Chapter 41 Dogfights and Decorum

[A/N]: Okaeri! Hope this was fast enough to relieve the awful sexual tension of the last chapter. There were so many lovely reviews from members and guests. Thank you all for the great comments! Many made me laugh and smile, while also feeling guilty to leave it off that way XD

Invites to the Samurai Champloo Discord Server are still open! We discuss much cultural info there and also planned ideas for chapters! I realize though that Fanfiction does not send out email notifications when you get private messages (SO DUMB), and you can't post links there either...so it may be best to send a message to my ryukyuan-sunflower Tumblr or I can provide my email in a Fanfiction PM.

Notice- In regards to the lemon/lime fantasy sequence in Mugen and Fuu's minds...many of you have requested/demanded I write it. So it is with great joy (and also mortification) that I can announce I am indeed writing it. It will be posted simultaneously with Chapter 42 (as that is when Mugen and Fuu will have time to fantasize), so their thoughts are 100% canon to FTFES...WY?. Also, it will be posted as a separate rated M one-shot.

Because Mugen and Fuu are now aware that the other is attracted to them and has some sort of romantic feelings for them, their interactions might seem...different: changing. But I hope that I still can write them true to who they are. They will be more...hmm...forward. Honest, though subtle. Now it's just a fun little game of dancing around one another, not being direct, but making implications that they already know the other understands.

Fuugen time. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai Champloo, Fuu, Mugen, Jin, Momo etc. Would love to name my pets after them though! I actually have four dogs though...and none of them share the names of the Samcham cast ;.;

Chapter 41 Dogfights and Decorum

They didn't move or speak. If they knew how to stop thinking, they would have done that too.

Thirty minutes, give or take, passed by uneventfully since they had arrived in the already occupied stable. Momo shook the dampness from his fur. He approached Otachi, squeaking out a greeting to the lackadaisical white dog. Hushed mutters from Giri and Tsuru drifted from the other end of the farm building, while Mugen and Fuu concentrated hard on the pelting of the rain and rumbles of thunder.

Images and unspoken words still jumped about wildly through their heads. Of possibilities. Things that did not happen, yet very well could have. So easily. If such things had happened...at this very moment, on this very same bed of straw...they'd still be drowning in the throes of passion.

And Mugen and Fuu knew it. They knew it well. They knew the other knew it too.

Not only the silence filled them with mutual distress. Sopping wet clothes encased their sweaty, sticky skin, making their bodies cold, damp and far too itchy. They equally fidgeted and grumbled, yet neither wanted to be the first to stand up to actually remedy the situation. ...Removing their clothes seemed to be in poor taste.

"Pardon me, but…"

They looked far across the stable, to the owner of the soft, formal inflection: the young noblewoman, adorned in a pale yellow kimono with paper cranes. Unlike them, her and the samurai in green donned dry clothes. They'd raced against the violent storm clouds, and won, finding shelter here before the first drop of rain hit solid soil.

Giri placed a palm on Tsuru's shoulder. This however, did not dissuade her from addressing the other pair of travelers.

"You might catch a cold if you stay in those clothes." She pointed up to a dusty wooden beam above a gated horse stall in the middle of the stable between them. "You could hang them up there, if you needed to."

Their dripping hair and garments had already formed puddles in the pile of fodder. Regardless of what they wanted, they had little choice left in the matter. If sitting made them squirm, they'd fail to survive sleeping when nightfall and exhaustion inevitably came.

"Ah, you're right!" Fuu said. "Thanks."

Tsuru smiled back. Her and the samurai returned to quietly conversing on the distant end of the barn.

The comment had Mugen jump up to a sitting position, which had Fuu jumping off the haystack. Though once standing, knees knocking, her hands couldn't rise to undo the knots and ribbons. Mugen got up beside her. Water dripped onto the dirt floor beneath them, a taunting beat of each second they hesitated. Someone needed to start.

Grunting out a thick swear, he shucked off his red haori, then the undershirt, just as he'd done that very same morning.

Fuu forgot how to blink.

Every teasing droplet falling from Mugen's flattened hair, slid glistening trails down his defined chest, slithering all the way down the solid ridges of his abs. She detested how his hard, toned body could look that good. The prayer beads with the sea green magatama still remained laced around his neck. Earlier that day, he also hadn't bothered to remove it. This had Fuu ponder if Mugen ever bothered to take the necklace off. Surely he must have, whenever he bathed. But, the fact that he kept it on most of the time, the very same birthday gift she'd gotten him, had such a deeper implication now...

