Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction ❯ Nenju ❯ XII. Of the orchid ( Chapter 12 )

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

Disclaimer: I don’t own Samurai Champloo or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).


Nenju


That night, Jin meditated on why women were so difficult.

She was still beautiful, of course; it hadn’t been that long. But he was disconcerted to realize that the reality and his memory did not quite match up. Her nose was slightly longer than he remembered, and surely her eyes had been more —

“You’ve changed,” she told him. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at him. “You look well. But you aren’t wearing — ?“ She tapped a finger just under her eye.

“No. I lost them,” he told her. “The enkiri dera seems to suit you.”

She gestured for him to sit; he dropped gracefully to the tatami, directly facing her. “It was a little difficult at first to get used to, but now — “ She gave him a wry look. “It’s almost time for me to decide.”

“Mm,” he agreed, not committing himself one way or the other. They fell uncomfortably quiet.

Shino fidgeted a little, and bit her lip. “What have you been doing?” she asked finally. “Did you ever get to where you were going?”

“Nagasaki? Yes,” he told her.

“I see.” She folded her hands in her lap; he saw that her pale, slender hands of memory had become rough from work. They were no less beautiful, somehow. “Did you stay there, after that?”

“No. I went east.” He’d been hired as part of an escort for a wealthy daimyo’s daughter, after one of the lord’s household retainers had seen him persuade a few unruly samurai to leave a teahouse, feet first. The girl had been traveling on her way to be married — he remembered mostly that the girl had been about Fuu’s age, but had seemed years younger; he smiled faintly at the idea of Fuu allowing herself to be sent somewhere, like a parcel.

Like Shino; but that was an unworthy thought, and he wiped it from his mind, for the most part. She was speaking again, so he paid attention.

“There were another man, and a girl, wasn’t there?” she asked. “What happened to them?”

“We separated for a while, but we are traveling together again. They are well.”

“That’s good.”

Jin nodded. “It was . . . necessary,” he said hesitantly. “I have an obligation to her that I need to fulfill, but your time here — “

She blinked. “You — oh. Oh. I see.”

“ — it would be improper of me to — “

”Jin, have you been waiting all this time?”

He fell silent, thinking on how he’d told Fuu he had no use for a red umbrella, and how that now fell particularly flat when it turned out he hadn’t had one to refuse. He wondered if he had looked more foolish the time he’d tripped (over his own feet, his mind supplied) in front of Mugen and Fuu at that pond outside Osaka; he rather thought not.

For the first time in his life, he could have cheerfully strangled his adopted father; he could almost hear Mariya-dono laughing. See too well, his ass.

Shino moved to sit alongside him. She picked up his hand and gave it what was meant to be a comforting squeeze.

“I’m not sure that I will leave here,” she told him. “I . . . think of this as home, now. I’m useful, here.”

Ah. That, he understood very well. “Are you happy?” he asked her, even though he knew the answer.

“Yes,” she said immediately.

“Then I am glad.” He stood to go, and she rose with him.

“Once, I would have been happy that you were willing to wait,” she said. “Now — “ she made a small gesture with her hands. “You will always be my eel-stand friend.”
“And you.” He bent slightly, as she kissed him affectionately on the cheek.

She walked with him as far as the temple’s small pier, where the boat he’d used to pole himself across the river was tied. “Will you be all right?” Shino asked. “I know you have your companions, but still — “

Jin gave her a smile that, though small, was still warm. “I will be fine,” he told her, as he stepped into the boat and cast off.

He looked back over his shoulder at her once, as the boat moved smoothly over the water; she held out her hand to him again, this time in farewell.

The man in green who’d followed him out to the enkiri dera slipped in behind him unobtrusively on the way back, walking behind him casually, almost at the limit of sight. The man was a welcome distraction; if it had only been on the way to the temple, Jin would have had an easier time dismissing the man’s presence as coincidence, but there and back — ? It was as obvious as the mole on the man’s face.

It wouldn’t do to kill the man following him, though, he thought. Being able to see what the shogun’s men were doing could be of great value in the days ahead.

As if lost in thought, Jin slowed his pace enough that the man in green drew sufficiently close for him to get a good look, the next time there was the excuse of a bird or another animal for him to turn his head. It was a shame, really, that his glasses were somewhere in the Nagasaki harbor — he hadn’t realized how practical they really were until he’d lost them; they’d been an excellent means for him to see what was behind him, if he let them drop slightly down his nose and tilted his head just right. He’d been able to spot the other man even without them, yes, but it would have been easier.

As they reached the busy market, Jin’s opinion of the man in green rose a little. It was nearly impossible to follow someone into the countryside and back without being spotted — and the man in green had been handicapped there by circumstance — but in the middle of a crowded town, the man just melted into the background.

As he neared the inn where they were staying, he considered trying to shake the man off but gave that idea up almost immediately. He’d followed Jin out to the enkiri dera from the town, which made it not unreasonable that he knew the ronin’s starting point.

