Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The docks stank of fish, sweat, and old dreams. Kaoru adjusted the too-big cap on her head, tugging it lower over her eyes. Every ship towered above her like a threat.

‘What were you thinking doing this?’ she silently berated herself. 

Her parents were gone, and with no family to support her, she struggled. But she wasn’t alone in that. It seemed everyone she knew was facing some sort of financial burden. The Conscription Year had left whole districts starving. People said it was peace, but Kaoru hadn’t seen peace. Only fewer men, more taxes, and children vanishing into ‘training contracts’ no one questioned. Neighbours had begun selling their oldest children into servitude just to have enough money to feed the youngest ones. Kaoru had tried to keep the dojo going, but no one wanted to take lessons from a girl — especially one who hadn’t even achieved the rank of Master before inheriting it all.

‘Forever doomed to be nothing more than Assistant Master, and you can’t even call yourself that anymore. You lost the dojo, the roof over your head. You lost everything your parents left for you.’

Her inner voice went far beyond honesty and deeply into needlessly cruel.

But she seemed to lack the ability to fight it any longer. Her bones felt heavy with the weight of the world, and she was just…tired. Tired of watching women and children around her suffer. Tired of going nights without enough food. Tired of being alone, and tired of the way men looked at her — like they could see beneath her kimono and wanted more.

But as tired as she was, she refused to give up without a fight. She wouldn’t accept her assumed fate of becoming a pleasure worker. Her samurai pride wouldn’t let her bow down as a servant. She would find a way to take charge and choose her own destiny. Her parents raised her to be strong and independent, to stand up against injustices — and that’s exactly what she intended to do. Her father fought for what he believed in – ‘and died for it,’ whispered the little voice inside her – and she would carry on his legacy. He believed he was going to make the world a better place for her and for her mom. His death was honourable. He didn’t mean for it to be a burden and she forgave him for it – except when that nasty little voice whispered in her mind that he could have said no to fighting, he could have stayed home and taken care of her mother, his wife, when she fell ill, could have come stayed home to help Kaoru and teach and live a simple life. But he didn’t. Life was always full of choices, and he made his – fighting for injustices, fighting for peace, fighting for a world for his child and future grandchildren to grow up in safety and happiness – and she forgave him for it.

The breeze gently lifted the edge of her cap again, teasing a few strands of hair loose. She grumbled, both at the stench around her — and the sight of some sailor who’d had too much the night before relieving himself off the side of the dock — and at her internal monologue. The sun had risen not long ago, and it was already promising to be a hot day. The stench would only get worse as the day got on and her mood was likely to join it.

As she adjusted her cap once more — this time against the bright light of the sun — she walked straight into what felt like a brick wall. With a grunt, she stepped back and looked up to see a broad back in front of her. She noticed the kanji on his back — Evil — and raised a sardonic brow. Then she craned her neck to continue following her line of sight to a head of hair that seemed like it didn’t follow the same rules of gravity that applied to everyone else. Before she could ponder it for long, the man turned to face her.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, punk,” he practically growled as he crossed his arms in front of his chest to flex his muscles.

Kaoru’s sardonic look still had not faded, but her other brow rose in response, and she attempted to fight all her reflexes that told her to school her face into something resembling remorse. As a woman, she’d been raised to always step aside for men, to be contrite and apologetic, to make herself smaller. Even when she didn’t feel she was in the wrong, it was often safer and easier to pretend. Men only saw what they wanted to see, so sincerity didn’t seem to matter most of the time. But this was her chance at a fresh start, her chance to see how men lived, and she would not cower before this man whose face looked like it had seen more bar fights than birthdays.

She pitched her voice as low as she could, trying to step into her new persona. “Maybe you should watch where you’re going…punk.”

The man glared at her as if trying to intimidate her into backing down with nothing more than a look, but she had grown up around boys in the dojo and it would take more than a sneer in this case. Kaoru stood her ground, and that eyebrow rose again as if answering his unspoken challenge.

Without warning, he chuckled and lightly — for him, at least — punched Kaoru in the shoulder. She couldn’t hold back the wince, but she did stop herself from rubbing the pain away. “You lost, kid?”

“I’m not a kid, and no, I’m not lost. I’m looking for work. You know anyone hiring?” Kaoru’s voice sounded strange to her ears with a slightly deeper resonance, but she needed to keep it up and convince this guy and anyone else that she was who she was claiming to be.

The man chewed thoughtfully on some fish bone and Kaoru had to restrain her face from showing its true thoughts — that she found it to be a disgusting habit, that his breath must be terrible, and that he was going to crack his teeth right out of his skull before long. “Yeah, I know a ship needing some hands. But there’s age limits. We don’t need no little snot-nosed kids, like you.”

Kaoru rolled her eyes but refused to tell him again that she wasn’t a kid. It was obvious he was trying to get under her skin, and if she put up a fight on that point then he’d never let it go and she’d essentially be proving him right. “I’m stronger than I look and I’m a quick study. Just point me in the right direction, OK?”

“Yeah, I’ll do ya one better. I’ll take ya there myself. Name’s Sanosuke, Sagara Sanosuke. Most people call me Sano,” he added before sarcastically bowing with a flourish of his arms.

Kaoru froze. Her name stuck on her tongue as if pierced by Sano’s fishbone. She needed a name, a manly name. And now she was delaying for too long and, by the look on Sano’s face, he knew she was scrambling. “Shi-...My name is Shinji.”

Sano snorted and shook his head. “Right…Well, Shinji, ship’s this way. If the captain don’t trust ya though, you ain’t working for us and there ain’t many other ships looking for hands right now. Might wanna make sure ya know your name, huh?”

He turned and walked away, and Kaoru let out a shaky breath before following him. ‘Shinji…don’t forget your name now. This is your life. You are Shinji from now on,’ she repeated to herself.  

The path through the docks was a chaotic tangle of crates, ropes, and shouting men. Kaoru kept her head down, her cap tugged low, the oversized coat — once belonging to her father — swallowing her frame. Sano strode ahead, parting the crowd like he belonged to the sea itself, tossing a careless grin over his shoulder every few steps.

They passed the Araksa merchant slip, where rum crates stacked high as houses were being loaded onto the Gold Maw - a slaver ship, if the hush around it meant anything. She shuddered, grateful Sano passed by it without even a glance. She craned her neck as they continued walking, trying to read the names of ships and remember whatever rumours she had heard. Sano didn’t seem like a slaver, so she was optimistic that she would be safe - she assumed he worked on some merchant ship or maybe worked for the docks themselves and that’s how he knew where they were going.

And then they turned a corner — and Kaoru saw it.

The ship rose from the sea like a story someone once whispered to scare children. Black-hulled and low-slung, the ship looked like it had been carved from midnight itself. Its sails, furled for now, still glowed a muted red in the early light — the colour of blood diluted by seawater. Jagged ropes hung from the rigging like the bones of some massive creature, and the figurehead — a dragon looped onto itself watching the seas ahead — loomed at the bow, scorched and worn.

“That’s her,” Sano said, jabbing a thumb toward the ship with a lopsided grin. “The Crimson Dawn. If you’re lucky, she won’t eat you alive.”

Kaoru couldn’t help her gulp as she looked up at it. For the first time since concocting this plan, she wondered if she had maybe bitten off more than she could chew. Everyone had heard of the Crimson Dawn — it was captained by the most feared pirate: Battousai. The legends said he was a demon spit out by the flames of hell to wreak havoc on Earth, that he could cut down 30 men in a single breath, that his eyes glowed like embers and his hair was dyed red with the blood of his enemies. She had never held much faith in ghost stories, but her mouth was suddenly dry as she realized she was willingly stepping into his world. She wasn’t sure how long she stared, trying to wrest her bravery back into her small stature, but it was long enough that Sano had already climbed aboard and was leaning over the side staring at her. Once his haphazardly thrown fishbone hit her head, however, she quickly snapped out of her daze and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Ya coming, or what?” His laughter rang in her ears, as did his whistle and mumbled, “Useless kids.” But it gave her the push she needed to climb aboard. She sucked the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth as she realized her instincts were wrong. Sano was most decidedly not a merchant or a dockworker. He was a pirate. A pirate who worked for the most feared captain in all the world, if stories were to be believed.

The moment Kaoru stepped onto the deck, the boards shifted beneath her feet like the ship was breathing. The sea rolled gently in the harbour, but the vessel felt alive — groaning softly, ropes creaking, metal clinking somewhere just out of sight.

Everything was darker up close — the sails overhead blocked the sun, and the hull, streaked with old salt and paint, bore scars deeper than some people. The deck was clean, but not neat as the crew rushed with purpose to get things ready for sailing. Coiled ropes lined the railings like snakes, and barrels stood stacked with names scorched into their lids. Every inch of the ship whispered of purpose — and of violence.

Men moved like shadows around her, glancing once before returning to work. There was a tight schedule to uphold, and they didn’t have time to pay attention to some new kid who likely wouldn’t last.

Somewhere overhead, a red flag flapped in the breeze — a colour Kaoru now understood didn’t just mean danger. It meant warning.

‘This ship doesn’t suffer fools,’ she thought to herself. And she’d just lied her way aboard.

No one gave her instructions. Sano disappeared into the gloom below deck, carrying a barrel over a shoulder and a crate under his other arm, letting out a barked laugh and a “Try not to die, Shinji!” tossed over his free shoulder. The rest of the crew moved with practiced purpose — untying lines, checking sails, hauling barrels Kaoru couldn’t lift even with both arms and divine intervention.

She stood awkwardly near the rail, hands clenched into fists. The wind tugged at her too-big coat. Her heart hammered.

‘Do something.’

She spotted a pile of rope near the mast, tangled and half-soaked, and scrambled toward it. Her fingers fumbled, clumsy with cold and nerves, but she bent to the task, trying to mimic what she’d seen the others do — coiling, untwisting. She had no idea if it helped. No one stopped her. No one acknowledged her presence.

And then — something shifted.

The deck lurched beneath her feet. Shouts rose. Sails snapped open above like thunder, and suddenly the ship was moving. Kaoru staggered upright and grabbed the rail, breath caught in her throat. The docks were already falling away, the horizon opening like a mouth.

That’s when she saw him.

Standing at the helm, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting casually at his hip, was the man they called Battousai. Her mouth dried again, and she worried her heart hammered so loudly in her chest that it would call to him, begging to be cut out.

Red hair tied in a top-knot, wind catching the ends like flame. A dark coat that flared like smoke. A face that didn’t look cruel — just carved from something harder than kindness. And the cross-shaped scar he was so known for.

He looked less like a man and more like a force. Not a hero. Not a villain. Just inevitability in motion.

His eyes swept across the deck, passing over her. Then came back, just for a moment. Something cold and sharp prickled along Kaoru’s spine. He turned away, the moment passing as quickly as it had begun.

The wind caught the sails, and the Crimson Dawn surged forward — away from land, away from all Kaoru had known, and deeper into the lie she had just sold her soul to tell.

Chapter Text

Kaoru had expected raucous sailors. Screaming. Blood. In the short time she’d had to come to terms with boarding the ship, she’d prepared mentally for utter chaos and had braced for it.

What she got was creaking wood, sea spray, and a mop that smelled like it had been soaking in old fish.

The Crimson Dawn moved smoothly through the water, but Kaoru’s stomach had yet to agree. The world swayed in ways she hadn’t prepared for — physically or emotionally. She tried every centering technique she could remember to calm both her nerves and her roiling stomach, but she was hyper-aware of every sound, every movement, every glance.

Now that they were sailing, the men had begun to speak a little. It was still subdued — quiet enough that the sails snapping overhead sounded like lashes from the executioner’s whip — but not as suffocating as it had been when she first boarded.

She had no idea what she should be doing. Her attempt at rope coiling had run its course, so she found the mop and started swabbing the deck, hoping movement would keep her from getting sick.

A laugh broke through the ambient noise, and she turned to find Sano watching her.

“You’re lookin’ a little green there, kid.” His grin faded as he squinted at her, and he pointed an incredulous finger toward her face. “You’ve never even been on a ship before, have ya?”

His voice dropped into disbelief. “Ah, shit... You should’ve told me you ain’t never been on a ship.”

Kaoru bristled. “Maybe you should’ve asked first. Do you usually hire people without asking basic questions?”

Her defensiveness flared too quickly. Fear made her snappish — she was suddenly convinced that if they found out how little she knew, they’d throw her overboard the moment she got in the way. Her mouth curved into a pout before she forced her expression into something flatter. Something she hoped resembled a sullen young man and not an indignant woman.

Before the exchange could escalate, a new presence approached — quiet, but commanding.

Battousai.

Her heart began its drumming again and she wondered if it was part of his demonic curse that did this – did it affect everyone or just her? Was it seeking out her lies?

He was... shorter than she’d expected. The stories had painted him as a giant — a demon with fire in his eyes and blood on his blade. A man who could command heaven and hell and win against both. But this man? He was only a little taller than she was. Smaller. Quieter. Not harmless — never that — but more like a storm that had already made landfall.

“Come on, kid,” Sano said, gently but firmly taking the mop from her hands. “Time to meet your boss.”

Kaoru’s mouth went dry. She wasn’t sure if it was seasickness or sheer terror. She chewed the inside of her cheek to force some moisture back, casting a quick glance around the deck. No one else seemed to be watching them — but she was certain everyone had an ear turned their way.

“This is the new cabin boy,” Sano announced as they approached, clapping a heavy hand on Kaoru’s back. He leaned down and muttered, “Try not to cry, Shinji.”

Kaoru straightened instinctively, fighting the lurch of her gut. ‘Being a cabin boy might not be safer than staying on land.’ She knew the saying sailors carried from port to port — a woman in every port, and a boy on every ship.

“Name?” Battousai asked. His voice was softer than she expected — low and steady, but with enough weight to command attention without ever rising above conversation.

“Shinji, sir.” She was proud she didn’t stutter.

“Experience?”

Before she could answer, Sano snorted loudly behind her.

Battousai paused. His eyes flicked over her like he was reading a list she couldn’t see.

“You’ll learn,” he said simply.

Kaoru released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. At least for today, she was safe. Not thrown overboard. Not exposed. She just had to hold the lie.

Then, to her surprise, Battousai turned slightly toward Sano. “You brought him on board. You’ll train him, Sanosuke.”

And without another word, he turned and walked back toward the helm.

Kaoru noticed a tall man in the shadows fall into step beside him — the navigator, she guessed. She hadn’t even seen him standing there. She hadn’t seen a lot of things, apparently.

Sano stood beside her, sputtering.

She gave him a wide-eyed, innocent smile. “Well, boss. What are you going to teach me first?”

Sanosuke Sagara might be the most annoying man Kaoru had ever met. He literally lounged against the railing of the ship criticizing everything she did. She wasn’t mopping fast enough, then she was mopping too fast and missing spots. She coiled the rope wrong. She tied the sail too loosely and a strong wind would knock it flying, sending a boom into an unfortunate crewmate. She tied the knots too tight so no one would be able to undo them. Nothing was good enough for him and it was infuriating.

“Might send you down to the galley. Get some cooking done. You got delicate little hands there, kid. Womanly,” Sano muttered around a fishbone. Kaoru was horrified at the idea of being called a woman even jokingly, and she was no great cook.

“I’ll show you womanly hands,” she snarled at him as she made a fist and charged. Expectedly, he caught her small fist in his much larger and stronger hand without having to even move from his comfortable spot.

She knew when she was defeated, and she pulled away before he had a chance to examine whether her hands really were womanly. They were calloused from swords, but she also found she was much cleaner than any of the crewmates and the lack of dirt under her lightly-manicured nails or in the creases of her palms would be a dead giveaway. Instead, she stuck her tongue out at him and added, “Besides, send me to the kitchen and you’ll be wondering what I put in your meal. I’d make it extra special, just for you.”

Sano chuckled and nodded as if he assumed that would happen. He pushed her shoulder to guide her back to an open space free of ropes, boxes, and men. “Ya wanna learn to fight, kid? I’ll make sure ya don’t swing like a girl no more. Fists up.”