It couldn't possibly be just sexual, physical attraction that he felt for her.

Thankfully, the ever careless Mugen didn't carelessly remove his shorts. He bent down, fiercely wringing out the fabric. She watched the muscles of his arms flex and strain, every time he squeezed and twisted the ribboned hems.

He looked up, gaze shrouded by overgrown bangs, though surely glinting with mischief. "You just gonna stare at me the whole time, or did ya want me ta' take your clothes off for you?"

That statement, slick with innuendo, had Fuu gasp, then pivot clumsily on her heel.

"Sh-shut up…"

Little did he know, she didn't want to just stare. She wanted to touch: trace each line of sinewy muscle with her fingers...press her mouth to that hot, sweaty skin. And feeling him undoing her clothes...tugging her obi free, slipping his large, warm hands into her kimono...would be-

Flustered, Fuu buried away the dirty thoughts.

Mugen smirked at her shivering back. He'd always known himself to be an attractive guy, even when Fuu vehemently denied it. Knowing the young woman had the hots for him...well, it sure made things interesting. Teasing her would only be that much more fun. Every little reaction before—the stutters, the yelps, the moans—had far greater meanings now...

It really wasn't just some emotional, romantic sentiment she possessed for him.

Bunching up the fabric, Mugen worked to twist his red haori and undershirt in a strong grip, wrenching out waves upon waves of rainwater that loudly splattered onto the dirty ground of the stable. The sudden sight in front of him, made that hard grip tighten, to the point where the fabric nearly tore.

Back turned, Fuu plucked out two kanzashi hairpins, then undid her bun and ponytail. Wet locks cascaded freely. Down and down, as far as the curve of her lower back, they fell, until she craned her neck to one side, and squeezed out water from the strands.

Finally, her hands lowered to her waist. Fuu tugged on the aglet of the thin blue ribbon there. Undone, the cord on top of the red obi slid to the floor. She reached behind her, pulling the butterfly knot of the obi free. It elicited a silky swish, as it rubbed along the fabric of her pink kimono. Slowly, ever so painfully slowly, it began: the unwinding of the ribbon from around her slender waist. Each inch pulled, made his heart bounce higher up into his throat.

The sensual display looked, sounded and felt, very much like a strip tease.

If those other two travelers hadn't been there...he would've already been right behind Fuu, hands on her hips, mouth drifting along her neck.

Just as the collar of the pink kimono slipped down, Fuu glanced at him over her shoulder, a bashful glimmer in her chocolate eyes.

"...Now who's staring." she said.

In a half second, he'd averted his eyes. She faced forward again, a secret smile on her lips.

No shortage of men had called Fuu pretty and cute...but only one crude man's opinion ever mattered. What happened between them a half an hour ago, outshined all other compliments. No words needed. He who had consistently mocked her attractiveness, now failed to keep his roaming eyes off. Maybe she'd just have to tease him a little more, push him back to the very brink...

Both the pink kimono and the scarlet obi landed on the floor in a cohesive heap, leaving Fuu only in a juban robe and chest bindings.

Mugen made the mistake of peeking back up at her.

...That white robe may as well have been wet paper.

Every swatch of the transparent fabric clung tightly to womanly curves, so much so that he saw the soft hue of her pale skin through that awful excuse for cloth. Every outline. Every contour. It left little to the imagination. From the fabric of the bindings, her back, those wide hips, and even her-

'Holy fuckin' shit.'

Blood rushed to his brain...and elsewhere.

Now he finally knew that not simply courtesans or sexually daring women wore nothing beneath their juban, besides bindings on their chest. His head almost hit the wall behind them. Good thing her back had been turned. Otherwise, he might have seen something worse.

But that wasn't the sole reason he nearly blew his top. Another man sat on the other side of the building. Fortunately for Fuu, Giri and Tsuru were so preoccupied with a conversation, that they paid no attention to the way they undressed.

"...Take that off."

Fuu whipped around fast. "What?!" she squeaked.

Giri and Tsuru started to look up. Instantly, Mugen grabbed her by the hips, causing Fuu to gasp as he threw her behind him, before they saw what he'd seen too.

"N-No, I mean-goddammit!" He thrust his haori and undershirt at her. "Put one a' these on!"

He'd stuttered, like a nervous boy. What the fuck had she turned him into.

"...Wh-why?"

Again, Mugen refrained from answering, as he stared up at the little cracks in the wooden ceiling; he wondered if the roof would cave in and do him the honor of drowning him in a cold rain shower.

