Chapter Text
chapter 2. long tail and long night
“Group meeting!”
After Kondo dismissed them so that he could talk to the Kambe son privately, Haru and the rest exited the office. When they were out of earshot, Arima pulled them all aside and forced them into a huddle.
“What are we doing?” Tachibana said, casting a baleful look at Arima.
“I have so many questions,” Arima started with a hushed tone. He shot a glance at the office, then returned to the circle. “Are we seriously going to escort a daimyo’s son? And why only five of us? And on that note, why us, particularly?”
“I don’t trust the reason Kondo-san gave us,” Hattori added, frowning. “Are we personal grunts to the daimyo now?”
“Hey, now,” Sano interrupted, a warning tone enveloping his words. “Careful there, Hattori, Arima. I might misinterpret what you’re both saying.”
Hattori clammed his mouth shut, but Arima kept going.
“I just—I’m just wondering, is all. Did Kondo-san decide it himself or did someone recommend us? I know Katou was personally chosen—” at this Arima glanced at Haru “—because Kondo-san was rather obvious with what he wanted to do, though heaven knows why. It’s been two years, nothing happened. He and the others should just give up.”
Haru felt the stab of those words. “Hey—”
“In any case,” Sano pronounced, overriding any potential conflict between Haru and Arima, “this is a mission assigned to us, and we accepted it. What we should do right now is to prepare for departure. Pack all your essentials, and prepare your horses. Travelling to the Port of Hyogo usually takes a day or two, but with our company we might take a slower pace.”
“This better be worth it,” Hattori grumbled. “Aren’t you a bit concerned, Sano-san? You’re going to leave your wife and son for a while.”
Sano blinked at that. “It’s just going to be a few days at best, a couple of weeks at worst. It’s just an escort mission; I don’t think we’ll get involved in something dangerous.”
“Well, you better go to Masa-san right away,” Arima piped up, and Sano frowned. “Tell her that you have a mission that could take weeks, then have some quality time toge—”
“Arima—”
“Sano.”
They all froze and straightened up once they heard that unmistakable voice. Sano turned around first, a smile ready on his face, and said, “Hijikata-san! Your meeting is over?”
Hijikata’s gaze was bland and mildly unimpressed, which was indicative that he’d heard the tail-end of their conversation. If he didn’t trust Sano that much, Haru knew they’d end up cleaning the entire headquarters twice with only a measly set of rags and no water. Sometimes, Haru was thankful for that relationship, even if that relationship was sending them to the wonderful world of prank-induced paranoia.
“Yes,” Hijikata answered. Then he angled his body to reveal Kambe Daisuke behind him. “Daisuke-dono will have to talk to Kondo-san again later for some final decisions to the mission. In the meantime I will appreciate it if any of you could keep Daisuke-dono company. Show him around Kyoto.”
Then Hijikata smiled, and a frisson of fear ran through their spines. It was always when Hijikata smiled at them that the worst things would happen. Haru still couldn’t forget that summer incident last year, which involved one very, very innocent kitchen, one very, very annoyed Nagakura Shinpachi, one very, very mortified Todo Heisuke, and one very, very homicidal Okita Souji. Needless to say, it was the unit members who took the brunt of the punishment, and to this day the collective memory of that incident still felt fresh, and had allowed them to develop a stronger sense of self-preservation whenever they encountered Nagakura, Todo, and Okita together inside any room with cooking utensils.
It seemed that Arima had thought of that summer incident as well, because he had a swift response: “Katou would gladly give a Kyoto tour to Kambe-dono! He’s volunteering!”
Haru gave a jolt. “Oi, Arima—”
“I still haven’t finished my tasks with Kamei-san and Yumoto-san,” Tachibana said, brandishing his relative rookie status as an armor.
“I’m going to sort through some documents with Ito-san,” Hattori added, “Sano-san’s going to his family, and didn’t you say you’re patrolling today, too, Katou? Great timing.”
Haru clenched his teeth, and wished them all terrible dinners later.
“Katou-kun,” Hijikata began, deceptively calm, and when Hijikata called someone’s name in that tone, escape was no longer a possibility, “you don’t mind letting Daisuke-dono go with you?”
Haru did mind, but his jaws were not cooperating with him. He wouldn’t be surprised if the others could hear his teeth grinding out of sheer unwillingness to follow Hijikata’s order.
But Haru made an effort. “I, ah … I-It’s a … pleasure, Hijikata-san …” He inhaled through his teeth, and attempted to smile. He knew he failed because he heard Arima stifle his snicker.
“Excellent,” Hijikata said. He turned to Kambe. “Please follow Katou-kun, Daisuke-dono. He patrols Kyoto so often I’m certain he knows several good places to show you.” Then his gaze returned to Haru and the others. “So that settles it. Now I shall head back to the training hall.” With a light bow to Kambe, Hijikata left the hallway.
