Shinsengumi! (1)
Izuki's first day living with Si-ho. The very first thing he tackled was cleaning. He hauled out piles of trash, sorted through the clutter. He ripped up the rotten floorboards and patched them, removed the mushrooms and weeds sprouting everywhere. What started as cleaning turned into full-blown remodeling that took several days.
"Hmm. My skills are limited, so this will have to do for now."
Izuki looked up at the abandoned house with a hint of regret. No, it could no longer be called an abandoned house. The crumbling ruin that had been on its last legs was reborn under Izuki's hands. Of course, no one would call it a fine home even as a compliment. But since the original had been nothing more than an empty mountain shack, that was no blemish on Izuki's achievement.
"O-oh... ohhh...."
Si-ho had grumbled at first, complaining it was a pointless chore. But upon seeing the results, her mouth fell open in awe. The interior and exterior were spotless, not a speck of dust in sight. Feeling a bit better in the clean space, Si-ho spun around giddily, touring the house. Before long, dizziness hit, and she plopped down in her usual corner nook.
"Now that we have plenty of space, please make yourself comfortable in the open area."
Izuki offered a fluffy cushion. But Si-ho shook her head stubbornly, refusing to leave her cramped spot. It was a habit ingrained from her long years as a shut-in. No matter where she went, she only felt at ease tucked into the darkest corner.
"Hmm. That spot must be uncomfortable... why there of all places...?"
Izuki tilted his head curiously. After a moment's thought, his eyes widened in realization.
"...! I see. Of course."
In any space, the corner where walls meet has no blind spots. With her back to the wall in that room corner, she guarded her rear while commanding a full view of the interior. It was the basic principle of maintaining vigilance in all four directions.
'Going beyond mere theory to embody it as a habit in daily life. That mindset is...'
The daily-ization of the martial. In other words, the pinnacle of the unconscious. Izuki quickly pulled a notebook from his bosom and jotted down the insight.
'As expected of my master.'
That explained why she'd stayed glued to the corner, unmoving amid the dust and sawdust while he worked on repairs. Meanwhile, what about him? Distracted by the menial task of cleaning, he'd neglected his vigilance. If there had been ambushers, his back would've been exposed dozens of times over. Izuki deeply reflected on his carelessness, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.
"Hmm. Is there a stream nearby, by chance?"
Sweat beaded on the boy's brow. He'd just finished cleaning, and his whole body felt sticky.
"A-a stream?"
"Yes. I wish to wash off the grime. Would Master care to bathe as well?"
"...?? N-no, I... um...."
"I'm terribly sorry—cleaning stirred up so much dust on you. If it's alright, I could assist personally...."
"Uh? No, I... I don't bathe...."
Si-ho fidgeted with her fingers, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Another habit from her shut-in days. After a full year without stepping outside, she'd even forgotten how to shower, avoiding water for so long. Besides, with no one around to see her, why bother?
"...You don't bathe? How can a person go without...?"
In that instant, a line flashed through his mind.
"Musashi never cut his hair, never trimmed his nails, and never bathed in his entire life."
The famous passage from Dan Chi Bong Gyun Pil Gi, recounting the exploits of the great swordsman from the late Sengoku period, Miyamoto Musashi. Humans naturally relax and lower their guard while washing. Thus, Musashi avoided bathing his whole life to permit not even a single moment's vulnerability.
'...Come to think of it. Master does the same.'
Her wildly tangled, unkempt hair. Nails unbroken, uncut.
'She's already living Musashi's philosophy.'
Once more struck with profound admiration, he scribbled furiously in his notebook.
'I truly made the right choice becoming her disciple.'
Every word and action from his master sparked revelation after revelation. This must be the "matter of the heart" that Chiba Shusaku spoke of—such attitudes born from mindset.
'At this rate, reaching the higher realms won't be a distant dream.'
Izuki smiled contentedly. The notebook chronicling his master's profundities was already a peerless secret manual. As he nodded to himself in satisfaction—
Gurgle. The now-familiar rumble of his stomach clock sounded.
"Oh dear. This is troubling."
But Izuki's reaction was oddly subdued. Normally, he'd smile and head to Kyoto for food.
"I've run out of money."
He gave a wry smile.
"The funds I brought have all been spent treating you to meals...."
"...? S-silver coins?"
"Spent on wood and tools to repair the house...."
Thud. Si-ho paled, frozen in horror. Did that mean reverting to foraging weeds and bugs in the wild?
"N-no, it's fine. I have a plan to raise funds."
Izuki explained calmly.
"The Chiba family has a traditional moxibustion technique passed down for generations. It's mainly used by family members not focused on martial arts or retired warriors to secure retirement funds."
Moxibustion stimulated acupoints to invigorate qi and treat illness—a medical art requiring expertise in the herbs used.
"Conveniently, I spotted plenty of fine herbs growing around the mountain base."
Si-ho winced at that. Ugh. Every weed she'd eaten had tasted bitterly foul. Were they medicinal herbs, good for the body?
"I'll gather them and sell herbal remedies."
Izuki packed sample remedies into a basket, preparing swiftly for Kyoto.
"I'll just fetch enough for today's meals and return."
He bowed and descended the mountain path. Watching his retreating figure, Si-ho felt an odd mix of emotions.
...Living with someone. Feels like this, huh.
The now-empty house felt strangely unfamiliar. Si-ho huddled in her corner, listening to the quiet that was the same yet different from before.
