles, some landing on his hair.

Atobe would have laughed if his side didn’t hurt so much. Sanada looked positively ridiculous, and Atobe knew that it was no accident that the first thing he saw upon waking was his lover.

He smiled softly as he watched Sanada go through all of his katas, eyes slowly sliding shut until he fell back into a deep, natural sleep, breathing evening out. He had no more wish to disappear into the darkness.

Standing at the door behind him, unnoticed, Sengoku smiled with no little relief; his most critical patient had awakened, and it seemed that he would be alright now.

He turned away, shaking his head, still smiling. He should report this to Sanada-taichou before the man arrived to disturb his work again.

--

“And that’s the extent of it, Yukimura-dono, Sanada-taichou, Yanagi-sama.”

Yukimura nodded, sipping his tea silently. Sengoku waited.

“I’m pleased that Atobe has awakened. Please accept my heartfelt thanks and Sanada’s as well.”

Sengoku laughed sheepishly, running a hand through his copper-coloured hair. “You are very much welcomed, Yukimura-dono, Sanada-taichou. I am just doing my job.” He gave a low bow, still seated.

“Nevertheless,” Yukimura placed the teacup down. The soft, almost inaudible ‘clink’ of porcelain against porcelain rang in the air, and Sengoku almost winced. “You did a marvellous job, and doing your job well always deserves commendation.”

Beside him, on his left, Sanada nodded. Sengoku had seen the General relax when he told the three of the news, and he had thought that it was a good thing Atobe-sama had woken up when he did; he was certain that Sanada-taichou would go insane with worry if he was made to wait any longer.

“You have saved Atobe’s life, Sengoku, and that is certainly no small matter. Do ignore Genichirou’s reticence. He is too relieved to speak, no doubt.” Yanagi said, completely straight-faced, on Yukimura’s right.

“Renji!”

Sengoku could see Yukimura’s lips twitching. He could neither blame him nor disagree with Yanagi; what the strategist had said was the truth, after all. Though Yanagi’s sense of humour was rather strange, it wasn’t Sengoku’s place to judge. He shrugged mentally before replying, bowing low again,

“Thank you very much, Yukimura-dono, Sanada-taichou, Yanagi-sama. May I take my leave? I’m afraid that I have left Dan-kun alone for far too long.”

Yukimura’s eyes had an amused glint in them as he nodded, waving a hand almost negligently.

“Certainly. You are dismissed.”

Sengoku stood, unfolding his legs from seiza position as he did so. He bowed once more to the three seated before turning and leaving the room.

It was rather strange, he reflected. Ten years ago, he wouldn’t have dreamt of pledging loyalty to Yukimura Seiichi and working at the man’s manor as a healer.

After all, ten, no, nine years ago he was still the Chief Healer of the Yamabuki Castle. Nine years ago, Banda-sensei, Akutsu, and Minami were all still alive. Now, only he and Dan were the only survivors among that ragtag group of leaders.

Such were the consequences of war.

It was Yamabuki’s fault, really. For as long as he could remember, Rikkai was a small but rich city with fertile soil, a beautiful and strategically-placed port and a mountain that was, according to legends, the home of a god.

Anyone would be tempted to try to conquer it, especially during these turbulent times. The fact that their daimyo was old and sick, and the one in power was an eighteen-year-old boy just added to the temptation as much as that their General was of the same age. Rikkai had been growing steadily richer too, and Yamabuki had grown jealous. They had thought that it would be a cinch to conquer Rikkaidai.

But Yamabuki had underestimated Rikkai. In particular, they had underestimated their boy-leader Yukimura Seiichi and their young General, Sanada Genichirou. Yanagi hadn’t arrived, then. Not yet.

The large Yamabuki army was completely massacred by the Rikkaidai army, which numbered merely two hundred then. Today, the numbers had increased to over three thousand.

Sengoku had only survived because he wasn’t at the battlefields; he was back at the castle, healing the injured brought in. He was only sixteen at the time. Dan-kun, Akutsu’s adopted son, was barely six years old, and was thus kept far away from the fighting.

