This upscale lounge smelled of steamed dumplings; far nicer than the sweaty drinkeries I was used to. But the sound wasn’t right. As much as I hated those compulsive old gamblers, drinking cheap saké just didn’t feel the same without the patter of bakuto rolling bones in the background. Maybe it fit. This drink I was chugging down like rice water was going down too smoothly to be cheap. Luckily the kid was picking up the tab on this one. Just didn’t know it yet.

“Hmph, I’m not sure how you can stand that bile! We’re in one of the finest chashitsu in the Capital, which serves the highest-grade tea around. Can’t you at least pretend to appreciate it?” That buzzing, pre-pubescent and presumptuous voice belonged to none other than my tiny traveling partner. Lucky me.

“It’s too freaking hot out for tea. Why don’t you go get us a couple of rooms?” Any excuse to get the kid out of my face would do. The constant questions and commentary were starting to bite at my nerves, and made me regret taking up this bodyguard business in the first place.

The pout I was so accustomed to seeing planted itself on my companion’s face. The reply was muttered in the whiniest way possible. “Why must I do it? My legs are just as tired as yours!”

The kid had a good point—we’d been doing a ton of walking lately. A few weeks on the road was rough on anyone, especially weak bookish types. I didn’t voice a reply but instead let my eyes do the talking. They convinced the spoiled brat to move along, and I was left to a blissful moment of silence.The truth of the matter was, if I tried booking lodgings at the renowned Sleeping Duck I’d be out of luck. There would suddenly be no vacancies available for a dirty sellsword who smelled like sweaty dashi broth. In case you hadn’t guessed yet, I didn’t exactly fit the image of a noble samurai.

I wasn’t supposed to be here—the eyes from my fellow patrons did their best to confirm this fact. As pretty as my face was, it was the katana on my lap that had them so perturbed. Yuck, ‘perturbed’? I’d been around these nobles too long, especially the kid. But a job’s a job.

A well-fed man timidly made his way to my table after being goaded by his even better-fed wife. Sweat ran down his forehead to both of his chins. It was odd that he smelled so familiar, when in appearance he was anything but. There wasn’t the slightest hint of bravado in his eyes; his gaze rested on the bare chest my loosely-fit kimono displayed. What was he looking at, As humid as it was in the capital city, he was lucky I still had my robes sashed up.

We were in the middle of the hottest summer in recent memory, which was why I was drinking this saké chilled in the first place. Though you’d be a fool to waste expensive alcohol by burning it—passing up on this dry apple taste and rich cedar aroma was a crime in and of itself.

“Er...you are a samurai, aye?” The phrase was mixed with equal parts fear and skepticism. Oh, and desperation too. You had to be damn desperate to mistake a half-drunk sellsword like me for one of General Hizen’s lapdogs. Those were purebreds. I finished off my cup of chilled bliss before giving a reply. ibounced the hilt-end of my sheathed katana up with a sudden jerk of my right knee. It flipped well into the air—once, twice, three times before I snatched it. Not a moment too soon either, as it was just about to do a number on an expensive flask of fermented rice. After a couple seconds the pudgy patron’s reflexes kicked in and he stumbled back a few paces.

I liked to think I’d gotten my point across.

“I’m no samurai, though you knew that already. And you’re no Yamato silk-dresser, not with an accent like that. What do you want?” The last thing I had expected was to deal with fellow Southerners in a classy joint like this. Brought back the tastes of my childhood years, and it made me want to gag.

The girthful man wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, yet another tell towards his modest upbringing. I wasn’t sure if I was starting to like him more or less, but I sure wished the kid would hurry up with our rooms.

“P-please keep your voice down, master samurai. I-I mean, the title I meant was...” He fumbled around for the right word. He and I both knew the word he was looking for, he was just too afraid to say it. Ronin.

“...my name is Kin Oyama. My wife and I are here with our child to arrange a marriage with the Akiyama branch family. If you would sit at our table, your presence would bring us great honor.” Kin whispered the plot as if he were a politician trying to usurp his liege lord. His daimyo needn’t worry—the only thing this pretender could displace was a bowl of udon noodles.

The wife held up an orange haori—a formal jacket—and smiled from ear-to-ear. I might have underestimated these Southerners. If nothing else, they had come prepared. The scheme was to dress up a dirty ronin and pass him off as a semi-respectable retainer. A family without powerful hereditary ties, yet had a samurai in their personal employ? That meant wealth, and lots of it.

Can’t a man get drunk in peace anymore? I raised the near-empty pitcher to fill myself up another glass. The smell of dumplings almost masked it completely, but I could still smell the pile of shit Oyama wanted me to step into. The job couldn’t be as easy as it seemed. Whether it was a scam or not I couldn’t tell, but I was content to see this matter unfold from the sidelines.

“Not interested.”

Kin’s shoulders slumped, but he released a notable sigh of relief as well. He might have even hoped for this outcome, just so he could return to his table knowing he had at least tried. I know that type pretty well. The family would no doubt get laughed at for being low-born; they’d be revealed as Genfu deadbeats and that would be that.

He had mentioned a child, but I couldn’t spot the potential suitor anywhere. Unless...aha! Hidden behind the overstuffed roll of carpet that was his wife, a graceful figure sat. Far from being a child, this figure—thankfully—looked nothing like the parents that birthed it. It was the sort of attractive human form that forced my eyes to linger.

She wore a silk blue furisode—a kimono with sleeves that graced atop the ground. An elaborate display of cherry blossoms were etched into the outfit’s design. A white sash tightened around her waist, which was delicate and slender. A golden hairpiece fit snugly atop a braided bun of black hair.

She was breathtaking, and any man who sat across from her would consider himself lucky.