Kaoru’s eyes widened. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. I can’t beat you in a fist fight and you and I both know it. I’m shorter, lighter, less muscular - I have no advantage in this fight. Escape, yeah, probably. But fight and win or even fight and live? No way. Give me a sword and then we’re even.”

“Prove it…Shinji.” Three words had never sounded so good to her ears before as Sano tossed the mop back her way.

Kaoru caught it mid-air with a grunt, holding it like the sword it wasn’t. It was too light, too long, too damp. But the stance? That was muscle memory. Her feet shifted automatically, knees bent, elbows in, guard up.

Sano didn’t move. He just grinned that smug, insufferable grin. “Come on. Hit me.”

Kaoru didn’t need to be told twice. She lunged - a short, sharp thrust meant to test his defense. It was deflected instantly. He didn’t even blink.

“You swing like a noodle.”

She growled and came at him again, using a combination strike - a jab followed by a spinning sweep. It was clumsy, off-balance, but enough to make him sidestep.

“Better,” he muttered, “but you’re leaving your left wide open. Might as well slap me with a fish and call it a day.”

Kaoru launched forward with a feral shout.

This time, Sano deflected her high and kicked at her foot. She stumbled, went down hard, the mop clattering beside her. She stayed there a second, panting, cheek against the sun-warmed deck.

“Ya done yet?”

“Not even close,” she spat, grabbing the mop again and flipping herself up in one smooth motion. She came in lower this time - a swing toward his ribs.

Sano blocked, surprised. “There we go.”

They traded a few more strikes - him holding back just enough, her growing bolder with each move. She hadn’t sparred in months. She was rusty, unbalanced, winded. But it was coming back. Fast.

She didn’t notice they’d drawn a crowd. Not many, just a few curious eyes lingering. She especially didn’t notice the figure leaning casually against the rigging above, one hand resting on the rope near the mainsail, red hair stirring in the breeze.

Kenshin watched in silence, unreadable.

The sun dipped below the horizon like it, too, was exhausted.

Kaoru’s body ached. Every joint, every muscle, every inch of her skin felt worked and weathered. She smelled like sea salt and fish and something distinctly mop-related.

When Sano finally waved her off with a “Go scrub somethin’ else for a while,” she didn’t argue.

A crewmate with arms like tree trunks grunted something about “cabin boy goes with the captain,” and pointed her toward a door at the far end of the main deck.

Her stomach dropped.

‘Oh no…’

The captain’s cabin. Of course. The cabin boy belonged there. That was the job. Assist the captain with anything and everything he needs. A woman in every port and a boy on every ship.

Her legs moved before her brain did, mechanical and stiff. She knocked, then hesitated - but no one answered. The door creaked open.

The room inside was sparse. Functional. A desk, a hammock, a locked chest. A narrow cot along one wall. Her eyes darted to it. One bed. One.

Kaoru stepped inside slowly, her heart pounding so loudly it muffled the creak of the floorboards. She’d made it through the day. She’d survived Sano, the training, the sparring. But this? This was the moment she realized she hadn’t thought everything through.

How was she going to handle this? He was certain to notice even in the dark if she was missing certain appendages or had other parts that boys didn’t. Even if she ensured he was intoxicated first, he was bound to notice the differences. And then what? Would he share her with the crew? Would he throw her overboard? Would he be merciful enough to at least let her go at the next port?

She took a deep breath in and closed her eyes, then shook out her hands as if releasing cramps after a rough sparring session. Then, slowly, opened her eyes again as she exhaled. Sleeping belowdecks with the rest of the men seemed like a much better option. She turned and put her hand on the door before it was pulled open by her captain. There was no escape now.

The door opened before she could move.

And there he was.

Captain Battousai - the infamous, bloodstained, quietly terrifying figure who had taken down slaver ships and government fleets alike - looked at her like she was just another object in the room.

Kaoru stepped back instinctively, hand falling from the door. Her mouth went dry as her heart hammered in her chest. She was certain he could hear it.

“I trust you weren’t waiting long,” he said, voice as calm as the sea on a windless day.

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just stepped past her, shrugging out of his long coat and hanging it with practiced ease. She caught a glimpse of the scars along his arms - old, silvered, some jagged and cruel. They didn’t make him look broken. They made him look alive.

He crossed to the desk and began sorting through a small stack of maps, muttering something under his breath that she couldn’t quite make out over the pounding of her heart. Kaoru remained frozen near the door. Every muscle in her body begged her to move - to speak - to do something.

“The cot is yours,” he said without turning around.

She blinked. “What?”

“I won’t take the bed from you. I rarely sleep in it. Or the hammock, if you prefer. It’s your choice.”

“But…” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “I’m the cabin boy and…and you’re the captain.”

Battousai looked up. Just once, just long enough to pin her in place with those strange bright eyes.

“And?”

Kaoru’s throat tightened. She didn’t have an answer, not one she could say aloud. It was the worst-kept secret among sailors, but it still wasn’t openly stated.

“Get some rest,” he said simply, and turned back to his maps.

She stood there for another long moment, her mind spinning, trying to catch up to what wasn’t happening. No threat. No cruel smile. No subtle gestures of intent.

He wasn’t watching her. He wasn’t touching her. He wasn’t even interested. That was somehow more unsettling. Did demons truly not have the same needs as mortal men?

Quietly, Kaoru moved to the cot and lowered herself onto it, careful not to rustle too loudly. She sat upright for a long time, just listening to the scratch of his pen, the occasional creak of the hull, the distant shout of a watchman above deck.

The silence stretched.

“Sir?” she finally murmured. Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but his pen stopped moving in his journal, indicating that he heard her. “What…are my duties? I…like to know what to expect.”

He still didn’t turn to face her, but he tilted his head slightly while considering. “You will learn how to sail. You will clean. You will learn what every person here is responsible for. You will become so familiar with how this ship breathes and how this crew works that you will be aware of what needs doing before someone asks you. And you will work on improving your fighting - this isn’t a dojo. Pirates fight dirty and use any means necessary. You can’t expect them to go easy on you or engage in any etiquette. There will be no referee for the match. There will be no call to the end of the fight once first blood is drawn.”

His pen resumed scratching again and she slowly laid down on the cot - fully clothed, arms wrapped around her midsection, boots still on. Her body trembled so faintly she hoped he couldn’t hear it. Although he had been so clear, it felt like a trap. It had to be a trap.

She didn’t sleep.

But she didn’t cry, either.

Chapter Text

At some point in time, Kaoru must have drifted off. She was still curled tightly, but now there was a scratchy blanket covering her that she didn’t remember pulling over herself. The captain was still at his desk, as if he hadn’t moved at all through the night, though his pen now lay still. Kaoru blinked and then slowly stretched, feeling the awful stiffness in her body of too much work yesterday paired with an awkward sleeping position.

As she shifted to a sitting position, he tucked a small piece of cloth into a drawer and locked it. Had anyone else done it, the move would have been smooth and seamless, but Kaoru had the distinct impression that he was rushing to tuck it away before she noticed. She made a mental note: the captain did have secrets after all.

“Good morning, captain,” she murmured. Her voice was scratchy and hoarse as she woke up and it didn’t take much to change it into Shinji’s slightly deeper timbre. 

“Good morning, Shinji. I trust you slept well. You have another long day ahead of you. No sparring with Sano today, however. Instead, he will show you the ship and introduce you to the rest of the crew. As I said yesterday, it is your responsibility to become so familiar with everyone and everything that you anticipate what’s needed before being asked. You will know the Crimson Dawn better than you know yourself.”

Battousai’s voice retained the same measured quality she always heard. She wondered if he ever lost his composure. For someone rumoured to be a demon, capable of cutting down 10 men in a single breath, he was remarkably even. She wondered how he could maintain this mask so well - this mask of humanity. The rumours about him had been circulating for years - Kaoru had heard them since she was a small child. Yet he didn’t look old enough to have been fighting for so long, to have killed so many people. And he was always so calm. Where was the blood lust, the anger? It was impossible for both versions of Battousai to be true. He looked like he should have been a scholar, not a storm.

When she didn’t move right away, he turned to look at her. No further words were said, but a brow raised, and she flushed in response. Hurriedly, she made the bed and rushed out past him to find Sanosuke. Under the smell of sea salt and sweat as she breezed by, there was the faintest hint of jasmine that tickled Battousai’s nose.

Immediately upon leaving the cabin, she ran into Sanosuke’s back. The wind was knocked out of her and she fell to the deck unceremoniously while he hardly even seemed to notice her presence.

As Kaoru scrambled to her feet, Sano turned and glanced down at her. His cocky, crooked grin caused her own face to glower in return as he put his hands on his hips and leaned back to laugh, “Oi, you’re gonna need to get those sea legs a bit faster, kid. Can’t have you eatin’ shit every time a wave comes along.”

Without missing a beat, Sano jerked his thumb toward the ship’s bow. “C’mon. Captain says you’re my problem today. Time to make ya useful.”

Kaoru’s glare never faded as she stomped after him, trying desperately to keep up with his longer stride. Each step of his covered twice the ground hers did. In her oversized coat, she imagined she probably did look like little more than a snot-nosed kid chasing after his big brother, but she needed to keep her mental focus on being Shinji and not punching Sano in the face for being annoying, so she sighed and attempted to move more like a boy and change her expression to something more blank and something less like her. Her heart was always on her sleeve. Shinji couldn’t live that way.

Sano leaned casually against the bow of the ship and gestured a hand at the crew working. “I’m the First Mate – means I’m the backup if Kenshin needs me t’ be. Also the Master-at-Arms. I teach the crew t’ fight. ‘s why I challenged you yesterday. You’re OK, kid. Little too textbook, but definitely teachable. Ya did good with the improvised weapon and ya landed a couple hits on me an’ that’s no easy feat. Might be good when ya fight the Navy, but ya ain’t gonna survive other pirates.

“That guy there,” he continued as he pointed at a man larger than any Kaoru had ever seen, “is Hyottoko. He’s the Bosun. His job? Maintenance. He carries the heavy shit, he fixes the broken shit. He looks big an’ mean, an’ he is, but he’ll do ya right if ya listen.”

Kaoru’s jaw dropped as she watched Hyottoko move. He towered over Sano and his arms were as thick as tree trunks. If Kaoru had to guess, he could probably punch a hole straight through the hull if he got angry enough. He whistled to himself as he picked up a barrel under one arm and a crate in the other arm and started heading towards the stairs belowdecks, gingerly stepping over any ropes or stray mops – that may or may not have been left behind by Kaoru last night – in his way.

“O’er there, we got the Carpenter, Han’nya. Don’t let ‘im scare ya. He looks like a ghost but he ain’t one…I don’t think,” Sano continued as he pointed into some shadows. Kaoru could see the outline of a person but couldn’t make out any features. However, being scared by pirates was something she expected anyway, so she doubted she’d have trouble with the mysterious carpenter.

“Aoshi’s the Navigator. He’s around somewhere, prob’ly with the Cap’n. He’s cold as ice but damn good at his job. Kenshin only keeps the good ones around here – ya can’t cut it on the ship, ya get cut loose one way or another. Use that to motivate ya, huh?”

Sano paused to scratch the back of his head and looked up into the masts. “Oh yeah, and that’s Shiro up there. Scrawniest Crow we got – eyes of a hawk. Yo, Shiro!”

Sano waved as he shouted and Kaoru could barely make out a face and waving arms high above her, looking a little like a scarecrow clinging to the ropes. Sano let out a sigh and shrugged. “Anyway, you’ll be learnin’ all these things. How to do the rigging – properly. How to be a lookout. How to help with repairs. All of it. I’ll introduce ya to th’ rest o’ the crew at mealtime tonight. For now, let’s go below.”

His stride seemed to Kaoru to have grown since the time he walked to the bow of the ship and she muttered to herself as she followed after him, “Stupid, long-legged roosters.”

The brightness of the sun glaring off the ocean seemed a world away below decks. Instead, her eyes had to adjust to make out the dim corridors lined with barrels and hammocks, flickering lanterns casting long, swaying shadows. The air was thick with the smells of salt, sweat, damp rope, and old fish.

While still growing accustomed to the dinginess, Sano had already walked away again and whistled for her to join him. “This way, kid. Ain’t got all day to window shop.

“We got rules ‘round here, too. Ship’s got rules, captain’s got rules. Ya don’t wanna end up shark bait, ya follow ‘em,” He began tallying the rules on his fingers as they waited outside a door. “Captain’s the boss. No backtalk unless you like swimmin’. Crew comes first – fight for ‘em, die for ‘em if you gotta. No cowards allowed. Loot’s fair. Don’t steal, don’t hide stuff, we split it – Quartermaster’s the boss o’ that one. No punchin’ below decks – wanna fight? Ask me. I’ll gladly kick yer ass for ya. Get sick or busted up, see the Doc. Don’t break the ship or Han’nya will kill ya before the captain even notices. Last but not least, no mercy. Someone got a weapon against ya, kill ‘im.”

Kaoru gulped, her eyes wide. She had grown up in the dojo learning to fight, but she had never had to kill someone before. She curled her fingers into fists to hide the trembling. Her father trained her to defend the innocent but said he wanted her to grow up in a world where her hands could be clean. Her father was dead though and it probably didn’t matter what promises he had made. Dead men don’t make rules at sea.

Sano kicked open a nearby door with the heel of his boot and jerked his head for her to follow.

The air inside was sharper somehow – biting and clean compared to the musty corridors. Kaoru squinted and made out a narrow space packed with crude shelves stacked with jars, linens, and battered medical supplies. A small table stood in the centre, where an older man hunched over a sailor’s arm, stitching a nasty gash with a threaded bone needle.

“Doc’ll patch ya up if you’re lucky,” Sano said with a lopsided grin. “If you’re real lucky, he won’t gut ya for bleedin’ all over his floor.”

The man glanced up at them without pausing his work. His face was lined like a weathered map, and his eyes were sharp as a hawk’s.

“So this is the new stray,” he muttered. His voice was low, gravelly, but not unkind.

Kaoru stiffened under his gaze, but remembered herself and dipped her head quickly. “Sir. Shinji.”

Gensai snorted softly. “Right. Well, as you can see, I’m busy here.”

With that, he turned back to the sailor and Sano closed the door.

They trudged a little farther below, the corridor narrowing until it opened into a cramped, dim space with heavy iron-banded doors lining one wall. Kaoru slowed, her skin prickling.

“Cells,” Sano said simply. "For prisoners. Slavers, mostly. Sometimes Navy dogs if they ain’t worth killin’ outright.”

Kaoru swallowed thickly. The ship had rules, sure – but it also had sharp teeth.

She peered inside one open cell and caught a glimpse of shackles bolted into the floor.

“Keep yer nose clean, kid,” Sano said without looking back. “Else you end up locked in with worse company than yourself.”

Kaoru quickened her steps without meaning to as she followed after Sano.

The smell of the galley hit her before they even reached it – a foul stew of overboiled onions, sea brine, and something vaguely resembling socks.

Inside, a wiry man with a rat-like face hacked at a mound of tubers with a cleaver nearly the size of Kaoru’s arm. The cleaver thunked into the chopping block with a rhythm that made Kaoru’s palms itch.

“That’s Beshimi. Cook. Quartermaster’s second-in-command for rations and supplies,” Sano muttered out the side of his mouth. “He’s real fond of rat stew. Real fond.”

Beshimi didn’t even glance up as they entered.

“Tell the Captain I’m short on clean water and short on rats,” he barked. “One’s easier to fix than the other.”

Sano chuckled and dragged Kaoru backward by the collar before she could get any closer to the cleaver – or explore the area to see if rat stew was a joke or not.

Sano led the way back onto the deck. It was just as hard for Kaoru’s eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness and she felt blinded by the glittering ocean. He clapped her roughly on the back, nearly sending her sprawling again.

“Alright, runt. Ropes now. I catch you trippin’ over ‘em again, I’m tyin’ ya up with ‘em and danglin’ you from the mast.”

Kaoru managed a weak glare, but her body obeyed before her mouth could get her into trouble.

The next hours blurred into a haze of thick ropes, calloused palms, and shouted instructions. She learned the names of the sails and the rigging lines: halyards, clewlines, braces. She learned how to coil rope without leaving kinks, how to tie a quick slipknot, how to spot worn sections before they gave way under strain.