He could remember, clear as day, how Yukimura had dragged an injured Sanada inside the mansion and ordered Sengoku to heal him. He had seen the injuries on both of them and promptly shoved them to the futons and started to bandage their wounds.

Yukimura and Sanada were wearing uniforms with the Rikkai emblem, but they were injured. They were his patients and Sengoku was always a healer before he was a soldier.

It was only until later that day that he learned that the two whom he had healed were the ones who killed Akutsu, Banda-sensei, Minami, Muromachi, and countless others.

But Sengoku was a healer, first and foremost, and so he continued treating them. He had realized that he would probably be killed, so there wasn’t any harm in healing as many injured he could, while he still able.

Banda-sensei had always said that he was too compassionate.

That was why, most likely, he didn’t expect his own comrades to turn on him when they did. They had fully recovered, enough to recognise that two of Sengoku’s patients were the enemy. The General and the Daimyo, in fact.

They accused him of being a traitor by healing them instead of killing him as he should, and proceeded to give him a ‘trial’. They sentenced him to death, as he had expected. Sengoku didn’t try to stop them; what they spoke of was the truth, and it was always better to be killed by the hands of your own comrades than by the enemy, even though his would be a dishonourable death. He had disgraced his city badly, and he was a failure as a soldier and as a samurai.

He asked them to spare Dan-kun, and they had agreed. The boy was innocent in this, they said, and he was Akutsu’s son, adopted or not. They would take care of him.

So why was he so relieved when Sanada had staggered from bed, still bleeding slightly, and managed to kill all seven of the men who was preparing to kill him? Sengoku had pondered over the question for years, and he could only find one answer:

He didn’t want to die.

That was why he had accepted Yukimura’s offer, he knew.

“Come with us,” Yukimura had said. “To Rikkaidai, and serve as our healer. Pledge your loyalty to me. Bring Dan-kun with you; he shall be your apprentice.”

It was possibly the best decision he had ever made in his life. He knew, without a doubt, that Yukimura would have killed him if he had refused.

Yukimura could be downright cruel and vicious if the occasion called for it. Sengoku had seen this countless of times in his nine years at Rikkaidai. No daimyo could have brought Rikkai up so quickly without being at least a little underhanded and cruel, unless he relied on purely luck. And Yukimura didn’t believe in luck.

Sengoku did; it was just luck that he was alive right now, and not dead by Yukimura’s or his own comrades’ sword. It was luck that Sanada was able to move when he did, when he saved Sengoku’s life.

But Sengoku also believed in making his own luck; if he wasn’t a good healer, if he didn’t heal Yukimura and Sanada even though they were the enemy, if he hadn’t wanted to live so badly…

‘Luck,’ Sengoku knew, ‘was something that one had to create for oneself.’

After all, it wasn’t just luck that had Sanada-taichou directly in Atobe-sama’s line of sight when the latter awoke, was it?

The window was placed there for a reason.

--

“Kirihara Akaya reporting in, Yukimura-dono, Sanada-taichou, Yanagi-sama, sirs.” Akaya really, really hated kneeling in front of the Troika like this. It made him feel small and insignificant, which was probably the point. It didn’t mean that he had to like it, though.

“At ease,” Yukimura said.

Akaya unfolded his legs and sat down, cross-legged, on the floor. Sanada-taichou gave him a raised eyebrow that Akaya ignored when Yukimura-dono didn’t say anything.

“The Hyoutei palaces were the only things that were burnt. I guess Seigaku just didn’t like their colour or something,” he shrugged, grinning slightly.

Anyway,” he hastily continued when Sanada opened his mouth, probably to lecture him. “There are rebel factions in Hyoutei right now. Most of them swear to avenge Atobe-san’s or Sakaki-daimyo-sama’s deaths, or both. I didn’t really stay very long. I guess they recognised me. Some of them blame Rikkai for what happened because we didn’t help, even though there’s an alliance. How the hell were we to know? And it’s not as if Sakaki’s pride would allow for it…”

“Akaya!”

He blinked. “Um?”