My feelings were mixed at this point. With looks like that, the bride-to-be certainly didn’t need my help. But with looks like that, a part of me—a big part—wanted to help her out more than ever before. It wasn’t every day you get to enjoy satisfying saké and even more satisfying women.

With that troublesome man out of the way I could return to drinking my saké in peace. I could already feel the tart apple on my tongue before I was pleasantly interrupted.

The cute maiden knelt before me, her back fully bent so that her forehead touched the ground. It was the first time anyone had bowed to me so respectfully, and I was more than a little flustered by it.

Her voice was light and flowed like a breeze, and bared no hint of the homeland she had left behind. In fact... “Samurai-san, I beg of you...my parents have sold everything to grant me this opportunity. You being by my—our side, it would put their minds at ease!”

Well this was embarrassing. I could already feel the dead-eyed gazes of all the onlookers in the room. They saw a beautiful young woman dressed in the finest silk, kowtowing to a drunk and dirty ronin. I had to get her face off the floor, in any case.

Sure, a cute girl shouldn’t get her face dirty.”

“Thank you!” Her head rose and beamed a tiny little smile that wasn’t like her mother’s at all. A thin upper lip and a larger lower one...where had I seen those before? Pair that with a sharp, down-turned nose...makeup couldn’t hide those foreign qualities. While her parents were markedly from Genfu, this was a different creature entirely.

While I was busy being mystified by her facial features, she dragged me over to the seat beside her. I reluctantly adorned the orange haori, which oddly enough fit me perfectly.

The collective silence of this odd family was starting to make even me uncomfortable. Apparently the Akiyama family was fashionably late, which meant the Oyamas’ great effort to get here might have all been in vain. Speaking of being overdue, what was taking Masami so long to get those rooms?

I was about to check up on her when the fetching bride whispered, “Samurai-san, they’re here!”

秋山

If I hadn’t been entirely sure what the kanji—the fancy written characters—for ‘Akiyama’ were, I was now. Two men wearing green robes had the words littered all over them. They’d even have it written atop their faces if tattoos weren’t decidedly yakuza. They may not have belonged to a crime syndicate, but they didn’t seem to be nobles either.

Oh, and unless the country of Hyuga had grown radically progressive in recent months, these two guys weren’t the parents we were looking for.

“You are the Oyamas, correct? Your daughter is very beautiful.” The lankier one remarked, but his eyes were all over me. I’ll give you one guess as to why. “You have a retainer as well...”

And here I thought my presence would go completely ignored. I knew that look. He was asking himself a question, a question that confirmed what this was. It looked like I had no choice; the pause here meant it was as good a time as any to introduce myself. Unlike everyone else at this table and perhaps in this city, I had no intention of hiding who I was or putting on false airs

A wise shogi player didn’t move his generals before positioning all his pawns first. It didn’t take more than a glance to know what sort of ilk I was dealing with. The men didn’t slouch on their approach, and walked with their left hands against their belts as if by habit. That was where their jitte usually were.

While the jitte was little more than an iron bar, it sprouted a hook made for catching katana blades. It was also the symbol of law enforcement in Hyuga. For a ronin such as myself, the weapon represented a guaranteed bad time.

There was no reason to reveal that I had noticed the poorly-concealed weapons resting above their belts, nor was there cause to alarm the family about a pair of crooked cops. The differences between a thug and a police officer were few and far between—both preferred to fight you in groups, and both viewed a fair fight with distaste.

A fair fight...when was the last time I had one of those? Anyway, unlike folk with half-decent upbringings, I didn’t have a family name. A single name sufficed, but what was it?

My name is Sjato.”

The atmosphere was tense, though Kin Oyama was blissfully ignorant of it. It seemed like he was too busy trying to sell off his daughter. I could understand that he wanted negotiations to go as smoothly as possible, but come on...

“Good sirs, my name is Kin Oyama. My daughter is anxious to meet the young master Akiyama. Where might he be at?” The nobleman (in appearance anyway) was rudely interrupted by a curt explanation. The type that answered a few questions and prompted a few more.

“Takauji-sama is at his mother’s bedside. Unfortunately our lady has grown gravely ill in recent weeks. We will escort your daughter to the Akiyama estate for a private meeting. It is regrettable, but we ask you two stay here until we bring around another carriage.”

I was so impressed by this tale that I almost felt like clapping. Maybe I was just used to the schemes of bandits and hoodlums—this one was far more crafty and far less violent. And from that understanding expression on the Oyama’s faces, it was far more effective too. Whether this was a kidnapping for ransom or a high-class human trafficking plot would all depend on what the family could pay.

And knowing these Southerners for what they were, they’d be sending their girl right into the slave market. I felt a pair of eyes beside me giving me a glance. The would-be wife’s expression was still difficult for me to figure out, and all that makeup wasn’t helping my efforts either.

Genuine fear snuck out from that pretty face, as it seemed at least one member of this odd-looking family knew what was about to unfold.

Steeling her determination, the graceful figure arose with a sort of nobility that was difficult to put into words. I wasn’t sure if it was the saké or something else, but I was getting an uncomfortable feeling in my chest. The sort of feeling a man gets before he’s about to do something stupid.

As soon as I was up off the tatami mat, the two Akiyama swindlers were already pleading for me to sit back down. The lanky one even had a hand against his stomach, to make sure his iron club was still there. Never a bad thing to check before a fight.

“You, retainer, needn’t worry. We will protect her with our lives. Remain here until the second carriage arrives.”

He should not have said that. If there was one thing dirty ronin like me couldn’t stand, it was taking orders.

Using my blade would’ve turned this fight into a joke, so I decided to make it more fun. With a kick that would’ve made a donkey jealous I bashed my sandaled foot up against Oyama’s table. It skidded into the knees of the unfortunate bastards; the sound of wood and bone colliding echoed across the lounge. It was an unpleasant crunch soon hidden beneath wails of agony.