No one slowed down for her. No one praised her. And strangely – that made her work harder.

The Crimson Dawn demanded competence the way the dojo had demanded discipline. And somewhere inside her, the embers of old pride stirred. While she worked, Sano told her a story about how he ended up on this ship – a story she asked for without quite realizing she had done so. She wanted to understand what would cause someone who seemed like a decent person – if annoying and rough around the edges – to join a crew of pirates, especially one captained by Battousai.

“Me an’ Kenshin go way back. He had just gotten his ship and hadn’t had a reputation yet. I mean, yeah, he was still Battousai – but he hadn’t fought for the Imperialists for a few years by that time. I was up in Nagasaki. Got picked up by some rough guys, put me to work fightin’ for coin. You know how it goes. Gotta do what ya gotta do to survive, right?” Sano gazed at the horizon for a moment as he paused, as if reliving those days. Kaoru wondered what he saw as he traveled through his memories, but continued tying and untying ropes until it became muscle memory to avoid staring at him.

“Anyway, he was in the port that day and I was told t’ rough ‘im up a bit. I was a stupid kid and didn’t know who he was. Was promised double the coin and some good sake to go with it if I won, my freedom if I killed ‘im. Was too good an offer to pass up,” Sano chuckled and rubbed his hand through his hair – though Kaoru was shocked to see it went right back into its gravity-defying ways. She wondered if it was all the sea salt stiffening it up.

“Shinji, he coulda killed me in seconds. He let me swing at ‘im, charge ‘im, fight as dirty as I wanted and never even drew his sword. I couldn’t touch the guy. He was fast and smoother than water. He gave me a choice – told me ‘You want to fight for something better? Start by pulling your weight.’ And the next thing I knew, the bosses was gone an’ he was offering me a job.

“I’m still tryin’ to figure out the whole ‘pull your weight’ part, but…life’s good. He saved me, kid.”

By the time the call went up for the evening meal, Kaoru’s arms ached, her back was sore, and salt clung to every crease of her skin. But she’d survived her first full day aboard.

The galley wasn’t large enough to hold the whole crew at once, so men sat cross-legged on deck and around barrels, bowls of stew cradled in their hands, the sunset peeking through small portholes casting everything in rust-red light.

Kaoru hesitated at the hatch, but Sano appeared behind her and shoved a battered wooden bowl into her arms.

“Eat fast, talk slow, listen always,” he said, then jerked his chin toward the nearest cluster of sailors. “C’mon. Time to meet the pack.”

He led her toward a half-circle of figures lounging around a coiled length of anchor chain.

Hyottoko grunted a greeting that could’ve meant hello or move, you’re in my light. She chose to interpret it as a greeting and offered a hesitant smile in return, barely more than a lift at the corners of her mouth. He mumbled – around a mouthful of food, no less – his name and offered a smile back. It wasn’t what Kaoru would call friendly, but it was more personable than she’d expected.

Shiro gave her a quick, toothy grin before returning to carving something into the handle of a knife with the tip of another knife.

Han’nya barely acknowledged her, his gaunt face unreadable in the deepening dusk. Kaoru now understood what Sano meant when he called him a ghost. His silence and stoicism was unearthly and deeply disconcerting to her and she wondered if perhaps he was also a demon like the captain.

Beshimi growled about “new mouths to feed” but didn’t seem truly angry. Kaoru was again reminded of the comment about rat stew and her hunger suddenly dissipated. She didn’t see any pieces of meat in her bowl, but the light was quite dim and everything had relatively the same colour.

And, farther off, Kaoru spotted Aoshi leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching without expression. The Navigator’s pale eyes missed nothing. An older man approached and murmured something quietly that Kaoru couldn't catch. Aoshi nodded once and the man walked away. Sano noticed Kaoru looking and informed her, "That's Okina. Quartermaster. You'll meet 'im later."

Sano nudged her down onto a coil of rope and sat beside her, slurping loudly from his own bowl.

“Listen up,” he drawled. “This is Shinji. Cabin boy. Runt. Trainee. Puker of guts if the sea’s real nasty.”

A few chuckles rumbled through the group.

Kaoru tightened her grip on her bowl, cheeks burning. She forced herself to keep her posture loose, boyish, unbothered.

“Captain says he’s gonna learn the ship inside an’ out,” Sano continued, stuffing half a rice ball in his mouth. “Means you lot gotta help him. Or at least don’t kill ‘im by accident.”

Hyottoko gave a grunt that might have been agreement. Shiro raised his bowl in mock salute. Han’nya said nothing, just kept sharpening a knife on a whetstone.

Kaoru dipped her head – part thank you, part survival instinct.

As the chatter rose around her – rough voices trading gossip about weather and ports and distant fights – Kaoru allowed herself a small breath of relief.

For tonight, at least, she was just another shadow among shadows.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely begun to claw its way over the horizon when the door creaked open.

Kaoru jerked awake from where she had curled herself on the cot, arms locked tightly around her midsection. For one disoriented moment, she thought she was still back at the dojo – that the scent of salt and tar was the worn wood of the training hall, that the groaning of ropes overhead was just the old beams shifting.

Then reality slammed back into place.

The Crimson Dawn.

The disguise.

The lie.

Battousai stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the thin gray light.

“You have lookout duty today,” he said simply, voice low but carrying. “Find Shirojo.”

No lecture. No explanation. Just an order – the kind of trust she was slowly realizing meant survival here.

Kaoru swung her legs over the edge of the cot and forced herself upright, wincing as every muscle in her body protested. Her palms were raw from ropework, her arms heavy from the endless labour of yesterday, but she tucked the pain away where Shinji could not feel it.

She was learning.

She was surviving.

She grabbed her battered coat, slung it over her shoulders, and followed the Captain onto the deck.

The morning air slapped her awake – brisk and damp, tasting of salt and distant rain. Crew members shuffled about their duties with half-lidded eyes and grumbled curses, but the ship itself moved with purpose, creaking and sighing like a living thing.

Kaoru shaded her eyes against the weak sun and glanced upward.

High above, near the crow’s nest, she caught a flash of dark hair and pale arms waving.

Shirojo.

A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the early morning chill in the air.

Today would not end the way it began. She could feel it in the churn of the waves, the snap of the wind, the heavy anticipation that clung to the very bones of the ship.

Something was coming.

And Shinji – Kaoru – would have to be ready.

If someone had asked her yesterday if she was scared of heights, Kaoru would have laughed and said of course not. But as she was more than halfway up the climb to the crow’s nest and the wind was violently pushing her rope ladder, the mast, and her body in different directions simultaneously, she realized that she was, in fact, very scared of heights. Shirojo had peered over the edge a few times asking if she was coming, and she always nodded and said she was on her way. But her hands were fisted so tightly in the ropes that she doubted they’d ever open again even to let her climb up one rung higher.

Eventually, Shirojo must have lost patience – she distantly heard him sigh and come down to meet her. “Go on, I’ve got you. Finish the climb up and I’m right behind you. I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”

Kaoru noticed Shirojo looked probably close in age to her and that he had kind eyes. He certainly didn’t seem like a hardened pirate, and his support helped her finish the climb to the top. Once there, she sat in the crow’s nest and leaned her back against the mast for support. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest, and she placed her hand on it as if to keep it in, before she remembered she was a man and men were forceful. She gripped her jacket in a fist over her heart instead and let out a raspy chuckle. “And you do this every day? When does it stop being so hard?”

Shirojo laughed softly and shrugged. “I’ve been on ships since I was a kid - always climbing into small spots, going up high. Aoshi brought me with him, and I’ve been along ever since.” He grabbed his spyglass and took a quick glance in every direction. Seeing nothing, he set it aside again and continued. “I like it up here. It’s quiet and peaceful. No one bothers me and I get the best views.”

Kaoru considered what his life must have been like growing up on a ship. Who was Aoshi before becoming the Navigator and why did he bring a child with him? And was Shirojo so quiet and kind because he was far away from what happened down below, or would that have been his nature anyway?

“Want a look?” Shirojo held the spyglass out to her and Kaoru nodded. A fragile kind of bravery fluttered back to life. Although the crow’s nest moved wildly in the wind, it didn’t seem like it was in danger of falling any time soon. She was slowly getting used to the ship bouncing and bobbing in the waves, so maybe she could eventually get used to the movement up here, too.

Slowly climbing to her feet with one arm wrapped around the mast for support, she held the spyglass up to her eye and looked out across the ocean. She was shocked to find there was no sign of land anywhere around. She didn’t realize they could travel so far in only a day and could be so isolated when Edo often felt cramped and busy. She wondered if that was the difference between being on land and being at sea – there was just so much space out here. So much freedom.

The day passed peacefully between Shirojo and Kaoru. She became more comfortable and confident, able to speak her mind and move away from the security of the mast. Shirojo was quiet and thoughtful but took his duties very seriously and checked regularly on the horizon. He would pass Kaoru the spyglass as well and give her tips on how to avoid blinding herself with the sun glaring off the water, how to tell whether it was land or a ship in the distance, how to tell when a ship was friend or foe. It was thanks to those lessons that she was fairly confident that it was a ship she spotted and not land when she pointed it out to Shirojo.

Shirojo gently took the spyglass from her hand and aimed in the direction she was pointing. “Shit.”

He climbed halfway down the netting and called for Sano whose voice roared like a cannon blast. “We’ve got slavers in our waters!”

After that, the ship was chaos. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were running off to and what they needed to do, but, to Kaoru, it looked like chaos.

She climbed down the ropes as fast as she could, ignoring the burn in her hands as she slid a little faster than she was really ready for. She had no weapon and realized it for the first time as she saw blades of all sizes resting at the hips of the other sailors. Before she left the dojo behind, she had placed her sword at the altar honouring her parents and ancestors. That sword belonged to Kaoru and Kaoru was gone. She was Shinji now and Shinji, stupidly, didn’t have any weapons. But Sano was looking out for her and tossed a sword her way as he raced past. “Follow me, kid. Here’s your first fight at sea. Show me if you really can fight.”

The Crimson Dawn collided with the slaver ship like a living beast, its crew spilling over the rails with steel and fury.

Kaoru barely had time to register the chaos - the clang of metal, the smell of blood, the shouting – before she was leaping the gap after Sano, landing with a thud on unfamiliar wood.

The other ship smelled worse than anything she’d ever known – unwashed bodies, old blood, smoke, and fear. And underneath it all…something else. Something human. Hopelessness.

Her sword felt wrong in her hand. It wasn’t hers, not really. But she held it anyway.

She stayed low, near the rear flank of the fight, just as Sano had told her. “Don’t get fancy. Stay with me. Defend. If they look like they’re gonna kill someone, stop ‘em. That’s it.”

She could do that. She had to do that.

A slaver came at her with a wild grin, eyes wide with the high of violence. She parried, barely – her wrists shaking – and countered with a strike that he batted away.

“Nice try, little boy,” he sneered, raising his blade again.

And then he was gone.

Battousai passed through the space like a ghost, blade already red, not slowing for a second. The man dropped, silent and wide-eyed, before he hit the ground.

Kaoru stood, frozen in place. She hadn’t even seen him move. Just the flash of red hair, the whisper of his coat. The blood that hadn’t come from her sword.

‘He didn’t need to save me. He just did.’

She barely had time to think before the next wave hit. More slavers, two this time. Her hands still shook, but her grip tightened. She parried again, stronger. She dodged, ducked, rolled low and used her weight to send one sprawling. When she looked up, she saw Battousai again – this  time not near her. Near everyone.

He was everywhere all at once. Slashing through attackers before they reached the crew, turning deathblows into shallow cuts. His very presence was as much a weapon as his sword. His blade wasn’t elegant, it wasn’t graceful.

It was righteous brutality. He made it rain blood.

And yet he never touched the defenseless. Any slaver who dropped their weapon was knocked out, not killed. Any injured crew member was protected. The path he carved wasn’t just strategic – it was merciful.

‘A demon would never care this much,’ she thought to herself. She was perplexed but vowed she would sort through her thoughts later. For now, she needed to stay in the moment, focus on the fight. She needed to see the next swing before it came, be faster, be stronger. She didn’t need him or anyone to protect her. Her style was one of life, one of protection, and she would not fail.

Kaoru fought harder.

The ship was secured faster than she could have imagined. Slavers lay dead or bound. Kaoru, trembling, helped herd a group of rescued captives toward the rail. She heard one of the crew call for the doctor to bandage wounds and remembered the gruff older man she saw stitching up flesh as simply as a wife mending a kimono. She wanted to really speak with him later and see how someone whose ethics and code demanded he do no harm to people could be persuaded to join a pirate crew. It seemed so counterintuitive, but she was beginning to realize that all the tales of pirates she’d heard may not have been as factual as she believed.

One boy stood at the edge of the group, fists clenched, staring at the Crimson Dawn’s deck. He held himself apart from the rest of the captives, a quiet intensity holding him rooted to the blood-soaked deck. She noticed his poorly fitting clothing – reminiscent of her own, though far more threadbare – and his bare feet.

“Hey,” Kaoru said gently, lowering her sword. “You’re safe now. We’ll drop you off at the next port with the rest…time for a fresh start.”

“I don’t wanna leave,” he snapped.

She blinked, wondering if she heard him correctly. “What?”

“I don’t wanna leave. I ain’t got nobody left. My dad died, my mom and I got sold to these assholes. She’s gone now, too. I don’t want anyone else going through that. I’m gonna fight, like him.” The boy pointed to Battousai, who stood quietly nearby, wiping his blade with a slow, reverent motion.

“I can fight. I can help. Just – don’t make me go back.”

Kaoru’s face softened. He was so strong, so hardened, so young. He shouldn’t have experienced this. No one should ever have experienced this.

Sano dropped a hand on the boy’s head from behind. “Well, damn, we’ve got ourselves a mouthy one. C’mon, kid, we’ll find a job for ya.”

“I’m not a kid! My name’s Yahiko.”

Chapter Text

The ships remained connected together while everything was sorted. Captives and even slavers were triaged before being seen by Dr. Gensai. Kaoru was, again, surprised to find a trained doctor was on board a pirate ship - quite willingly - and it wasn’t just someone pretending they understood medicine and wound care. She was doubly surprised to find slavers were being treated.

Gensai, face deep with lines like well-traveled paths through a forest – though Kaoru had yet to learn if the lines were from smiling or frowning – was a very efficient and certain man. There was no hesitation in his motions, and he was as steady as a rock in a river allowing everyone to move around him. 

From what she gathered, some members of Battousai’s crew were in charge of handling the triage, having been trained by Gensai themselves. Other members were responsible for determining what the plan was - did any of the captives know how to sail? Could they take the ship themselves and head towards freedom? Did the navy need to come into play to help guide them where they needed and arrest the slavers? Did the crew actually want the navy involved? It was nothing like she expected on a pirate ship and her world had been flipped on its head too many times for her liking over the last few years. Every time she thought she had her feet under her again, something would happen to shift her entire understanding of the world around her.

As she helped guide the walking wounded, Gensai stopped her. He handed her a clean cloth and said, “You have steady hands. Help me.”

Kaoru hesitated. Could she really help care for slavers? They had tried to kill her, kill her crewmates. They had committed atrocities against their captives. And she could have just as easily been one of those captives had she made a different choice in her life. She remembered passing women on the street who cried about their sister, their daughter being taken. She remembered the man who threatened her in the fight just a short time ago, ready to kill her for no reason other than existing. They were evil and should have died. The fact that they surrendered made them nothing more than weak cowards. Death was the only just punishment for them, but the captain spared them, and she could not go against his wishes. But she realized the captives in need of medical attention numbered far higher than slavers and her moral code meant nothing here.

She grabbed the cloth and applied pressure to the wound, apologizing to the young woman who cried out in surprised pain. She winced as well and murmured soothingly to her, forgetting to deepen and add a bit of gravel to her voice, “You’ll be all right now. The doctor will help you and soon you’ll be free. No one here will hurt you, I promise. You’re safe.”

Dr. Gensai watched her out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing more than “Move the cloth, I need to see what we’re working with.”