Sanada sighed impatiently, “Keep your personal opinions out of your reports, alright?”

“Yes sir,” Akaya nodded. “Can I continue with my report now?”

“And no impertinence either.”

Sighing, Akaya ran a hand through his hair. He grimaced when soot came off, falling onto the previously spotlessly clean floor. He really should have taken a bath before reporting in; Hyoutei was incredibly dirty and he was sure that he smelled of smoke, but Yukimura-dono had asked to see him the moment he had stepped through the front gates, so it wasn’t like it was his fault that he was dirtying the floors…

“Akaya?” Yanagi-sama’s voice broke his reverie. He sounded rather amused, and Akaya blushed.

“Ah! Sorry!” He bowed quickly towards the three, biting his lip. “I’ll clean up the mess on the floor later.”

“The servants will take care of it,” Yukimura smiled slightly. “But that is of little consequences right now. Continue with your report.”

“Yes sir,” Akaya nodded, feeling chastised even though Yukimura hadn’t scolded him. Not exactly, anyway. “Seigaku soldiers are putting down most of the resistance, and I heard a few of them say that Seigaku’s General Tezuka-san was gravely injured by Atobe-san. Atobe-san won in the duel they had. Most of the soldiers think that Atobe-san cheated by aiming for Tezuka-san’s shoulder, though.” He rubbed a finger across upper lip, remembering something. “Speaking of which… how’s Atobe-san?”

“He’s fine. Sengoku has just reported that he had awakened and is sleeping normally now.” Yanagi said just as Sanada opened his mouth to answer.

Akaya grinned, “That’s good then. Now Sanada-taichou won’t be wearing the floors out with his pacing any more.”

Sanada sighed and crossed his arms, visibly frustrated. “Would you stop going off-topic, Akaya? And Renji, don’t encourage him.”

“But it is rather amusing to tease you,” Yanagi pointed out, hiding a smile behind his teacup.

“What, pray tell, is so amusing about teasing me?”

“For one, you turn an interesting shade of red when teased, especially when the topic is Atobe. The colour reminds of one of Seiichi’s more elaborate kimonos. It’s quite a fetching colour.” Yanagi was definitely smiling now. The teacup wasn’t hiding anything.

Sanada growled, brows furrowing, “I do not blush.”

“Not normally, no,” Yanagi said, “You blush whenever the relationship between Atobe and yourself is mentioned. Such as right now, actually. Would you like a mirror?”

Before Sanada could retort. Yukimura held up a hand. He was chuckling softly, “Now, stop this you two. It is not healthy for Akaya. And Akaya, ‘at ease’ does mean that you can laugh if you want to.”

“Yes…” Akaya’s lips twitched, “Yes sir… Please, um, excuse me…”

He broke out into a fit of giggles, slapping a hand over his mouth. Rather than muffling the sounds, however, the effect was amplified even more. He took a deep breath, calming himself slightly, before speaking,

“Your face, taichou! It really did look like Yukimura-dono’s kimono! The one with the ravens embroidered on the hem… I remember that kimono and Yanagi-sama’s right. Your face is exactly that colour!” He dissolved into giggles again.

Sanada mock-glared, lips twitching even as he pressed the back of his hand to his face. “Renji, you are a bad influence.”

“I know,” the strategist sipped his tea serenely.

Yukimura threw his head back and laughed, long and loud and rich, “Ah, do stop teasing Genichirou, Renji! You are going to kill Akaya with laughter at this rate.”

Akaya punctuated that statement with yet another fit of giggles even as he gasped for breath, “Not… not helping, Yukimura-dono!”

“Enough,” Sanada said, shaking his head, eyes suddenly stern. “Get on with your report, Akaya.”

Akaya sat up straighter, coughing rapidly to disguise the few stray giggles remaining. “Um… As I was saying, most of Seigaku’s opinion was that Atobe-san had cheated to win. There’s also around twenty or so soldiers killed by the rebel factions for ‘slandering Atobe-sama’s name’. Hyoutei’s in a complete mess right now.”