They all watched Hijikata walk further and further away from them, until Arima chirped, “Well, then! We’re going to prepare for the journey right now. Have fun, Katou!”
One by one they filed away. Hattori had the gall to pat Haru’s shoulder when he passed him. Tachibana bowed to Kambe and then again to Haru as consolation. Sano just grinned at him.
Haru refrained from sighing deeply. This day was not going well, and it wasn’t even afternoon yet.
He glanced at Kambe, who hadn’t moved from his position and was just looking at him expectantly. Haru was reminded again of yesterday’s events, and tamped down the irritation bubbling off his skin. He clucked his tongue, and turned around.
“Fine,” he announced. “Kambe-dono, I hope we get along well for today.”
♦
Three years ago, Haru arrived at Kyoto with only the clothes on his back, his late master’s swords, and a recommendation letter written by an Edo civil administrator. Before that, he had been moving from town to town in Musashi, aimless like driftwood. Without a master to serve, time had slowed down and the days had blurred together into one seamless calligraphic stroke. During several moments in this amorphous point of his life, Haru wondered if his master had been wrong to make his final wish as it was, and that this selflessness had been, in reality, selfishness. It was customary for a samurai to follow his master upon death, but Lord Kohei had wanted for Haru to live on. So Haru, master-less, could not bring himself to serve another. Lord Kohei was his sun; he was irreplaceable.
He had tried to fulfill his promise, but, in the eyes of many, ronin carried the shame of absence, the lack of belongingness. A samurai without a home.
Until a colleague of Lord Kohei had suggested that he join a group of ronin in Kyoto, working for the bakufu and maintaining order in the city. Shinsengumi, the colleague had said, you might find what you’re looking for there.
He had given Haru the letter as a parting gift and had bid him good luck.
And now, three years later, Haru lived, endured, kept his oath to Lord Kohei. Shinsengumi, for all its faults, was a good place to realize his promise. They wanted to maintain peace in Kyoto, extinguishing any plans that could endanger the residents and the officials alike.
Except, there were times when Haru had to reexamine Shinsengumi’s motivations. Walking through the halls of the headquarters and finding himself halting in front of one of the many paneled doors, mind elsewhere, until a passing member would pull him back down to earth. During these moments, Kondo’s hard-lined face would materialize at the back of his eyelids, his gravel voice echoing inside his mind. Whatever it takes, Kondo would say. Strike first before the enemy. Leave them doubtless of your power.
Haru had seen this during the Ikedaya affair—and that was another thing to unpack.
But for now, Haru would stay. Until his doubts grew to the point of being unequivocal, Haru would give his best for Shinsengumi.
After all, it was his third home.
♦
In spite of the recently dreadful turn of events, Haru did, in fact, take his job seriously. Many could testify how Haru was dedicated to his work as a Shinsengumi member, accepting without complaint all kinds of tasks thrown at him. Today wasn’t an outlier, and no matter how averse Haru was with his latest assignment—babysitting, come on—he would dutifully comply. If Hijikata ordered him to look after a rich man’s son, then by all means fine. So in the few hours of letting Kambe follow him around, Haru had learned three crucial things about the daimyo son:
One: that insouciance wasn’t just an affectation. Haru thought that, once they were alone, Kambe would abandon the façade and act like those children of high-ranking officials Haru had encountered during his time with Lord Kohei: loud, supercilious, spoiled. Kambe wasn’t loud; he was actually quiet, and when he spoke his voice was like a lake—flat on the surface, deep, but with a mellifluous current underneath. The words that came out of his mouth, however, was another story. He might not be as arrogant as the offspring of other daimyo, but Kambe had an air of expectation about him, as if the people surrounding him would do his bidding, naturally and unopposed. Whenever he spoke, it was always in the imperative, which annoyed Haru to no end. Despite the height difference between them, Kambe’s narrow-eyed gaze emitted the impression that he was the taller one.
Two: he was rich, and he knew it. Wielded it like a weapon. Haru had been in disbelief when Kambe virtually bribed a boy who pilfered some merchant goods into turning over a new leaf with one solid ryo.
“What are you doing?” Haru demanded.
“Stopping crime.”
“By paying the kid not to steal?”
But Kambe only shot him an indifferent look, then ignored him altogether.
“Are you out of your mind? Who would do what you just—”
“It worked, didn’t it.”
And there were several ways in which Haru could respond to that statement, the words fighting among themselves over which would be uttered. But they all amounted to: money would never solve all problems; if anything, it would exacerbate. What Kambe had been doing, in the eyes of people like Haru, was parading his wealth around, flaunting it like a garish court fan. From there bred resentment, and from resentment, wickedness.
But Kambe seemed unable to understand that, only stared at Haru, amusement dancing in his expression, almost patronizing. Haru stopped pursuing the argument he was making. They weren’t friends; he wouldn’t invest energy on someone who could never comprehend Haru’s point of view.
