Name: Yukimuro Meiyo

Age: 20

Year: 1627

A young samurai who has experienced much and seen nothing, Yukimuro Meiyo has been reduced to being a ronin, wandering Japan and helping those he can.

Blinded at the age of seven in a sword fight, he has developed a very keen sense of touch, hearing, and smell. His blindness almost makes him an even more skilled samurai–he senses his opponents moves rather than seeing them.

He tries to wear his dark hair in a chonmage (hairstyle traditionally worn by samurai involving a knot on the top of the head), but since he can’t see, he usually just wears it tied back. His sightless eyes are a deep brown and his chin is covered in dark stubble.

A dark green kimono has been his dress for as long as he could remember and it compliments the black sheaths of his katana and wakizashi. He wears the traditional sandals of a samurai and follows Bushido as if it were divine law.

The dojo he trained at had long since been abandoned, so he had no home to go back to as his family had been killed in a Yakuza raid.

Years of training and putting his training to use had formed his body into a well-toned, lethal weapon. He wielded both swords as extensions of his arm, just as all samurai were taught to do. He hardly ever lost.

He could feel the torrential rain slapping against his face and he could feel his hair plastering itself to his face, but still he didn’t want an umbrella. What would it matter? He couldn’t see anyway.

He could hear the thumping of feet, the slap of shoes on the street as children, parents, and loners scrabbled to get inside. The rain was almost unbearable and even Meiyo was starting to want shelter.

Listening for where the footsteps were headed, he followed and was led into a tiny tea house crammed with people. He listened and felt his way around until he found an empty spot on a bench and sat, dripping wet.

“Excuse me,” came a quiet voice to his right.

“Yes?” he asked, not bothering to turn his face.

“Is this seat taken?” It sounded like a young woman’s voice.

“No.”

Without another word, she sat down, barely able to fit without pressing against him.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome.”

The girl peered at him. “What are you looking at?”

He turned his face toward her and she gasped. “Nothing,” he replied, knowing that the milkiness of his eyes had driven her to the correct conclusion. In a minute, he expected her to excuse herself and find somewhere else to sit.

“I-I’m Nikkou,” she ventured timidly.

His ears twitched; his own equivalent of someone’s eyes widening.

“I’m sure it’s a befitting name. My name is Meiyo.”

“Meiyo.” She said it as though testing a new food, rolling it around on her tongue a bit and chewing slowly before she swallowed. “I guess it’s a good name. I think ‘Jiyuujin’ would be better, though,” she finally replied, smiling.

Meiyo’s ears twitched again.

“Jiyuujin?”

“Yes. My mother always said I had a knack for guessing people’s past.”

Meiyo’s breath caught in his chest. So that wasn’t just a name she had plucked out of thin air.

“I’m sure she was right. Let me look at you, Nikkou,” he said.

“How?” Nikkou asked, cocking her head to one side.

“I must touch you,” he replied, raising his hands to her face. In answer, he felt her go perfectly still and nod. He placed his hands on her thin face, feeling sunken cheeks and a small nose. The girl wasn’t fed enough. He brushed a hand over her coarse hair tied into a knot at the top of her head and down over her slender neck and over her shoulders. He took one of her thin hands in his, feeling the bones and the nails, the calluses and blisters.

“You are sixteen, are you not?” he murmured, moving on to the other hand. Her eyebrows shot into her hair.

“How did you know?” she asked, amazed.

“You feel sixteen.”

She fixed him with a friendly glare and huffed. “Well, if you can guess my age, I want to try and guess yours.”

“Go ahead, he replied, chuckling slightly.

She gave him a good, long look, chewing her lip in thought.

“I’m gonna say....32!” She smirked, hoping she was at least close.

Meiyo’s eyebrows rose and his ears twitched all at once. “Do I really look that old?” he asked, shocked.

Nikkou thought quickly. “No, you just looked experienced. I figured you just looked young for your age, Jiyuujin-kun.”

Oh great, he thought, I look old and the name is sticking.

“I’m 20,” he replied a bit stiffly.

“Really?” Nikkou asked incredulously.

His ears twitched more. “Why is that so surprising?”

“Not surprising...just....good....” She smiled tenderly at him, though he couldn’t see it.

“How?” he asked, startled yet again.

“You’re a handsome samurai, Jiyuujin-kun,” she chirped very matter-of-factly.

It was time for his own eyebrows to shoot up. He was so taken aback, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Thank you, Nikkou-chan,” he finally managed.

“Anytime, Jiyuujin-kun.” She blushed. “Well, it looks as though the rain is letting up. I should be getting home.” She stood up, chewing her lip more.

“It was nice talking with you, Nikkou-chan. Do well in life.” He tried to ignore the feeling of emptiness settling in the pit of his stomach. He was used to short friendships; this goodbye should feel no worse than any other, but he knew it did.

Nikkou hesitated before she left.

“Will I ever see you again?” she whispered, wringing her hands together.

He turned his blank eyes toward her and cupped her face in his hands, getting a better sense of what she was expressing for everyone but him to see.

“I will be in this town three more days,” he finally replied, reluctantly dropping his hands.

“Let me stay with you until then. Where are you staying, Jiyuujin-kun?” she asked, grabbing his hand desperately. He could hear his own loneliness mirrored in her wavering voice.

“In an inn. I don’t know which yet.”

“I will help you pay,” she informed him, a smile lighting her cheerful face.

“It is not necessary. Sensing you not cringe when I turn toward you is enough.”

As she wrapped her skinny arms around his neck and smiled into his shoulder, she whispered, “I’ll never cringe because of you.”

Meiyo smiled, knowing something as good as acceptance could never last, but knowing that, even if he let Nikkou go now, he’d still feel complete for the first time in his life.

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