I moved in for my next attack without hesitation. The stockier thug was hunched over, and didn’t have time to react as I reached over the table to grab the collar-folds of his kimono. Usually I’d knee my opponent in the face, but I had a better idea. I yanked his head down onto the hardwood. Blood squished out onto the table after what had to be a broken nose and then some.

The other crooked cop had regained his senses, and held his jitte out horizontally in the traditional style. His other hand hovered about like a drugged-up wasp, which I could only guess was an effort to distract me. What every vagabond needed to know about fighting police was simple—every style in their handbooks was reactionary. This mentality bled into their minds, making them slower and less-effective fighters.

Action is faster than reaction. I proved it by bringing my still-sheathed katana down overhead like a chump. I could even see the anticipation in his eyes as he brought his jitte up to counter the blow. Except I wasn’t a chump, and I quickly recoiled my weapon as his arrived to parry thin air. With a twist in my shoulders the scabbard whipped across his face, connecting solidly with his jaw. The jolt of the blow ran up my arms as a painful throb, but that was next to nothing compared to what he was feeling.

Or wasn’t feeling, as he laid unconscious several feet away. The bottom half of his face was contorted in a very painful looking position. I guess I won.

*clap* *clap*

The foreign bride-to-be slapped her hands together twice in succession. For a second I thought she was applauding me, but that was before a group of a dozen patrons of the Sleeping Duck jumped to arrest and remove the Akiyama goons. Typical tea-drinkers were nowhere near that coordinated, and I found myself getting real sick of not knowing what was going on.

“You are very...effective at what you do, Sjato-san. Allow me to thank you for your aid in this affair.”

Affair? Just what had I gotten myself roped into? This all felt like one bad kabuki act, where everyone was in on the joke but me. I made certain to add this experience to the list of reasons why I despised Yamato. It was time to get some answers.

“So I take it you’re still single, then?”

I gave her a sly smile. Yeah, she fooled me and ruined my lazy afternoon of drinking, but there was a silver lining to all this. I still had a chance at this exotic-looking babe. Wish I knew her name though.

My forwardness is usually something members of the noble class just can’t handle, and this fine looking specimen was no exception. Red blushed out on those smooth cheeks, but unfortunately this fish wasn’t taking the bait. Didn’t expect it to either—catches like this one never came easy.

“I-I don’t see how that is relevant. Thank you for helping us during this internal investigation, and for potentially ending a series of high-profile abductions.”

Great, a happy ending. The only warm, fuzzy feeling I was getting inside was the last bit of my buzz dying away. If she was expecting me to smile and laugh off being manipulated—and even worse, unpaid—then...whatever, I needed to check up on the kid.

The gang of plainly-clothed ninja had already extracted the two culprits, and the lounge at the Sleeping Duck returned to normal almost immediately. The blood spatters on the table were already wiped clean, evidence of my actions erased as if they never happened.

Unsettling. I was on my way out when I get a name and a healthy dose of foreshadowing.

“My name is Toshie. I look forward to working with you again soon, samurai-san.”

The trouble with sliding doors made of washi paper was that you couldn’t slam them open to convey anger. I held in my frustrations and gently eased the door aside. After that meaningless waste of time downstairs, I was long overdue for some rest and relaxation. The kid was just where I thought she’d be—flat on the floor with a pile of scrolls. What a bookworm.

The kid had a name, and an expensive one at that: Masami Hashimoto. Hashimoto—they’re one of the most powerful families in Hyuga. To get that wealthy meant they must have cornered a very lucrative area of the market, though for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what. Masami was either oblivious or just didn’t care, and concerned herself more about ancient text that looked like fancy squiggles to me.

“I had thought this place an affluent establishment, before all that ruckus from downstairs transpired. Have you any idea how difficult it is to translate these scrolls with such a clamor about?”

I waved aside the complaint and flopped on the floor. Compared to the hardened dirt my back was accustomed to sleeping upon, this mat made from rice straw was absolute bliss. I let out a breath as I enjoyed the sensation.

“Baka...there’s futons in the other room, you know...” Masami muttered while squinting at a partially faded scribble. I arched my head over for a visual confirmation. It was only early in the evening, but as soon as my backside touched that cotton-padded mattress I’d be out like a candle in a windstorm.

I heard a stomach growl, and for once it wasn’t my own. The kid hadn’t eaten yet

Even scholars need to eat, kiddo.”

Even the elegant sort who spent all day sitting around had to eat from time to time. Usually the problem was that they ate too damn much, and bloated up like the Oyamas. I hate to see a couple from my old stomping ground let themselves go—but some common folk couldn’t just enjoy luxury, they had to engorge it.

“Not hungry.” The human embodiment of a stubborn mule remarked coldly, but I knew better than to take anything she said in that tone at face value. That being said...I was hired to be her bodyguard, not her babysitter. So what I was about to do wasn’t so much from the goodness of my heart as it was from personal self-interest. The self-interest of not having to deal with a whiny, agitated child all night.

I rolled my sleeves up and made my way outside. The Sleeping Duck was renowned for its majestic ponds, stocked with an array of beautiful fish for the wealthy to marvel and toss food at. They would then pay top-market prices for the privilege of being served those same fish. To me, that sounded sorta stupid.

“Think I’ll take out the middleman!” My fingers cut through the cool pond water like a hawk’s talons, clutching themselves around a particularly fattened koi. This carp was white with beautiful red blotches, but more importantly slow and easy to grab. Plucking that bad boy out of the water took more than a little shoulder strength—it had to be twenty pounds!

I was now dealing with a flopping, giant animal that was fighting for its life! How did I kill this thing?