And three: the man didn’t know how to mingle with the common people. Haru was torn between laughing at him and becoming morbidly fascinated. After the boy-thief incident, Haru had shown Kambe the rest of the market. He had surveyed the area with a gaze akin to an inspector, and Haru bit his lip to quell a scream.
A panicked merchant’s assistant was sprinting in what seemed to be an errand and accidentally knocked Kambe from behind, and the rolls of fabrics he had been carrying tumbled to the ground. Mortified, the assistant kowtowed to Kambe, who only stared at him passively.
Then Kambe said, “Why didn’t you have them delivered to you?”
The assistant, in another round of begging for forgiveness, halted and blinked. “Pardon?”
Kambe turned to the side, addressing the passers-by watching them. “You. And you. Carry those fabrics.”
Before the bystanders got offended, which could predictably end up in a fight, Haru intervened. “Okay, okay, I got this.” He helped the assistant retrieve the rolls. “Go on, you’ve said sorry more than seven times now. Your boss might scold you if you’re late.” And to Kambe he said, “You. Don’t do that.”
Kambe raised a brow. “Do what.”
“Order people around like they’re your workers. They’re not.”
To Haru’s genuine surprise, a puzzled look arose from Kambe’s face. “But it’s faster that way.”
“No, that’s not—no. You know what? Never mind. Just—never mind.” Haru sighed. “Anyway, let me take you to a great teahouse. After that, we’ll go back to the headquarters.”
The teahouse had been in Kyoto for decades as a family establishment, escaping various incidents that could permanently close the business. It had a steady stream of customers, a third of which could be attributed to outsiders searching for a great place to rest and drink. They served excellent tea and an equally excellent mochi, and Haru would always savor his meal every time he visited.
But there was another merit to the teahouse: because of the great number of its customers, it became an excellent site for Haru to obtain information and rumors. It also helped that he had become friends with the teahouse owners.
“Oh, it’s Haru-chan!”
“Saeki,” he greeted, and made his way to his usual spot.
“You brought a friend!” Saeki eyed Kambe with curiosity, then looked back at Haru. “What will it be for today?”
“Gyokuro and daifuku mochi for the two of us.” Kambe settled himself across Haru, scrutinizing the place silently. “Kambe,” Haru said, in the flattest tone possible. He had forgone attaching a respectful title on Kambe’s name halfway through the tour earlier, concluding that putting up appearances in front of the Kambe heir would amount to nothing, in both their ends. And besides, Kambe didn’t appear to care either way. “I’ll take care of this, so don’t pull out another ryo.”
More accurately: Haru would be charging Shinsengumi for this. It was just fair, for subjecting him to this chore.
But Kambe just had an expression that conveyed a certain level of skepticism, that, frankly, Haru didn’t like.
When Saeki returned with their snacks, she observed Kambe again with the corner of her eye, and Haru almost mentioned it to her aloud when suddenly she brightened up.
“Oh, I remember now!” she said, pointing a finger at him. “You’re the one who turned in the thief yesterday!”
Haru jerked. What.
He whipped his head in Kambe’s direction, a smoky trepidation filling his ribs. “What did you say?”
“When you were unable to catch the thief you’d been chasing, it was this outstanding sir who did!” Saeki said cheerfully, her hands poised as though she was presenting Kambe to Haru. “You should have seen him stop the young man, Haru-chan!”
Haru’s jaws clenched. “I was too busy trying not to drown to do that, Saeki.”
He cast his memory for that precise moment. Is that why Kambe was smirking while Haru was imminently getting intimate with the river—because that was his chance to apprehend the thief himself?
As he and Saeki were debating the merits of Kambe’s alleged heroism, said man himself was focused on tasting the daifuku and nodding in approval, completely paying zero attention to the two as if they didn’t exist.
This irked Haru, inexplicably. While a huge part of it was due to what happened yesterday and the fact that Kambe rubbed Haru the wrong way, the rest of it, however, remained unattributed. Perhaps it was because in the span of two days, Kambe had stridden so confidently within Haru’s radius and planted himself to the ground, refusing to budge. Even if Haru wanted to have nothing to do with Kambe, somehow the events had arranged themselves into a fortuitous sequence that magnetized him and Kambe together.
“Fine, I take it back,” he said, coming to a decision. “Saeki, I want mochi too. And yokan. Your best. Set aside some for Kamei, Teppei, and Sano-san. Cho-san probably likes mochi, but if he doesn’t want them then more for me.” He glared at Kambe.“You’re paying for everything.”
And even that did not ruffle Kambe, who continued sipping his tea. He merely hummed in affirmation, which annoyed Haru further.
