Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction ❯ Nenju ❯ III. Is shrouded in mist ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I don’t actually own Samurai Champloo or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Chapter titles are from the haiku of Basho (translations by R.H. Blyth).

A/N: At the end of the series, our trio is at the crossroads. We know that their swords were broken, but Jin has a daisho at his hip and Mugen’s carrying what looks like an European longsword on his back as they take their leave of Fuu. Where did they come from? I’ll let you draw your own conclusions, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume that Kasumi-dono would have kept his katana (remember, he had one in episode #19), and had managed to collect an European sword through his Christian contacts. (I do sort of like the idea that Jin would have kept his own wakizashi, though, as a last link with the past. Irrational, I know.)



Of all the ways in which Jin had thought he would see her again, this hadn’t been one of them.

Of course, in his imagination, she’d stayed the same skinny little girl she had been in Edo, all eyes and too-sharp elbows, who hadn’t been so very different from the other students at the dojo he’d fled; mentally swap pink kimono for hakama and gi, and voila, she became another boy. For the most part, she’d acted almost like a boy — in keeping up with them as they walked, talking to him as if they were equals, squabbling with Mugen over the last of the dango. He preferred to think of her that way on their journey, concentrating on seeing her not as ‘girl’, but as ‘Fuu’. It had been easier.

He had never been around many women even before he’d gone to live with Mariya-dono at such a young age, and during his years there, the number of women he’d come across could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Women had been discussed at the dojo, but always in the abstract; frail objects, the subject of courtesy. It was understood that most of his fellow students would someday marry and pass on their names, but he had never really connected the butterfly creatures he remembered from the outside world with the rather curt discussion he’d had at fourteen with his sensei, about what went on between men and women behind the shoji door. Even now, it was difficult to connect women with his encounters with brothel girls. Shino had come closest — he closed his eyes and winced inwardly at the memory of how fumbling he had been, how very awkward he had been in his gratitude — but he’d been careful only to choose coarse, good-natured girls he could forget after that, relieving the demands of his body when they became too much to drown out with meditation, nothing more. He set any thoughts of women aside, and reserved his passion for the sword; Yukimaru was gone, and with him, any thoughts for brotherhood with another man who might have understood. Shino . . .
Eventually, he would have to come to some sort of decision about whether or not to seek out Shino, when her time in the enkiri dera was finished, but that would come in time. Any idea of making a life with her was remote, he knew. There were still others from the dojo who wanted to spill his blood; he did not fear for himself, but he hesitated at putting her in harm’s way, he told himself. And late at night, when he closed his eyes to sleep at last, he could admit to himself his uncertainty. Would he recognize her? Did he even want her anymore? He didn’t know . . . which was why, when Mugen had appeared out of nowhere on his way to find Fuu, he’d agreed (almost before Mugen had finished asking whether he was in or not) to find her, and to find safety for her.

For her. Fuu still held his loyalty. He owed this allegiance to Kasumi’s daughter; after all, his blade was hers. After all. She’d given him her father’s katana — she had no use for it, she said, smiling at him as they both knew she lied, and he’d taken it — when his own was shattered. It was another way in which the feelings he had for Shino were stifled, he realized. Another woman had given him a soul, when his had broken. What was a red umbrella in comparison to that?

He had recognized her voice from the forest, so he’d known it was her, but on seeing her . . . she knew him, though, and still, she didn’t hesitate to hug him close. She was — so changed, but yet he could see the Fuu of two years past looking out at him from the eyes of this beautiful woman; she was looking up at him, smiling back, still small enough for him to fit her under his chin if he held her again — Jin had swallowed the impulse to do just that. Instead, he said lamely, “You grew up.” And then, he’d told her why they were there. And then? She laughed.

He caught the concern that passed over the other man’s face before it was replaced with the more usual not-expression. He was accustomed to the sound of Mugen cursing — it had taken less time to become as the piping of frogs at night, though with some of the more creative oaths, it would probably be more appropriate to think of it as the whining of a mosquito, annoying and he just wanted to smack the man to shut him up, before he managed to wrestle that impulse to the back of his mind with the rest — but the worry was new. He worried, as well. Kariya had come so, so near to killing her last time, managing to corner her before he’d been able to kill the man and save her. She had never spoken of it in the short time before they’d left the island, but the look in her eyes had made him want to kill the shogun’s dog all over again, and maybe a third time for good measure. He’d — he hoped one small, cowardly hope that burned shamefully in his chest; gods, he prayed, please, please don’t let her cry. Anything but that. No crying.

