The commander, Takeo-san, peered over an array of papers at me.
"What makes you think you're worth my time?" he asked coldly. I shrugged, averting my blank gaze to the ground.

"I'm just looking for work, sir," I murmured, my left hand drifting to the hilt of my katana. My little finger traced along the sheath a bit, slung through the obi holding the thin cloth hakama onto my hips. Takeo- san's eyes followed my hand's path of motion and rested on the blade.

"Do you know how to use that sword?" the commander queried.

"I wouldn't have the nerve to carry it if I didn't," I responded, my gaze still turned down.

"Prove it."

"S-sir?" My eyes returned to Takeo-san's face.

"I said prove it. If you can wield that blade as well as you say you can, I'll consider letting you in. Maybe we'll even give you a bunk."

His words infuriated me. How dare he insinuate that I was so boastful of my skills? I hadn't even said how well I could use the blade. Or had I? My mind flurried about, trying to recall the conversation I had only been vaguely following.

"I-I can't," I said, shame covering my face at the admittance of such a weakness. I had never been able to perform before anyone, perhaps with the exception of my teacher, Tanjiro-sensei. "I am sorry to have been a waste of your time." I bowed politely, my arms bending to accommodate the motion, and turned to leave. Takeo-san let out a loud laugh, which made me spin in surprise. "S-sir?" I repeated, not sure of this sudden show of mirth.

"We'll take you!" he exclaimed suddenly, still smiling.

"Take me?"

"Well, yes. You came here looking for work, didn't you? I can give it to you." Takeo-san stood, his larger personage towering over my younger frame. "Just follow me and we shall find the correct papers."

I didn't bother to ask what the "correct papers" were; I doubted I'd get a real answer. Takeo-san slid a door open and motioned me through, then followed me in and shoved it closed again. We were plunged into a sort of half- darkness, light barely emanating from behind the paper shoji-screen walls, and I shuddered. Darkness was, as far as I was concerned, my worst enemy.
The commander lit a lantern; the light, small like a firefly at first, growing until I could see every detail in the immediate vicinity that, unfortunately, wasn't much. A desk, scattered with papers (and dust, I might add), rested not far to my right, near the center of the space. The seldom-used lamp, now glowing softly, sat on the far left corner of the table, overseeing the dirty parchments. Behind the desk was a chair, awaiting occupation in silent patience.

Takeo-san took a seat, the brittle wood groaning under the large man's weight. I stood, silent, to peer into the darkness beyond the small circle of light produced by the lantern, my eyes colder than the autumn chill that fell outside. The commander could be heard blowing dust off the countertop, and then rustling through the papers. I heard him mutter a few things; however, I paid him no mind. There was no reason to do otherwise. I just waited.

Nearly five minutes later, a small sound of triumph was issued by Takeo-san and he waved a piece of paper in front of my face. "You'll need to fill these out, and we can take you. We've needed a new kyoukan for ages." He handed me the papers, ignoring the dumbfounded look on my face as he pointed out an ink brush and slipped out of the little office. So that's all they're taking me for: A filthy assassin, I thought bitterly as I began to fill out the paper. It needed my name, age, previous employment, normal things most managers asked for. One thing that I couldn't work around was "Date of Birth." I knew only that I had been born at the time of the blooming of the sakura, cherry blossoms. I shrugged after pondering it for a moment and wrote, "Unknown." There were three other questions I answered thusly, though I thought long and hard for an answer to "Family Members to Contact."

Soon, and I thanked whatever gods came to my head for this, the papers were completed and in Takeo-san's safe hands. He smiled ruthlessly, and his smile widened into a grin when he saw me beginning to edge away from him, my left hand on the hilt of the katana at my hip. All he said was, "Welcome. We'll need to get you a wakizashi, to complete the daishou." A gruff hand landed on my shoulder and began to lead me away from the front office of the commanding officers.

