Seta Soujirou ultimately decided that becoming a rurouni was the best decision he'd ever made. He got a lot of exercise traveling from place to place, had plenty of time to train and look forward to his next battle with Himura Kenshin, helped people here and there when they needed it.

But now that he actually thought about it, he had never truly *thought* about becoming a rurouni. It had just seemed a natural step after his defeat at the hands of the former Hitokiri Battousai; after all, he had won, right? So that meant that he was right, because he was stronger and had the power to enforce his ideals. Look at what he had done to Soujirou, putting him in his place!

On the other hand...well...Himura-san seemed to think that people should follow their own ideals, although he hadn't quite said so to Soujirou in so many words. Soujirou frowned and scratched his head, perplexed, pausing in the middle of the dusty road. In his entire life, he'd never really had to *think*; Shishio-san had given him orders, for the most part, and before that his family had made a slave of him. After being defeated, Soujirou still didn't think; he just meandered about, relentlessly heading north because...because...because north was a nice direction.

Yumi had once told him that he was rather too thoughtless, though he knew the ways of the katana well enough. And now that he thought about it, it was true. Ironic that he should finally be *thinking* enough to realize that he was thoughtless.

Swinging his pack over his shoulder, he stepped off the road and into the shade offered by the trees, sitting down and leaning back against the rough bark. A smile still slightly curved his lips, more out of habit than true happiness, although ever since his cathartic battle with Himura-san he'd found himself experiencing a lot of emotions that he hadn't felt in years. Idly he felt the sheath of the katana at his side, the black lacquer slightly warmed from the sun, smooth to the touch. Still, those emotions were muted, dimmed...though as he continued to feel them, they grew stronger, clearer, more defined.

A reminiscent echo of a childhood long ago, when he was cared for...before he became Shishio-san's willing accomplice, before his corrupted family ruined his life. But it was the past, unchangeable, indelibly printed on his memory forever and always. He didn't think he could construct another barrier such as the one Himura had broken down; he hadn't realized until afterwards how much it had cost him to continuously deceive himself.

Self-deceit rather than self-conceit. What a charming thought.

Soujirou chuckled, the smile growing wider, and he grasped his sword, pulling out an inch of the blade and turning it in his hands, the sunlight glinting on the keen steel and nearly blinding him. It was a regular blade, neither made by a renowned swordsmith nor a sakabatou, like Himura's, but it served its purpose well enough. After all, he had never sworn not to kill--although, really, perhaps he ought to have taken a non-killing oath as well. Himura had taken it because he wanted to repent for the people he killed during the Bakumatsu...was this evidence of the fact that Soujirou had begun to think for himself?

Or was it simply more of his thoughtlessness? Perhaps both. Himura could repent in his own way, and Soujirou in his. Following the ideals of Himura Kenshin without copying them. Justice brought to both sides not in the form of death, but of life: Kenshin to protect those who could not protect themselves, Soujirou the same; one by neutralizing the enemy without killing, the other without the non-lethal compunction.

With a decisive *click*, he sheathed the blade, secured it to his hakama, stood and shouldered his pack, and continued on his way, staying in the cool shade of the trees rather than walking the sun-beaten road. An oath of repentance...to become a wanderer....

Rurouni Soujirou. He tried the name in his mind, then on his tongue, finding it strange. "Rurouni Soujirou....desu ne," he said aloud, trying it again. "Boku wa Rurouni Soujirou." He shook his head with a little laugh, though whether it was for himself or his new-chosen name he was unsure.

He jumped without a thought, avoiding the arrows as easily as if they were feathers drifting on the wind. Landing lightly on the branch overhead, he dropped his pack, drew his sword, and decapitated the first bandit with a flawless grace a dancer would have envied. The boy dropped to the ground and turned, facing the bandit's shocked companions with the ever-present smile still sitting on his lips. With a second cut, another bandit was down, crashing against a tree from the force of the blow, his eyes lifeless as the blood flowed from the slash through his ribs.

"Hajimemashite," he said pleasantly, slashing the katana downwards to send the droplets of blood flying from the blade, then sheathing it neatly and offering the bandits a slight bow. "Gomen nasai, our first meeting must be so rude, but you are bandits and I am a rurouni." He adjusted the sword slightly, grasping the sheath in his left hand, his right hovering over the hilt. "Dakara, shine kudasai!"

Soujirou flew at the remaining bandits before they had a chance to organize themselves. As he dealt with them as flowingly and gracefully as the first two, he smiled a bit more.

There was such a thing as too much thinking, after all.