Fireworks, Apple Candy, Fox Masks, and Slashing People (1)
One morning, Izuki and Si-ho lost their home base overnight. With no other choice, they found an inn to stay at for the time being. Si-ho threw a fit at the idea of a crowded place, but they couldn't exactly sleep on the streets. Thankfully, the ample pouch of money from the Shugoshoku made securing a room easy enough... but.
"I'm sorry. The other guests are uncomfortable."
The innkeeper looked troubled.
"We have our own bathhouse attached to the inn, so please use it... and if you could manage some proper clothes..."
The innkeeper trailed off, glancing sideways at Si-ho. Her clothes were torn to shreds, little more than filthy rags. Her hair was matted, tangled, and caked with dirt. Her skin was so grimy it could have been used to make broth. The dining guests had retched, hurled their chopsticks, and caused a huge commotion.
"My apologies. We'll take care of it right away."
Izuki bowed politely to the innkeeper and returned to the room. Si-ho scurried straight to the corner like a startled animal. Izuki gave a wry smile and sat seiza at a respectful distance.
"Master. The spirit of refusing a bath to embody Musashi's philosophy is truly admirable for a warrior."
The boy began gently.
"But in our current situation, wandering around unwashed and in rags will only draw unwanted attention and make us targets for trouble."
"Ugh... uuuugh..."
Si-ho groaned in agony. Of course, she knew pulling aggro for no reason was pointless.
'But... even so, if I bathe...' She'd be naked. Completely defenseless.
"How about this? I'll stand guard while you bathe."
"...?"
Si-ho's eyes trembled wildly.
"Ah, outside the door, of course. It's pricey, but they have private baths available."
Si-ho still eyed him suspiciously, but when their gazes met—those clear, earnest eyes—her tension eased, and she looked down.
"Th-then... like that..."
She mumbled in a voice that crawled into itself. Izuki beamed and immediately arranged for the private bath with the innkeeper. Another boon from the Shugoshoku's generosity. Si-ho double-checked for traps in the bath, then finally sank into the water, trembling to the end. True to his word, Izuki stood watch outside the door.
And not even a minute after Si-ho started bathing.
"...Hey."
"Yes, Master."
Splash, splash.
"Did you need something?"
"Uh, huh? N-no... nothing."
Silence followed. A bit more splashing.
"Um... you're... still there, right?"
"Yes? Of course, Master."
"U-uuuh..."
More splash, splash. Then scrub, scrub.
"..."
"..."
"Y-you're... there... right?! Right there??"
"Yes, I'm here. Don't worry."
"I-it's... Ishihara, right? Not... someone else...?"
"Yes, Ishihara Izuki."
"...U-uuuh."
She seemed reassured again. The splashing resumed, anxious as ever. Listening, Izuki suddenly realized something.
'She called me by name for the first time.' Well, technically his family name, but still. It was the first time she'd used anything resembling a proper address instead of "hey," "there," "uh," "um," or "uuuh."
As Izuki quietly celebrated this milestone, steam billowed from the slightly ajar door. Si-ho emerged in a yukata, wriggling out like a shy creature.
"...?"
Izuki was momentarily speechless. Her long hair, damp and gleaming snow-white. Skin just as pale, flushed pink from the heat. Great dark eyes blinking beneath lashes like winter snowflakes. Stunned by her otherworldly beauty, he murmured inwardly.
'...She actually has proper facial features.'
Izuki let out a relieved sigh. Until now, Si-ho's face had been a nurturing cradle for every conceivable natural filth: dirt, soot, grass roots, food stains from meals, bug corpses, bird droppings from passing crows, and more. Izuki genuinely couldn't discern where her features hid beneath those thick sedimentary layers. He'd braced himself for missing nostrils or backward ears. Seeing his master's intact face was a huge relief.
"...?"
Si-ho tilted her head at the boy beaming at her with unbridled joy. They had a simple dinner at the inn and returned to their room. This time, no disgusted glares from the other guests. They still gawked at Si-ho's face, bombarding the innkeeper with questions, but it seemed more curiosity than malice. Good enough.
"Oh, that reminds me."
Seeing her transformed appearance sparked a thought.
"Why not correct your posture while we're at it?"
Si-ho looked puzzled.
"Wh-why...?"
"You said you can't control your strength during iaijutsu, right? Bad posture is likely the cause."
Si-ho's head tilted again. What did posture have to do with strength control?
"True power comes from proper posture. If it's off, your body's structure collapses, and you can't exert force properly."
That's why every sport emphasizes basics. Everything starts from correct form.
"Especially with a hunched back and rounded shoulders—the load shifts to your neck, back, and shoulders, tensing and stiffening the muscles. You can't fine-tune strength like that. Force creeps in unconsciously."
Izuki continued.
"Release that tension with proper posture, loosen the muscles, and only then can you relax and swing the sword."
Ooh. It sounded almost medical. Si-ho's eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously.
'...Wait. Hold on.' Relax and swing? Wouldn't relaxing make it weaker?
Reading her doubt, Izuki smiled faintly.
"No. Tension slows and weakens the blade. Relaxation makes it fast and strong."
"...?"
Si-ho furrowed her brow at the counterintuitive claim. Izuki set up some bamboo he'd brought from the barracks and drew his sword.
"If you tense and swing like this—"
Thud. The blade lodged in the bamboo. Just a shallow nick; the bamboo was fine. But the sword's edge was chipped.