The further it dawned on her, the larger her brown eyes grew. One inch at a time, she tilted her chin down, and noticed the awfully tight transparency of the cotton juban. A shriek nearly left her.

Mugen must have seen everything in the back.

Quick and shaking hands lunged clumsily for the bundles of rung out clothes. Wet feet charged headfirst into one of the empty horse stalls, nearly slipping on bits of straw. Once inside, she clutched his damp haori and shirt to her chest, trying very hard to take paced breaths.

So much was happening, so fast. Or maybe...it had taken them too long to get this far.

Fuu wanted to slap herself, rip out her hair, or scream, for getting so worked up over every little action. Mugen was more experienced, more used to women who knew what the hell they were doing. Seeing a female act so pathetically shy probably annoyed him.

But then...

He'd seen her semi-naked before...once.

Sara is already waiting for her. So, Fuu tiptoes through the onsen, where moonlight and the outdoor lanterns cast light on the steaming waters ahead. There she sees...not Sara's ponytail...but a familiar dark mop of hair in the hotspring.

Her foot nearly slips as she finds a tiny, pathetic refuge behind a bamboo tarp. "AHHHHHH! What do you think you're doing?!"

Mugen—the perverted peeping tom, who should not be here during the girls' turn to bathe—looks over his shoulder, scowling.

"I'm just takin' a bath, that's all!" he bellows.

Her hands cup her breasts. She prays he can't see too much from this angle.

"You're fooling around with Sara, aren't you!"

"I am not!" All too suddenly, her pervert bodyguard stands upright...water sliding across the tan skin and muscle of his back, that looks so stupidly hot and hard to the touch. "...Least not yet."

...He turns around...showing off his entire front. Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. That broad chest. Those lean abs. That tempting trail of dark hair that lowers all the way down to...his…his...HIS….

She's never seen one before, besides crude illustrations found in ukiyo-e sex books.

Not until now at least.

Fuu had successfully avoided looking before, after she found Mugen washed ashore after nearly drowning, and had to remove his clothes. Here though...he's on full display. And what a display it is.

Mugen's hands rest on his hips. It's as if he's showing off to her...proving something to her…

During her brief stay in a brothel, experienced women told Fuu many embarrassing things about sex—like how men grow bigger when women excite them. ...But if this is Mugen trying to show her he isn't doing anything with Sara...then she did not know how something THAT large already, can possibly grow bigger!

"AH!" Her hands shield her face...yet she's already seen an eyeful more than she should have. "Wha-whatever, just get out of here!"

"What's the big deal? It ain't like she can see anything." He turns to the silent blind musician. "Right?"

But Fuu CAN see. And she's seen it all!

What exactly compels her to look up a second time, she does not know, but she makes that awful mistake...forever burning the image of her naked bodyguard in her mind. Forever. Forever. Forever. As his legs wade through the shallow hotspring, splashing along as he goes, she covers her face yet again, scurrying deeper behind the tarp, before he notices she drank in another glimpse of him in the nude.

She hides, cursing his body for being so ridiculously in shape, so ridiculously strong...and how she can't get the image out of her head even though she's closed her eyes. Why does she feel so frustrated? So...hot.

The soft padding of his bare feet moves across the stony ground of the onsen, closer...closer. He passes her, thankfully.

"Besides, it ain't like ya got anythin' up there that's…"

As Mugen goes back inside, his voice begins to drift off… Slowly, she turns her head over her shoulder.

His head peers back outside. "...WORTH HIDING!"

"AH!"

Apparently, with the way he wanted her to wear his clothes...she did have things worth hiding.

Maybe it wasn't just her feeling this nervous about everything. Even though Mugen had held her wrist, leaning over her, confronting her, acting so confident, so intimidating...so ready outside the barn...only one moment ago, he'd also...

He'd stuttered!

And, he'd stared at the ceiling, rather than at her while handing over over his clothes. Fuu considered the things the courtesans had told her...and grew curious over how often she had gotten Mugen excited. That time when he'd been drunk in Kyoto, she had indeed felt something hard press up against her leg.

Then, that meant, Mugen must have found her...rather sexy.

Fuu covered her mouth with a hand. Another silly smile slipped onto her face, to the point where she nearly teared up over the embarrassing, yet endearing thought.

Lately, he must have been losing his grip too. For her to make him feel that way, to nearly lose control and then try so hard to restrain himself, made Fuu feel far less out of touch with the strange changes happening rapidly between them.

Quickly, she untied her juban, and then unraveled the itchy chest wrappings; the chore took some minutes. She looked down at the two clothing choices.