Hn. Very troublesome.


Fuu was there before Mugen that evening, as the sun was setting. He’d attempted to meditate (and why he couldn’t seem to manage it, he didn’t know — his mind simply refused to quiet, chasing instead after stray thoughts like her pet squirrel) and failed miserably, so it was a relief to stop trying. She’d brought red rice with her, and he smiled to himself; it had been years since he’d had it last at the dojo. He remembered Yukimaru telling him something about how it symbolized prosperity, or long life, or happiness — not accurate, then, because Yuki had been none of those things.

She was subdued as they ate, only asking a couple of questions about Shino and whether she was remaining at the enkiri dera. He’d expected more, but the tiredness that had been in her face before they’d reached Motomachi was back, more than a teahouse could excuse. Her mood was lighter when he told her Shino was staying, but not as much as he would have liked.

He finished his meal quietly, and took both their bowls for a quick scrubbing when she was done. Mugen still had not returned by the time he tidied everything away, and she was leaning against the outer wall, looking up at the moon. He sat down alongside her, and had almost opened his mouth — the Ryukyuan would be laughing himself sick, if he knew Jin was going to ask her why she wasn’t as talkative these past few days — when she spoke.

She smiled. “Tell me a story,” she invited.

“A story?” This was very odd, he thought —

“I was thinking. I’ve known you for years, but I still don’t know that much about you.”

He blinked. “I am familiar with the Tales of Genji — ?” he offered, slowly.

She turned her head from the moon and gave him the same look that she periodically gave Mugen, the have-you-been-into-the-mushrooms-again look. “About you,” she said.

“ — ah.” Jin frowned at the moon, wishing that Shishou had seen fit to give them fewer lessons with the bo and more, say, on how to translate what women were saying when they spoke; ‘tell me a story’ obviously meant ‘tell me anything that isn’t a story’. Though . . . Yuki had complained Jin never spoke about himself, either, so maybe it wasn’t that.

“I know a little about the dojo, and I know you like foreign food, and that I should never let Mugen take you out for sake, and that your master’s students — “ she shrugged. “I know you can swim?”

“What would you like to know?” he asked, regretting this already; he was powerless to resist those pleading eyes, though there was no way he’d ever let her know that. Ever.

Those eyes widened. “Anything?”

“Hn.”
“Oh. Um — “ Fuu paused, telling him she hadn’t expected he would agree; for some reason, he felt a pang. She thought of him that way, and yet — Mugen couldn’t possibly have been right about what Father Zuikou had told him. “What about your family? Where did you come from?”

His lips curved up, faintly. That was it? “I was born in Kai.”

“Really? That’s — that isn’t that far from here,” she said, sounding surprised. “We could — if you — “

Jin shook his head. “I haven’t been there for almost twenty years,” he said. “There isn’t anything for me there.”

“You don’t have anyone, then?”

“I thought we were your family.”

This time, the look she gave him was exasperated but affectionate. “You’re my family. That doesn’t mean that you don’t have anyone. How would I know?” She pushed off from the wall and rolled onto her stomach in a very undignified manner, propping her chin on her hands so she could look at him. Um. She probably hadn’t meant for her kimono to bunch a little at her waist, and it was highly doubtful the way the edge of the cotton revealed the long lines of her calves was deliberate — they curved into that little dip behind her knees, and wouldn’t his thumb fit nicely there, he thought.

Jin shifted uncomfortably. That idiot wasn’t coming back this evening, was he? Gaaah. Mentally, he smacked himself in the head. Perhaps the best chaperone was not a man whose reaction on being presented with found koban was to sprint to the closest whorehouse. (Although, he admitted to himself, it had been — yeah.)

Any road, this was Fuu. Fuu, he told himself sternly. Terrible danger? Shogunate? Was any of this sounding familiar? He cursed that tiny part of himself that really hadn’t been paying attention when he and Mugen had first met up to compare what they’d heard, and was more concerned with those pretty, pretty eyes. Dammit.

“Jin?” She reached out and poked him in the thigh. “Did you fall asleep with your eyes open?”

His eyebrows twitched. “Hm.”

“Jin.” She poked him again, digging in with her sharp little fingernails, this time a little higher.

He blinked. That . . . was not helping.

There was a mischievous little smile on her face, as she reached out and —

He twisted a little and poked her in her side. Oo, the tiny, non-attention paying part of him said. Soft! Do it again. More toward the hip, this time. Mm!

Hurriedly, he squashed the tiny voice.

“Hey!”

Jin sat there serenely. “Hn?”he said, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling out loud.

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh ho ho, you are going to die — “ She gathered herself to pounce, and —

“Oi! Is that food?”

She twisted up into a sitting position, tucking her legs modestly under her as Jin watched; Mugen thumped up the steps, immediately focused on the still-warm red rice, as Fuu fussed over the Ryukyuan.