“What about Seigaku?” Yukimura asked.

“Well, Tezuka-san will probably be out of commission for at least half a year. Inui and Kaidoh were injured by Ohtori and Shishido,” here, Akaya snuck a glance at Yanagi, who only blinked at the name. “Their injuries are light, though. And Seigaku, apparently, has this really strong sixteen-year-old whose father is said to be Echizen Nanjiroh, the legendary ronin.”

“I will not be surprised if that is true. Echizen Nanjiroh, though a ronin, has always had a sort of loyalty towards Seigaku. That he would send his son there isn’t completely out of character for him.” Yanagi said.

“I agree,” Yukimura nodded. “Continue, Akaya.”

“They’re going to build a new palace over what they had burnt down. After they had gotten one of the Shinto mikos to bless the place, that is. Anyway, a few people are complaining that they’re disrespecting the dead by doing that, but the location of the old Hyoutei palaces is the best and the most strategic. It is smack in the middle of the city, and the daimyo can keep an eye on everyone, especially the rebel factions.”

“You are right,” Yukimura said, and then he gestured towards Sanada. “Genichirou, please call the others back to the manor. We need to formulate a defence strategy. Seigaku will definitely be going after Rikkaidai next.”

Sanada stood, nodding, and bowed shallowly to Yukimura before leaving.

“Akaya, you did well,” his customary smile widened. “Now go take a bath. Genichirou will take at least an hour half to gather everyone back here.”

Akaya nodded, relieved, as he stood. Flakes of ash fell from his hair and dropped onto the floor as he bowed low before exiting the room, heading for the bath house.

He stripped upon reaching, handing his dirty clothes to a nearby servant before jumping straight into the welcoming hot water, sighing happily.

‘One of the perks,’ he thought as he duck under the water to wash his hair, ‘of being Sanada-taichou’s student is the baths. The servants have known me for twelve years, so I always have a bath waiting for me whenever I come back to the mansion after an assignment. Life is good.’

And to think: twelve years ago, he was a nameless street brat in the dirt-poor streets of Rikkaidai. Now, Akaya wasn’t sure if any part of Rikkai could be call ‘poor’ any more, but he was very sure that no one needed to steal for a living any more. Everything had changed, and almost all the changes were for the better rather than the worse ever since Yukimura-dono first came to power, thirteen years ago.

Kirihara Akaya was six years old when he first met Yukimura Seiichi.

--

Akaya, dressed in the rags he had filched from a merchant three days before, sat down in the middle of the road and began to cry as loudly as he could. He sniffed, large brown eyes filling up with tears even as he spied a large, richly decorated carriage coming up the road towards him.

Encouraged, Akaya wailed even louder, his childish voice shrilling with all its might. He waved his arms wildly in the air and kicked futilely at the ground, sending dirt and dust everywhere.

The carriage stopped, and an attendant rushed to open the curtains on the right side of the carriage.

Akaya grinned inwardly when he saw the man exiting. He was wearing a plain, unembroidered kimono, but even Akaya’s untrained eyes could recognise quality silk when he saw it. Best of all, the man was unarmed and there was a rather large money pouch at his side that jingled merrily as the man walked towards him.

He was in luck today.

Akaya waited patiently for the man to come to him, lips trembling as tears gathered in his eyes again. He opened his mouth to wail, but stopped when a pair of hands picked him up and he came face to face with his next ‘client’.

Akaya was really, really lucky today. This one was rich, definitely; his face and hands were pale, clean and smooth, and Akaya could see a plain gold chain resting on his neck and feel the gold ring on the man's left hand, on his index finger. He knew better than to show his joy, though.

“What’s wrong?” The man asked, his voice soft, cultured. His face was kind, and, in that moment, Akaya thought he had the guy pegged

‘Pro’bly some rich man’s son, a scholar most likely. Don’t look like he can hold a sword without dropping it on his own foot.’

He sniffled again, “’m lost… can’t find mama.” He tugged on the man’s sleeve slightly, “Big brother help?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a few servants wrinkle their noses and shook their heads at his way of speaking, but Akaya couldn’t bring himself to care about what they think of him. He bit his lip and pouted anyway.