As my mind replayed the memory again and again in my mind, my eyes reflected the only emotion my heart seemed capable of wielding: a cold, relentless detachment; all the while the blade of my katana sliced through warm, living flesh. As the man fell, I did too, to hold his hand, stare him in the eyes as he left this plane of being. To tell him it was nothing personal. To plead forgiveness for doing my job. He spat in my face with what had to be the last reserve of energy he had held back. When the life had disappeared from those dark eyes, I stood and performed the chiburi, the shaking of blood from my blade. Then I sheathed my katana, driving it into its lonely home with my right hand and wiping the now-dead man's spittle from beneath my left eye. I thought for a moment. Had I even known the man's name?

...No.

Of course not. The government wouldn't allow its youngest kyoukan, its youngest assassin, to endear himself to his victims in any way. It couldn't. That could endanger the mission; alter the outcome of its kyoukan's mission.

A snowflake drifted lazily down from the heavens to land on my nose. Surprised, I felt it melt and run a track down my face to mingle with the tears that had overflowed my eyes. It surprised me that I had any warmth left in me, that my body was capable of melting anything. I felt that my body should be as my heart; cold, uncaring, detached.

Heartless.

I began to wander aimlessly through the street, being dusted by snowflakes all the way. The roads were fairly empty, as snow was unwelcome to the average shopper. My feet plowed little gullies in the fast-accumulating snow on the ground; a pale hand rested on the hilt of my katana, ignoring the wakizashi, the shorter sword that was the katana's mate, beside it. I wasn't really planning to stop before a small flower shop, but...why not? I was only sixteen; surely I was allowed some enjoyment in this bitter existence.

Only sixteen, I thought resentfully as I slid the door open, and already a trained assassin with the blood of so, so many on my hands. "Hello?" I called out before me, searching for the owner of this shop. I suppose I wasn't thinking, shouting my presence like that, when every person in Tokyo probably knew my name and most knew my face.

"Go away; we're closed," said an old-sounding voice from somewhere to my far left. I startled, turning that direction as a stooped old lady showed her wrinkled personage. I could feel her looking at me even when I turned my eyes away; I imagined the old woman's gaze lingering on my tattered gi and hakama, my scarred hands, and probably most especially the blades at my left hip. "Or at least close the door and slip off your sandals," I heard her say, her voice a bit gentler. "I should let you stay until the snow ends."

Now a bit embarrassed and the emotion showing in my face, I shook my head, though I did slide the door shut. "No, grandmother, I will leave. I did not mean to cause you trouble," I muttered humbly. Well, it sounded humble in my ears. My face only burned a brighter red when the woman began to laugh.

"Nonsense. It is cold out, yes? You must stay and accompany my granddaughter and myself for a warm cup of tea, at least until the storm ends." Looking out a crack in the door, I saw that the snow hadn't even begun to come down harder - if anything it had slowed - but I figured it would be rude to decline and graciously accepted. "My name is Aino Mariko," she added, beginning to trudge into a back room. I raised two dark brows at her, but quickly shucked off my sandals, leaving them by the door, and followed her in silence.

"My name is Yushiro Kaemon," I murmured in response to her introduction. Since a polite bow would go unnoticed in this narrow hallway, especially with Mariko's back turned, I stayed the reflex. Perhaps now that she knew my name she would try and order me out.

But no such luck. Even if the name Kaemon didn't strike a chord in the lady's memory, the surname Yushiro ought to have; yet it didn't. She showed no sign of recognition at the infamous name of this young assassin. Then again, the fact that she didn't sent a wave of relief through my fatigued body. Only the look of horror on Mariko's granddaughter's face broke the feeling. "Chiyo! Some luck we're having with the weather, yes?" the old woman said cheerily, moving off to a side room, most likely to fetch the objects needed for the tea. I felt a smile dance its way onto my pallid features, the expression rather mirthless in itself. I bowed deeply, palms flat on my thighs, to the young lady.

"Yushiro Kaemon is my name," I said as I straightened, though the statement was only for polite purposes. Surely, if my face had struck such frightened look on this young doe's face, my introduction wasn't necessary. However, when she smiled and bowed to me in return, I couldn't help but feel the utmost surprise.