While Izuki focused on the house, Kyoto's situation underwent drastic change.
'The Sword God is dead.'
Once that news spread like wildfire through Kyoto, the anti-shogunate assassins—who had rampaged fearlessly—halted their operations. Seizing the opening, the newly formed organization under the Kyoto Guard Command began dominating the city's security. Clad in light blue haori with white wedge insignias on their uniforms, they were called the Shinsengumi.
Riding their momentum, the Shinsengumi swept through the anti-shogunate forces like a storm. Ronin lurking in dark alleys fled in terror at the mere sight of those light blue haori hems.
At the center of this relentless prowess was always the Shinsengumi Chief, Serizawa Kamo.
With his massive build packed with muscle and fat, his sheer presence exuded tremendous strength, backed by reckless aggression. Add his Menkyo Kaiden in Jikishinkage-ryu, and no one in Kyoto's streets could stand against him.
And that was precisely the Shinsengumi's problem.
"Hey. Piglet."
The popular sumo wrestler Yojiya blinked in confusion. Was that voice behind him calling him?
"Yeah, you—the fat, bloated pig. I'm talkin' to you."
Yojiya turned to see a man of equally imposing girth standing tall. He wore a light blue haori, fan in his right hand, sake bottle in his left. His face flushed deep red from heavy drinking.
"I've been tellin' you to get outta the way since earlier. Ears clogged with all that lard?"
Yojiya swallowed dryly, glancing behind the man. More warriors in matching light blue haori smirked back.
'Serizawa Kamo.'
Only then did Yojiya recall the name. The Shinsengumi's tyrant. By reputation, he was innately savage. He flew into rages and acted brutally whenever things didn't go his way. But that alone could be dismissed as a foul temper. The real issue was when he was drunk.
'...He never told me to move.'
Cold sweat dripped from Yojiya. His hearing had dulled from sumo injuries, true—but not so much he'd miss a voice that close. Especially this man's guttural growl, like a beast's rumble.
"Huh? You ignorin' me now?"
Staring slantwise at the speechless Yojiya, he tucked away his fan and drew his sword.
"...? P-pardon? N-no, of course not. Haha, sorry. M-my ears must be...."
Serizawa's blade flashed. A slab of flesh split from Yojiya's body, splatting to the ground. Fat oozed from the clean cut, grease dripping.
"Tch. Wastin' good meat on the dirt."
Ignoring Yojiya's screams, Serizawa hoisted the massive chunk of human meat.
"Y'know, you sumo guys love 'meat that suits your body,' right? Some swear by pork, others beef—eatin' only that."
Kamo tossed the blood-dripping slab into a street vendor's bubbling pot. Foam of fat and blood reeked foully. The vendor fainted at the sight. Bystanders screamed and fled, but Serizawa dragged the sumo wrestler to kneel before the pot.
"Got me thinkin'—your own meat's gotta suit you best, yeah? Makes sense, don't it? So I cut some off for ya... huh?"
Yojiya had already foamed at the mouth and died. This was the infamous Serizawa sumo nabemono incident.
Serizawa and his gang pulled stunts like this daily. With the Shinsengumi Chief—the man meant to protect Kyoto—committing crimes unchecked, no one could control him.
Today, too, Serizawa swaggered through the streets, chugging sake. His main "duty" now: extorting merchants for protection money.
"You. I told ya I'm raisin' the protection fee startin' today. What's with this pittance?"
"...Pardon? You never said... anything like...."
"Huh? You callin' me a liar?"
Crack. The sake bottle shattered in his grip. In its place, he gently cradled an old merchant's neck. Veins bulged on Serizawa's burly arm. The merchant dangled helplessly, legs kicking in midair.
"Sorry, but I've got a whore lined up in Pontō tonight. Can't have my fun ruined over no cash."
"G-guh... s-sorry... b-but... no money...."
"Fine. Hand over your wife then."
"...?"
Serizawa flung the scrawny merchant aside and rummaged at his waist, heading into the shop.
"N-no! Please! S-Serizawa-sensei! Sensei!!"
The merchant, leg broken, clutched at his hem in agony.
And watching from afar were two figures.
"...Hmm. You really just gonna stand there, Hijikata-san?"
A fair-skinned, petite swordsman with a pretty face tilted his head.
"No choice. Can't touch that madman right now."
The swordsman called Hijikata answered curtly.
"It's not just about force. His backing's the real issue."
Serizawa's elder brother was a retainer to a shogun-direct clan. That connection landed him the chief position.
"Ahaha. So you could beat the chief with raw power, then?"
"Don't play games, Okita."
Hijikata's face hardened.
"The time will come. We seize the perfect chance... and uproot him in one strike."
Until then, bide our time. Move rashly, and the prey escapes. Hijikata muttered lowly.
"Huh? But Hijikata-san?"
"Quit nagging."
"There's someone who moved rashly right there?"
Hijikata scowled and turned. Serizawa Kamo stood frozen, blinking in surprise. And blocking him was a single boy.
Hijikata doubted his eyes.
'...Is he right in the head?'
Standing before that man-eater monster? What lunatic would...?
"Hokushin Ittō-ryū Genbu-kan... Ah, my apologies."
The boy bowed politely to Serizawa.
"Ishihara Izuki, of no current school, stands here to protect the weak—"
Okita stifled giggles behind his sleeve. No way. Am I watching a Sengoku kabuki play?
Hijikata agreed with Okita for once.
"I take my stand here."
The boy declared with resolute eyes aglow.