Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ The Journal ❯ Chapter 1

I still don't own Kenshin, but Michael and his family are mine.

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THE JOURNAL

"Michael, would you come down here a moment?"

Michael Himura glanced up from reading GTO, then shoved the manga into his desk drawer. The 15 year old sophomore was supposed to be doing his homework and his parents never bothered him when he was studying, but if his mother was calling him away, it must be important. He abandoned his books and took the stairs two at a time to the living room. He rounded the corner and pounced into the living room. His mother was sitting on the couch, looking at her hands.

"Yeah, Mom?" His father, Andrew, was home early from work which brought the teen up short.

"Hey, Dad. Why are you home at-" he glanced down at his watch. "-4:30?"

Andrew smiled slightly and brushed his silver streaked red bangs off his face. Neither of them answered and Michael was getting confused. "Mom? Dad?"

Andrew sighed softly. "Son, I just got word that my great aunt died a few days ago."

Michael sat down heavily. "Kaoru-basan? The one that used to say her grandfather fought in the Meiji Revolution in Japan?"

"That's her." Andrew clenched his fists and his wife, Caroline put her hands over his. "You know, she was my last living relative besides the two of you."

Michael nodded. The family had just decided the previous week to bring the 97 year old woman to live with them. Their suburban Chicago home was more than adequate. Now, Michael hung his head and murmured softly:

"I'm sorry Dad."

The three sat in heavy silence, lost in their own thoughts. Michael desperately wanted to retreat to his room to brood in solitary confinement when he noticed a dusty trunk beside his mother's pristine off white Laura Ashley sofa.

"Mom, what's that?" Caro looked over at the trunk then gasped.

"Oh, yes! Michael, this . . .is what's . . .these are Kaoru-basan's things. Her Will left these things for you."

Michael was surprised. He only had vague memories of his great-great Aunt, having only seen her twice as a very young child. But he did remember that she was loads of fun to play with. Her house was fun too. It was built in the traditional style, with sliding shoji, tatami floors and low furniture if any. Michael had loved sliding the shoji around, changing the size and shape of the rooms; he had enjoyed helping her hang her wind chimes in the summer he had visited. The rustle of the silk kimonos she always wore was a comforting sound when he was trying to nap and he'd loved her cooking.

Now, Michael crawled over to the trunk and lifted the ancient, creaky lid carefully to keep it away from the furniture. The first thing that he saw was an envelope with his name written in Kaoru's tiny, neat calligraphy. He slowly broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

Dearest Grandson-Michael stopped reading and stood, re-closing the lid. "Mom, I'm going to take this to my room, okay?"

Caro nodded and waved him away. She was still trying to console her husband. Alone again, Michael took out the letter and, settling down on the bed, began reading, trying to recall the old woman's voice.

Dearest Grandson,

I know that because of distance and expense, you and your family haven't been to see me in a long time. However, your lack of physical presence is more that made up by how full you keep my mail box. Your father writes weekly, and your mother sends me pictures of you and gives me progress reports on how you're doing in school.

You're doing the Himura name proud, grandson.

Your mother also tells me that you're teaching the kendo class at the local dojo. My grandfather gave up his sword, and hoped they would fade from use, but I think that he would be proud of you. The picture of you receiving your black belt hangs in the entrance and all my friends are quite jealous.

The last photo your mother sent to me was something of a shock. I've been noticing it all along, but to see it culminated in one moment was something else. There is only one picture of my grandparents, but you resemble my grandfather in the most unbelievable way. I have included the photo for the family to keep and for your perusal-

Michael laid aside the letter for a moment, and dug through the trunk until he found the old black and white photo, carefully framed and wrapped in plastic. He took off the plastic and studied it closely. The picture was a bit grainy, but he easily recognized two of the four people in the photo. He turned it over and removed the cardboard backing and took the picture from the frame, searching for names.

