This is a Shurpuff work, published here on his request.

Shurpuff: All rights to their original owners.

"Turn left here, right, left, forward several-oh, there's a monster-there, took care of him... moving on, left, right, forward to the corner..."

"Gintoki, stop wasting my time," came Takasugi's voice, cold and irritated.

Gintoki resheathed his katana, then removed the VR headset on his head. He looked behind him where the pipsqueak stood, head bowed under a hat while smoke drifted up from his pipe.

"Just a little bit more," he replied, his eyes adjusting to the sudden change in environs. Amanto technology, however amazing, was not without its flaws, and the virtual reality shtick was still highly disconcerting to the senses even for a seasoned warrior.

Still, it was enjoyable, especially since the game was still pleasantly 8-bit. Tales of Wizarding was everything in a neat, cheap package: adventure, mystery, action, role-playing and VR.

"Not 'just a bit more'," Takasugi said testily. He shifted his hat to display the lone eye, sharp and disapproving. "You've led me all around the city on this foolish goose chase. I fail to see why I should humor you any longer."

"Humor me, humor me," Gintoki mock-chanted, slipping the set back on. "I'm almost at the last monster, and once I've beaten that, I know I'm at the right place." He started walking.

Takasugi cursed. "Why the hell would you choose that filthy device to arbitrarily show you the way? This whim of yours is stupid, Gintoki. Henpeita has laundered for me whole lists of families that you could use, all of them checked and triple-checked."

"Like I'd trust anything that lolicon says."

"And instead you trust that video game of yours? What happens if you end up standing in front of some old woman's house?"

"She'll probably be the wife of some big boss yakuza from the country," Gintoki replied. He whistled, then killed a virtual ogre. "Then we'd have an in with the underworld!"

"We are the underworld, idiot."

"No, we're underground, or in your case, undercover, or in my case, underpaid, or in Zura's case, under fire. Now shush, 'cos I think I'm getting close. Left right left right..."

Takasugi had to raise an eyebrow; they were in a secluded residential area, far from the noise of ronin in the slums or the filth of the "modernizing" city. Old families could be found here, some perhaps belonging to relatives of samurai or nobility.

"If I remember correctly," Takasugi muttered, eyeing the battered street signs at the corner, "this is..."

"Got it!" Gintoki exclaimed. He still wore the set. "This is the place." He tapped the end of his sheath against the ground. "And here's a pretty strong monster to greet me."

Takasugi didn't know exactly what illusion Gintoki saw. For his part, he could see a sign saying "Kodokan Dojo" near the entrance. The doors were open, leading to a sprawling property where he knew a dojo lay.

Shimura, he remembered. He remembered Henpeita's notes: something about their being one of the major landowners at the height of Heian, intermarrying into samurai families, slowly frittering away wealth and influence until only a small amount remained.

"I think I can take you, monster," Gintoki exclaimed.

"Um... do you have some business with the master, sir?" asked a man standing just a few feet inside. He held a practice sword, his eyes wary and focused on his comrade's drawn sword. Gintoki didn't seem to have heard, and was already drawing into a stance.

Grinning, Gintoki said, "This is for my comrades!" and charged.

Sparks flew. The wooden sword snapped. Perhaps realizing, at some level, that it wasn't just some big boss in front of him, the Shiroyasha didn't immediately slash at the kid. Not that Takasugi let him. He hooked his fingers through the straps, then slammed the idiot's head into the nearby ground.

Knowing what was coming, Takasugi sighed and drew his sword. Steel clashed. Shiroyasha backflipped, the VR set thrown ruthlessly to the ground as his twisted visage reappeared. Takasugi knew Shiroyasha's wild grin was reflected in his own face.

One hit. That was their rule. The two warriors clashed steel one more time. Time stood still as the wind whipped from them both. Then, a gash appeared in Takasugi's hat.

Tension left him. "370 to 359, huh?"

Gintoki grunted. "You've been growing softer by the minute, twerp." They both sheathed their swords. "Hey kid, what's yer name?"

"Obi Hajime," the man said slowly.

"Your father run this joint?" The kid shook his head. "Then get me the master. I like to drink something sweet. Make sure you remember, alright? I'm in a bad mood."

Takasugi examined the damage to his hat. "It seems to me that you've been the one slacking on training, Gintoki. This cut doesn't look nearly as perfect as it should have been."