"No damage to the enemy, just recoil on yourself."
Relaxed, the second swing whistled whoosh—noticeably faster. Slice. Clean cut through the bamboo. Izuki shook off the blood—er, sap—and the stalk toppled neatly.
"Damage only to the foe, no recoil."
He showed the blade: only the first swing's chip marred it.
"For you, Master, the damage output is overkill anyway. Relaxing minimizes recoil, which is ideal."
Si-ho examined his sword with wonder. Indeed. Proper form and relaxation let her attack without shattering blades.
'This is... definitely worth learning.' She'd assumed iaijutsu recoil inevitably wrecked swords. Hypersonic head-smashing would, normally. But in a world with superhuman strength, superhuman technique to harness it made sense.
'If I master this...' No more losing her weapon after one strike. Even imperfect mastery—blade lasting two swings—was worlds better than one.
'Feels like our master-disciple roles are flipping, though...?'
Si-ho resolved to learn it properly soon. But it was late; time for bed. Post-bath drowsiness hit, and her head nodded.
"Ah, you look tired. Posture training can wait."
Izuki smiled and prepared for sleep. Kyoto's night sky now shone with a full moon.
✿
In a dark room lit only by moonlight, a man lit a lantern. The flickering flame shadowed his stern face.
"You've heard by now. The Sword God is dead."
The man who'd ordered the assassination on Kenshin. Leader of the Choshu anti-shogunate faction, Katsura Kogoro, spoke.
"You know what this means."
He cast a grim gaze at the scattered shadows in the darkness.
"Our anti-shogunate faction's strongest force is crushed... but it's beyond that. Far graver, nation-shaking events loom."
The Sword God wasn't just their top assassin. Since the divine age ended and the human age began—since Shinto-ryu, humanity's first high-level martial art, splintered into 700 branches—no single warrior had toppled a nation alone.
'Individual might is powerless against the group.' This axiom had held for 2,500 years of human history.
Until the Sword God shattered it. No one escaped his blade. No place was beyond his reach. He could kill anyone, anywhere.
Then why hadn't he slain the shogun and ended the shogunate? He could have.
"Because toppling the shogunate wouldn't usher a new era."
The world seemed a clash between shogunate and anti-shogunate forces. But not really. The anti-shogunate was just a loose coalition to overthrow the shogunate. Victory would splinter them into warring factions again.
"The Sword God didn't want that future."
He sought absolute, eternal order. Thus, he didn't target just the shogunate.
"Eliminate all potential war-starters early."
That was his true role. A daimyo expanding arms? Assassinated. A warrior rising too fast? Dead. Many with Sword God-level potential emerged post his advent, but all were culled before peaking.
"The ceiling of this world's martial might."
He capped humanity's escalating total power, preventing any surpassing him.
"And now, that cap is gone."
What followed was obvious. Powerful warriors who'd lain low under his shadow would stir.
"Whoa nelly, what a load o' horse manure."
From a dark corner, a shadow with feet propped on the table grumbled.
"Y'all Choshu boys did all the dirty work yerselves, clearin' out the pests in yer way. Why dress it up so fancy?"
He dug in his ear, irritated.
"...Regrettable if you see it that way."
"Sword God got scared o' someone toppin' him, so he pruned 'em early. Right or wrong?"
Why twist words? The shadow shot up.
"So what's the point? We ain't buddies. Wrap it up; I'm headin' home."
Another shadow, who'd listened silently, spoke.
"Regardless, priority is assassinating the white-haired old man who killed the Sword God."
"Pfft, then why the song 'n dance? You got time to burn?"
He snickered incredulously.
"That white-haired granny or whatever—just lop off her head. Chuck all Kyoto's old fogeys in coffins; one'll be her."
He grinned slyly at a burly shadow.
"Hey, Tanaka ol' timer. Wanna bet who bags the white-haired coot's head first?"
"Tenchu is no game. Okada Izo."
Another bout of solemnity. Okada Izo shrugged.
"Fine, I'm out. Stay longer, I'll get bored stiff."
He spat his straw and headed out.
"Okada Izo."
Katsura called. Izo paused mid-step, leaning back to peer in.
"What? Gonna confess yer love?"
Katsura regarded him evenly.
"I've noticed before—your dialect's too thick. As an assassin, it gives away your origins. A weakness."
Izo's eyes bulged. He scratched his head, rubbed his chin.
'Hell, I thought I sounded Kyoto-fied enough.'
"Y-your dialect's worse, ya Choshu hick!"
He bellowed and stormed off grumbling.
"...Tosa's young lord has it rough."
Katsura watched him go.
"He's young. Meeting the right woman will mature him."
The shadow called Tanaka sipped his sake silently.
"Okada Izo's love."
Katsura rarely smirked.
"Curious, indeed."
He blew out the lantern. The room's sole light vanished in black smoke. Shadow once more, he pondered deeply.
'Not enough, after all.'
Faint groans from the warriors in the dark. Piles of corpses here and there—the assassins Katsura hired to eliminate Okada Izo and Tanaka Shinbei.
'Swordsmen rivaling—no, surpassing—the Sword God.' Heaven-sent four man-slayers. He'd summoned them here to purge them all.
'A pity.' Two no-showed; two turned the tables.
Katsura gazed at Kyoto's full moon with a bitter smile.