(seated) Kamiya Kaoru, (right) Sagara Sonosuke, (left) Himura Kenshin (front) Myojin Yahiko 1878

Michael turned back to the front and looked at his great-great-great grandparents.

*What do you know; I do look a little like him. I wonder why his hair is so light. Maybe having red hair does run in the family.*

He carefully replaced the picture and picked up the letter again.

As you know, I never married, something which I do not to this day regret. What I do regret is that I have missed watching you, Andrew, and my nephew Hideki grow up. My brother, Shinta, your great-grandfather, felt that America was the best place for his family, but my Japanese spirit will always be tied to this soil. I refused to leave, despite his and your grandfather's best attempts to wrest me from my home.

Michael smiled slightly. *She wouldn't have come to stay with us even if Dad had begged on his knees.*

You're a good boy, Michael, and I do so enjoy attempting to read your letters. Yes, I said attempting. Your Japanese needs work.

Michael made a face.

Among the thinks that I am including in this trunk for you are my grandfather's sword, his and my grandmother's journals, a scrapbook of newspaper clipping and some other miscellaneous family treasures and documents.

I know that you are only 15 and I have it on good authority that 15 year olds are silly and irresponsible, but heed my words. Do not dismiss this gift as an old woman's folly. I didn't give these things to your father because you are the next generation and they would have come to you regardless. When I die, there will only be three Himuras left in this world as we seem to have a penchant for only having one child pre generation.

Remember, these things are your history and your heritage. Live on, Grandson. Live and grow strong, or when I come back on the Wheel of Reincarnation, I will make your live a misery.

Himura Kaoru-ni

Michael took the letter, went to the desk and wrote in the small empty space on the left margin.

Domo arigato gozaimasu, Honored Elder. May Buddha bring you peace and flights of angles wing you to your rest.

Michael put the letter back in the envelope and put it in the file cabinet beside his desk which had all his important papers in it. He then returned to the trunk and pulled out the heavy sword. Unsheathing it, he was surprised to discover that the blade was on the side facing him.

"Cool! A reversed blade sword! Sensei will definitely want to see this!"

The trunk also yielded many brightly coloured kimonos and obis, one pair of ragged white hakama, a pair of new white hakama with a matching white gi, a dark blue gi, a pair of gray hakama, a wakisahi with a wooden sheath, a pair of black geta with a broken red strap.

*What do I need these for? Oh well, she must have had a good reason to include them.*

There was also a pair of loud, striped hakama for a small child, a yellow gi, also for a small child; both were patched and obviously worn, a birth certificate for one Himura Kenji, a letter to a Seijuro Hiko asking his to attend a memorial for a Kenshin and Kaoru, and the scrapbook, which was full of newspaper articles regarding someone called `Hitokiri Battosai', although Michael wasn't sure. His Japanese was shaky at best and the paper had some kanji he was sure were obsolete and that he didn't know.

He frowned as he flipped through the pages, being careful to refold the ones that weren't glued to well. He wanted to read it, but Kaour-basan was right; his grasp of the language was sub par.

"But it's a second language," he muttered to no-one. His parents barely spoke it themselves. But his father could read it the best out of the three of them, so Michael gather the book and the sword and tromped loudly down the stairs to announce his presence.

Andrew and Caroline were still sitting on the sofa, talking quietly and hadn't heard him coming down the stairs. Michael cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Mom, Dad, have a look at this." He handed over the scrapbook. "What's a hitokiri? I've never heard that word before."

"It means `assassin.'" Andrew slowly flipped through the scrap book, looking at the various articles. He stopped when he came across a scrap of blue ribbon with what looked like a blood stain on it.

"This is very interesting. What else was in the trunk?"

Michael shrugged. "Some old kimonos and stuff. But this-" he unsheathed the sword. "This is cool!"

"A sakabato!" Caro exclaimed. "I've heard of them, but I've never seen one."

"A saka what?