And she didn’t cry, thankfully. Not as she would have done, on the road to Nagasaki.

The not-crying was good, it was just that this laughter was very . . . odd. And worrying. Could she be ill? Or her experiences in the brothel unhinged her completely, and it had only come out now, the news had fractured her grasp of reality. Maybe it would have been better if she’d cried, and he could have gone up to her, because when she cried she ran off to hide somewhere and he found her because that was what he did, and then he could have done something, could have comforted her. And then, a tiny treacherous voice inside him said, you could have taken her in your arms again; didn’t she feel soft? And warm? And didn’t she burn against you —

Shut up, he told himself. Those were improper thoughts. And about Fuu, which was even more shaming; but then he caught a glimpse of Mugen, reclining on his mat and looking everywhere but at her, and came to a blinding realization. The other man wanted her, as well.

So. He wasn’t the only one of them to have taken a sword from her, and to want more in return.

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When she woke the next morning, he had almost finished packing up. “Hey,” he said, as her eyes flickered open.

“Mm. Hey. Guess this wasn’t a dream.” She rubbed her face and yawned.

“No.”

“Where’s Mugen? The forest?” He nodded wryly, as she chuckled. “My fault. I gave him sake last night before we left, so he’ll have to find some poor tree to water. I’d offer to help you pack, but — “ She fanned her hands out to indicate how lacking she was.

“It’s nothing. There isn’t that much, believe me,” he told her. He added his flint to his pack and set the kasa on top. “See?”

She grinned. “I’m amazed that you’ve become such a rich man?”

“It was very hard work, “he agreed gravely, giving her a little smile. She picked up the kasa as he sat back down across from her.

“I see that. And this is yours, isn’t it?”

“Hn.”

She turned it in her hands, looking at the straw. “I haven’t seen you in one of these for a long time.” Her eyes were thoughtful and he saw that she had something to say to him.

“No,” he said gently. “What is it?”

“It’s been over two years,” she said. “Do you remember? You had one when we stopped in that town, because of the rain.”

He looked at her strangely. What—

“Do you still have that umbrella? The red one?” She looked up at him.

Oh.

When he didn’t answer, she handed the kasa back to him. “What are you really doing here, Jin?” she asked, not really expecting him to say anything, as he stood up.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” he said. “You should get ready.”

She nodded, feeling like fifteen again; and very small, and very stupid.

“Fuu?” What was he doing here, anyway? He wondered.

In the end, he thought, he could be nothing less than what he was.

“What?” She stood, brushing the wrinkles out of the beautiful kimono as best she could.

“An umbrella is only good when it rains,” he said, and she smiled, feeling absurdly light. Still, she had to know.

“You might want to have one later,” she said.

“Fuu — “

”Because, you know, maybe someday you won’t have one, and you’ll regret it, because you had one, and you let go of it, and the umbrella would belong to someone else — “

“Do you want me to have an umbrella?”

“I — “ she paused, because, really, what could she say? “ — don’t want you to get cold,” she finished lamely.

“I won’t be cold,” he promised. If nothing else, he’d have those bridges he’d just left engulfed in flames behind him to keep him warm, he thought wryly. “Mugen will be back any moment now, so ... “

”Yeah.” She nodded. ”Is there — “

”There’s a stream not far from here, if you go that way. It’s fresh water.” He gave her a significant look. “I saw your hands.”

“Oh.” She didn’t move. “Jin?”

“Hn?”

“That was you last night, wasn’t it? When Ushiwakamaru came after us at the brothel?”

He nodded.

“Thank you. For everything.” She smiled one last time at him, and set off toward the stream.

He watched her go for a moment, then packed her mat away with his. The forest was silent, and he sat seiza to wait, closing his eyes. It would be any moment now —

“What was that all about?” the voice came from the edge of the woods.

“As if you didn’t hear every word,” he said, not opening his eyes. “What are your intentions toward her?”

“What’re you, her father?” Mugen stepped out of the trees. “What’re your intentions toward her? Mine are none of your damn business, fish face, and you were looking pretty cozy there for a minute, so don’t put your shit off on me.”

“No.” The criminal from the Ryukyus was right; it wasn’t any of his business.