Kaoru gently pulled it away, apologizing in advance. The wound was deep and continued to bleed as soon as pressure was removed. Gensai sighed and nodded to himself, then pulled out a curved needle made of bone and some silk thread. “This is going to hurt, young lady.”

To Kaoru he said, “Shinji, pour some of that water on it. It’ll sting like hell, but it needs to be done.”

She nodded and carefully poured the boiled seawater over the wound, gently shushing the young woman’s whimpers. Gensai quickly stitched the wound and Kaoru, now with her deeper voice, told him she knew how to bandage and could finish here while Dr. Gensai helped the next person. He asked her to also help bandage any others in that case and he would call for her if he needed further assistance.

It took a long time to help everyone, and her neck, back, and shoulders were very tense and tight when it was done. Gensai approached and gave her a nod. “Not many new recruits care this much. You didn't flinch when you fought. You didn't flinch when you bandaged. Tomorrow, you will help me prepare for the next raid. We always need clean bandages, clean thread, clean needles, clean water, honey and miso paste ready to go. For now, clean yourself up. You did good work today.”

Gensai nodded and clapped her on the shoulder before walking away. His approval meant more to Kaoru than she expected it would and she felt her eyes burn with tears she refused to allow to fall.

Gensai moved on to check another line of wounded, his approval lingering like a warmth Kaoru didn’t know she needed.

She stayed standing for a moment longer, bloodied cloth still clutched in her fingers, feeling the ship sway underfoot – steady and uncaring. Around her, the sounds of triage buzzed on, but no one called for her. No one looked her way.

For the first time since stepping onto the Crimson Dawn, she realized no one saw her as fragile.

Not a girl. Not a burden.

Just hands that could help.

She was invisible – and she was useful.

It wasn’t comfort she felt. But it was something close. A part of her longed to be seen the same way living her truth as Kaoru, but, for now, she would be satisfied with this peace as Shinji.

The idea of cleaning herself properly was a dream. The reality of it, however, was a nightmare. There would be no proper scrubbing, no hot water soak. For the foreseeable future, she was forced to smell and blend in with the other men on the ship. Disgusting.

She found a bucket and hauled it up from the sea herself, then dragged it behind a stack of crates near the aft rail where the wind cut less sharply, and shadows gave the illusion of privacy.

This wasn’t a bath. This wasn’t even dignified. But she’d assisted Gensai for as long as he needed her, her sleeves were stiff with blood, and her hands were covered in…stuff. She could see a combination of blood and dirt caked into her palms and she just felt sticky. She needed to clean herself – or at least pretend she wasn’t becoming one with the ship’s stink.

She crouched low, tugged a pilfered cloth from her coat, and dipped it in the bucket. The water was freezing. Of course it was.

“Shinji,” she muttered under her breath, “you are not a girl, you are not delicate, and this is not a crisis. This is…field maintenance.”

She hissed as she scrubbed her palms. The saltwater stung the rope burns from earlier and every callous she’d opened and rebuilt in the short time on the Crimson Dawn. She splashed some on her face, blinked hard, and muttered, “Okay. Crisis adjacent.”

Behind her, a shadow shifted.

She didn’t hear him approach. Of course she didn’t. Because he never made a sound.

Kaoru froze mid-splash, water dripping from her nose.

Battousai stood just a few paces away, hands folded behind his back. No coat, no boots - just linen sleeves rolled to the forearms and an expression she couldn’t read. Again.

How long had he been standing there?

She snapped upright too fast and nearly knocked over the bucket. Her voice came out an octave too high. “Captain!”

He nodded once. “You did well today.”

Kaoru blinked, water still running down her cheek. “I…thank you.”

His gaze dropped - just for a second - to her hands. Her face. The rag. Then back to her eyes.

She waited for a smirk. A comment. A joke. Something.

He just said, “Check with the cook later for some ginger. It helps the smell.”

And walked away.

The moment stretched after he left, the air somehow still vibrating from his presence. Kaoru stared after him, heart pounding, face flushed, soaked to the elbows and unsure whether she wanted to scream, laugh, or throw herself overboard. Instead, she dunked the cloth back in the bucket and tried to ignore how the smell of blood clung to her skin.

It was evening again, and she hesitated outside the door. She wondered if she should start asking to take a night shift just to avoid the anxiety of going into his cabin. Wondering. Worrying.

She entered to find Battousai already sitting at his desk. He nodded once to her, but didn’t say a word. His pen continued to scratch evenly across his parchment, and she wondered what he documented so routinely. 

She was told at dinner a carrier pigeon had been sent out to the Miburo, a naval ship that was known to be nearby. The captain, Saito Hajime, was known to be an uneasy ally of this crew. He was sworn to take down pirates but recognized that Battousai and the rest of the crew of the Crimson Dawn were not a concern. If anything, they helped him do his job so much more efficiently and so he could afford to turn a blind eye to the fact that they didn’t serve the emperor and were, for all intents and purposes, a murdering band of pirates. The hope was that he’d be able to meet up at their location within a day or so, take the newly freed slaves to safety, and do as he saw fit with the captured slavers and their vessel. Yahiko, it seemed, was determined to stay with the crew of the Crimson Dawn.

Kaoru quietly walked – attempting nonchalance – toward the cot. On top of the blanket, she found a small cloth-wrapped bundle. Kaoru untied it slowly, suspiciously. Inside was a small paper sachet of some powder. She picked it up carefully just pinching it between her finger and thumb and sniffed it. The smell hit her instantly - warm, sharp, earthy. Ginger. Tucked next to it was a single sliver of dried root, pale and curled. Something she could chew to help her seasickness on rough days.

Her throat closed. He noticed. He cared. He added yet another layer to the mystery she was trying to unravel.

She sat down hard on the cot and sniffed the sachet once more before gently wrapping it back up and tucking it in her bag where it wouldn’t be damaged. She had no words in this moment but managed to whisper her thanks to his back as she laid down on the cot under the blanket.

Sleep was a long time coming again this night, but not out of fear. This time, she struggled to understand.

He was a demon. She knew the stories – he had joined the Imperialist army and murdered thousands of people for them. He left, disappeared for a time, and rumour said he got married. But a demon can never know happiness and he killed his wife, then took to the seas. They said he was tired of killing on land and wanted to turn the oceans red with the blood of his victims instead.

But he covered her with a blanket and gave her the bed – likely one of the only proper beds on the ship that was meant specifically for the captain. He gave her ginger to chew and ginger to bathe with to help fight the smell and grime. He protected her in the battle today even though he had to go out of his way to get to her. He protected all of his crew. He saved slaves – people that many felt weren’t worth saving. He even spared slavers if they surrendered.

And when he fought, he made it rain blood. The deck of the other ship was slick with it and the stench of voided bowels and blood would linger in her nose forever.

But he helped the wounded, even carried a child while her mother was being tended to by Dr. Gensai. He had saved Sanosuke years ago and inspired his loyalty.

How could the rumours and stories about him be so true and yet seem so wrong? It was impossible that this man could be a demon and care for others. It didn’t make sense. One version must be a lie.

But she had seen him fight.

But she had seen him care.

Sleep found her at last – not with peace, but with heavy hands that dragged her under.

The dojo was too quiet.

The air smelled wrong – damp, rotting wood instead of sharp incense.

The wind had stopped. No students. No shouts. No footsteps.

Kaoru stood in the centre of the training floor, barefoot, dressed in her gi – but her bokken was gone.

The altar loomed behind her. Her father’s incense bowl was cold. The sword she left behind sat heavy on the offering stand.

She turned to face it. Her reflection stared back from the blade – but it wasn’t hers.

Shinji.

Shinji was stronger. Shinji didn’t cry. Shinji wasn’t failing.

She stepped toward the altar and tried to kneel – but her legs wouldn’t bend. The floorboards beneath her cracked open like jaws.

“You left us,” whispered her father’s voice.

“You weren’t strong enough,” said her mother’s.

“You failed,” her own voice slithered in the darkness at her.

The dojo swirled with shadows. All the students she’d lost. All the meals she’d skipped. All the nights she’d stood on the roof, hoping someone would come and say I believe in you.

No one did.

The sword bled. Not red – black. Ink. Shame. Grief.

Rain began to fall on the dojo, piercing through the holes in the roof she’d never been able to fully repair. Blood rain, dripping on her, on the altar, on the sword she left behind.

Somewhere beneath the metallic tang of blood, she thought she caught the warm, sharp scent of ginger.

“Kaoru,” someone whispered.

She turned. It was Battousai.

He was holding the sword. Her sword.

“You left this behind,” he said. “Do you want it back?”

She opened her mouth to speak, to scream, to cry, to beg for it. But there was no sound.

Only silence.

Kaoru gasped, flinging herself upright – but for one disoriented moment, the salt-stained wood of the Crimson Dawn looked like cracked floorboards, and she almost screamed.

The scent of ginger cut through the haze like a blade.

Sleep clawed at her, shallow and unsatisfying.

She stayed curled on her side, facing the wall, fists clenched in the thin blanket. The faint scent of ginger still clung to the cramped cabin air – soft, stubborn, and unwantedly kind.

“Shinji,” she whispered into the darkness, holding her chosen identity as a shield and armour.

The ship creaked around her, steady and uncaring. She thought she heard the scratch of a pen pause…then continue.

She closed her eyes again, forcing her breath to steady. She could survive this. She had to.

A bell clanged overhead, sudden and brutal. Kaoru flinched awake properly this time, heart racing.

Voices rose outside the cabin – curses, laughter, the thud of boots.

She pushed herself upright, bones aching like she’d been beaten. The room was empty, but for her. Battousai was already gone.

A sharp rap on the door startled her.

“Oi, Mop! Daylight’s wasting! You wanna sleep through your chores, too?” Sano’s voice barked, cheerful as ever.

Kaoru scrubbed her hands over her face, dragging herself out of bed. No time for fear. No time for dreams.

Only the ship, and the day ahead.

The morning was a harsh, salt-crusted thing.

Kaoru dragged herself up the ladder to the main deck, boots slipping on damp wood, the cries of gulls sharp overhead. The world smelled of sea spray, blood – she wondered if that smell would ever leave her nose, and smoke. It was a far cry from the silent, broken dojo of her dream.

The two ships remained lashed together – and she was secretly proud that the one knot she contributed to the equation held tight – bobbing like tethered beasts in the restless swell. Lines stretched across the gap, creaking with the motion. Crew scurried across both sides, hauling supplies pilfered from the slavers.

She barely had time to blink before a crate was shoved into her hands.

“Help or get outta the way, Mop,” Sano barked as he passed, grinning around the fishbone clamped between his teeth.

“Mop? MOP? What the hell, rooster? Kid wasn’t bad enough?” Kaoru had never been a morning person nor was she a fan of nicknames that insulted or disparaged her. It’s not like using the mop to fight had even been her idea.

Sano just laughed and shouted back, “We got a new kid around here now. Can’t call both o’ ya ‘kid,’ now can I?”

The Crimson Dawn moved with purpose. With precision. And somehow, Kaoru moved with it – invisible again, useful again. No one coddled her. No one questioned her. She was just another pair of hands in the storm.

Across the chaos, she spotted Yahiko standing stiff-backed near the rail, jaw set stubbornly. He wasn’t huddled with the rescued. He was standing near the crew. As if he already belonged – or would die trying. One of the freed captives tried tugging him to join the others, sitting together and awaiting their fate, but he yanked free with a fierce shake of his head.

Sano caught it too. He nudged Kaoru with an elbow and tipped his head toward the boy.

“Runt’s made up his mind,” he said, amusement and something softer under the roughness. “Guess he thinks he’s one of us now.”

Kaoru stared for a moment and wondered if she had ever taken a stand for something at his age. She’d never had a reason to. She had her parents there to fight for her, to protect her. But Yahiko was alone. Strong, too tough for a child, and now alone in the world. Her heart ached for him and a tender part wanted nothing more than to fold him in a warm hug and tell him he was safe now. But Shinji could never do that and she knew deep in her bones that Yahiko would never let someone coddle him anyway.

“Hey, Yahiko,” she shouted, keeping a friendly but gruff tone to Shinji’s voice. “Stop standing around staring and get to work.”

Kaoru hoisted her crate up just a little higher to show him as she walked from the captured ship back to the Crimson Dawn. She tripped, slightly, on the plank bridging the ships but recovered and Sano barely let our more than a snort. “Gods, Mop, when are ya gonna get those sea legs? Ya can’t keep eatin’ shit every damn time the ocean moves. Ya gotta feel her, anticipate her, she moves and rolls just like a woman and ya gotta work with it. Listen to her body, to her moans. That’s where ya find balance.”

Kaoru blushed and Sano threw his head back to laugh whole heartedly. “Aw, shit, ya ain’t never even been with a woman. Ya really are just a kid.”

Yahiko took the crate out of Kaoru’s arms as she stood there, shocked into silence and trying to wrestle her outrage at Sano’s cavalier comments back down into her belly. Instead, Sano just forcibly turned her body to face back to the captured ship and told her to go get something else useful before guiding Yahiko to take the crate below decks. She vaguely heard him say, “Now, kid, the ship’s got rules and the captain’s got rules. Ya don’t wanna end up shark bait, ya follow ‘em,” as she forced her legs to carry her back over the plank and onto the ship that still reeked of blood, unwashed bodies, and old despair that clung to the timbers.

Several crewmates were belowdecks looking for gunpowder, medicine, food, anything worth taking. She wasn’t interested in being crammed between sweaty pirates breathing in the desperation that lingered from the captives’ presence, so she sought out the captain’s quarters. Kaoru could hear her crewmates down below still, laughing and singing, banging around during their search, and took a deep breath before opening the door.

The cabin looked similar to Battousai’s – it was simply furnished with little more than a desk, a cot, and a trunk. But there was a certain odour and feeling in here. The cot was unmade and shackles had been bolted to the wall at the head of it. A chill went down her spine as she realized that could be her life – messy, crusted sheets, chained against her will. Her stomach roiled at the thought and she instantly turned her back on it to search the desk.

Mostly, it was maps. Some were marked – likely with safe ports or channels to travel through – but most were blank. She grabbed the marked maps and set them aside to be rolled up and brought on board the Crimson Dawn. She didn’t know enough about navigating to interpret what she was looking at but didn’t want to leave it behind in case it was important.

The ship’s log contained a variety of manifests and she grabbed the most recent one. Her eye paused over a half-faded shape scrawled in the top corner. A circle, imperfect, with a slash of ink trailing down from the centre like a bleeding pupil.

It looked like an eye. Or maybe just a spill.

She brushed her thumb over it and the lines blurred further, no clearer for the touch. No name, no markings. Just…a feeling. Like something had been watching her. Brushing the feeling aside, she continued perusing the manifest.

Ship’s Log: Manifest for the “Seikatsu Maru” – Westbound Shipment
Port of Departure: Mizu-no-Tori
Destination: Trade Point XJ-07
Captain: Naoya Fushida

Below the manifest, she found notes, likely written by the captain. Her fist clenched until her nails threatened to pierce the palm of her hand.

  Ensure dolls are inspected before final handoff at XJ. Master Kurogasa expects unmarked goods.

  Avoid inspection at coastal checkpoints. Route through Shimada Strait.

  Ghost Glass to be sold separately. Don't mention it at port.

  Extra pay if none of the Dolls speak.

Kaoru turned and punched the wall, letting out one angry shout. She would bet anything that Paper Dolls were people – girls, young ones if she had to guess. Being counted among rice and wood, inventory with no feeling, no recognition of their humanity. To know that this was just one ship, that this was happening on so many other ships, caused her to sink to her knees. They had saved these people, but not all of them. And not enough.

Kaoru sank to her knees, fists trembling. One ship wouldn’t change the world.

But maybe – maybe it could change someone’s world.

She wiped her eyes, set her jaw, and rolled the manifest tight in her coat.

As she began to trudge over the plank to return to the Crimson Dawn, she heard Shirojo shout, “Sails on the horizon!”

The numbness had not left her. She didn’t know if she had it in her to fight again. But then she thought of Yahiko, of Paper Dolls, and her resolve grew enough to get her to move with purpose back to her crew, ready to face whatever was coming for them.