"Sa-ka-ba-to-a reversed bladed sword. It looks very old."

Michael nodded. "But it's been well cared for and look, the blade's as good as new. Hey Dad, there was a picture in the trunk, too."

Andrew looked up. "Oh, go get it." Michael ran out, still clutching the sword and quickly returned with the framed photo. Andrew took it and his wife leaned over for a better view.

"That's him," Michael pointed. "Great-great-great-grandfather. And that's his wife. But this had to be before they married; on the back she's still using her maiden name-Kamiya."

"That's him?!" Caroline sounded amused. "Look how little he is!"

"I know," Michael smiled slightly. "At least none of us took after him height

wise, hu Dad?"

"What surprises me," Andrew stood and placed the photo on the mantle with the other family picture, between Michael's kindergarten graduation picture and his baby picture.

"Is how much Michael looks like my great-great-grandfather; just without that weird mark on his face."

Michael was sure there had to be a good reason for the mark, it didn't look like a birthmark. Excusing himself, Michael again retreated to his room, laying the wonderful sword on his desk atop his forgotten math homework and took out one of the several journals in the trunk.

It has been three years since Tomoe's death and I still long

to join her each passing day. Tomorrow, we're going to Toba

Fushimi and no matter how the battle turns out, whether we win

or lose, it will be my last battle . . .

When Michael didn't come down to dinner, Caroline went to get him. She knocked three times and called him, to no avail. She opened the door to see Michael stretched out on his stomach, reading intently. He was focused and clearly enjoying whatever was in this ancient looking book and she hated to interrupt him. But it was time for dinner. She passed the desk and the sword and the unfinished school work caught her eye.

*Hmm, he needs to do that, too.*

"Michael, it's time to eat." He didn't look up or answer, just turned another page. "Michael!"

He jumped and looked up at his scowling parent. "What? Oh, just a minute." He turned back to the book. Caroline sighed.

*Translation: bring me a tray and I'll eat in here.*

"What are you reading?"

"Great-great-great-grandfather's journals. Who knew this Saito guy could be so noble? Oh, and grandma Kaoru before they got married, wow! No-one lives like this anymore. Did you know he saved Japan from a mad-man called Shishio?"

Caro shook her head. "No, I didn't."

"Hmm. Well it was awesome! Of course, he didn't think so. He was a very misunderstood man, but he led a decent life after he stopped killing people. In here, he describes how to perform all the techniques of his sword style, the Hiten Mitsurugi."

Caroline put her hands on her hips. "And I suppose you're going to try them out?"

Michael grinned, easily sensing his mother irritation. "Of course; what kind of kendo instructor would I be if I didn't try to extend my repertoire?"

"Hmm, well Kendo Boy, it is time for dinner. March."

"Mo-om!"

"NOW."

"Okay." Reluctantly laying the book aside, Michael followed his mother downstairs to the table, and proceeded to recount to his parents everything that he had read so far. When he finally finished his dissertation, he got up and took his plate to the sink. He was halfway out the door when Andrew asked:

"Did you finish your homework, Michael?"

"Uh . . .not. . .quite. I still have to review some . . .spelling and then I'm done."

Andrew gave him a look that clearly stated he didn't believe him and Michael was dismissed. Back in his room, the teen returned to his desk and finished his homework. It was well after midnight before he got in bed, but he was still too excited to sleep. He got out the journal and kept reading.

Since we've returned from Kyoto, it has been our version of very

quiet. Yahiko and Sano still fight (why a 19 year old would argue

with a 10year old is beyond me.) To his credit, Yahiko has been

fighting less with Kaoru . . .

This girl has more that proven her resolve to be with me, so

why can't I make a move towards her? I can still seeherblushing

that day I accidentally gave her thatengagement ring. I'm happy

for the young man it rightly belonged to, but Kaoru was so sad;

I'm glad she like the flowers, although they were a paltry

substitute.