"Feh, that cut could've levelled a building," Gintoki retorted, picking up the damaged VR set. He sighed forlornly, imagining money bills flying away into deep space. At least it had been fun while it lasted.

"What might be your business here, honored guests?" said a voice from within the dojo. "And let it be known that if it is unsatisfactory, I will have you pay for disturbing the sanctity of my house with your wanton display."

"Don't need no wonton, old man." Gintoki glared at the kid behind the man. "Oi, where the hell's my drink?"

He's said his piece; it's up to Takasugi now to seal the deal. He's not good with negotiating, unless there was money to be had or he was being swindled out of it. He stood under the trees outside the house, gazing at the distant Terminal. The sound of raised voices shivered the air.

The kid from before approached. Behind him was an even smaller kid, whose gaze turned from curious to fearful at the sight of his sword. He could see the resemblance to the father in the boy's face; so this was the presumed heir.

They didn't get a chance to speak, as Hajime ushered the boy past him to another part of the house. After a while, Hajime returned, and this time he didn't seem wary at all.

"Are you really looking for an apprentice?" he asked. Gintoki scratched through the perm irately.

"More a water-boy," he drawled. "Someone who cooks meals and handles the laundry while I rest. I ain't really got a style to teach or nothing; and you got your own style now anyway so what's the point."

"Ahhh, well I'm kind of bad at cooking though," Hajime said, chuckling. "All I'm good for is my swordsmanship and keeping watch at night for ruffians. But I can learn if you want me to. Is it true we'd be going into space?"

"If the details get hammered down nicely, maybe, yes," Gintoki replied, closing his eyes to appear as if he were meditating.

"Sweet! I always thought it'd be neat to fight against aliens and their fighting styles... hey sir, you wouldn't happen to have fought those Amanto before have you?"

Gintoki opened one eye. "And what makes you think I have?"

Hajime crossed his arms. "Anyone who freely walks around with a sword like that ain't one from the streets. And no rascal, no matter how skilled, can get the master to be as gracious as he is now. So you're samurai, or ex-samurai. P

robably one of those rebels I hear about on the news."

"The rebellion's dead," Gintoki said flatly. "And I'm glad it is."

In the end, the old man only allowed the use of his estate for "occasional" underground use, both as a temporary refuge and as a terminal for passing secret messages. Any more than that and he'd be endangering his children. He stood his ground on that point.

He did allow Hajime to assist Gintoki, as the man was bound for an extra-planetary trip anyway, considering his potential. He'd just be going earlier than scheduled.

Gintoki felt just a tad sorry for the Shimura master. Nowadays, thanks to the Amanto, there were plenty of ways an innocent-looking estate could hide something like a full-sized underground laboratory, if it was needed. He knew his comrade would stop at nothing to manipulate the bounds of the agreement, even if he would loudly bet his honor he wasn't.

Not that they'd be turning the dojo for that purpose, no. Gintoki would use the place as a seedbed upon which the lofty ideals of the samurai might be preserved. There was no need to tell Takasugi this, of course. Far from preserving a seedbed, that guy was perhaps keener on scorching the whole field black.

Gintoki spent the last few days on Edo observing the construction of yet another tall, gray tower in the inner district. He'd go around dressed as a mendicant priest, wheedling some dango or iced cream from the shops he passed. His sword he prudently left at the Shimura residence, as well as his sense of justice. There were more than a few districts where crime was openly rampant; and yet it was going to be such a pain to have to explain to Takasugi and his cronies how he had to delay his mission for days or weeks because he helped some orphans find their home or something.

His sword had proved unable to save everything; so he resolved to only preserve all he had left.

He spent the last day inside the residence, dozing upon the porch. That was when the elder Shimura sibling came up and slapped him through a sliding door.

Gintoki bit back a curse as he emerged from the mess to find the kid glaring at him. "If you... if you ever hurt Obi-bro..." said the kid, "Then the next slap'll take you to the moon!"

Seeing that this one was a prepubescent girl and also the daughter of the house's master, Gintoki sighed. "The moon sounds nice. All empty and cool... I could spend my last days on that place, assuming the Amanto've not built some resorts there by that time..."

"Promise me, smelly old coot! Promise you'll keep him safe!" the kid shouted. Just then, another kid came in behind, hands flailing.

"S-sister, please stop! Sakata-san's our guest!"

"Shut up, Shin-chan. Because of this guy, Obi-bro's leaving us."

