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A TELLING GESTURE
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A Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic
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Disclaimer
All rights and privileges to Rurouni Kenshin belong
to Nobuhiro
Watsuki, Shuiesha, Sony Music Entertainment, and associated parties.
The characters of this series are used without her permission for the
purpose of entertainment only. This work of fiction is not meant
for
sale or profit.
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It was one of those rare occasions when Saitoh Hajime
was not in
uniform. As he bent over to examine a fruitseller's merchandise,
he
heard men yelling nearby, followed by a loud explosion. A second
later, twin plumes of dust and smoke rose from a neighboring house.
(Interesting. That wasn't an regular explosion.
It sounds like
some sort of cannon.)
He leisurely joined the crowd gathering near the
front gate of the
property. Everyone there strained to get a good look at the fight
taking place inside the compound. As the crowd ohhed and ahhed
in
amazement, the former captain of the third squad of the Shinsen Gumi
blandly watched a small, red-haired man effortlessly slash his way
through the charging Yakuza horde with eye-blurring speed.
(Well, well. Himura Battousai....)
While the brief, one-sided battle must have looked
terribly
thrilling to the inexperienced viewer, Saitoh was not the least bit
impressed... or interested. The gangsters were no real challenge,
even for a mere Rurouni.
(Boring....)
As he heard the excited murmurs of the crowd, he
snorted softly to
himself. If these fool spectators ever saw the real thing --
the
infamous Hitokiri Battousai of ten years ago -- in action, they won't
be standing around gaping in amazement.
They would be screaming and running in stark terror.
He was about to leave the scene with a mild feeling
of disgust
when he saw Himura Kenshin do something that instantly grabbed his
attention.
It was a brief, casual movement... nothing more than
a quick snap
of the wrist before sheathing the sword....
....but it was a move that Saitoh had seen before.
He had done
something similar many times before.
That one little gesture brought a faint, chilly smile
to his face
as he walked away from the crowd.
(It's been ten years since your blade ran red with
blood, but you
still haven't lost the habit,...eh, Battousai? Such a trival
thing.... the little flick of the wrist to remove the blood from one's
sword... but it's often the small things that betray our true
natures.)
(A harmless, peace-loving vagabond doesn't need that
sort of
gesture....)
(....but a killer does. So it looks like you
haven't managed to
bury the Hitokiri as deeply as you might have hoped. No, I can
tell
that he's lying just beneath the surface, just waiting....)
(That's good to know.)
With a contented smirk on his face, Saitoh made his
way back to
his temporary quarters. Behind him, a sudden gust of wind howled
down
the street as if to mark the presence of the Mibu's Wolf.
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