I love her more than my own life, and I'm sure she feels

the same about me but still . . .maybe if I were younger,

with fewer evil deeds to make penance for . . .

Michael winced and skipped a head several pages. *Uh! Who knew he could spout so much sentimental mush? Ah, this looks promising.*

. . . to finally have Kaoru back and alive is a feeling

I can hardly describe. A huge part of me died inside

when Enishi took her, especially the part she had

so lovingly and carefully tried to heal-the part that

Tomoe's death had torn asunder. For that reason, I say

Shishio was nothingcompared to Enishi. Shishio was

only interested in hurting me, and I can live with that, but this . . .

I think Tomoe would be disappointed at the huge wrong turn Enishi

took in his life that brought us to this point.

It is sad that this incident is the catalyst I needed to finally

stir my hand. When she was gone, I realized that I need Kaoru

to brighten my life and to keep me sane. We have to get married.

We are going to get married. Soon. First I have to find Saito

and get him to let me talk to his wife. I think her name was

Tokiwo . . .

Michael chuckled, recalling Kenshin's earlier shock upon learning that Saito was married.

"Michael, go to bed!" His mother's sleepy voice was close to the door.

"I'm in bed." He called back, searching the book for an entry on the wedding.

"Turn off the light, wise acre."

"Yes, ma'am." He got up and flicked off the light and turned on his flashlight. Michael started falling asleep right about the part when Kenji was born, so he finally laid aside the failing flashlight and the elderly book and dozed off.

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It was late when Caroline finally went to see what was keeping Michael in the bed. He was up when she opened the door, sitting at the desk in his shorts, nose buried in the journal again.

"Michael, come on, you have a class to teach in 45 minutes." Michael looked up.

"What?" He looked around wildly for a clock. "Oh hell!" He scrambled up and she went out, wincing as she heard him slam into the bathroom door. He scrambled around and got dressed and Andrew drove him to class.

Michael stared silently out the window as downtown Downer's Grove and soon the dojo came into view. Michael was out of the car before his father was fully parked because he was already late. His students were late as well, so Sensei Drew only gave him the half lecture on the example he was supposed to be setting.

Michael bowed very deeply. "Gomen nasai, Sensei. I had a bit of bad news yesterday, and I'm afraid I overslept a bit."

He held up the sword. "I was wondering if I could use this in class today."

"What is that?"

"It's the sakabato that my great aunt left me."

He handed it over and Sensei Drew inspected it, unsheathing it and testing its balance. Michael stretched out as the rest of the class started to trickle in.

"This is a good sword, Michael."

He beamed. "It was my great-great-great-grandfather's. He was an assassin, but then he took up this sword as a part of his vow to never kill again."

"I see. I suppose you can use it in class since the blade is facing you. Just be careful."

"Thank you, sir." He bowed again and took back the sword. The class was getting restless as Sensei Drew retreated to his office and Michael turned to get his class started with 300 katas.

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When he got back home, Michael took out Kaoru's journal and settled down on his bed to read. Caroline didn't even bother to call him for dinner, he wouldn't have heard her anyway. Around 12:30, Michael finally emerged and wandered down to the kitchen for a snack. He stood before the refrigerator, perusing it's contains before helping himself to orange juice straight from the carton. He shut the door and turned on the stove.

He made pancakes and eggs and sat staring broodingly at the dining room wall as he ate. Both journals were filling his mind and he was sure there was an A+ English Composition paper in there somewhere. Suddenly he had it. Michael abandoned his dinner/breakfast and raced back to his room. He tossed things around on the desk as he searched for paper and pen.

Our story begins in Kyoto140 years ago, at the end of the 300 year old

Tokuga< i>wa regime,when the Hitokiri Battosai sliced

his was through the Loyalists to the new Meiji

Era . . .

OWARI

By ChibiMethos

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Yeah! My first story of 2004! Well, please leave me a review, I like knowing what people think of my work. This is a one-shot.