The man smiled, kind and benevolent, and Akaya’s heart jumped with joy even as a shiver ran down his spine. Why should he be afraid? This weakling-scholar-man couldn’t hurt him, and he looked rich as well.

“What’s your name, little one? I’ll help you find your mother, alright?”

Akaya nodded enthusiastically, sticking a thumb and suckling on it. He saw one of the servants shiver in disgust and managed stopped himself from sticking his tongue out at the idiot. He should be well-behaved; the rich one probably didn’t like rude kids.

“Akaya-chan,” he paused, and then shook his head frantically, blinking. “Nuh-uh. Mama says I should say ‘Kirihara Akaya’, but that’s too long and she always calls me Akaya-chan ‘nyway…”

The man smiled, showing off a set of clean, white teeth. Akaya stared in fascination. Wow, this one is rich enough to keep his teeth in good condition. Weird. It’s lucky for Akaya, yes, but it’s still weird.

“I’ll call you Akaya-kun, then?” He didn’t wait for an answer and chose to continue without a pause. “Well, Akaya-kun, what does your mother look like? I have to know to find her for you.”

Akaya shook her head. “I know where mama is, but I can’t get t’ her and ‘m scared.”

“Oh?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Can you take me to where she is, then? I’ll get her for you.”

Akaya nodded vigorously. “Mmhmm! You have t’ put me down, though.”

“Of course.” Akaya felt himself being slowly set down, and saw his chance.

He reached a hand out and snatched the money pouch from the man’s waist, breaking the string holding the two together. He turned away and tried to run away as fast as his legs let him, not looking back.

However, he didn’t manage to reach the nearest alleyway when he felt himself being lifted up again, legs spinning futilely in the air.

“Lemme go!”

“Interesting,” he heard a familiar voice said, sounding almost amused.

‘How… how did he move so fast?!’

The ‘scholar’ was holding him up by the back of his rag-shirt, standing directly in front of him and blocking Akaya’s escape route: the alleyway. For the first time since he first saw the man, he felt afraid. Was he going to be hit again?

“How dare you!” A red-faced servant raised a hand against him, looking furious. It was the same servant who had looked at him in disgust just now, so Akaya felt justified enough to stick his tongue out at him, squinting his eyes in a mockery of the servant’s small eyes,

“Why you little brat!” Akaya saw the hand coming down towards him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. It would be over in less than a second.

“Enough. I will not have you abuse this child.” The man’s voice sounded, and Akaya’s eyes flew open in shock.

‘What?’

“But Yukimura-sama, this worthless urchin tried to…”

‘Hey! ‘m not worthless!’ Akaya wanted very badly to kick at the rude, stupid servant, but ‘Yukimura-sama’s’ hand held firm. ‘Wait… Yukimura… where have I heard that name ‘fore?”

“I daresay that this child is not worthless. He is rather clever, using a plot like this. I am to blame as well, I should be more cautious.”

‘What the fuck?’

The servant backed down, bowing towards Yukimura even as he glared at Akaya. The boy glared back, unafraid, which seemed to enrage the servant even more.

“I hope you are grateful, you dirty street brat, that the daimyo’s son has decided to spare your worthless life.”

Akaya blinked, “The daimyo’s… Cheh, so what? I ‘ate the daimyo anyway. ‘s his fault that I ‘ave t’ steal. Stupid wars took papa away and took the house away, and then mama killed ‘erself ‘cause she got disgraced or something like that. Was gross. Why should I care that the daimyo’s son decides that he didn’t want t’ dirty his hands on my street trash blood?”

He barely flinched when he was slapped; he wouldn’t have moved at all except for the pain in his neck when his head snapped to the right. The servant was trembling in fury, hand raised to slap him again when ‘the daimyo’s son’ said,

“Stop.”

Akaya blinked; was the man stupid?

“While I appreciate you defending me, Nitobe, I cannot condone violence against a child who didn’t know better.”