"I am Aino Chiyo," the girl responded, the small smile on her face consuming her eyes as well. It was then that I took the time to look her over; she had a delicate look about her, her nose and chin looking frail, as though the snowflake that had landed on my own nose might break them. Her fathomless brown eyes were soft, but filled with a fire that I had seen only in my most determined prey. She was a pretty little thing; there was no denying, especially the way her dark hair cascaded down her back. Two small locks of black hung in front of her ears to frame her face. As my gaze was averted to the ground - I didn't even bother to examine her kimono - I could feel her eyes doing the same to me, scrutinizing my face, my clothes, most likely scoffing in her mind at the rag-tag assembly of patches I had used on my worn hakama. She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Mariko, the old woman. I reached up to tease a feather-like lock of my own dark hair, heaving an internal sigh of relief as Mariko's cheerful chatter broke the intensely awkward silence and the three of us sat on the cushions around the low table set in the center of the room.

Mariko's chatter kept the room cheerful, and each time Chiyo's laughter entered the conversation, I felt a swelling of my heart. Each time I pushed it away. An assassin didn't develop…attachments. He just…didn't. It was an unspoken law, I suppose. It wasn't a good idea to get to close to anyone; I didn't even know my commanding officer's given name, for heaven's sake. After a while, however, I could tell my silence unnerved Mariko.

"Kaemon," she said in a chiding voice. I felt Chiyo's wince from across the table at the mention of my name. "A boy as you should be enjoying himself." I just shrugged and took a long sip of my tea, my mind racing for something to tell this wonderful old lady.

"I...haven't anything to say," I finally murmured, staring into the contents of my cup. Perhaps that statement was true, and perhaps it wasn't, but certainly Mariko wouldn't know if I had lied, when even I didn't know.

"At least tell us why in the world you came to our flower shop," Chiyo said. I looked up at her soft voice; her dark eyes stared back at me, sincerity showing. I shrugged my lean shoulders, the action causing my black gi to rustle slightly.

"It began to snow," I stated simply, pulling up my cup for another sip of tea.

"It wasn't snowing hard," Chiyo pointed out. I resisted the urge to glare at her over the rim of the tiny cup.

"No, it wasn't," I agreed, offering nothing more. A moment of deafening silence, broken only by the occasional sip of tea, ensued.
Certainly I couldn't tell them the reason I had stopped here. Of course Chiyo already knew I was an assassin; I didn't need her to know I had just killed someone as well. I was pretty sure, at that time, that I had only stopped in this little building of floral beauty for a bit of solace from my mental torment. I always hated the horrible thoughts that followed a murder.

A murder. That was, after all, the proper word. Not a job; a murder.

I shook my head suddenly, setting the teacup down with a thump on the table before me. I began to stand slowly, my constant guise of happiness and content returning to my pallid features. "I believe I ought to trouble you two no further," I said quietly, bending at my middle in a deep bow. "May happiness and prosperity grace your halls. I shall show myself out."

In the past two years I had been an assassin for many people, now with the government, and it startled me that I could still carry on with a perfectly polite lifestyle. After all the people I had killed, I was surprised I could still act as a normal human being, rather than the heartless being I felt I was.

Cold and heartless.

I could hear Chiyo sputtering for words behind me as I turned down the narrow hallway once more. Just when I had reached the front door and had begun to slide on my sandals, she worked out the word, "Wait!"

"Yes?" I asked, turning. A simple smile that was fast becoming ever- present spread minimally over my pale face. Chiyo entered the front room - the shop, I presumed - and looked at me. I could feel her eyes dancing again over my tattered hakama.

"Please stay. The snow has not yet ended," she said by way of justification. Peering through a crack in the door, I realized she was quite right; the storm had finally intensified enough to be called a storm rather than a drifting.

"I apologize. I would hate to impose further than I already have. Good evening, Chiyo-san." I turned, slid the door open, and was out of the building before she could say another word of protest.

I found the pure whiteness of the snow comforting. It was almost an embodiment of everything good: soft, clean, untarnished...so different from my own state of being. I had to wonder what Mariko and Chiyo thought of me, barging into their lives - if even for those brief minutes - and taking their hospitality without a question, never mind that they didn't know what heinous act I had just committed - not for the first time. I had invariably brought myself closer to people I may well one day have had to kill.