His red haori looked different from the one on their old journey together; it possessed a white ribboned clasp in the front to keep it closed. Once before, she'd worn it over her kimono, back in Mt. Koya. Despite all attempts to wring it out, it stayed soaked like most everything.

She then touched the undershirt. It was an opaque white, just a little gray. Thicker than her juban. It'd been made of tougher fabric than the red haori: easier to dry and less easily torn. Though Fuu couldn't say for certain, it appeared to be a rare fabric known as Satsuma-fu, likely imported from the Ryukyu Islands. Fuu wondered if Mugen had a preference for such fabric for its sturdiness, for it was nearly identical to the shirt he'd worn on their old journey, except the crisscrosses trailed all the way down to the bottom, rather than halfway.

Though somewhat embarrassed for doing so, Fuu secretly pressed her nose into the shirt. She breathed in that strong odor of seasalt and musk. The smell of life. Of nature. Of a raging storm on the ocean.

The smell of the man she loved.

Just the smell, even a little funky from sweat, made those little butterflies in her stomach awaken. Day after day, the fibers of this cloth had the privilege of being pressed against his bare skin. How intimate…to allow someone else to wear such a thing.

It was easy to choose between which to put on. Shivering, she slipped her nude body into the sleeves of the crudely sewn, cross hatched top. The hems fell past her thighs, covering everything that needed to be covered.

When she finished, she twisted out more water from the sopping juban and then threw it, her pink kimono, and his red haori over the beam overhead. Balanced on the balls of her feet, she took careful steps out of the stall. Her nervous hands tugged onto the bottom of the front of the shirt.

"...Thanks...for your shirt." she whispered.

From her feet, ankles, all the way up her legs, Mugen's eyes glided up. His throat ached. Once, he reckoned that enough fantasies starring Fuu existed already, that no new one could possibly come to mind. Seeing the girl in the shirt, nothing on those fine legs, sure changed that thought in a blink.

Before Fuu returned to their side of the stable, the smallest hint of a melody turned her back. The solemn samurai rested his head against the wall, while the faint hums of a familiar lullaby drifted from Tsuru's closed lips.

"My mother used to sing that one to me." Fuu smiled. "It's a beautiful song."

Tsuru gasped and immediately ceased. "I...do not know the words. I have only heard it once, during a brief stay in Fushimi."

"Ah, Fushimi! That's close to my birthplace: Uji."

"I am from Edo."

"Hime-sama, remember what I-"

Tsuru ignored her disgruntled bodyguard. "Your names are Fuu and...Mugen, yes?"

"Yup, that's us!"

"I remember from that carriage ride a month ago. Thank you for your help that day. Please forgive us...for involving you."

Fuu smiled, shaking her head. "There's no need for thanks or an apology… We've had our fair share of problems with the law too."

Tsuru turned to Mugen lounging upon the wet pile of hay. "Yes, that had me curious. Those rings on his wrists and ankles...are those prison tattoos?"

"Nah lady, I got 'em cause I thought they looked pretty." he snapped.

"Mugen!" Fuu shouted.

"F-Forgive me… I just, I have never met someone with tattoos before."

"Seriously, there's no need to apologize! Mugen's always like that: uncouth, rude, belligerent-"

"I can still hear ya, bitch!"

"See what I mean?"

Tsuru tried to hold in a small giggle.

"He got those tattoos for piracy in the Ryukyus." Fuu said.

Mugen scoffed, "...Shows how much you know."

"Eh?"

"I hate when people assume shit about me. Just 'cause I was piratin', don't mean that's how I got 'em."

More than a little confused, Fuu had always assumed that had been the case. Back when her and Jin had discovered the nature of Mugen's pirating past from their encounter with Mukuro and Koza, they'd quietly discussed to each other, that that must have been how he'd been marked with them. She wanted to ask then, what exact circumstance had gotten the ex-criminal tattoos that implied a life of theft. Before she could, the smiling noblewoman ventured to ask another question.

"You two seem very different. How did you meet?"

"Well, that's a...long story. By summer, it'll have been three years since we first met. In short, I was a waitress who spilled tea on some pompous magistrate's son...who tried to cut off my fingers! Mugen saved me. Well, one thing led to another, and for a year, he was my bodyguard on a journey to find my father. After that, we split ways, met up another year later, and...here we are now!"

"Ta fuckin' da." Mugen groaned. He'd rewound his hands behind his head. "Can ya believe the broad still owes me one hundred dumplings for savin' her ass?"

Her cheeks puffed out, before she ignored the infuriating man, and returned to the much more polite young woman with no shortage of curiosities.