“But Yukimura-sama –“

Yukimura shook his head, voice suddenly authoritative. “Enough is enough. I believe you have punished Akaya-kun enough. That remark warrants a slap, and nothing more.”

Nitobe backed down.

Blinking rapidly, Akaya tried to recover from his shock. The man wasn’t going to order him killed for badmouthing him and his father? Maybe he was right, after all: The man was stupid. Fast, but stupid.

“Akaya-kun, will you care to cater to my whims?”

“Eh?” Akaya felt that he had been blinking in confusion quite a lot lately.

“If I treat you to a full meal, give you a bath and new clothes, will you promise not to steal again?” Yukimura’s smile was gentle and benevolent again, but Akaya trusted his instincts, and all of his instincts were screaming ‘Don’t lie to him! He’ll know!’

“Nuh-uh.”

He heard Nitobe sputter beside him, but his attention was riveted on Yukimura.

“And why not?”

“’cause I don’t like lying. See, ‘s just one meal and one set of clothes. If I sell the clothes I can buy enough food t’ last me a few days ‘fore I haveta steal again. No one will hire a kid or ‘ave money to feed one, ‘round ‘ere. I haveta eat, and one meal won’t last me forever. Plus baths are icky and they’ll kill you.”

Yukimura laughed, a sound so rich that Akaya was convinced that it was worth more than he was. It was kind of unfair, but he didn’t like dwelling on that. Besides, the man was talking again.

“You are a very clever child, Akaya-kun. How old are you?” He didn’t try to correct Akaya on the part about the bath, and for that he was grateful. Baths killed people. So much water in one place surely wasn’t healthy.

“Six, I think. Mama died two ‘ears ago, and I was four then. I can count little numbers like that with my fingers.” He showed him, wiggling said fingers in Yukimura’s face.

“I like you, Akaya-kun. Tell you what: you can come to my manor right now for a meal and new clothes, and a bath if you want to. I don’t need you to promise me anything, but I want you to talk to someone for me.”

“Will she ask questions?”

“Yes, probably, but you don’t have to answer them if you don’t want to. How about it?”

Akaya shrugged as much as he could, still help up by one hand. He wondered if Yukimura’s hand had gotten tired yet, but probably not; he didn’t weigh much.

“Sure, but you haveta let me down first, though. I promise I won’t run.”

Yukimura nodded, letting him go suddenly. Akaya barely had time to gasp before instinct took over; he folded his legs towards his chest, landing on his feet. He pitched forward slightly, hands smacking loudly on the ground as he fought to keep his balance. Slowly he stood up, staggering slightly.

“Yukimura-sama, are you sure…” Nitobe really had no sense of subtlety. He would be killed within the day if he ever lived on the streets like Akaya did.

“Are you questioning me, Nitobe?”

“Of-Of course not, Yukimura-sama!” The servant’s voice faltered and he bowed hurriedly. Akaya pretended to be fascinated by Yukimura’s kimono; it was none of his business, and he didn’t like poking his nose where it didn’t belong. He liked his nose to remain on his face.

“Good,” Yukimura turned towards him, and Akaya could feel his eyes on the back of his neck. “Shall we go then, Akaya-kun?” He didn’t wait for an answer and started walking back towards where the carriage was waiting.

Akaya trotted after him as Nitobe hurried forward and pulled open the curtains for them, trying to glare Akaya into submission as the boy passed. Needless to say, it didn’t work; he ignored the servant completely.

The ride back to the manor was silent. Akaya busied himself by gaping at the sights they passed through. He had never been out of that particular dirty part of Rikkai before, and the fact that he was inside a carriage instead of walking was almost overwhelming. He barely resisted himself from shouting incoherently and pointing at everything he saw. Success was only possible because he could feel Yukimura’s gaze on him throughout the whole ride.

He couldn’t understand it. What could be so interesting about him? He was just a street kid, after all.

--

“You lied. ‘Tis no manor. ‘Tis a fucking palace. Or castle. Whatever. I’ve seen manors, mister, and this isn’t one.”