"But he wanted to, right? That's what he said, right?"

"I..." The girl balled her fists. "I know who you are, Sakata-san. My eyes are small, but they can see clearly. You're a rebel samurai right? You've come in to mess up my family! Father and Obi-bro might have accepted you, but I never will! Samurai who've turned from the road are not samurais at all!"

"Sister!" the smaller one said admonishingly.

Cheeky brat, he thought. "Hey kid," Gintoki finally said, "Adults don't make promises. So I can't promise you anything." He picked himself up from the floor. "But I will keep him safe, to the best of my ability. Hell, I think he can even take care of himself." He walked past the kid back to the walkway, from where he could sense the person in question lurking beyond the corner. "And, y'know, I can't have him die halfway through. Then who'll carry my things?"

"Forget carrying me," the man said loudly for the kids to hear. "Worry about how I'll have to keep covering his ass!" he said with a wide smile.

Gintoki raised his hand in apology. "Yep, I can be lazy sometimes. This guy'll probably have to keep dragging me across space."

"Hajime-nii!" The kids came bounding out, tears and snot lining their faces. Gintoki left the kids alone to their tearful goodbyes.

Nobody tearfully bid him goodbye, though he would've appreciated even a gruff, impolite sending-off from a wizened old fruit. Just a little. Neither Zura nor Takasugi could come: the former obviously still being hunted by that Shinsengumi, and the latter was on the other side of the galaxy with his ragtag fleet, waiting for their rendezvous about six months down the line.

Space and the Amanto were interesting. At least he could agree with Tatsuma on that. As Edoites, he and Hajime were only allowed to go to fringe planets of each respective empire, along with independent worlds that were a bit like Earth.

He couldn't fault Hajime for his endless optimism in their travels, approaching every new wonder with a joy so profound it gave him a tooth-ache. Having spent his whole life on the now-distant Earth, he could well understand the awe one could hold for the myriad adventures spread out before them.

Unfortunately, Gintoki was not to be just a tourist, nor a kid searching the stars for One Piece.

Zura had said that Gintoki's role had been simplest on paper: to undergo a brief amount of time observing the state of the Amanto-riddled universe. In a way, it reminded him of that old Naruto manga, when the titular kid had to go on a timeskip travelling; although in his case he wasn't training anybody along the way nor did he need to learn about anything more than the Amanto.

Also unlike the manga, time did not skip, especially during the bad times.

Financial support from the Kiheitai was there, but it wasn't infinite, nor was it consistent across planets. Every other Earth-month he'd receive a wire in his account, enough for two Earthlings' supplies and one, maybe two one-way tickets. But prices fluctuated wherever they went, such that having a five-star experience with exotic Amanto pleasures, pools made from actual syrup and all-you-can-eat buffets on one planet could also mean eating fried mystery foods and living furtively among the trash in another planet.

And that was not counting having to deal with strange Amanto with an unpleasant aversion to Earth-apes. It didn't help that in pitting himself against the aliens, he and Hajime fulfilled some inner justice that managed to coincide-leading to almost perfect teamwork. Obviously the pair wouldn't be as legendary as something like the Umibouzu, but he liked to think they'd jumped higher than the Mario Bros.

From battling through a jungle filled with giant, poisonous bugs to rescue a benefactor, to double-crossing a slaver group, commandeering their ship and conveniently crashing it into the next planet, and even battling a band of Yato on a junk station orbiting a black hole, the duo lived and fought like samurai. Gintoki was even amazed at the skill and tenacity the younger one held; had he been born just a tad earlier he would have been either a strong ally or worthy enemy in the War.

Of course, he never told Takasugi that, on the times they met.

He even entertained hopes that Hajime might join their little movement, but he knew from living with him that Hajime wished for continued peace in Edo. An honorable ideal in itself, though one he could never align with. Perhaps it would change at the end of this journey, and in that case he couldn't ask for a better new comrade.

Those hopes, and their journey, were sliced cleanly in half, when they reached a certain planet.

Armed with as much "XP" as he thought he had (Gintoki kept explaining to Hajime how it meant "experience points, duh") regarding the Amanto, Gintoki thought to try venturing into the systems blacklisted by the Amanto empires, no-man's-space which were the roaming grounds of space pirates, Takasugi-like independent battle fleets and Takasugi himself.