She would not fail them. She could not fail herself. Her father’s sword style promised to protect the innocent and to defend those who needed help.

As she grabbed her blade to ready for battle, Shirojo shouted, “It’s the Miburo! It’s the navy!”

A collective sigh of relief echoed around the deck as her crewmates all returned their blades to their sides. She didn’t understand why the navy was viewed as a friend, but she followed Sano’s lead as he lounged carelessly against the rail, using his fish bone to pick some dirt out from under his fingernails.

Before long, the ship was close enough that Kaoru could clearly make out dark sails trimmed in navy blue, an imperial banner snapping in the rising wind. Shouts were heard from the ship and answering cries rose around her. The ship anchored a short distance away. A small boat lowered into the ocean with the captain and two officers rowing to the Crimson Dawn. Battousai approached, silent as always, and Kaoru tried not to jump out of her skin this time.

For the first time since stepping aboard the Crimson Dawn, Kaoru realized she didn’t want to leave. Maybe it was only one ship they had stopped. But maybe tomorrow would be another one. Every person deserved saving. Maybe she did, too.

Chapter Text

The rowboat bumped against the hull with a hollow, wooden sound.

Kaoru stood stiffly on deck, hands clasped behind her back like she’d seen the others do, trying to look smaller, tougher, invisible – whatever would keep her safe.

Saito Hajime climbed aboard as if the sea itself bowed under his boots.

His sword hung easy at his hip. His gaze – narrow, sharp, cutting – did not.

He said nothing at first. Just took in the deck, the crew, the freed slaves.

Then his eyes found Battousai.

And the world seemed to tighten like a noose.

Saito extinguished his cigarette on the railing of the Crimson Dawn before casually flicking the butt into the ocean. The scar left behind was small and inconsequential compared to any other damage the ship had endured – but it was a personal injury. Kaoru heard Han’nya shift quietly behind her, offended by Saito’s carelessness, but no words were said and Battousai never moved.

The silence thickened like smoke. Kaoru didn’t have to strain to hear the exchanged words – not with the way the tension buzzed in the air like the aftermath of a lightning strike.

“Still skulking around the edges of the law, Battousai?” Saito’s voice dripped with condescension, yet his face remained impassive. Kaoru felt the words slice the silence open like a blade.

“Still pretending it matters who writes the law, Saito?” Battousai’s response was just as calm and casual, but soft and cold – like a knife sliding between ribs.

Saito shrugged. “Order matters. Civilization matters. Even mongrels like you enjoy the benefits.”

He lit another cigarette and took a long drag.

Battousai tilted his head slightly, reminding Kaoru of a predator considering his prey. “Order built on corpses smells no sweeter, no matter what flag it flies.”

“Still bleeding over every cut you make. You haven’t changed a bit, Battousai.” Saito’s voice was low – almost fond – but Kaoru caught the barbs beneath. Words designed to catch, to tear.

“One of these days, that bleeding heart will drown you. Shame I won’t be the one holding your head under.”

A beat passed. The air crackled like it might catch fire.

Sano cleared his throat and casually walked between the captains before the tension could snap tight enough to draw blood. “We got freed men and women here, and we got some slavers in the cells below.”

Saito glanced at Sano dismissively, like he’d stepped in something unpleasant and couldn’t be bothered to scrape it off. “Fine. My men will take the prisoners back over first, then return for the others.”

Sano looked to Hyottoko and nodded toward the door to the cells below deck. Without a word, Hyottoko and Aoshi disappeared into the gloom.

The quiet left in their wake made everything else ring louder.

“Sano…” Kaoru didn’t mean to speak. The words slipped out, brittle as glass. “What will happen to the freed men and women?”

Her stomach turned as Saito turned toward her, a lazy sort of curiosity flickering in his eyes. Speaking near him felt like standing barefoot on broken glass.

“They’ll be brought back to shore,” Saito said, voice like an oiled hinge. “Some will be offered paying work. Others returned to what’s left of their families. Orphans will go into reform. Good imperial households will take them in.”

He pointed the end of his cigarette at Yahiko. “Boys like him – the Empire could use a few more fighters with something to prove and even orphans can be trained if broken in properly.”

Yahiko flinched, just slightly, then stood straighter.

He opened his mouth – but Kaoru moved faster. She clamped her hand over it.

“This is my little brother,” she said, voice steady. “We’re members of this crew. No orphans here.”

Yahiko’s wide-eyed surprise burned against her palm.

Sano’s laugh sounded a little too loud. “Yep. Whole family affair these days. Picked ‘em up at the port last time we docked.”

Battousai’s eyes found Kaoru’s face – and branded her.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

This ship was her home. This crew was her family. And Yahiko was part of it.

Her father’s sword style had demanded she protect the innocent – defend those who needed help. She would not fail.

Hyottoko and Aoshi returned, leading shackled prisoners with quiet efficiency. The naval officers waiting by the rowboat snapped to motion. Wordlessly, they began rowing back toward the Miburo.

Saito turned to count the freed slaves. His frown deepened as he took in the bruises, the too-thin frames, the exhaustion worn into their posture. Kaoru could feel the stolen papers hidden in her coat pressing heavy against her chest.

Instinct flared – hot and certain. She didn’t trust him enough to let go of what she’d found.

“You,” Saito said pointing at Sano, “Get some supplies ready for the journey back to port. Food. Water. Whatever you’ve got.”

It wasn’t a request. But it wasn’t just an order, either.

It was part of the dance. Enough charity to make the Crimson Dawn seem reasonable. Enough distance to keep the Miburo from sniffing too close.

Saito stepping toward the edge of the ship and flicked the last of his cigarette overboard.

“Battousai,” he said without turning around. “A word of warning.”

The sea wind caught his coat. He paused.

“The Scorching Sun took out three navy ships last month. What do you think he’ll do to your little floating moral contradiction?”

Then he raised a hand – more command than farewell – and disappeared into the descending rowboat, flanked by the freed.

Kaoru heard Battousai inhale. Just once.

A breath pulled too deep. Shoulders tensed like a bowstring.

She memorized the tension in Battousai’s shoulders the way a swordsman memorized an opening – something was coming and she needed to be ready. She made a note – not just to ask Sano later. To remember this. To remember that name. The Scorching Sun.

For now, there were other duties.

Yahiko needed her.

And Battousai needed those documents.

The deck slowly began to breathe again.

Crew members returned to their tasks with quiet murmurs, the tension dissipating like mist under the sun. Kaoru scanned the figures moving across the deck until she spotted Yahiko, crouched behind a coil of rope where he’d been since Saito departed. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, but his jaw was set, eyes fixed on the horizon.

She walked over and sat beside him, drawing her knees up and resting her arms on them.

For a long moment, they just sat in silence. Wind tugged at strands of Kaoru’s hair that had escaped her cap and the sails creaked overhead.

“You didn’t have to lie for me,” Yahiko said at last, voice low and stubborn. “I would’ve told him.”

Kaoru raised an eyebrow. “Told him what? That you’re an orphan who wants to join a pirate crew, the technical enemy of the Emperor? He’d have had you hauled off for reform, given you a number and uniform. Or worse.”

Yahiko didn’t answer, but his fists clenched tighter.

“Out there, men like Saito…they don’t see people like you  You’re not cargo,” Kaoru continued. “And you’re not a tool to be shaped. You’re part of this crew now.”

“I want to stay,” Yahiko said, sharper this time. “I want to learn. Fight. Help. I don’t want to go back to pretending I’m just a kid waiting to be rescued. I want to rescue people. I’m a samurai.”

Kaoru turned to look at him. He was so small, still – bruises under his eyes, his clothes hanging loose from lost weight, hands too thin for the sword he one day wanted to carry. But the fire in him was real.

“You’ll earn your place,” she said. “Same as the rest of us.”

Yahiko glanced sideways. “Even you?”

That caught Kaoru off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno,” Yahiko said picking at a frayed cuff. “You just…you act like you belong here. But sometimes it looks like you’re waiting for someone to call you out. Like…like it’s not really yours.”

Kaoru’s throat went tight. For a moment, she didn’t trust herself enough to speak.

She reached out, ruffled his hair roughly – the way older brothers did in stories. “Then you better keep up. This ship doesn’t wait for anyone.”

Yahiko grinned, and for a moment, the hardness on his face gave way to something bright. Something young.

“Shinji?” he asked suddenly.

“Yeah?”

He hesitated. “Thanks…for being my brother.”

Kaoru blinked. She wasn’t sure if it was the sea spray or something else that made her eyes sting.

“…You’re welcome,” she whispered. “Now go swab something before Sano finds you loafing.”

As Yahiko scampered off, Kaoru stayed behind a moment longer.

Wind tugged at her coat. Salt stung her lips. The sky stretched wide above.

She was still lying. Every hour of every day.

But in this moment, surrounded by the crew, by Yahiko’s fire, by the path she’d carved on this ship…

It didn’t feel like a lie. Not anymore.

At the end of the day, the slaver ship had been cut loose and set on fire. Everything useful had been pilfered, from sails and timber to food and water. The crew had debated keeping it - it was a steady ship and in good condition. They could use it to create a fleet that flew under the Crimson Dawn's flag, turning Battousai from Captain to Admiral. But the ship felt wrong to everyone who stepped on her planks. Broken. Stained. Impossible to fix.

Kaoru watched it burn as they sailed away, refusing to blink until she either lost sight of it or saw it dip beneath the ocean. In the darkness, it was the only light on the ocean and the only sound for a while in the silence. It felt an apt effigy for those who didn’t make it and she prayed their souls found peace in death they were unable to find in life.

Sano leaned against the railing, watching the flames dance. “Ya did good t’day, Mop. Not many are brave enough to stand up t’ the navy, t’ him.”

Kaoru nodded once. Words clogged her throat and she couldn’t speak for a moment. “He’s a good kid. He’s got a lot of fire in him.”

Silence fell on them again, the stars above the only witness to the emotional currents in the ocean of words between them.

“Get some rest, Mop. Tomorrow is another day in paradise and I’m tired of waking your ass up every day,” Sano said with a smirk as he ruffled her hair.

Kaoru smiled faintly and pretended the sting in her eyes was from nothing more than the smoke of the burning ship and the spray of saltwater.

After a moment, she sighed and turned to head to the cabin.

As she expected, Battousai was sitting at his desk. But, this time, no pen scratched. He had the scrap of cloth in his hands again and he stared at it as if it had the answers to all the questions the sea couldn’t solve.

The room was quiet, but not empty. The scent of old ink, candle smoke, and salt clung to the walls. His coat hung from the hook – neat, exact – but the rest of the cabin felt like it had been holding its breath.

Kaoru watched him for a heartbeat. Two. Three. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge her presence.

Not until she stepped forward and placed the paperwork on the desk, just inside his line of sight – no closer. No demand. Just a quiet offering.

Startled, he crumpled the cloth in his hand and looked up at her with wide eyes.

She caught a glimpse of the cloth then – a long and pale strip, fraying at the edges, worn soft like it had been folded and refolded a hundred times. Whatever it was, it mattered.

“I found these. On the ship.” Her words spilled too quickly. “They seemed important but I don’t know maps. They might be nothing. But I thought you should see them, just in case, you know?”

She was rambling. She knew it, but she couldn’t stop. There was still something about him that set her on edge. But this time it wasn’t fear that he would hurt her.

It was fear that he’d look at what she’d found and decide it wasn’t enough. That she wasn’t enough.

She cleared her throat and clenched her hands into fists to stop from fidgeting.

Battousai didn’t speak right away. But something in his posture changed – just slightly. He sat straighter, the cloth now set aside, his attention fully on her.

He reached out and picked up the ship’s log first. As his eyes skimmed the page, she saw his jaw tighten, watched how his brows dipped into a deep frown.

Not confusion. Not even calculation. This was anger – quiet, dangerous, personal.

He looked at the map next, aligned Trade Point XJ-07 from the log, then turned to his own maps and let out a low sigh.

“Shinji,” he said, voice low and certain. “You’ve just found our next destination. I believe we have a port to pay a visit to…Good work.”

He tucked the cloth back into his desk drawer before she could get a better look, grabbed the maps and log, then paused near the door.

He didn’t look back, but his voice was quiet and warm.

“I’ll need your eyes on the next port.”

Then he was gone.

Kaoru remained frozen for a moment, her breath caught in her chest like a secret.

He hadn’t praised her. Not really.

But he’d trusted her. And that was enough.

Chapter Text

For the first time since boarding the Crimson Dawn, Kaoru felt almost comfortable in her own skin. Nightmares didn’t plague her and she woke feeling refreshed – if as sticky and crusted with sea salt as ever. It was quiet in the cabin and quiet on the deck. The pale light coming through the window showed the sun was barely cresting the horizon.

Battousai had returned to the cabin late last night. She dimly remembered hearing the door creak open and whispers of footsteps. Now in the pale light of morning, she saw him.

He was leaning against the wall near the cot and facing the door. His sword was clasped loosely in his hands and his head drooped in sleep, hair covering his face. Kaoru studied him, knowing she would never have this chance again.

She knew he must sleep. All living creatures – presumably even demons – needed rest. But this was the first time she saw him. He looked…human. Even in sleep she couldn’t bring herself to call him harmless or gentle. But he certainly didn’t look like a demon. His brow was still slightly creased, telling Kaoru that he wasn’t truly resting the way he likely needed it. There was too much weight on his shoulders. This seemed more like his body being forced to rest lest it give out on him more than actual peace and healing sleep.

A sudden, reckless urge tugged at her – to brush his hair from his face, to see him more clearly. Her hand moved before she could stop it. Horrified, she threw the blankets off of her instead, determined to put as much space between her wayward fingers and his fascinating hair as fast as possible.

As she quietly slipped out of bed, she noticed the odour surrounding her and crinkled her nose in disgust. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper bath or had even had the chance to change her clothing. She had a reputation on the ship for being too shy, for being odd. The crew teased her mercilessly for going somewhere private to relieve herself, for not stripping her shirt in the midday sun. She knew she couldn’t live like this forever, but she also knew they could never learn her secret.

They might trust Shinji. They might even like him. But not Kaoru. Never a woman in their midst.

She quietly fished the ginger powder out of her bag – if it was this quiet on the deck, maybe she would have the opportunity to clean herself a little bit. Her bindings had loosened in the night, soaked through and stiff with sweat and salt. Tenderness when she stretched told her that being constantly wrapped like this was starting to chafe. She felt the vulnerability like a crack spreading in armour. She’d have to get new bandages from Gensai to rewrap herself. Even if she wasn’t well-endowed, she certainly wasn’t a flat-chested boy and she worried someone would eventually notice this.

Although it was quiet on the deck, there were crew members awake and mobile. She sighed inwardly, her hopes of feeling truly clean dashed for now. Short of a quick scrub of any exposed skin – and a chance to finally wash her hair – she was destined to continue living with her stench.

“Damn, you got a lot of hair for a boy,” Yahiko said, squinting at her as he lounged against the mast.

Kaoru shrieked in surprise, flinging the wash bucket instinctively.

“Woah!” Yahiko ducked, laughing as the bucket clattered across the deck. “And you scream like a girl, too.”

He mimicked her high-pitched scream a little too well before falling back into cackles.

Wiping a tear from his eye after his laughter subsided and Kaoru’s hair had been rinsed, he shrugged. “Sano said you were shy and to leave ya alone.”

He looked off toward the horizon for a moment, his grin softening. “Cap’n has long hair too, y’know. Nothin’ wrong with it.”

“Yahiko, don’t you have chores to do? My first day was knots and mops and swabbing ‘til my arms gave out. Sano better not be slacking on you,”

“Yeah, he told me about that…Mop.” More laughter. Kaoru barely resisted stamping her foot.

“I’m on kitchen duty today but ol’ bug eyes kicked me out when I messed up the tea. Where you going?”

Kaoru braided her hair. It would stay wet for now but it was at least clean and smelled nice. Her fingers had combed through the knots well enough and even this small act of self-care lifted her spirits.

“I’m going to see if Dr. Gensai needs help. We went through a lot of supplies the other day.”

Yahiko’s shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight was his. She sensed that if she tried to comfort him, he wouldn’t take it well. Some things took time.