As much as I hated to admit it, this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve used my katana for this purpose. A noble samurai would scorn me, but he’d be the first asking for seconds once I grilled this carp. That summed up samurai and their bushidō code quite well, actually.

I was fairly certain I had hit the koi’s brain with my initial stab, but I wedged it around inside there just to make sure. After that was done and I proceeded to bleed out its main artery with a secondary cut, right where the neck meets the bottom. Blood squirted out in a stream as I pulled the head back, the still-beating heart forcing the red liquid out in spurts.

This whole ordeal might’ve caused a weaker man to lose his appetite. As for me, I was coming down with a bad case of the munchies. While I had done my best to make sure no one was around, there were always prying eyes in places like these. Or even worse, ninjas drinking tea. I made sure to hurry my catch back to the room before being seen.

“B-Baka! How could you?!”

After all that hard work acquiring dinner, this was the thanks I got.

Anger erupted from Masami in a shriek, her eyes started watering as a tiny fist flew in my direction. I was so surprised at this reaction that I didn’t get the chance to dodge, especially not with a giant fish in my hands. The kid could really use some work on her left hook, but I’d save my criticisms for later.

Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, kid.”

Even the dumbest of dogs knew that. If a fetching man came to my doorstep with a meal, you can bet your ryō I wouldn’t slug him across the face for it. I might even roll over and play dead, if I was hungry enough. Might even bark too, and that was far from the worse thing I’d ever done for food. At least no one dies when a dog barks.

“Look at these scales! Have you any concept of how many summers this majestic creature has had?” Masami grabbed the fish from my clutches and nearly fell over from its weight. She then proceeded to pet the thing, or at least that was what it looked like to me. It was just a fish, but the kid was starting to get me curious.

“Two or three maybe? They fatten these koi up with leftovers and serve them when the season’s right. Not a bad cycle.” That was my conclusion in any case. If I owned the Sleeping Duck I’d turn these pretty looking ponds into a fish farm. But then again I’m a bit more practical than most of these wealthy-types.

Masami held a hand up and whispered a short prayer that I didn’t catch. She laid the fish gently atop a blank, rolled-out scroll and began writing strange symbols around it. At least she had the decency to tell me what she was up to.

“As you’ve deemed it before, I am about to do another of my shugenja ‘tricks’. And you’re wrong about the age.” Masami grumbled as she diligently wrote calligraphy in an odd formation. This was only the second time I’ve witnessed her use her power, so I stared intently as if I could puzzle any of it out.

The writing stopped, and again the shugenja placed her palms together in prayer. The characters turned from black to a bright red, and the sound of sizzling reached my ears. The unmistakable smell of cooking fish drifted up my nose, and I let out a breath of air I didn’t realize I was holding back. I was just glad that we were finally going to be able to eat the darn thing.

It was nearly a century old...a hundred summers of life, ended like this.” The disgust in her voice was hardly hidden, and wrought with sadness. “May its spirit swim on in the afterlife.” Even a rugged ronin like me could feel bad over a fattened carp, it turned out. My eyes stared over Masami, who looked quite different in the sun’s waning light.

Long black strands of hair draped down to her stomach; bangs cloaking her forehead right down to the eyebrows. Her skin was white as porcelain, though not flawless—the summer sun was relentless to those with a delicate complexion. She wasn’t particularly fat nor skinny, but she had a babyish face with those chubby cheeks of hers to blame.

As for her physique, there wasn’t much of one. Whereas most Hyugan women were just over five feet in height, Masami was fortunate to be over four. Add that to a non-existent bust and the kid certainly had more room to grow. The red kimono she favored wearing was darker than most of the summer fashions though styled in the ever-popular pink sakura leaves. Appearance-wise it was certainly pretty—especially with the white lily clipped behind her ear.

However...it was too flashy and too long lengthwise for my liking. If you wanted to keep a low-profile and not attract attention, you didn’t wear silk that fishwives would hock their husbands for. You also didn’t want to trip over the lower lining if they decided to chase on after you for it. Those women were nasty, and not just with their mouths.

“Cease your staring this instant! I’ll not hear another word about my attire, either.” Masami stared at me defiantly, knowing just how contentious this particular subject matter was. I had wanted her out of that outfit from day one, and I didn’t mean that in a dirty way either. She gave my robes the staredown in return, and I only just now remembered what I had on.

“Wherever did you come across such an atypical haori? I do hope you realize what the meaning of ‘hypocritical’ means, my Apricot Ronin.” She was talking about my orange kimono jacket—a gift from the Oyamas and a reminder of that bizarre affair. Now would be a good time to talk to Masami about it...but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to worry her. What’s a bodyguard to do?

There’s no need to concern yourself. It looks as if the koi is ready to eat.” A group of ninjas led by a foreign-looking woman...there was no benefit to worrying the kid over such things. I may be new at this bodyguarding business, but I take my job seriously. You can call it ‘duty’ and dress it up with honorifics, but the fact of the matter is—I’m a professional.

“Fine! Excuse me for caring!” Masami’s mood went sour and I whispered a silent apology. This was far from the first time this had happened. I’ve kept the details about my past hidden from my traveling companion, and that didn’t mesh well with her inquisitive mind. But my task here wasn’t to be her friend, but her protector. I often have to remind myself of that.

The smell of good food never lets a foul mood linger long, and Masami’s fit seemed to subside. “Let’s carry on with dinner then, I believe I will retire early tonight.”

It was a plan of action I intended to follow, though it turned out a blissful night’s sleep was too much to ask.

Overstuffed with as much koi as I could keep down, I laid atop my futon not unlike a beached whale. My vision already started to blacken from the corners of my eyes. Sleep’s luring embrace was cooler than a woman’s, but lasted longer and didn’t bring back bitter memories. I wanted to lose myself in it, but unfortunately couldn’t.