Shit.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye for the rest of the evening.

It was remarkable, how often the other man could surprise him.

It wasn’t impossible that the plan would work; get to Toyohashi, obtain a small boat (Mugen had been very vague on the how of obtaining a boat, other than to tell them, “Don’t worry about it,” and Jin decided he probably didn’t want to know), find the ryu, carry away as much as they could, and use that to get to Nagasaki/bribe their way onto a ship/set up a life for Fuu somewhere that would likely be the Ryukyus, unless Mugen had his way, in which case it would be . . . anywhere that wasn’t the Ryukyus.

True, there were a hundred ways the plan could go wrong (his mind helpfully pictured a capsizing boat, Fuu being abducted by pirates, and food poisoning), but the possible reward at the end made it worthwhile.

Fuu had been surprisingly agreeable to the plan — her only question while Mugen was telling her had been “How many thousand ryu?” — even though they’d come up with it without discussing it with her. Her questions at the end had been practical, and she sounded as if she approved, he thought. She’d also brought up something, though, that neither one of them had thought of — if Mukuro was that easy to secondguess, wouldn’t one of his gang have already found the ryu? And what about Kohza?

Mugen had begun shaking his head even before Fuu had finished speaking. He pointed out that none of Mukuro’s pirates were intelligent enough to reason out where the money had been hidden — his exact words were “couldn’t run a whorehouse between a sake bar and a gambling hall,” as Jin recalled — and Kohza wouldn’t have been able to salvage the ryu herself.


The only problem, then, was how to distract the man in green, and his pretty comrade. Between this town and Toyohashi, they could come up with something, he believed.

And sometimes, something came up on its own.

“You managed to lose every other one you had between Edo and Nagasaki,” Mugen grumbled. “How come you’re keeping this one?”

Jin adjusted the brim of his kasa to shade his eyes. “I like this one.”

“You still look like you’re wearing a basket. Pfft — oh yeah, real good disguise. No one will ever be suspicious of that. ‘Ha ha! You can’t see my forehead! You’ll never know who I am!’”

“They kicked you out of Ryukyu, didn’t they?”

“Prick.”

“Mou,” Fuu said irritably, from behind Mugen. “We haven’t even left town, and you’re arguing already?”

“I’m just sayin’ — that is one stupid-ass hat. How does it not make that weird line in your hair?”

“That — actually, that’s a good question. Hey, Jin. Why doesn’t it mash down your hair?”

“Ah — “

”Takeda Jin, of the Mujushin Kenjutsu dojo?”

Mugen and Fuu stopped and turned around. Jin paused, but kept his eyes facing away from the rough voice that had come from behind him. “I am Jin,” he answered.
“You murdered Master Mariya.”

Distantly, Jin noted Mugen pulling Fuu away, over to the wall of a neighboring building. Good, he thought, before turning around. He set down his pack and took off his kasa, slowly and deliberately, setting it on top of his belongings. “He is dead by my hand,” he told the man dispassionately. “I doubt you understand the difference.”

The man stiffened. He looked familiar —

“You’re here for revenge?”

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time,” the man said. “Since Ogura returned. Since before Hojo set out to find you. He must have found you, because he never came back.”

Jin nodded. “He found me in the mountains between Kyoto and Osaka. Noshiro, wasn’t it? I’ve forgotten your name.”

“It’s been a long time since we sparred,” the man said, fluidly drawing his katana. “I think you’ll find I’ve improved a great deal.”

Jin snorted derisively. “You could hardly have become any worse. It has been more than ten years.”

The man’s eyes narrowed angrily. He sprang forward —

— as Jin flickered to his side, blade describing a perfect silver arc through the air —

The man’s hand went up automatically to his throat, where scarlet streamed through his fingers. He looked down at his palm — almost the same red as the rice they’d eaten the night before, Jin’s mind informed him — and then over to Mugen and Fuu. “He’ll betray you, too,” Noshiro told them almost conversationally, before toppling over.

Mugen kept his grip on Fuu’s wrist, grimly watching the man as he died. He looked up and gave the ronin a small nod.

Jin was less concerned with that, however, and more concerned as he looked over at Fuu. Her eyes were wide; she looked back at him with — what was that? It wasn’t fear, exactly, but it wasn’t the same warmth her eyes had held when she’d looked at him the night before —

Coldly, he wiped the blood off the katana before sheathing it. Damnit.

“Come on,” he heard Mugen tell her, as he bent to pick up his pack.

He didn’t spare a look for the dead man, as he stepped over the body to follow his companions; Noshiro had made enough difficulties for him already.


A/N: Eeee, an OC. Except, not really; as we know, Jin excelled at the dojo even as a little boy, as we see in the Evanescent Encounter story arc, when we see a group of little boys walking away from him. In the 3Jane-verse, Noshiro is the name of one of those little boys.