She sighed once more and ruffled his hair roughly as she walked away. He was an annoying brat, but he was a good kid.

Over her shoulder, she casually said, “We’ve got a few days at sea. Then we’ll be in port. The captain thinks there’s something to gain from going there – it’s where the slavers were headed.”

Below deck, her eyes adjusted. She chewed on her thumb. What was he hoping to find? More ships? Buyers? The questions spun in her mind like a whirlpool.

She knocked on the infirmary door. Shuffling, then a familiar voice as the door cracked open.

“Shinji?” Gensai’s brows lifted. “Something you need?”

“Good morning,” she said with a bow. “Captain wants me to learn all I can. Do you need assistance today, sir?”

Gensai snorted and walked away mumbling to himself, “Sir? Who the hell raised this one…” To her, he said louder, “Sure, come on in. Most of the crew avoids the sick room. Too much blood. Too many truths.”

He moved to a row of chests filled with bottles, inspecting each and jotting notes.

“I need bandages cleaned. Properly. Then organized by size and fabric. Also make a list of what we need from port. You’d be surprised how good honey is for wounds.”

Kaoru smiled softly, remembering her mother’s herb chest.

“My mother always had willow bark for tea. Said it would ease the pain from training better than anything else. But my father said sake was better,” she said wistfully.

Gensai paused mid-movement, then nodded once.

Kaoru had planned to sneak fresh bandages and clean her own in secret. But stealing from Gensai felt wrong.

“I’ll take all your dirty bandages to wash,” she offered. “But could I maybe have one clean roll? Sometimes the damp…it bothers an old – “

She caught herself. Not too much detail. Not this time.

“…an old injury. It’s easier if I wrap it.”

She quickly turned, face warm, and busied herself with the crate. She always gave too much away. Her lies held too many details and also too many holes.

“Sure, come back when you need more,” was all Gensai said. “There’s some balm on the desk too – helps with chafing. Some of the bandages are rough. Keep it.”

Kaoru stepped out of the infirmary with the balm tucked into her palm and the crate of soiled bandages balanced awkwardly against her hip. The morning sun was higher now, cresting over the sails and casting sharp, slatted shadows across the deck. Heat was already gathering in the wood beneath her boots.

She took a breath and scanned the ship. Most of the crew were at work – scrubbing, knotting, shouting, climbing. No one paid her much attention. Good.

Near the galley, tucked behind a half-stacked row of crates, she found a small sheltered nook beside the cooking fire. Smoke curled lazily from the brazier. It would do.

Kaoru set down the crate and wiped her brow. She could do this.

First, sort. Gensai had said by size and fabric. Kaoru laid out the bundle on a clean tarp she’d scavenged, her hands moving automatically. Thin linen for binding cuts. Thicker weave for compression. A few were so blood-soaked they felt stiff in her fingers – those she placed in a pile on their own.

The smell rose with the heat – iron, salt, rot. Kaoru winced and reached into her coat for the sachet of ginger powder. She dabbed the smallest bit under her nose before she gagged. It helped. Not enough, but some.

Next, soak.

She filled one bucket from the seawater barrel and lowered the worst of the bandages in. The salt would loosen dried blood and sweat, if nothing else. While they soaked, she took a second bucket to the galley where Beshimi grunted at her but let her take fresh water – after she promised to help wash dishes at the end of the day.

Back at her corner, she set the pot over the brazier and shaved a sliver of harsh laundry soap into the warming water. The scent of lye filled the air. Kaoru stirred with a long spoon, the bubbles rising fast.

She worked in silence.

Lift from seawater. Wring. Drop into boiling soapy mix. Stir. Watch the fibres float like ghosts of themselves.

She thought of her mother.

Laundry days at the dojo. The wide courtyard bathed in sunlight. Her mother humming under her breath as she scrubbed her father’s gi. Kaoru used to complain that laundry took too long and never came clean. Her mother would patiently show her again – how to scrub the fabric against itself, how to know if the water was too hot or not hot enough, how to wash silk differently from cotton.

But her mother’s washing always came out perfectly. Kaoru’s still had soap clinging to it, or stains, or greyed after time. She remembered the peace and comfort of wrapping herself in something cleaned by her mother and her heart ached again.

“Use vinegar to rinse,” her mother used to say. “It keeps things clean longer, and it smells better than sweat and blood.”

So she did.

Her third bucket held boiled water mixed with vinegar from the galley. Sharp and acrid, but not unpleasant. She dunked the boiled bandages in the rinse one by one, then shook them out and draped them across some rigging on the aft deck.

They flapped in the wind like strange white flags.

As they dried, Kaoru sat on an overturned barrel and scrubbed at her own sleeves with a rag, letting the warmth of the brazier and the scent of vinegar fill her lungs.

This was menial work. No one wanted to do laundry. It was women’s work, beneath the men on the ship. But it didn’t feel that way to Kaoru.

It felt like healing. Like service. Like something Kaoru, not Shinji, would do. The thought that it was women’s work struck her and she let out a low chuckle as she looked down at her hands – cracked, stinging, red – and smiled faintly.

Then: a soft grunt behind her.

She turned to see Gensai standing a short distance behind her, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

He gave a single nod.

“Better than anyone on this ship, except maybe the captain,” he said, and walked away.

Kaoru flushed but didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her hands kept working, and for once, she didn’t feel like she had to prove anything.

She did, however, tuck away that bit of knowledge that the captain also did menial, domestic tasks – and was good it.

By the time the last bandage dried, the sun had begun its slow descent behind the mainsail. The deck was quieter now, the midday bustle giving way to the lull of routine. Somewhere up in the rigging, someone hummed a low sea shanty. Kaoru didn’t recognize the tune, but the rhythm of it felt familiar – steady, cyclical, like breath.

She bundled the clean bandages into a canvas wrap she’d knotted at the corners, careful to fold each one the way her mother used to – the ends easy to grasp, the fabric separate and neat. Her back ached. Her hands were raw. But her body felt…useful.

The kind of tired she remembered from the dojo – earned, not endured.

As she made her way back toward the infirmary, she passed Yahiko, who was perched upside-down on a barrel for no clear reason, muttering something about “sea legs” and “bug-eyed Beshimi.” He caught sight of her bundle and gave her a thumbs-up that looked more like a smirk.

“Nice laundry day, Shinji.”

Kaoru rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward anyway.

Back inside the dim lantern-lit infirmary, Gensai glanced up from his notes. Without a word, she set the bundle down, unwrapped it, and began organizing them by size on the shelf beside him.

He didn’t speak until she was nearly done.

“You take direction well,” he said, voice softer than usual. “But you also see what needs doing before I ask. That’s rarer.”

Kaoru swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Even though that was her assigned task, it meant something to her that she was doing it well – and that it was noticed. She gave a small, respectful bow.

“Thank you, Dr. Gensai.”

“Keep it up,” he replied. “The ship needs more hands like yours.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. So she didn’t. She just nodded once, collected the empty crate, and turned toward the stairwell leading up to the deck.

But Gensai’s next words followed her.

“And Shinji?”

She turned.

“Don’t forget to take care of yourself, too. That balm I gave you – use it. And anything else you need. You’re no good to anyone if you fall apart.”

Kaoru blinked, startled. But Gensai had already turned back to his work.

She stood there for a moment longer, then nodded once more – this time more to herself than to him – and disappeared up the stairs into the fading light.

Chapter Text

The first thing he saw was red. The fire had burned low—coals glowing in the brazier beside the stacked crates—and for a moment, Kenshin thought it was blood in the half-light. But it was only the flush of raw hands, curled loosely in the lap of a boy too tired to sleep properly indoors. Shinji’s head had slumped forward, hair sticking in clumps to damp skin, the faint scent of vinegar still clinging to his clothes.

Kenshin didn’t move. He stood in the shadow of the helm, watching the strange rise and fall of the boy’s shoulders. There was something about him that unsettled Kenshin more than any blade. Not just the eyes—too blue, too steady—but the way he gave himself to whatever task was at hand. Quiet. Intentional. As if he was stitching himself together with service. Or hiding something with every stitch.

He’d told himself it was curiosity at first. Suspicion, maybe. The boy had come from nowhere, fought like he had nothing to lose, then placed himself protectively in front of Yahiko—a boy he barely knew. But now… it wasn’t just curiosity. It was a presence. A gravity.

Kenshin turned away before the pull got stronger.

He returned to his cabin, lit only by the thinnest line of morning light at the edge of the horizon. He rested his sword near the desk. Beside it sat a leather-bound journal, pages warped slightly from salt air. He opened it to the last entry and read it once before dipping his brush in ink.

"Month 3, Day 11. Weather: calm. Winds northwest. Crew healthy. Port within four days, if no delay. No sign of pursuit."

He paused. Tapped the brush against the rim.

"Shinji continues to observe and assist without prompting. Took over medical sorting. Good instincts. Unnatural focus."

He nearly wrote more. Nearly added how the boy hadn’t flinched at blood, how he’d knelt for hours scrubbing bandages. How Yahiko had laughed that laugh of his and called it “laundry day.” How Gensai had approached Kenshin to praise Shinji. How Sano had taken him under his wing. How easily Shinji had fit himself into daily life on the ship so seamlessly in such a short time. How his eyes reminded Kenshin of forget-me-nots – fragile things that survived in the cracks where no one looked.

Kenshin stared at the page. Then drew a thick line through the sentence.

He couldn’t keep doing this.

A walk would clear his mind.

The deck came alive slowly. Sailors trickled from their hammocks and bunks, boots scuffing across salt-worn wood. Kenshin walked among them, nodding where needed, correcting sails, checking knots. A captain who led quietly was still a captain.

He passed Sano near the rigging.

"You see that stormbank out west? Might skirt us. Might not."

Kenshin nodded. "Tell Aoshi to adjust the heading one point south. We'll ride the edge, not the heart."

Sano scratched his jaw. "Shinji still with Okina today?"

"He is."

"Kid works like he’s trying to earn forgiveness. Don’t know what for, but it’s like he thinks if he keeps pushing hard enough, everything will fall into place."

Kenshin didn’t answer. He didn’t trust his own voice for a moment.

“He’s clever. I’m sure Okina’ll teach him a lot ‘bout supplies an’ negotiation. Shinji’ll be an asset ‘round here,” Sano drawled.

Kenshin nodded and added as an afterthought, “I’m sure Yahiko will be as well.”

He couldn’t let Sano know his true thoughts. Some things were unforgivable.

Later, he stood alone in the crow's nest. He liked the height. The silence. The way the world shrank to horizon and sky. Far below, he could see the crew scattered across the deck. Sano at the lines. Yahiko, swabbing half-heartedly. Shinji, speaking with Okina, then following him below.

He let the wind tug at his hair.

He shouldn't be watching the boy this much.

He reminded himself again: Shinji was young. Innocent. Male. His subordinate. Kenshin had killed men for less than the things his mind had started to imagine.

He clenched the edge of the railing. This wasn’t desire. It couldn’t be.

It was worry. Nothing more. Concern for someone broken. That was all.

So why did the sound of Shinji laughing with Yahiko make his chest ache?

Why did the scent of ginger and soap linger in his thoughts longer than it should? That hint of jasmine from the first day.

Why did he remember those blue eyes more vividly than he remembered Tomoe’s smile?

Kenshin hadn’t meant to fall asleep at his desk.

But when he woke—neck stiff, candle stub long dead, and his inkstone crusted over—he realized the ship was still. No storm. No attack. No screams. Just the sea, breathing gently against the hull.

And silence inside the cabin.

He glanced at the cot. Shinji was curled tightly on his side, a tangle of blanket and shadow. The rise and fall of his chest was shallow, but steady. In sleep, the boy looked younger. And smaller. As if the bravado had melted away with the firelight, leaving behind only some bruised core trying to mend itself.

Kenshin sat back, rubbing his eyes.

He remembered the way the boy had flinched that first night, the tremble he hadn’t quite hidden when Kenshin stepped through the door. The lie of bravado he wore like a second skin—stitched tight, but fraying at the seams.

Of course he was afraid.

They all were, at first.

They knew his name before they ever met him.

He exhaled slowly and reached for the journal again. But instead of dipping the brush, he flipped back—page after page. Years of records. Storms. Ship repairs. Crew changes. Casualties.

He found her name. Tomoe.

Just once. Just one entry, long faded and smudged where the ink had wept in salt air.

“Month 8, Day 4: Tomoe smiled today.”

That was all it said.

He closed the book with more force than necessary. His hands were clean now—by the crew’s standards. No blood. No bandages. No ash from a ruined house. But the memory clung to him the way blood always did. Sticky. Permanent. Even the sea couldn’t wash it away.

He had killed for justice once.

Then for peace.

Then for survival.

Now he killed for no one but the crew. No flag. No government. Just those under his command. He told himself it was better this way. Cleaner. He chose his targets. He saved the ones he could.

But sometimes, when he looked at Shinji…

He didn’t see a crewmate.

He saw a grave he hadn’t dug yet.

A child. A lie. A mirror of the ghost he used to be.

A future. Warm sunlight. Ocean eyes.

He rose and crossed to the shelf near the cot, careful not to wake the boy. A small sliver of dried ginger sat atop the bundle Shinji had left folded beside his blanket. He had tucked it away, like a treasure. Like something precious.

Kenshin looked down at him for a long moment. Then turned away.

He couldn’t want this. Couldn’t want him.

Not because he was young. Not because of what the crew might say.

But because every kindness Kenshin gave had a shadow behind it.

And he feared that one day, Shinji would turn and see not a savior—but the sword that ruined everything it ever tried to protect.

Two more days passed. He tried to avoid Shinji whenever possible. It was easier to pretend when he didn’t feel those eyes like a midsummer sky after a storm watching him, the fear oozing from his pores. If Shinji was in the cabin at night, Kenshin aimed to be at the helm. If Shinji was on the deck during the day, Kenshin would retreat below or to his desk.

He was a coward.

He’d always been a coward.

Exhaustion had started to settle into his bones and the sea was smooth, rocking him gently as he leaned against the wall of his cabin near the head of the cot. His sword was still in his hand. Always in his hand, an extension of him.

He should not have let himself sleep, but it was unavoidable.

There was snow falling.

Not ash. Not salt. Snow.

It had been quiet that day, too. Tomoe had always loved the snow. She said it muffled the world until even the cruelest men sounded soft. Her ribbon—his, now—was as white as the snow and as pure as her heart was.

He remembered her fingers, pale and small, wrapped around a cup of tea. The way she would kneel at the edge of their makeshift home, staring into a silence he couldn’t touch.

The war had been hard. She was samurai. She understood the loss, the strength needed. She knew what her husband had done and what he would continue to do—even though he insisted his fighting days were over and this was a time for peace. She always smiled indulgently at him when he said it. Kenshin had believed every word. Tomoe knew better.

“I dreamed of a world where the sky didn’t weep blood,” she had whispered once.

He’d wanted to give her that. A future. A stillness.

Instead, he gave her a sword to the belly.

Even now, he didn’t know if it had been her plan all along—to die by his hand and sever the last thread between him and redemption. Or if she’d truly wanted to live. Wanted them to live. Her words said one thing, her actions another. But he didn’t know which was the truth.

He would never know.

The snow hadn’t melted on her skin.

Just like it didn’t melt on his boots as he walked away.

He stirred. A soft rustle pulled him back from the edge of sleep.

On the cot, Shinji lay curled into himself, blanket drawn up to his chin. Each shallow breath sounded fragile in the hush of the cabin. Kenshin’s heart squeezed at the sight—there in the dim glow of dawn he saw not the fierce boy who scrubbed bandages for hours, but someone raw and wounded, desperately holding himself together.

For a long moment he watched, the ache behind his ribs so familiar it almost hurt more than any wound he’d inflicted. He remembered Tomoe’s gentle smile, her silent question: Do you want peace enough to walk away? And he remembered how the world had fallen silent the day he chose the blade instead.

He slid from the wall and stepped lightly to Shinji’s side. The boy’s brow was damp with restless sweat, and Kenshin couldn’t tell whether it was from fever or the weight of nightmares still clinging to him. He reached out, hesitated, then brushed a lock of damp hair back from Shinji’s forehead. Even that small touch electrified him—reminding him how far he’d come from the man he’d been, and how far he still must go.