He wanted to know, anyway.

“She’s not a whore,” he told the other man.

Mugen rubbed his chin and looked down at him as if Jin had sustained a head injury. “I know that,” he said, aggrieved. “I’m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not.” Jin agreed, opening his eyes. “But if you fail in any way to treat her as — “

”You, too, you tightassed bastard. Don’t make me have to try to kill you, again.”

“Hn.”

“Anyway, we can’t think about that crap now. First, we gotta figure out what to do.”

The ronin nodded. Satisfied, Mugen sat down and began squashing his belongings into his pack. Surprisingly, the other man packed almost as efficiently as Jin did himself; there was no benefit in having to root around for minutes for something that was needed now, if not five minutes ago. They weren’t entirely dissimilar, Jin had to admit. Mugen finished up, and stretched out on the ground with his finger up his nose. Well — some differences. Quite a few, actually. The man had virtually raised himself in a prison colony, but on the other hand — was it humanly possible to stick a finger that far up one’s nose? He closed his eyes again. “Our first priority should be to take her somewhere safe,” he said.
“Yeah. You think of a place?”

He sighed. “No,” Jin admitted.

“Me neither. Go north, you get Matsumae-han, so that’s out.”

“Hn. They’d remember us, yes.”

“South to Satsuma wouldn’t work, either. They wouldn’t know you, but — “ Mugen trailed off. He withdrew his finger and wiped it casually in the dirt.

“I could take her by myself,” Jin said. Mugen glowered at him.

“Dream on. I ain’t letting you go off alone with her.”

“Go where with her?” Fuu asked, as she approached the place where the men were sitting. “Mou. You think I’m noisy?”Jin and Mugen exchanged looks, as they got to their feet. Neither man had heard her coming back. Jin lifted one eyebrow at the other man, who shrugged.

“We’re trying to figure out where to go next,” Mugen said.

She stopped dead in her tracks, as a familiar mutinous expression came over her pink and freshly scrubbed face. Her eyebrows twitched. “You’re trying to figure out where to go next?” she said, much too calmly. Internally, Jin was torn between unholy glee that Mugen had pissed her off to the point where she used that voice on him — hee! — and a sinking feeling in his middle. He idly thought that the dojo would have been well served in adding lessons in dealing with disgruntled women to the curriculum. Possibly, it could have been covered at the same time as seppuku. Or Nagashino.

“Uh— “ Mugen recognized the tone of her voice as well. “Yeah.”

“You — you idiot!” Fuming, she gave in to what seemed the best possible response; she kicked him in the shin.

“OW!” He yelped. “You little bitch!” Ooh, bad idea — Jin winced as Fuu kicked Mugen in the other shin, dropping him to the ground, where the man clutched at his abused legs.

Jin was unprepared for her to kick him in the shins next. “Hey!” He wobbled, but thankfully did not fall over.

“And you! I can’t believe you! I can understand why he treats me like a sack of rice, but you — ! Gaaaaah!” Her fists clenched, she stalked off through the forest.

Shit.

He grabbed up his pack and hurriedly tied the edges of the cloth together before slinging it crosswise over his chest. “Fuu! Wait!” He hastened after her. Behind him, he could hear Mugen scramble to his feet. That went less than well.

“Couldn’t bother to ask — stupid, stupid men — think they can just — arrgh!” She continued to stomp ahead as he caught up to her.

“Fuu — “ He stopped as she whirled around to face him, Mugen stumbling up behind them.

“Listen up, you two. Don’t you ever, ever think of making a decision for me.” She jabbed an angry finger into his chest. “I’m not a little girl, and neither one of you is my father.” She glared up at them, breathing heavily. A few strands of hair had come loose around her face as Jin looked at her, and — the last thing he felt about her was fatherly. Um. And what was right action again — abstaining from taking life, abstaining from stealing, and — at this rate, he would reach enlightenment only if he lived to be a thousand. Chastened, his eyes dropped from her face, and — oh. Maybe if he lived to be — perhaps he should reconcile himself; he was doomed.

“Right,” Mugen said faintly. “Not your dad. Got it.”

“Fine.” She whirled back around and continued on down the path which, Jin was relieved to see, was not the one leading back to the town, where he believed there would be some very pointed questions about why the brothel was now hiring. Instead, they seemed to be headed east. East? He wondered, silently. For now, though, he contented himself with following her.

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