They chose a "barrier planet", a world which had nearly all its natural surface stripped to the core, and replaced by machinery that harvested the raw heat into energy, the by-product of which produced plumes of white gas that covered the entirety of the planet. One had to wear protective suits to survive the harsh environs, but that meant that few except the desperate and the cunning dared to live down there, meaning they could almost stay down there free of charge. And Gintoki was determined to save up for a splurge at some brothel planet.

Unfortunately, the situation on the surface was more complicated than they'd realized. Harusame-and they weren't the only thugs sniffing through the garbage. Every goddamned warrior race, from Yato to the Battle-bugs of Zshinar to the bizarro Renho, was represented there, and Gintoki could smell the conflict about to bloom. If there was a world martial arts tournament, he was sure fists (and other appendages) would've started flying. It was just their luck that a sudden blockade prevented transport inside and out, so now they were stuck.

They planned to lay low until everything blew over. That had been the plan. He was sure even the headstrong Hajime understood that, while they went their separate ways to search for an alternate ship offplanet.

By the time he'd arrived at their meeting point, the kid was a total mess. Half his face gone, left hand mangled, both legs smashed to bits-it was a miracle he still managed to seem unbowed, leaning on his battered sword while he smiled up at his attacker. Hajime even managed one futile jab: "I messed up big time, Gin-san. You got a time machine stashed somewhere?" before collapsing among the heap of bodies.

Shiroyasha saw it all-encounter, rampage, exhaustion, last stand and him showing up at the last, last minute, like an incompetent policeman.

Fortunately, there was only one last enemy. Unfortunately, the enemy was a Yato, and a formidable one at that. Its hair was red, natural or dyed by the constant allure of the battlefield-like hell he cared! Distantly he remembered the last boss of Tales of Wizarding, how he never managed to beat it, never finding the time. And this guy, smaller and shorter, felt more like a "last boss" than even Takasugi.

Tales of Wizarding: which had led him to Kodokan Dojo.

Shiroyasha fought with fury more hot than cold. His blood screamed for more. Every bit of XP would be used to fell this foe, no matter the cost.

Bloody Yato. For the price of one finger, he managed to wipe the bastard's annoying smile from his face, flinging him clear down into the white clouds below. He didn't care if the Yato survived. Let him crawl back up, so he could fling him back down. Make the bloody Yato even bloodier.

He supposed that if he hadn't chosen to continue his enraged rampage throughout the city, he might have given thought to Hajime. Maybe he'd have lived, or at least he could have heard the kid's last thoughts. But he'd immersed himself in the battle, and by the time he'd calmed down most of the planet was riddled with innumerable corpses, Hajime among them.

Takasugi, only now responding to Shiroyasha's SOS some weeks back, marvelled at the devastation. Henpeita threw up, Bansai whistled, and Matako joined the rest of the crew in being awestruck. Through the windows, he spied a blood-caked monster that was his comrade standing amidst the ruins.

Takasugi paid a deep bow to the fallen warrior being carried into the hold. There was an unreadable light in his comrade's calm face, as if he was loath to part with the mask of the Shiroyasha. Takasugi recognized it: it was the same man born from the end of the last rebellion.

Every crew member imitated their commander in bowing, as if Shiroyasha had been a great daimyo come into their midst.

"You're wounded," Takasugi observed, later at the med bay. The Amanto blood had been cleansed from Gintoki's skin, and he stood near the windows, gazing into the starry void outside.

Gintoki raised his hand, where the finger family missed its smallest. "Doesn't hurt too bad. I mean, it's not symbolic or anything. You could make a case of broken promises from this if I had made a promise with those brats, but I didn't-"

The window, responsible for helping pressurize this sector of the ship, cracked. The fist, newly bleeding, withdrew from the glass.

Takasugi breathed out a puff of smoke. "You'll be paying for that. So, do you need that thing replaced?"

It was not a pleasant homecoming.

He heard hurried steps padding through the wooden floorboards. He hesitated at the entrance to the dojo, imagining he'd be struck by lightning if he stepped one foot inside.

One set of eyes and one set of glasses saw him there. He didn't know what they saw when they looked at him.

There were a couple million things he could have said: cruel words, comforting words, cold words, indifferent words, remorseful words.

"I..." He paused, sighing, all his emotions gathered together at his throat, silencing him, choking him.

"...I'm looking for a time machine."

He was more surprised that the younger kid did it than the fact that he, the Shiroyasha, got sent crashing through several blocks of property from just one blow.