A soft murmur escaped Shinji’s lips:

“No… please, not again… Kaoru—”

Kenshin’s breath caught. The name, carried from the edge of sleep, landed between them like a confession. He knelt and spoke so quietly the words might have been wind in the rigging:

“I am here. You are safe.”

Shinji’s lashes fluttered; he drew in a shuddering breath, then stilled, as if taking Kenshin’s promise into himself.

Kenshin rose to his feet and crossed to the desk, to safety – where maps and charts lay under the scarf of early light. Through the porthole he stared at the horizon and saw a darker line had formed. Masts. A break in the endless swell.

Port.

He stood at the doorway of the cabin, the deck’s timbers creaking as if encouraging him forward. Below, the crew stirred into wakefulness, ready to make landfall. Over the railings, he could already see the whitewashed walls of the quay, the colorful banners snapping in the breeze.

He turned back to the cot. Shinji lay still, the last echoes of the dream fading from his face. Kenshin reached into his pocket and drew out the ginger sliver Shinji had tucked away, offering it with a small, gentle nod.

Shinji accepted it, eyes clearing as he bit down. The sharp warmth seemed to steady him.

“Port’s close,” Kenshin said, soft but certain. “Just beyond those shadows. You’ll get to have some time on land to do as you please.”

Shinji lifted himself onto an elbow and met Kenshin’s gaze. In those blue eyes there was something Kenshin couldn’t – no, wouldn’t – try to name. It wasn’t fear in that moment and that would have to be enough.

“Lead the way, Captain,” Shinji whispered.

A small, almost reluctant smile curved Kenshin’s lips.

Together they crossed into the morning light. On deck, the Crimson Dawn eased into the harbor, sails still half-furled, her black hull blotting out the sunrise. In the hush before the docks came into full view, Kenshin allowed himself one full breath. He wore the scarred sword at his hip, but he walked not as the demon of legend, nor solely as the Battousai who had spilled so much blood—but as a man bound by a promise to protect those under his command, even the boy who dreamed of Kaoru.

The gangplank dropped with a hollow clank. Ahead, merchants hurried about, gulls cried overhead, and a dozen new possibilities lay waiting in that bright new light. Today, he would seek redemption and vengeance for those who could not seek it for themselves – the paper dolls.

Chapter Text

The Crimson Dawn slipped into the harbor like a shadow at sunrise.

Mist curled between ships moored in tight rows, their sails furled, hulls slick with morning dew. The port city sprawled ahead—crooked streets and leaning buildings layered like a patchwork, stitched together by smoke, salt, and the low murmur of a waking crowd.

Kenshin stood at the bow, arms folded loosely over his chest, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. The wind had a different scent here. Not just brine and tar—but something bitter. Ash. Or sweat.

It reminded him of war.

The gangplank dropped with a creak and a dull thud. Sano was the first to test it, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.

"Land legs," he muttered, hopping down. "About damn time."

Behind him, Yahiko all but bounded onto the dock, already scanning for food stalls. Okina followed at a more measured pace, ledger in hand, muttering calculations under his breath.

Kenshin waited until the full crew was assembled before speaking. His voice carried without needing to be raised.

"You have until dusk."

The murmuring quieted. A few grins. A few quiet exhales of relief.

“Keep your heads low and your weapons hidden. This port turns a blind eye to slavers and worse. But we are not here to start a war—yet.”

A few chuckles. A few nervous glances.

He continued: “If you see anything that smells of the trade—ships, marks, buyers—you report it. Directly to me or Aoshi. Otherwise, spend your time how you see fit.”

His gaze swept the fog-wrapped docks. Already he could feel something festering just beneath the surface.

“We gather at sunset. Don’t be late. Aoshi, stay a moment.”

The crew scattered like seeds on the wind.

“I want you in the market district,” Kenshi murmured once the others were gone. There was a weight to the air he didn’t like. A silence beneath the noise. “See what you can learn about the local slavers – who runs them, who protects them. I want to know if there’s a syndicate.”

Aoshi gave a silent nod, then vanished into the mist like it had swallowed him whole. The Oniwabanshū had once served as spies in the capital – but on the Crimson Dawn, their focus had shifted while their skills remained sharp.

“Where d’ya want me, Cap?” Sano drawled around the fishbone perpetually stuck between his teeth. He stretched his arms overhead, posture easy, the picture of laziness – but Kenshin had known him too long to be fooled. Sano was always watching.

“Watch Aoshi’s back. Help where you can,” Kenshin replied. “This place stinks worse than the bilge and no one’s welcomed us in. That tells me they’re not just apathetic – they’re complicit.”

Sano cracked his knuckles and spat the fishbone into the sea. “So we’re dancing with scum.”

Kenshin’s mouth twitched, the barest hint of a smile. “I look forward to your report.”

The market was already alive, even in the early light – stalls thrown open like blooming flowers, scents of fish, smoke, and unfamiliar spices curling together on the breeze. Bells jingled as vendors called out their wares, and the press of bodies was constant: sailors, porters, beggars, merchants, all moving to the rhythm of a city that had long since stopped sleeping.

Kaoru stayed close to Okina, her hands tucked into her sleeves, eyes darting. The noise reminded her of home – market mornings with her mother, weaving through stalls of plum wine, calligraphy scrolls, and rice dumplings. Her mother had always been able to charm the vendors with nothing more than a warm smile and a well-timed question about an aging grandmother.

It wasn’t haggling, her mother had said. It was soft power.

Kaoru had never mastered the softness part.

“Keep your coin close,” Okina said gruffly beside her, without looking. “And your voice lower than your curiosity.”

She nodded, but let her gaze roam. She spotted a movement between buildings – just a flicker of motion in the corner of her eye – but when she turned, the space was empty.

Still, the hairs on her neck prickled.

And somewhere behind the sharp tang of dried fish and sweat, another thought was coiling its way into her brain: a bath. A real one. One without splinters or buckets or salt-soaked cloth.

She lifted her head slightly and scanned the painted signs above the street. Hot spring. Bathhouse. Even a basin and curtain, gods willing.

By midday, Kaoru’s back ached from lifting crates and haggling beside Okina.

The shopping had gone well enough. She’d managed to barter down the price on dried rice noodles and even sweet-talked a spice vendor into throwing in a handful of ginger root for free. She hadn’t realized her voice had softened – had fallen into her mother’s cadence – until Okina glanced at her over the top of his ledger.

He said nothing, but Kaoru flushed and cleared her throat aggressively. She couldn’t afford to slip like that again.

By the time they reached the end of the market row, Kaoru’s hair stuck to her neck, sweat prickled under her bindings, and her skin itched with salt. Okina was inspecting a barrel of pickled radish when she made her move.

“I’ll take this to the ship,” she offered quickly, lifting a modest bag of supplies – the last of their list.

Okina didn’t even glance her way. “Don’t get lost, be back on the ship by dusk.”

She was already gone.

Kaoru ducked into a side street, past crates of onions and stacks of fish heads, weaving through the tight alleys with a purpose she hadn’t felt in days. Her heart pounded with anticipation. Clean water. A chance to breathe. To be herself for one blessed hour.

The bathhouse came into view like a mirage.

It was a modest building with steam rising from behind slatted windows and a faded wooden sign swinging above the door: ‘Quiet Waters – Rest & Relief’

Exactly what she needed.

She stepped inside cautiously, blinking in the dimness. The scent of jasmine and sandalwood curled through the air. A fierce looking man stood near a door with his arms – muscles larger than Kaoru’s head – crossed in front of his chest. Another man with oiled hair sat at a desk near the back counting coins. A woman in a lilac robe drifted past her, humming, followed by a man with flushed cheeks and a dopey grin. Kaoru didn’t think much of it until she reached the front desk.

“Welcome, sweet thing,” cooed a hostess in silk, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Looking for a bath or a friend? Or maybe a bath with a new friend?”

Kaoru froze. “A bath,” she said quickly. “Only the bath.”

The hostess arched a perfectly plucked brow but didn’t press. “Private room?”

Kaoru nodded, pressing coins into the woman’s hand.

Soon she was ushered down a curtained hallway and into a quiet chamber with a sunken tub of gently steaming water. Candles glowed from wall sconces. There were no prying eyes, no shared benches, no leering glances.

She could have cried from the luxury.

With practiced ease, Kaoru unbound her chest, wincing as her ribs sighed in relief. She peeled the salt-stiff fabric from her skin, crinkling her nose in disgust. She scrubbed every inch of skin until she was red and tingling, washed her hair twice, and then slid into the water, inch by inch, biting her lip to stifle a moan.

It was bliss.

She stayed long enough to feel some tension ooze out of her muscles. Then, swaddled in a towel and scrubbed clean, she slipped back into her clothes – fresh bindings tighter, tucking stray strands of damp hair beneath her cap. As she stepped back into the street, Kaoru let out a breath that fogged in the cooling afternoon air – a true sigh of relief with a peaceful smile on her face.

She felt human again.

And she didn’t see the figure standing in the shadows across the street.

Kenshin had finished his circuit of the harbour two hours earlier. He had seen enough.

The port was corrupt to the core – dock officials pocketing bribes, merchant houses doubling as auction houses, guards who turned their backs when pale-faced cargo was dragged below deck.

He’d seen the mark.

Branded into a rusted anchor on the side of a shuttered building. A match to the one from the log Shinji had brought him. And he’d seen the eyes of those who knew what it meant and chose to look away.

It sickened him.

He had been walking back toward the ship when he spotted the sign – Quiet Waters – and paused. Something about the movement outside caught his eye. A slim figure slipped through the door, head bowed, wrapped in a too-familiar coat.

Kenshin froze.

Shinji.

He didn’t follow. Didn’t speak. Just stared.

Shinji wasn’t the only person to enter that building. He saw men of all walks of life enter and leave. He saw two young girls – barely older than Yahiko – dragged inside while any witnesses turned a blind eye. His hand tightened on his hilt, the wrappings creaking under the pressure. But he couldn’t act. Not now. He was here to gather information, nothing more.

But later. Later he would act. The scene was too familiar to him. Slavery came in all forms. He learned that from Tomoe.

Twenty minutes passed. Then Shinji emerged, clothes freshly adjusted, skin flushed. His hair clung damply to his neck. He moved with a looseness, a quiet ease Kenshin hadn’t seen in him before.

And the scent – soft, floral, wrong.

Jasmine.

Kenshin turned sharply, heart hammering in his chest like a war drum. He walked until the sound of his own footsteps drowned out everything else.

But the knot inside him refused to unravel.

He had thought – hoped – what he’d sensed in the boy was fragility. A wound trying to heal. He’d seen the way Shinji flinched at violence, the way he shielded Yahiko, the way he worked with grim, aching purpose.

But now…

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Maybe Shinji wasn’t so different after all.

Maybe he’d simply found his own way to benefit from the same horrors Kenshin fought hard to erase. Quiet indulgence behind closed doors, paid in coin while others screamed behind iron doors and locked chains.

It wasn’t just disappointment – it was shame. That he’d believed. That he’d trusted.

He thought service aboard the Crimson Dawn would teach the boy the cost of power, the weight of survival, the meaning of freedom.

But Shinji had chosen to spend his first taste of it in a brothel – partaking in the very systems Kenshin had sworn to dismantle.

He is not a child, nor a victim, nor a kindred soul. He is another who profits while others bleed.

Kenshin had never felt so foolish.

The market district buzzed with life – but beneath the shouts of haggling and the scent of roasted fish, a different current pulsed. The streets near the warehouses were quieter, cleaner. Guarded.

That was the first clue.

Aoshi walked three steps behind Sano, letting his companion draw attention like a torch in the dark. Sano flirted with a barmaid, mocked a wine merchant’s prices, and laughed loud enough to turn heads. No one noticed the silent shadow drifting past.

They found the first slaver house just beyond a spice stall – marked with a small eye carved above the door. Rough, uneven. Like someone had taken a knife to the wood in haste. It might’ve been a symbol. Or just damage.

Either way, the building was too clean, too quiet, and too well-watched to be anything but what they were looking for.

Inside a nearby tavern, Sano leaned against the bar while Aoshi took a seat near the rear.

“Lookin’ fer work,” Sano said, loud enough for half the room to hear. “Know anyone lookin’ for runners? Discreet ones, o’ course.”

The barkeep barely blinked. “That so?”

“I’ve got fast hands. Quick feet. An’ I don’t like askin’ questions,” he grinned. “My friend’s the quiet type. He kills people.”

Aoshi didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Just watched. He didn’t like this particular character choice of Sano’s, but it tended to be remarkably effective.

The barkeep poured a drink and slid it across the counter. “If you’re serious, wait ‘til nightfall. Warehouse two docks down. Don’t knock.”

Sano’s grin widened, even as a glint sharpened behind his eyes. “Appreciate it.”

As they exited, Aoshi murmured under his breath, “It’s a syndicate. Local guards are paid off. I’ve seen a few carvings around here that match that log. It’s familiar but I don’t know who’s in charge.”

“Think it’s a shipping front?”

“More. Recruitment, storage, auction. Possibly transport.”

Sano cracked his knuckles. “Good thing we brought swords.”

The sun dipped below the rooftops, casting the port in long, golden shadows. One by one, the crew returned.

Okina and Kaoru were among the first to board – Kaoru scrubbed clean, smile tugging at her lips, feeling so relaxed. When Yahiko boarded and saw her later, he crinkled his nose and looked at her.

“You smell weird,” he said, not unkindly. “Like a girl.”

She froze.

Okina shot her a look – quiet, assessing – but said nothing. He turned away, already shouting for someone to secure the new supplies.

Kenshin stood at the helm, hands folded behind his back, posture too stiff to be casual. His eyes passed over Kaoru once. Brief. Cold.

Her smile faltered.

Sano and Aoshi arrived soon after. They gathered with Kenshin near the cabin. Kaoru joined them, hopeful.

“We’ve got a location,” Sano said. “Warehouse near the edge of the west dock. Locals call it the ‘Steady Eye.’ Guards are in on it.”

“They hold product in the lower floors,” Aoshi added. “Auction above. Shipment expected tomorrow.”

Kaoru stepped forward, voice steady. “Do we strike tonight?”

Kenshin looked at her. Something flickered behind his eyes – sharp, bitter.

“No.”

The word hit like ice.

“We strike without distraction, seasoned crew only. You’ll remain on the ship.”

Kaoru’s stomach turned. “But I can help –”

“This isn’t a lesson,” he said, flatly. “It’s a raid. We’re not risking the mission for you to prove yourself. You’re a liability.”

Silence fell.

Sano opened his mouth to object – then glanced at Kenshin’s face and thought better of it. Aoshi’s gaze flicked between them, unreadable.

Kaoru swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t know what had happened to have Kenshin suddenly become so cold toward her. The man who had once covered her with blankets and provided her with ginger was no more. The comfort she had begun to feel in his presence quickly shifted back to fear.

She stepped back.

Behind her, the sea whispered against the hull. The water that was as ice cold as the blood in her veins.

Kaoru stood in silence as the crew dispersed, the sky behind them dimming to twilight. Voices drifted on the wind – orders, laughter, the clink of weapons being checked and re-checked. She kept her gaze steady, her jaw set.

Kenshin hadn’t looked at her again.

She hadn’t expected praise or a leading role. But she hadn’t expected to be dismissed, to be treated so coldly. She hadn’t realized his acceptance meant so much to her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d warmed herself in his presence, like a cat in a sunbeam – until the warmth was gone.

Yahiko hesitated at her side, shifting awkwardly. “You okay?”

Kaoru nodded but said nothing. She forced a smile and ruffled his hair. “I’m gonna put the goods away – fill me in if I miss anything exciting.”

Below deck, her hands moved without thinking. She set down the bundle of market goods. She tucked the ginger root away and tried not to hear his words echoing in her mind – the cold dismissal, the sudden distance. She tried not to think about his warmth. His kindness. The way everything had changed in the space of a single day.

She crept into the captain’s cabin, not stopping to wonder if she was even still welcome there. Instead, she pulled the borrowed blade – not her blade, never hers – from where she’d tucked it under the cot.