Call it a bad habit, but I had lived and traveled alone for most of my adult life. Sleeping atop a futon was odd enough; sleeping in the same room with another person...that was something I had just never gotten used to.

I could have my arms wrapped around a cute geisha’s bosom, and still not be able to dream peacefully.

It was childish now, but I never slept until I knew I was the last one awake. No chance of being attacked or mugged or having my blankets stolen—old orphan habits died hard. And judging from the uneasy breathing coming from Masami, sleep wasn’t going to come anytime soon. I’d wait her out if I had to, but it turned out I didn’t need to wait for very long.

The futon beside me started to rustle, ever so quietly. It was a slow and drawn-out rustling that just didn’t sound right to me. Sure enough, Masami got up and out while trying to make as little noise as possible. If that wasn’t suspicious enough, I felt her gaze against my closed eyes as I faked a deep slumber. She even checked my breathing pattern! Thorough little brat.

After she was successfully fooled, the shugenja started to gather her scrolls and other belongings from the living room. I had to make a choice. Did I confront her now, or did I tail her and see what sort of secrets my pint-sized partner had gotten herself into?

I reluctantly shook off the shackles of sleep and made my way over. I nearly tripped over a poorly-placed bedsheet, and stumbled in like a drunkard. If only I were that tipsy, this confrontation would be so much more pleasant. Masami jolted back in shock—a characteristic of kids who’ve gotten caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“G-good evening, Sjato-san. I’m having difficulty sleeping...” While Masami was sure to be a genius when it came to magical calligraphy, deceiving others was another matter. With her eyes cast downward towards the floor, she shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to another. But the biggest and most obvious tell?

“Sjato-san? What’s with the formality all of a sudden?” I displayed my slyest grin and gave my legs a good stretching. That bundle of uneasiness Masami was holding back was about to turn into action, and the last thing I needed was a leg cramp. With her knapsack clenched tightly in her hands, and that shifting pace growing faster every second—I was in for a nightly jog.

*knock* *knock*

Loud knocks from the front door sharpened up the nerves that my full stomach and respite had dulled. It was late for visitors, and judging by the number of shadows behind that screen door...we didn’t have enough tea ceremony cushions for everyone. Did I let the kid answer, or did I?

This all smelled of trouble and stale fish, but I was only certain of the latter. Even still, I was Masami’s bodyguard and couldn’t allow her to get herself into a potentially dangerous situation. Even...if she was trying to escape from me just moments earlier. We’d need to have a nice, long discussion about that after this ordeal was over.

The door slid open and I started to regret not making for my katana sooner.

The leader of this group had his head shaved at the front and the rest held back into a topknot. In other words, a full-fledged samurai. And like all samurai, he had a retinue of retainers. Five men stood at his back, wielding the polearm weapons called ‘sasumata’—typically nonlethal weapons the police used to capture suspected criminals. These weapons had weird assortments of barbs at the tip, which made them great for grabbing onto kimonos. Didn’t work half-bad on bare skin either, just hurt a whole lot more.

Another figure emerged, squeezing between several of the retainers that towered over her. It was a little girl in a peach-colored kimono with a white obi wrapped around her waist. Her eyes were red and blood-shot, with tears streaming down like raging rivers. Worst of all, she held out her tiny little hand and pointed at me in a very accusatory fashion.

“Otosan! He did it! He killed Gill-sama!”

The man with the bad haircut placed his hands on his sword, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. This lovely living room was getting far too crowded, and I found myself caught between a prison sentence and a half-eaten piece of fish. I had to say something.

Do you have evidence?”

I broadened out my shoulders in an attempt to hide what was likely the corpse of Gill-sama behind me. This was all just an effort to buy myself some time to think. I glanced over at my partner in crime. Masami was digging around in that knapsack of hers, but unless she had a shinobi smoke bomb in there we were out of luck.

The fatherly swordsman replied with a booming voice, in that virtuous tone every man had when his little girl was concerned. “Ai-chan witnessed you murder our family’s ancestral koi! The spirit of my father’s father, the great Yusuke Morita dwelled within it!” The samurai unsheathed his katana and raised it into the ready position.

I slowed my breathing and took a moment to analyze the situation. Thinking in the midst of battle could get you killed, but notthinking before a battle began—that was suicide. Five sasumata-wielders blocked the only exit out of this luxury suite, an oversight the architect didn’t account for. An enraged samurai father stood in fighting stance beside a sobbing little girl.

Behind me was a table with my katana and roughly ten pounds of stale fish. To my right was an undersized shugenja with two slips of paper in her hands and something to say.

“Sjato, press this protective talisman against your brow.” Masami ****** a strip of parchment into my hands, which looked to be covered with strange letters I had no hope at understanding. When I thought of talismans I thought of expensive jewels and ornate medallions, not scribbles on the back of a hot springs brochure.

Let me handle this. Don’t let them know what you are.”

I knew enough about shugenja to know that they belonged to the army. They were too dangerous for the government to let them roam freely—there was a reason why Masami needed a bodyguard in the first place. I wasn’t entirely sure what her circumstances were, but keeping her identity a secret was a priority.

Unfortunately the kid didn’t agree with me. “I’m not a helpless lamb awaiting the butcher! So cease speaking to me as if I were!” A distinct display of dislike arose from Masami’s features. I guess you could call it strong dislike, considering that she shook visibly.

I didn’t have time to worry about hurting her feelings when I was in the middle of saving us both. Her outrage provided enough of a distraction for me to make a break for my weapon. I could feel the sudden jerk of sandals against tatami mats behind me; my opponent would take this opportunity to close distance. I had two options on the table.