Shaking my head vigorously (and almost running into a wooden post in the process), I banished the thought of ever having to murder Chiyo and her kindly grandmother. Surely those two held no secrets the shogun wanted done away with, which was all I was doing when I made an assassination - either that, or I was carrying out a personal grudge held by my commanding officers. I stopped to steady myself for a moment and to become familiar with the area around me. I felt that I couldn't have been far from the barracks.

I spied a well-known restaurant, closed for the weather, and knew that I wasn't far from the camp. My smile tightened momentarily as I brushed some snow from my shoulders and began walking again. The only thoughts I could come up with were the questions of whom the government wanted killed next.

I sighed heavily as my feet began to make little furrows in the snow once more, marking my path for only a moment before the fast-falling snow covered it completely. The storm had really picked up in the few minutes that I had been wandering aimlessly back to the barracks; I figured I must have looked twice my age, what with the sullen look that had overcome my face and the white softness that rested in my hair. As much as I hated that thought, I could understand from where it came. I felt more than twice my age, and more tainted than one numbering those years. Only sixteen, I reminded myself. I'm only sixteen. Just a child.

"What do you want?" I asked coldly of my bunkmate, Jiro. The boy was staring at me again; he seemed to have a staring problem, and it jarred my senses completely whenever I caught him at it.

"Nothing," Jiro replied gruffly. "I just wanted to know how you got that scar." He motioned just below my right ear, to a scar that ran all the way down my neck and disappeared into the neckline of my gi.

"Old accident," I said shortly.

"Oh." A moment of silence, then, "What's your name?"

I was taken aback. I knew, of course, that nearly no one on the squad knew my real name; most referred to me as The Assassin only. "It's...Kaemon," I responded.

"Well, that's a relief. I was beginning to think you didn't have one, but I would've hated to have to call you that nickname they gave you. The Assassin," Jiro snorted. "What a stupid nickname."

"Let the name fit the son," I said, reciting one of my father's favorite sayings. Jiro just waved his hand at me in an expression of dismissal.

"Quiet. You don't have the heart of an assassin. Anyone with eyes can see it." He paused. "Well, anyone who cares to look for it." The boy smiled at me softly. "How old are you?"

"I will be of seventeen years when the sakura bloom." Internally, my thoughts ate away at that statement. And what a fine way to celebrate my season of birth (as, in fact, the sakura were blooming soon; I didn't know my real date of birth): Another assassination or two at my hands, nothing the assassin can't handle.

"Oh. You're much younger than I thought you were. Older than I am, though."

I tried to stifle the question, but…

"How old are you, Jiro?"

"Fifteen."

I sighed deeply. Jiro, more of a child than I, had been shoved into the army at such a tender age. I had to wonder why, but refrained from querying. That would be rude, especially so. I was lucky to have one of the others talking to me; it would be so much better not to spoil it with a petty question. Jiro flopped back rather ungracefully onto his bed.

"Where were you all day?" he asked; I assumed he had not thought of the consequences of that question, or at least the plausible and more likely answers.

"Working," I responded, actually mimicking my younger bunkmate and sighing as my thin body hit the hard mattress solidly. It was good to know I was solid after all.

"I didn't think a job could take that long."

"I stopped on the way back."

"Really?" Jiro sat up again, staring intently at me. "Where?"

"A little flower shop," I replied without thinking. "An old woman and her granddaughter invited me to stay for a cup of tea."

"Oh really. What did her granddaughter look like, eh?"

I found myself glaring at my newfound companion; he just glared straight back at me. Some could think of only one thing. "She looked like a girl," I said slowly, dropping my head back onto the bed again.

"Anything in particular?"

"No." I could see where this was going; Jiro would try and see if I had any sort of feelings for Chiyo, and if I did, he might tell the others when I wasn't around, or report to the officers that their assassin had a weakness. On the other hand, if I didn't seem to fancy her, he would probably try and find her for himself or another of his friends. "Though, she did have nice eyes," I finally conceded. I suppose the logic behind that was unknown; even as of now I haven't figured it out.

"What was her name?"

"It was Chiyo," I replied after a moment of hesitation.

Jiro smirked and rolled over on his bunk.

I stared at him coldly, then sniffled and dangled my legs a little over the edge of my bed. It seemed that perhaps Jiro was just like so many others, centered only on finding a woman to cater to his every whim. I sighed deeply as Jiro poked his head back over the edge of his bunk at me. "Do you have another job tomorrow?" he asked bluntly.