After they finished, they headed back for the headquarters, with Haru on one hand multiple bundles of sweets. It was late afternoon, and the sun was starting to sink into the horizon. Kambe had paid Saeki with another plate of ryo, which was still too much for what Haru ordered. Saeki just accepted it with glee and without question, bade them both goodbye, and wished Kambe to become a regular customer. Haru rolled his eyes. Seriously, how many people had turned pliant once Kambe threw ryo at them?
“The rich pisses me off so much,” Haru was saying. “They show off their wealth, they equate everything with money. You shouldn’t assign people monetary value, Kambe. You can’t buy them. You can’t buy their friendship, their loyalty, their love—”
“I’m not buying them,” Kambe replied, matter-of-fact. “I’m only offering them what they needed.”
“And that’s money?”
The look Kambe gave him was pointed.
“No, no,” Haru said, impassioned. “Ugh, I can’t believe this. I can’t wait for us to reach the headquarters so I can finally be done with you, I swear.” He rubbed his face with his free hand, exhausted all of a sudden. “Look, I’m only saying this once, so listen carefully: many people work hard to live, and yes, they do need money in order to live. But if you reduce them and what they’ve been through into only the monetary amou—”
He didn’t finish, because as he was about to turn right at the corner of a street, Haru bumped into someone.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking—”
He faltered, his body suddenly leaden, his voice stuttering to a halt. In his peripheral vision, Kambe stopped and tilted his head up.
The person Haru was apologizing to straightened herself, her hair a loose bun, stray strands caught at the sides of her arched, lined face. It made Haru feel small, like a child all over again, head down in the middle of a scolding.
Except this time he truly deserved it.
“Chiyo-san … I wasn’t looking. I’m sorry.” He bowed to her, low until his eyes were parallel to the ground, arms stiff on his sides. The bundle of sweets swayed slightly from his movement.
There wasn’t any response coming from her, and Haru was used to that, too. But then her voice—weathered and iron-heavy that Haru couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes shut—rang out and gripped his body in a cold vise.
“It seems that you need to be more aware of your surroundings, Katou-dono. Somebody might get hurt if you are not careful.”
Haru flinched.
“Yes.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
A pause. From where he was bowing, Haru could feel the restrained anger radiating off Chiyo.
“Your apologies will not bring my daughter back.”
And there it was, the pain that was leaking out of her voice, and Haru remembered, vivid as if it just happened the day before, the anguish that crept over Chiyo’s face upon learning of her child’s death, and that it was Haru who had been responsible for it. He had apologized, prostrating himself before her—apologized and apologized until his voice cracked and his bones turned to rust.
“I know. And I will keep atoning for Matsu’s death until the day I die.”
He hadn’t lifted himself, eyes still closed even though Haru knew that nothing would come out of it. It had always been like this with Matsu’s mother every time they crossed paths. And every time, Haru had accepted it; he knew what it was like, losing someone you loved as quick as a snap of fingers. And he knew that it was all his fault—that, if he were stronger, better at handling his katana, he would be able to stop himself in time, and then Matsu would live and return to her mother that night.
He heard footsteps coming closer. Haru braced himself, but the footsteps went on, a steady crescendo until they dipped, and the sound glided past him. Haru opened his eyes.
“You already know what I’ll say, Katou-dono. It bears no repeating.”
“Yes, Chiyo-san. I’m sorry.”
Their exchange ended there, and Chiyo kept walking. Haru got up from his bow, watching her ramrod back recede into the sea of people.
Haru exhaled, his energy leaving with his breath. He stood there immobile for several moments, empty and tired, his whole body trembling, and distantly he wondered if he would lose sleep tonight, anticipating the thoughts that would climb and grapple inside his head as he lay on his futon.
Something shifted at his left, and it dawned on Haru that he was with company. Great. Kambe saw all of that. Of all people to witness the scene, it was the haughty daimyo son. How humiliating.
But it already happened, and all Haru could do was to cling to the remnants of his dignity, head up and gaze resolutely in front.
Then Kambe opened his mouth.
“It seems that there had been an incident in the past.”
Haru’s eyes narrowed. “Drop it, Kambe.”
“Her daughter died because of you.”
Haru’s vision blanked out for a second, and then all of a sudden he found himself seizing the collar of Kambe’s nagagi, face close to Kambe’s, breaths erratic and ragged.
“I said drop it!” His knuckles were so white from his vise-grip, Haru wasn’t sure he could control himself. It didn’t help that Kambe still exuded defiance, almost daring Haru to do something foolish, like punching him.
But Haru refused to take the bait; he was better than that. He had to be. So he yanked his hand off Kambe and stepped back, taking several harsh breaths to calm himself down. Then he pivoted to the direction of the headquarters and said, voice barely neutral:
“It’s none of your business. Now let’s go.”
The rest of the walk was carried in silence, and later, after leading Kambe back to Kondo’s office—their eyes never meeting even once—Haru retired to his room and failed to fall asleep that night.