Perhaps the most difficult decision I’ve had to make.

While most sane individuals would have gone for the obvious choice, I went for the aquatic animal instead. There was a method to my madness. I had found that unconventional attacks worked best against traditional-minded opponents. And no warrior was more traditional than a samurai.

So needless to say, he didn’t see it coming when I tossed a giant carp into his face. He was getting real intimate with his grandfather’s guts, as the uneaten and less-tasty insides of the koi splattered and flew with the wind. The fishy-smelling stink made even me nauseous, and I was upwind.

Ai-chan screamed at the sight of Gill-sama’s mid-air desecration, and again as fish intestines covered her pink kimono. It was a deafening noise that no doubt woke up every occupant at the Sleeping Duck, which meant Masami and I had to leave fast.

I snatched and drew out my blade in a whip-like motion. Closing the distance between myself and the samurai was easy; halting my katana right before I chopped his neck off wasn’t. The sharp edge rested a hair’s breadth above his collarbone. He was helpless, but still alive.

A few years ago I wouldn’t thought twice about taking his life, but...

The power I had with my katana resting beside this samurai’s neck—I knew it all too well. No honest assassin would ever tell you otherwise. That thrill, that surge of power over another human being. It was euphoric.

And addictive. I like to think I’ve changed, that I’ve expunged that demon inside of me. But I know I haven’t. When he bowed his head in defeat and lowered his weapon, I wanted to finish the job. It didn’t sit right with me to let him live.

Even with his little girl right there, crying her eyes out. What sort of monster was I? The father spoke humbly, a noble yet defeated warrior.

“I don’t know what you are, but you’ve bested me in combat. If you spare my life, I swear to let you and your companion leave here safely. Do you accept?” To his credit he kept a strong and even tone, even as my blade pressed against him.

Being stalwart was an amicable virtue, but being slow off the draw was a sin that would get him killed. Maybe he’d realize his best swordsmanship was behind him, and retire his katana to the sword rack in his family’s shrine. Or maybe he wouldn’t, just like yours truly.

“He accepts, I assure you. We apologize for this disruption and shall be on our way forthwith. Oyasuminasai!” Masami intervened and all but dragged me out. I understood her desire to smooth matters over, but did she really have to wish him ‘goodnight’? It hurt our intimidation factor substantially.

I lacked the faith Masami had in the samurai’s promise and expected those retainers to try and jump us on our way out. But they didn’t move a muscle. Not that I’d give them much credit—it was more out of fear than discipline. Perhaps I was even scarier than I thought.

Why did we have to be in Yamato?

In any other city, I could have escaped and been well on my way downriver before morning broke. I never thought I’d miss alleyways you had to squeeze through sideways or sewers you had to trudge through knee-deep in muck.

But this was the home of the Imperial Palace. There were no pathways that could not fit five armored soldiers abreast, and no underground waste tunnels either. Instead, royal shit was carted off discreetly. Their feces were prized as ‘night soil’, and sold to the highest bidder.

I wish I was joking.

The kid was upset with me but the feeling was mutual. No doubt Masami was filled to the brim with angst, having been denied an opportunity to use her magic scrolls earlier. I was a young man about a lifetime ago, but I still knew the desire every adolescent had. Not that desire—mind you—but the desire to prove one’s own worth.

All I had managed to prove was that dead fish could fly. I bested that samurai in combat, and true enough he yielded with honor. But I wasn’t stupid enough to think the battle was over. He had just eaten a faceful of his spiritual grandaddy, and lost to a nameless ronin to boot. There were only two options left for honor-bound men like him.

He could either kill himself, or have me killed. Guess which one he was going to pick. Bounties and increased guard patrols were the least we could expect. Getting out of this city was not going to be easy.

While there were paper lanterns at every street corner, Yamato was a ghost town at night. This may be due to a curfew, or a simple lack of disreputable fellows like me about. Either way, guards were sure to find a man skulking around with a girl at midnight questionable.

I needed a strategy should we come across one of these patrols.

if I’ve learned anything from this world, it’s the power of sharpened steel by your side. A talented warrior cut his own path in life—be it for women, ryō, or fame. At least that’s the idea. I considered myself a skilled swordsman; so why was I alone, destitute, and habitually disrespected?

I cracked my neck and a smile at the thought. Maybe I haven’t learned anything after all.

“Kid. If we run into any guards, I’ll dispose of them. Save your magic tricks for tomorrow’s stir fry.” While these city watchmen were better trained than most, I can’t imagine that they’ve dealt with anything worse than drunken samurai well past their prime. They wouldn’t have a chance against a clear-headed ronin at his best.

Masami brushed her bangs from her eyes to reveal a stern glare. Her cheeks puffed out as well, a childish but incredibly cute habit. “Dispose? I’ve more than half the mind to dispose of your services entirely! You’re no more than a violent cutthroat!” The shugenja placed her hands atop her hips and stopped following me.

The kid’s frustration gave way to an idea. One of her better ones. “It’s obvious to methat we have matters to discuss. This establishment across the street, with the posters on display. It should be deserted this time of night.” I followed Masami’s eyes to a series of large illustrations hung over an odd wooden building. The illustrations showed ridiculous-looking men and women in white facepaint and impossibly colorful kimonos.

Me and my orange haori should fit right in. The front entrance was unlocked and slid right open. Hyugan doors were impossible to secure from the outside—the best you could do was place a bar from the inside to prevent the frame from sliding altogether. Most folk from safer communities didn’t even bother, which certainly made my assassinations easier.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it sure wasn’t this.

Balconies overlooked a series of raised walkways, which mingled in and around seating areas covered in luxurious rugs and pillows. The walkways joined towards the end of the chamber, where some sort of miniature shrine stood in extravagance. It lacked any walls and any purpose, from what I could tell.