Akaya stared at the building, no, buildings in front of him. He was very sure that he had never seen anything this big. Sure, there were mountains, but he didn’t live anywhere near one and they were always kind of puny when looked at from far away.

But this was completely different.

The manor (hah!) seemed to be made purely of stone and wood and maybe paper. There were plants everywhere; between the walkways, on the sides of the paths, and even inside the manor itself. Akaya wondered how much water these plants need, and felt almost angry at the sheer waste.

Yukimura, standing beside him and far too tall, laughed. “Do you like it?”

He walked past Akaya, kneeling down to press two fingers against the leaf of the nearest plant. “Every plant here has a use as herbs. The manor sends at least a cart of herbs every month to every approved healer in the city.” He smiled, stroking the plant’s stem gently. “This one’s a gennoshouko. It’s mostly for people who had eaten bad food, has a bad stomach, or complains of stomach pain and/or bleeding… well, you get the idea.”

‘Oh.’

Akaya now felt extremely stupid. No wonder the amount of sick people he had seen this year was so little, and he hadn’t heard of any cases of someone dying because of an quack doctor this past year. This must be why.

“It can’t stand on its own,” Yukimura continued, pointing to the plant’s stem, which was wrapped around a thin, hollowed piece of wood. “See? It needs this wood as a support, or else it’ll just creep along and destroy the flooring as well as take up space.”

“Aah…” Akaya blinked. Well, that was good information if he wanted to steal a plant, but why was Yukimura telling him this?

“I’m probably boring you,” Yukimura said, standing up and smoothing down the cloth of his kimono. “Follow me, Akaya-kun.”

Akaya obeyed, jogging slightly to keep up with Yukimura’s long strides. The man must have noticed, yet he didn’t seem to slow down or seem to want to. Akaya didn’t really mind either way; he was fast enough to escape samurai when he tried, so keeping up with a daimyo’s son wasn’t any trouble, especially when said daimyo’s son was only walking.

The sound of a door sliding open made him look up even as Yukimura spoke,

“We’re here.”

Akaya gaped. Laid out on a table, directly in his line of sight, were plates upon plates of food. He had never seen foods like these before, but he knew they would be delicious. The smells told him as much. (Besides, he didn’t think anyone would dare to serve Yukimura bad food. There were probably rules about stuff like that.)

“Yukimura, who is this?”

Jerking his head up at the very male voice, Akaya gaped again. Seated behind the heavenly table of food was a man dressed in a plain white yukata, katana and polishing stone in his hands. Akaya could see a second, identical katana lying beside him, and he could also see the man’s frown. He spoke before thinking (again),

“Eh? I thought you were taking me t’ see your wife?”

The stranger blinked, and Yukimura burst out laughing.

“No, no,” Yukimura chuckled, a hand held over his mouth. “This is Sanada Genichirou, the General’s student and successor. He is also my best friend.” He shook his head, still laughing, “I have no wife.”

“You are far too young for a wife anyway, being fifteen.” Sanada said, shrugging. He seemed to be completely unfazed by Akaya’s question or presence after the first shock.

“True, though many will say otherwise.”

“Wait,” Akaya cut in, feeling confused. “If you’re not taking me t’ your wife, then why ‘m I here?” He decided not to think about Yukimura’s age. It’s not possible that the man was only nine years older than he was. Completely impossible.

“Sit down, Akaya-kun, and I’ll explain. You can eat once you’re seated.”

He sat, bowing hastily to the two older men before grabbing a pair of chopsticks and started to shovel food into his mouth. It was rude, he knew, but hey, he did bow to them first and he was a street kid. They couldn’t expect very much from him.

Akaya didn’t remember much about what happened during the meal. He knew a lot of questions were asked, but he couldn’t remember them, nor could he remember his answers. He blamed the food; he was too busy eating to think about what he was saying, which was what he suspected Yukimura wanted. Of course, he didn’t know it then. That was why Yukimura’s sudden proclamation shocked him so much that he had choked on his mouthful of rice and fish.

“You’ll be living with us now, Akaya.”

He sputtered, nearly spraying precious food all over the table. “Wait-what?”