This blade was heavier than hers. Less balanced. The hilt worn smooth from someone else’s grip.

This wasn’t the sword she’d trained with.

It wasn’t the one she’d left at her family altar, the one that symbolized everything she gave up to become Shinji.

But it would have to do.

She tested its weight, winced at the unfamiliar feel, then secured it beneath her coat.

No declarations. No rebellion.

Just a quiet decision, made under flickering lantern light, while the world outside these walls waited for nightfall.

Chapter Text

The moon was a thin silver blade overhead, barely enough to light the crooked path between warehouses.

Kenshin crouched in the alley, cloak drawn tight, eyes locked on the pale carving above the door – the same eye Aoshi and Sano had seen in the market. The marker for the Steady Eye syndicate.

Footsteps crunched beside him – Sano, adjusting the wrappings on his knuckles. Aoshi was already gone, a whisper in the dark.

Kenshin exhaled once. His crew had their orders – they were set to follow Aoshi, Sano, or him into the building – three points of entry to limit the potential for escape.

“Move in.”

They hit fast and quiet.

Aoshi and his team slipped in through a second-floor window like an army of wraiths, cutting the guards at the auction gallery before they could draw breath.

Sano crashed through the loading entrance, fists flying, his crew of brute-strength fighters following behind.

Kenshin moved like wind over silk. His team followed him doing their best to keep up, but no one was as fast or agile. It didn’t matter.

His blade flashed once – twice – and two guards dropped before they even saw him. Inside, the warehouse stank of sweat and fear. Shuttered crates lined the floor. Chains clinked.

He found the stairs and descended.

Children. Women. Men. All of them locked behind makeshift bars, wrists bound, mouths gagged. One man flinched at Kenshin’s approach – until he saw the sword in his hand and the look in his eyes.

“We’re getting you out,” Kenshin said, voice low. “Tonight.”

He cut through the bars, his blade not even catching on the iron. He released the wrists of the man he spoke with and instructed him to free the rest, leaving two of his crew to help. With that, he raced back up the stairs.

Upstairs, Sano grunted, blocking a blade with one arm and slamming his elbow into a man’s nose. “I swear, why is it always stairs with these assholes? Can’t someone just get a nice one-room warehouse for once?”

Aoshi returned with blood on his sleeves and a ledger in hand. “Names. Dates. Destinations.”

Kenshin’s grip tightened on his hilt as he dispatched his last opponent. “Future plans?”

Aoshi nodded. “Some. I have removed what may be useful.”

“Burn it.”

A nod. A strike of flint. Flames crackled to life in the corner of the room.

It was over in minutes.

Or so they thought.

Kaoru stood at the railing of the Crimson Dawn, fists clenched.

She had waited. Just like she was told. She’d even folded the linens purchased today.

But every second that passed without knowing what they were facing – it scratched under her skin like thorns. Her chest pulled tight. Her limbs coiled, waiting to spring.

She wasn’t a child. And she wasn’t helpless. She may not have Sano’s strength, Kenshin’s speed, or Aoshi’s stealth, but she could hold her own in a battle any day and had proven as much.

She slipped below deck, checked her bindings, adjusted the too-heavy blade at her side. She left a note – just a scrap of parchment on her cot. She wasn’t sure when she began thinking of it as hers.

‘Gone to see. Will stay hidden. Don’t be mad.’

Then she crept into the night.

The alley near the west docks was darker than the others – no windows, no sounds. Kaoru pressed close to the wall, checking over her shoulder before darting across an open stretch toward the now-burning warehouse.

That’s when the cold hit her.

It wasn’t the night breeze.

It was something…deeper.

Stillness poured over her body like oil. Her limbs locked. Her breath caught. The borrowed blade hung useless at her side.

A figure stepped from the shadows, his smile too wide for his face. Eyes beady and wrong.

“Ah,” Jin-e whispered. “So you’re the little pet.”

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Panic clawed up her throat.

He crouched in front of her, tilting his head. “I expected to catch a rat. Instead, I netted a canary.”

His fingers ghosted over the edge of her jaw.

“Battousai will come for you,” Jin-e said softly. “And when he does, I’ll carve the last of his resolve from his bones.”

Kaoru tried to shout, to snarl, to scream, but even her throat wouldn’t obey. Jin-e’s eyes held her in place – unblinking, unfeeling, unnervingly calm. He leaned closer. She could smell incense on him. Old blood. And something rotted beneath.

“Do you know what makes him weak?” Jin-e whispered, voice silken. “It’s not guilt. Not vengeance. Not even the past.”

He leaned in so close their foreheads nearly touched.

“It’s kindness.”

A crack split the air.

Kaoru couldn’t move, but she could feel – rough rope cinched around her wrists, yanked tight behind her back. He moved with no urgency, as though tying a parcel. A gift.

She tried to will her body into motion. To blink. To cry. Nothing.

Jin-e hoisted her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

“Let’s go see if your captain’s kind heart bleeds like everyone else’s.”

The fire behind them still smoldered as they crossed the gangplank. The freed captives followed their rescuers back to the ship, looking shellshocked, while crew followed behind keeping any rebellions from residents or guests of the port at bay. Smoke curled toward the stars. The ship was quiet – too quiet. Okina was below deck, and most of the crew who didn’t attend the raid were sleeping. The rest milled about on deck sharing stories and song.

Kenshin’s first instinct was relief. But there was something missing. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Captain!”

Yahiko came barreling up the gangplank, wild-eyed and panting, bare feet slapping wood. “It’s Shinji! He left the ship. He’s in trouble!”

Kenshin moved so fast it startled even Sano.

“What do you mean he left?”

“I thought he was just sneaking out,” Yahiko stammered. “I didn’t want him to get in trouble or lost or – so I followed. I was tryin’ to be sneaky!”

Sano dropped to one knee. “Breathe, kid. What happened?”

Yahiko’s voice cracked. “He…he went toward the fire. I saw this man – he looked like a ghost. Pale eyes. Pale face. Big grin. Creepy. He just – he just took him!”

Kenshin’s blood froze.

Aoshi’s gaze darkened. “Udo Jin-e.”

“You know him?” Yahiko squeaked.

Kenshin’s hands were already at his sword. “He was an assassin during the war. Like me. But his…beliefs are different. Said it wasn’t about war. Said death should mean something. He doesn’t fight for power. He fights for proof.”

Sano stood slowly, face grim. “Proof of what?”

“That people are weak,” Kenshin said. “That mercy is a lie.”

He turned, coat swirling behind him, and raced back toward the warehouse. His heart thudded against his ribs.

‘Another person in danger. Because of me. My fault.’

They stopped in what looked like an abandoned watchtower – crumbling stone at the edge of the cliff, half-swallowed by vines and shadows. The windows had long since shattered. The floor was slick with moss and the scent of mildew and old iron.

Jin-e set her down gently, like she was fragile china. Or a doll.

He propped her against a pillar and brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead.

“Still frozen?” he cooed. “Pity. I was hoping for conversation.”

Kaoru’s lungs burned. She still couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The fear pressed tight behind her ribs now – not just for herself, but for what this man wanted from Kenshin. From Battousai.

Jin-e crouched beside her. “You’re very loyal to him. It’s adorable. But you know what loyalty becomes in the hands of a man like him?”

He leaned in, whispering directly into her ear.

“A weakness to carve.”

The air had shifted.

Every step deeper into the dockside alleys made Kenshin feel it – that suffocating silence, the pull of violence already waiting in the dark.

His steps were silent. Purposeful. Sword still sheathed, but his fingers ghosted the hilt with every breath.

He was thinking of the last thing he said to Shinji.

He was hurt and spoke out of that hurt. It was wrong, but it was what he had done. And now he worried he’d never be able to make it right.

If he was too late, Shinji was dead.

If he arrived in time, he’d have to face the fear, the accusations in Shinji’s eyes.

He sped up. He had lived with guilt and felt people’s fear. He could live with that. He couldn’t live with the alternative. He would not be too late this time.

A slow warmth was building in Kaoru’s chest. A flicker. Tiny. Furious.

She remembered the pain of the bindings. The shame of losing her name. The worry of being sold into slavery. The fear of dying faceless and voiceless.

But she also remembered Yahiko’s laugh. Gensai’s kindness. Sano’s brotherly love. The rhythm of waves on the hull.

And Kenshin.

Even cold, even distant – he was not a demon. And she needed to tell him that.

Jin-e was talking again – something poetic and cruel. But Kaoru wasn’t listening anymore. She was focused inward, holding onto that flicker, trying to nourish it into an inferno that would swallow him alive.

The watchtower rose ahead of him like a broken tooth in the dark. A crumbled ruin at the edge of the cliff. A perfect place to bury something unwanted.

Kenshin felt a shift in the air and drew his sword.

His steps were silent.

His heart was not.

He knew Sano and Aoshi had followed him – even if he had told them to stay behind, they would never listen to that order. But they had yet to catch up. He could not wait for them. Shinji needed help now.

The moment Kenshin stepped into the tower, the air changed.

Jin-e stood beside the pillar like a man welcoming an old friend, arms folded, his grin a slice of mockery carved across his face.

Shinji was crumpled near his feet, bound, unmoving – his chest rising in shallow gasps, his eyes wide and locked on Kenshin.

Kenshin’s blade was in his hand before a word was spoken.

“Let him go,” he said, voice low. Controlled. Dangerous.

Jin-e laughed, a low rasp of mockery. “Still pretending, Battousai? Even now? Look at your little stray. You gave him a place on your ship. Taught him to stand straight. To draw steel.”

He stepped aside slightly, gesturing to Kaoru’s form like it was art in a gallery.

“And now look. Still. Helpless. One heartbeat away from death. And it’s your fault.”

Kenshin didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His sword remained pointed down. But every muscle in his body screamed to strike.

“I said let him go.”

“And miss the show?” Jin-e raised a brow. “Come now. You know how this works. You draw your sword. You become who you were. Not this guilt-riddled ghost playing captain. You kill me, or your little Loverboy dies.”

Kaoru trembled.

Not from fear.

From rage. From helplessness. From the unbearable sight of Kenshin walking into danger for her.

‘This is my fault. If he dies, it’s my fault.’

Jin-e drew his own blade in one smooth motion.

“Well then. Shall we see if mercy can bleed?”

Kenshin struck.

Their swords met with a sound like thunder. Jin-e danced backward, grinning, the tip of his blade slicing through air just shy of Kenshin’s throat. Kenshin followed with a flurry – precision, ferocity – but not quite bloodthirsty. Not yet.

“You’re holding back,” Jin-e snarled, parrying. “Even now. You love him, don’t you?”

He glanced toward Kaoru – smirked.

“Or maybe just what he represents. Your innocence. Your redemption. A fresh start. Pathetic.”

Kenshin lunged – Jin-e ducked.

Steel carved into stone.

Kaoru’s heart raced. Her vision swam. She could see the strain in Kenshin’s face, the tightness in his jaw. He was fighting not just Jin-e – but himself.

And he was starting to lose.

‘He can’t win like this. Not if he’s trying to protect me.’

Jin-e was fast.

Not just quick on his feet – deliberately fast, dancing backward, leaping forward, like the fight was a joke only he understood. His blade flashed silver and slipped beneath Kenshin’s guard, drawing a shallow cut across his shoulder.

Kenshin hissed but didn’t slow.

Jin-e grinned wider. “There he is. That’s the man I wanted to see.”

He pivoted, bringing his blade in a low arc. Kenshin ducked – too slow. The edge caught his ribs. Blood bloomed dark against his coat.

Kaoru’s body screamed to move.

She couldn’t.

But her mind raced. Her chest burned with it.

‘He’s bleeding. He’s bleeding because of me. That cut…it’s too deep…’

Kenshin pushed forward again, this time with raw force. Jin-e deflected, blade meeting blade with a shriek of metal. Their faces were inches apart.

“You’re not fast enough,” Jin-e whispered. “Not without your full strength. And you’ll never use it – not while he’s watching.”

He kicked Kenshin backward. Kenshin hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs.

Kaoru tried to cry out.

Nothing came.

‘Move. Get up. Fight.’

Her fingers twitched.

Jin-e turned his back to her – approached Kenshin slowly, blade angled low like a scythe ready to cut through wheat.

“I want to see your soul crack when I carve him open,” Jin-e said, voice gleeful. “I want to see the kindness in your eyes die.”

Kenshin forced himself to one knee. Blood dripped down his side. He stared up at Jin-e, vision swimming.

He looked past Jin-e.

Their eyes met.

Shinji was trying to move.

Fighting.

And in that moment – everything shifted.

Kaoru felt the flicker surge. Kenshin’s pain. His fear. The way he looked at her – not as someone weak, but as someone who mattered.

Her fingers curled into fists.

Jin-e raised his blade.

Kaoru screamed.

Not out loud.

Inside herself – something tore.

The paralysis didn’t break all at once – it cracked.

Not because Jin-e lost focus, but because she refused to stay broken.

The spell shattered.

She lunged, hurling herself forward with more will than strength. She hit Jin-e like a thunderclap, throwing her weight into his back just as he struck down.

His blade glanced off target. Kenshin rolled. Kaoru hit the stone hard, gasping.

Jin-e spun on her, eyes alight.

“Oh. Interesting…”

But she was moving now.

Bruised. Weak. Bleeding at the palms from the fall – but free.

And furious.

Every breath scraped through her throat and she had never felt more alive.

And Kenshin was already moving.

Not stumbling. Not hesitant. He rose with deadly calm, eyes locked on Jin-e. The softness was gone from his face – but not the kindness. It was something else now. Something harder.

Jin-e laughed when he saw it. “Ah…there you are.”

Kenshin stepped forward.

“I’m not hiding anymore,” he said. “You wanted Battousai? You’ve got him.”

Jin-e lunged.

This time, Kenshin didn’t deflect. He dodged. Turned. And struck.

Steel met flesh.

Jin-e screamed.

Blood arced across the ground.

He staggered, tried to recover – Kenshin was already behind him. One cut. Two. Precision. Lethal. Merciful.

“Still too slow,” Jin-e gasped, laughing through the pain. “You’re not like you used to be.”

“No,” Kenshin said, voice cold. “I’m better.”

His blade came down – not with rage, but with finality.

Jin-e crumpled.

Kenshin stood over Jin-e, chest heaving, blood dripping from his blade. He turned slowly toward Kaoru – still trembling, still wide-eyed.

But she didn’t flinch.

She met his gaze with something fierce and steady.

Pride.

And that was all he needed.

He sank to one knee beside her.

“You’re safe now,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’m sorry he took you. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m –”

“You came,” she whispered. “That’s what matters.”

He didn’t speak again.

He just knelt by her side and let the silence stretch between them.

The heavy crunch of boots on broken stone echoed from the stairwell below.

Kaoru flinched – just for a moment – until she heard the familiar grumble.

“Dammit,” Sano’s voice carried. “Of course he runs off without us. Guy bleeds outta one lung and still finishes th’ job before we catch up.”

Aoshi appeared first, as silent and composed as ever. He took in the scene with a single sweep of his eyes: Jin-e on the ground, Kenshin crouched beside a pale Shinji, the area strewn with shallow cuts and broken pride.

Sano stumbled in behind him, breathless and sweaty.

“Well,” he muttered, “glad we were so useful.”

Kenshin didn’t move. Didn’t smile. But something in his shoulders loosened at the sound of Sano’s voice.

“You got the bulk of the fight at the warehouse,” he said quietly. “This one was mine.”

Sano snorted.

Aoshi crouched near Jin-e, checked his pulse with clinical precision.

“Dead,” he confirmed.

They didn’t linger long.

Aoshi and Sano led the way back to the ship. Kenshin and Kaoru followed behind, slowly, carefully. Every step Kenshin took left a fresh trail of blood across the stone.

Kaoru sucked the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth, brow furrowed. Then, with a soft chuckle, she shook her head and looped his arm over her shoulder, taking on some of his weight.

“There goes my bath,” she murmured. “Maybe I can try again in the next port. Actually get clean and stay that way for more than a couple hours.”

Kenshin’s eyes widened slightly. A short, wry huff slipped past his lips.