My puzzlement did not go unnoticed. “Care to speculate, Sjato?”

I knew Masami was grinning like a childish devil without even looking. Since our two weeks of traveling together, she’s made it a habit to boast her trivial knowledge whenever at all possible. Sometimes I could get lucky on a hunch...

...probably not this time, though

It’s a brothel. The girls strut along the aisle.”

This was how I turned the tables on the know-it-all scholar. Masami couldn’t handle this area of expertise well, as shown by the blush building on her cheeks. But aside from teasing the kid, my guess had some merit. Sauntering along these elevated walkways would give spectators a perfect view.

Anger blended with embarrassment in her response. “Y-your vulgarities have no limit! This is a kabuki theater—stylistic dance-drama in its purest form! Genius choreography depicting historic battles and romance, of warring families and forbidden love! It is no house of ill repute!”

Masami’s passion bled through her words like a heart hemorrhage. It was good to see her get enthusiastic about something besides scrolls for once, but being a hopeless romantic...

Well, there was more than one way a heart could break.

The best course of action was to hide out here for a moment while the guards prowled the nearby streets. It gave me and a kid a chance to talk, and not about clowns who danced with masks on.

“Masami Hashimoto. You and I have much to discuss.” This was the first time I had ever addressed her so officially. Names hold a certain kind of power, but only if you used them sparingly. Like a spice, they can change the flavor of a sentence entirely.

And this dish was tasting bitter. But this matter had to be addressed.

“I’m your bodyguard. You tried running out on me while I slept. Why?” My eyes met hers and prepared for a staredown, but that wasn’t necessary. Her eyes looked away towards the front entrance, as if willing the body to follow. Why was she so desperate to avoid this question?

Masami’s hands clenched into fists. “Worried that I would abscond on your payment?! Of course! That’s all you ever seem to care about!” She pulled out a pouch from inside her kimono and slammed it against the stage floor. The jingling of coins preceded a scatter of ryō, the shining glints of gold unmistakable even in this faint light.

“There! Take your ryō you...you scoundrel.” The shugenja turned away from me with shoulders that raised with rapid breaths. She sniffed the air, though not to catch a scent. Masami was holding back a cry, and it was entirely my fault

Don’t ever throw money at me.”

I stared at the scattered ryō in disgust. Disgust from the urge inside of me, the instinct to go and pocket what Masami tossed away like it was trash. I’d get on my hands and knees, while this child would look down upon me in both meanings of the phrase. There was no other gesture the shugenja could have made to emphasize how different we truly were.

The impulse subsided, so I continued. “I’m not...I’m not a slave for money. You have no right to judge me for what I’ve done—what I’ve had to become to survive. You can’t even imagine the ways I’ve had to suffer!” My voice started shaking, my calm facade breaking like shattered porcelain.

I was furious, but not at the kid. No, I’d need a mirror to reveal who angered me the most.

After a long silence the young woman in the red kimono replied, though with her back still turned. “You’re right. What does a wealthy juvenile know of hardship? I scarcely know your name, let alone your grief!” Masami spun on her heels to face me, with her anger more composed than before. “How can I permit you as my protector if you won’t even tell me who you really are?!”

Who I really was? I was exactly what you think: a no-good, vagrant swordsman for hire. Or maybe she wanted to know about my past as a street urchin who stole from hardworking farmhands. Who beat up on the smaller kids until they bruised all over just for fistful of stale rice.

Or maybe she wanted to know about the ungrateful student of a sympathetic samurai, who betrayed his master for a bit of chump change. Forsaking the man who was the closest thing to a father he would ever have. What a horrible human being.

My life made for a piss-poor story no kabuki house wanted to dance to. Masami had the curious mind of any good scholar, but this was one tale she wouldn’t want to hear. And aside from that...

She’d never see her “Apricot Ronin” the same way again.

You keep asking about me like that kid, and a guy might start to get the wrong idea.”

I playfully winked and teased Masami out of that dangerous line of questioning. I couldn’t satisfy her curiosity, but I could distract her imagination in other ways. The kid didn’t know it, but the less she knew about this vagrant ronin the better. I’d rather she think of me as a shameless flirt than a heartless killer.

Though I certainly fit the bill for both.

Although the shugenja looked shaken up and embarrassed, she gritted her teeth and stared me down with a determined look. “Flatter yourself as you may, I shall not be dissuaded.” Her gaze intensified, and it was my turn to look away towards the door. I might have underestimated the kid’s resolve, or I might just have to step up my game.

Either way, I play to win.

I was about to follow up on my original question when Masami bombarded me with queries of her own. While I was glad that they weren’t about my past, they were about as pointed as razor-tipped shuriken.

“Why must you continually disparage my expertise? Had I used my shugenja arts, the horrendous carnage of that majestic koi fish would have been prevented!” She turned her nose upwards in an attempt to look down at me, even if it was a physical impossibility. She then started giving orders.

“Your methods sicken me. I hereby forbid the desecration of animals from this time forth! Treat them with the respect you would your fellow man!” I visibly flinched, holding back an irrational outburst the kid didn’t deserve. There was more than a little merit to Masami’s criticism, but that didn’t change the fact that Sjato took orders from no one. That overstuffed fish made for a damn good meal as well as a pivotal distraction in battle.

That is to say, it had been far more useful in death than it had ever been in life. All I did was spare it another century or so. My methods are questionable—and rightfully so. But they were mine and I took pride in them. Didn’t have much else to, really. So the kid would have to deal with an upset stomach here and there.

Go purchase a samurai if you want to give someone orders. I do my job my own way.”

If you thought about it, Hyugans loved being dull: following orders, setting schedules and partaking in regular tea breaks. There was a comfort there, to have a daily and rigid schedule. You didn’t need to think much as your days blurred into weeks, weeks into seasons and so on.

