Disclaimer: RK is not mine but Nobuhiro Watsuki's. However, story and
original characters belong to me.

Author Notes: Yes, yes, I know I have many unfinished stories but this
one was begging to be written. For readers of my others fics, especially
"My Answer" and "Smoke and Mirrors", I SWEAR I will finish those come
what may. As always, input and criticisms are welcome, this is my first
Soujirou fiction. And if you like this, please check out my other stuff
as well. :0) Thanks for reading!


The Master and The Pupil

Part One: An Offer

Although he was resting in the shade of the trees, perspiration still
soaked his clothes and scalp, matting his glossy brown hair. Naturally
the weather had something to do with it, the air shimmered with the heat
of the sun. All that did was simply compound his raging headache. Seta
Soujirou brushed his bangs away from his forehead, fingers brushing his
hot skin. Yes, he definitely was having a fever. Being sick was not
something he was used to and it had taken him three dizzy spells and two
days before it occurred to him that he might be ill.

"Eh, the last time I was sick was..." he murmured to himself. He had
been fifteen and had just mastered the Shinkuchi. Months of relentless
training had finally exacted its toll on him but he had had no idea. It
was Yumi-san who had realised that he was ill. She had made him stay in
bed, with Shishio-sama's permission of course. It had felt nice, being
fussed over for a little bit. "Silly boy," Yumi-san had called him,
ruffling his hair as she tended to him. As always, thinking of her and
Shishio-sama brought a wave of sadness and the burning sensation of
tears. Soujirou blinked hard, tilting his head up. Emotions were still
something of an unknown to him; he had suppressed them for so long.
Until Himura Battousai...

It had been a month since their final battle. But still he dreamt of it
almost every night. The crushing power of the Amakakeru no Hirameki, the
dark days of his childhood, the rage, confusion and guilt that Battousai
had unleashed in him. The emptiness at having no answer even in defeat.
"Our fight may be finished, but your existence is still a problem for me
Himura," Soujrou sighed softly. At least with Shishio-sama things had
been extremely clear and simple. The victor was right and the loser was
wrong. But Himura had refused that kind of answer, leaving him at a
plateau of indecision. If he accepted Himura's point of view, then
Shishio-sama's death did not necessarily mean that Shishio-sama had been
wrong merely because he had been defeated.

"You will have to find your own answer," Himura had told him gently but
firmly. It had been a devastating lesson, far worse than any that
Shishio-sama had ever drummed into him. For years he had depended on
Shishio-sama to justify his actions. "The strong survive and the weak
become their prey." It had been a matter of fact to him, something
natural, instinctive. Now Himura had opened his eyes to the possibility
that it was not so, that he would have to do something he had never done
before: assume responsibility for his own actions. And if he did choose
that path, then he would be answerable for everything that he had ever
done. "But I didn't mean to kill them, I didn't want to," he insisted
aloud. Himura's philosophy asked too much, gave a burden that was too
heavy to bear...

Without being aware of it, Soujirou slipped into a half slumber,
hovering between the borders of consciousness and sleep, wrestling with
inner demons that had haunted him ever since his first night alone. A
fortnight ago he had run out of money. Unwilling to steal in order to
fill his belly, he had resorted to rationing out his remaining supplies
while sleeping out in the open or in deserted dwellings that he stumbled
upon. It had been three days since he had last eaten. To make matters
worse, he had lost his map while running away from a gang of robbers who
had thought that a young boy would be easy pickings only to discover
that firstly, aforementioned young boy seemed to have nothing save for
the clothes on his back and that secondly, he had shrugged off his
captors with alarming ease and had disappeared before they had even
blinked.

Several people passed him by and after giving the small huddled figure
some curious looks, quickly went on their way. It did not pay to be
kind, especially on highway roads where all sorts of strange characters
travelled.

...................

He was drowning. The Rengoku was sinking and he had not made it to the
lifeboat. "Shishio-sama!" he called out but the waves swamped over him,
filling his mouth and choking his cries. Beneath the water he could see
the moon high above even as he fought to surface. It was raining, the
drops splattering against his face. When he looked up again, the moon
and clouds had turned red and the water he was treading had turned into
a sea of blood... ...

With a gasp Soujirou sprang awake and choked, half swallowing and
coughing out water. "Easy," he heard a voice say and looking up, saw a
woman kneeling beside him, a canteen of water in her hand. No wonder he
had dreamt of drowning, he thought. "Here, drink this." It was not so
much an offer as it was an instruction but Soujirou needed no second
invitation. When she offered him a bun from the bundle she carried, he
gratefully took it, devouring it with a speed that left the woman with
no doubt that he had been starving.

It was not everyday that one found unconscious young men lying by the
wayside. Tokio knew better than most how dangerous strangers could be
but still, she would not be persuaded to ignore his plight. The people
on the travelling cart had clucked disapprovingly when she had alighted
and she could hear their remarks and see them shaking their heads as
they had driven away. Curious, she thought, watching the boy. His face
was remarkably youthful and his almost delicate figure enhanced that
aspect, but there was something about his eyes and the aura around him.
'Or rather, the lack of it.' He was not an ordinary person; that she was
sure of.

"Arigatou gozaimasu," Soujirou smiled up at the woman. While he had been
eating, he had been observing her and the keen way that she in turn was
studying him. He sensed no harm from her, only a strong interest that he
could not quite put his finger on. And with her long black hair, dark
almond eyes and well-formed features, she was as pretty to look at as
Yumi-san, although both women represented different kinds of beauty.

"You're welcome. Where are you going?"

He sat up straighter and looked around. "To the next town this road
leads to, I guess."

A wry smile touched her lips and she stood up, looking down at him.
"That's not too far away and I happen to be living there. Would you like
to come with me?"

"Me?" He repeated, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Yes. You need a doctor and a place to rest. Now, up on your feet." She
bent and grasped him firmly by the hand, pulling him up. "What is your
name?"

"Soujirou." Slightly nonplussed and flabbergasted by the sudden turn of
events, he watched as she started to walk away.

"Aren't you coming Soujirou? It will be evening time soon and I need to
be home before then."

For the first time he realised that the sun was already low in the sky.
He must have slept for hours before she had come by. There was no reason
to refuse her. Even if he was sick there were very few people who could
match him in terms of speed and skill. And the prospect of a hot meal
and warm roof was very tempting. Also, this woman was rather intriguing;
she wasn't even bothering to hide her interest in him. "What is your name?"

She inclined her head with a little smile. "You may call me Tokio."

"Tokio-san. What do you want from me?"

Her brow furrowed thoughtfully and it was a few seconds before she
replied. "I'll think about that on the way back. If you do want to take
up my offer, then come along." With that, she started walking off again.
Soujirou hesitated a few seconds, watched her graceful retreating figure
before deciding that there was no harm in it, and then ran after her.

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