"Most likely," I replied politely, albeit distractedly.

"May I come with you?"

I frowned. "How do I know you won't get in the way? And, all that beside the point, is there not something the army does...something...official?" I said, at a loss of words.

"No. They aren't doing anything as of late."

I pondered this for a moment and, not having any other excuse, nodded slightly in permission. "You still ought to check with your superiors." Jiro waved a thin hand at me in dismissal once more.

"I'm going to take a market day tomorrow."

I sighed and lofted my left hand to brush strands of black hair from my face, having found no more obstacles that may have blocked Jiro from coming with me. I conceded; I was giving victory to whomever chose to take it. Jiro would come with me the next day.

"Who are you…you know, today?" my young charge asked more loudly than I would have preferred. The snow from the day before had not stopped; in fact, the storm had actually doubled in intensity; but no matter. I knew where I was going. The desertion of the streets as well as the storm had continued. Jiro and I were probably the only ones in the entire city of Tokyo to be walking in the midst of the white flakes. "I never know their names," I told him distractedly. I was concentrating on the description of my newest prey. It sounded familiar, and I could picture it perfectly in my mind, but...something about it struck a chord of memory in my mind.

No. The shogun wouldn't force me to kill someone I knew.

Would it?

I shivered, but it wasn't from the cold of the snow resting on my shoulders and hair. Jiro wisely remained quiet after his previous query. As my eyes traveled the ground - I didn't need to watch where I was going to know where I was, familiar as this stretch of road was - I pondered the strange connection between the description and the memory I held.

"Kaemon." Jiro's whispered voice summoned my attention and my gaze to his face, just an inch or so shorter than mine. He lifted a hand and pointed; I followed the direction with my eyes, halting my slow gait. "Is that the person?"

I mentally compared the woman to the description in my head, my right hand sliding across my thin body to clutch the hilt of my katana. "It is," I whispered back. "Stay here." I waited long enough to see Jiro's nod of obedience and understanding, then darted off into an alley. I surveyed the wall before launching atop a large wooden crate and climbing to the thatched roof of the shop that way. Creeping over the peak of the roof, my gaze narrowed at the form of a woman huddled beneath a shawl. Even in the blindingly white snow and beneath her heavy winter garb, I knew it was she. This time, my right hand snaked around and drew the blade from its sheath quietly, the barest shing of metal being pulled away from its prison heard. I shuffled closer to the edge; she wasn't looking up. She continued to watch straight ahead of her, into the window of a restaurant, and I thought it strange when I noticed the woman didn't shiver in the cold temperature. No matter, though. This was a job, and, like all others, it needed to be done.

I departed from the roof with a leap, slicing down at the woman from overhead. It surprised me that she didn't try to move, even as my blade sliced along her shoulder, across her collarbone. I landed and waited for my katana to reach the area I thought appropriate and thrust forward, delving the blade straight into her heart. Crouching, I waited for the inevitable shower of blood. Waited.

Waited.

It didn't come.

I looked up; the woman was a mere straw dummy, something a person would train on, perhaps with blades or arrows, even pistols as they became ever more popular. The realization that I had walked into a trap dawned on me even as an arm encircled my neck and a dagger was pressed to my throat. "You don't understand," a surprisingly feminine voice soothed. "We're doing the world a favor by doing this." The dagger pressed in further on my throat, drawing a thin line of blood. Then it was ripped savagely along the tender flesh and I fell. For once the blood staining the snow was mine.

"Hm," I heard as my eyes closed and my world became darkness. "I must say, I wasn't quite sure you could pull it off, Chiyo, and yet, you've surprised me once more." It was Jiro...and my assailant must have been Chiyo. A girl giggled slightly, though the sound was a little muffled, as though she had tried to stifle it.

"J-Jiro, help me." I whispered into the snow. My consciousness was becoming foggy.

"No, I don't think I will. Come, Chiyo." I heard footsteps heading in the opposite direction. So, I thought, this is what comes of trusting people.

Even as my soul ascends the ladder and leaves my mortal remains, I am sure that whatever happens, I will remember that.