“You’ll be living in this mansion from now on,” Yukimura explained calmly while Akaya stared at him, mouth open and food temporarily forgotten. “We’ll teach you the necessary things you’ll need in order to live here, and you’ll never have to worry about food or clothes or a roof over your head. And close your mouth, Akaya-kun, that’s disgusting.”

Akaya obeyed, swallowing even as he glared suspiciously at the two men. “What’s the catch?”

“The ‘catch’ is that,” Sanada answered, picking up one of his katanas and holding it towards the light. “Once the current General dies, and he will, soon, I will be taking his place. And Yukimura will be daimyo by the end of this year at the very most. You will start training with me as my student then. I am a harsh and demanding teacher.”

“What kind of training?”

“Military strategists. Etiquette necessary for a General. The Samurai way of life and its codes. Calligraphy. Reading. Writing. Literature and poetry. And of course, most importantly,” Sanada swung his sword, and Akaya barely managed to duck to not be decapitated.

“Kendo.”

A few strands of Akaya’s hair dropped to the floor. He didn’t feel the blade touch him. There wasn’t even wind!

“You can teach me how to do that?” He almost demanded, voice hushed with awe.

“Yes, and more.”

“More?”

“I can teach you how to disarm an opponent in less than seven steps. I can teach you how to lead an army with nothing but a pair of swords and your mind. I can teach you how to fight even when you don’t have a weapon with you.” Sanada’s voice was soft, almost hypnotic in its quality, and Akaya was already drowning in the mental images of glory that those words had birthed in his six-year-old mind.

“You have to decide now, Akaya-kun,” Yukimura said quietly. “Would you rather go back to those dirty streets where you have to steal just to feed and clothe yourself and everyone looks down on you just because of your status? Or would you rather stay here and earn the respect of the people and never having to worry about food, water, clothes and shelter again?”

Akaya bit his lip, staring down towards his empty rice bowl. It was a sudden offer, and he didn’t know if he could fully trust these two. But it did sound so attractive, and he was tired of being considered ‘worthless’ simply because of what his parents had done.

He looked them both in the eye, clenching his small fists and feeling smaller and bigger at the same time.

“I’ll stay.”

--

‘Of course, that hadn’t been the end of it. Most of the servants objected to me being here, but then the daimyo died a week later and Yukimura-dono took over officially with no problems. He had already been running the place for a year anyway. Then the General died too, and Sanada-taichou stepped up. No one dared to complain after that, especially not after my first battle. That was, what? Five years ago? Man, I sure showed them, then…'

Akaya smiled dreamily as he lifted himself from the tub. The water was now sooty black with pieces of grey ash floating on top of it. He wrinkled his nose at the sight.

‘Eww.’

He would have considered this acceptable as bathing water twelve years ago. He was really becoming a rich snob, wasn’t he? Akaya shook his head, laughing quietly at himself. Well, if he could still remember being a street brat, so he probably wasn’t at that stage. Not yet, anyway.

“Kirihara-san?” A voice came from outside the door, and Akaya nearly jumped out of his skin. Stupid servants and their noiseless footsteps. “Yukimura-dono called for you. Niou-san and Yagyuu-sama have just arrived. Please hurry to the meeting room.”

“Ah, yes. Thanks!” He called back, dressing hurriedly. Pulling his obi tight, he picked up his katana and wakazashi and finger-combed his hair. “I’m coming!”

It seemed that dwelling on the past had taken up more time than he had anticipated.

‘Fuck, I have to hurry. Yukimura-dono hates waiting for people and Sanada-taichou despises tardiness.’ He ran past the gardens, smiling slightly at the feel of the wind in his still-wet hair.

He would leave any more musings for another time, for, now, he had a meeting to attend.

End Part 02: Rikkaidai

Part Three: Tachibana's Folly - In which the meeting takes place, and Niou is not what he seems to be. Fudomine, a conquered city, prepares its people for war against Rikkai under Seigaku's orders. Tachibana is a foolishly trusting man.

Part Three: Tachibana's Folly