And then you died. No, I think I’ll forgo the lukewarm oolong tea. I’d rather drink saké that burned the roof of my mouth than live that sort of life. No one told me what to do, not even a shugenja.

The kid wanted to know why I stopped her from using magic earlier. So I told her.

“Don’t use your magic unless you need to. It creates as many problems as it solves—a ronin attracts less trouble than a shugenja ever could.” And it was true. With my katana, I could kill a squadron of soldiers. Maybe more, if they each took their turn. But from what I knew of shugenja, Masami could kill an army. She could carve out her own province, start a rebellion and challenge the Emperor.

There was one more point I wanted to make, but I couldn’t bring myself to voice it out loud. If Masami started using magic to solve our problems, I’d start relying on her. And I couldn’t afford to rely on anyone. I would end up hesitating at that crucial moment: when I held out hope that there was a trick in that knapsack of hers when there really wasn’t.

That would be the moment I became weak, and the moment I died.

Masami sighed. “I suppose I cannot hide this any longer.” With shoulders slumped in a display of resignation, she pulled out a letter from her knapsack. But what drew my attention was the giant red seal atop it, a wad of dried wax that rivaled a geisha’s lipstick. Stamps on official documents were not uncommon, but this one was in a league of its own.

“Well? Go ahead and read it.” The kid hassled me onward. Sweat dripped from my brow, and it wasn’t from the humidity. I looked down at the elegant lines of chicken scratch. Shit.

“I can’t read.”

There was no reason to be ashamed of it. So what if a group of old monks made up a series of strokes and called it a language? That just meant they had too much free time on their hands. As for me, I worked with my hands for a living—more specifically my sword—and had no reason to waste precious time on complicated nonsense.

Masami gasped in a dramatic fashion, causing me to shift uneasily. So what if I wasn’t literate? I’d made it this far without it being an issue. Not every child in Hyuga had access to teachers, especially not the ones who lacked parents in the first place. I had been more concerned about my next meal than memorizing silly symbols. Still was.

So why was I being so defensive?

The shugenja couldn’t let the topic drop. Her mind still staggered from the fact that not everyone was as well-read on satirical poetry as she was. “Being illiterate—is horrendous! There are countless legends to experience, innumerable insights to grasp! By delving into one’s imagination, one could vicariously live a hundred lives! No, a thousand!”

I wasn’t entirely sure what ‘vicariously’ meant, but one life was more than enough for me. I’d rather Masami speed up this lecture so she could tell me why this piece of paper was so important.

“Save the lesson for when we’re out of the city. I want to know why this thing caused you to sneak off in the middle of the night. Without your bodyguard.” It felt like she had managed to avoid this question for an hour or more, and my voice was starting to grow hoarse from our spirited conversation.

This kabuki house drama was about to end

Failing to enlighten me on the wonders of the written word, Masami spoke up in a rejected tone. “It is a royal summons, Sjato. That seal is the Emperor’s own mark—and was in our chambers at the Sleeping Duck when I first arrived. It requests my presence at a particular temple, after midnight when the moon begins its decline.”

This didn’t make sense. I made damn sure that nobody knew of our destination during our two-week travel to Yamato—I even avoided the main roads and backtracked in case we were being tailed. And here I thought I was being needlessly cautious, when we’d been expected this whole time?

The kid’s next remark threw my mind into a flurry. “It’s addressed by a woman named Toshie. I don’t recall the name from—Sjato?” My shock didn’t go unnoticed upon hearing the all-too-familiar name. Masami gave it a good guess. “Are you and her acquaintances, perchance?”

“Something like that.” It was a name that belonged to someone I was trying to forget, a dishonest bride-to-be who used me and didn’t even have the decency to pay up afterwards. A shinobi ringleader who I wanted as far away from the kid as possible.

I was feeling several emotions right about now, but the strongest by far was that of being seriously pissed off. This invitation had “trap” written over it more than a Jijinto loan shark.

Must I protect you from yourself as well?”

My exasperated sigh let out my pent-up frustration in a giant exhale. The humid air of this stuffy kabuki theater wasn’t doing me any favors, forcing me to remember just how tired I was. We were being hunted in the most highly-guarded, most samurai-saturated city in Hyuga. Keeping the kid safe from all that was next to impossible.

Especially when she had a death wish. “Y-you’ve thus far only served in endangering me further! What good is an escort who attracts more danger than he dissuades?” The words stung because they had a ring of truth to them. But only a ring. Masami was oblivious, but on our journey to the capital city we had passed a duo of pickpockets, a caravan of stolen merchandise, and a traveling troupe of tramps.

Each group had looked at the kid like a hawk did a mouse. Until they saw the katana at my hip, that is.

I knew enough about my miniature shugenja to know that arguing any further was a waste of time. And time was a luxury we didn’t have much of—we had already spent far too much time chattering. My voice was growing hoarse, but I still had one more question to ask.

The question I couldn’t help but obsess over ever since we entered this theater.

“Why didn’t you take me with you

I could have sworn that my voice echoed against the walls of this empty, wooden chamber. It resounded into a delicate whisper, admitting the empathy that I had tried so hard to conceal. I was a jaded old man—or at least I felt like one—who knew all too well that compassion ultimately led to one misery after another.

But I still asked. And I waited patiently for Masami’s response. Eventually it came in the form of an embarrassed mumble. “Because I...wanted to prove that I’m not just a helpless kid. I wanted you to see me as...” She trailed off into silence, but her words caused me to smile.

I picked up a nearby ryō that was on the floor, and stared at my golden reflection before tossing it back to my employer.

“You paid for a bodyguard. Might as well get your money’s worth.