"Your first journey… Did you ever find your father?" Tsuru aked.

"Yes. But he passed away."

"Forgive me…"

That made three times now, that she'd apologized. The sweet girl was just too polite!

"He was a Kakure Christian involved in the Shimabara Rebellion. So the Shogunate found him...and killed him. Now, they're still after me, all because we shared the same blood...even though I hadn't known him for most of my life."

"Why the fuck are you tellin' strangers all this shit?!"

When Fuu ignored him, Mugen grumbled while slumping back onto the straw, both eyes tensed and shut.

She began again, "On that carriage ride, the Tokugawa samurai of Kishu were looking for you, and not us."

Neither Tsuru nor Giri responded to that particular comment. Mugen peered an eye back open.

Now that the noblewoman no longer wore the fancy uchikatsugi wedding kimono, and her hair wasn't tied so formally, there appeared to be striking youth in her snow white face, similar in skintone to Jin. Before, Fuu assumed she'd been a more mature woman in her mid twenties. Looking at her now, those amber eyes large and glowing, the soft, rounded contours in her cheeks, and not even a hint of wrinkles, the features made Fuu curious if the girl happened to be closer to her own young age of seventeen.

Ever since Manzou the Saw had given them information on why he'd originally come to Kyoto, Fuu had put two and two together, about the possible identity of this girl before her.

"You're related to the Shogun somehow...aren't you."

On the ground, Tsuru's pasty fingers twiddled with the strands of straw beside her.

"There's apparently a search for a noblewoman named Tsuru who is related to the Shogun, and a bounty on her kidnapper's head." Fuu said, eyes softening. "...But you two don't seem like a hostage and a kidnapper at all."

At that moment, Tsuru locked her wine colored stare with Fuu's curious brown one.

"...My full name is Tokugawa Tsuru-himegimi."

Across the barn, Mugen lazily grunted out a loud "Hah?", as he didn't really quite get what the hell that meant. Too many damn complicated names and titles. On the other hand, a sharp gasp fled Fuu's mouth.

"Then you're the Shogun's...daughter?!"

"That's ENOUGH!" Giri shouted so loud, the deep boom vibrated through the shaky walls of the dilapidated stable.

The yell almost caused Mugen to jump off of the haystack with his sword drawn, to drag Fuu away from them. Ears flattened, Otachi laid his chin on the floor.

"It is alright…" The Shogun's daughter gently pressed her hand over her bodyguard's, though her gaze remained on Fuu. "You are correct. Giri is not my kidnapper. He is my personal retainer and attendant. Upon my sixteenth year of age, my father, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi made arrangements for my marriage to Lord Tsunanori of Kishu. For many years prior, I had managed to avoid the engagement. However...I could not avoid it forever. So, last month, on my wedding day in Wakayama, I fled, with the help of Giri."

"Sixteen?" Mugen's head perked up from the hay pile, turning to Fuu. "Hell girlie, I thought you were younger than this chick, not a year older. You should take a lesson 'er two on how to not sound like a whiny kid."

"You're one to talk, jerk." she stuck out her tongue.

Mugen grabbed a piece of straw, picking at teeth and gums with the tip. "You're one trusting gal. What makes ya think we won't just tell the authorities, and get the bounty?"

"Because you two are wanted as well, are you not? And, I do not know what it is...but to me, you two seem so...honest."

"Hah?"

"Eh?"

Mugen and Fuu looked at each other. They did have that quality...didn't they—except how terrible they'd been in being honest to each other.

To their confusion, Tsuru slid forward on both knees, leaned down, hands pressed together, and bowed down so formally, that her nose nearly touched the filthy floor of the stable.

"Please forgive my family for all the trouble they have caused you. If it were in my hands, and not those of my father and his retainers, you would not have to suffer solely because you shared the same blood as someone they considered an enemy."

Fuu was floored. A princess, a literal princess, groveled before them in a filthy stable likely built by peasants! All lingering notions of nobles being arrogant, flew out of her mind. She threw her hands in front of her chest, waving them back and forth to get Tsuru to stop.

"You don't have to keep apologizing! It's not your fault! Besides...family is a hassle, huh?" Fuu shrugged with a tilt of her head and a sheepish smile. "Seems like both our father's caused trouble for us…"

As the younger girl raised from the floor, this time, she smiled back meekly.

"Oh, by the way! I knew you had to be higher class because of your long hair and..." Fuu tapped her own forehead. "...when I noticed you didn't have eyebrows."

"My eyebrows were plucked upon my wedding day. However, I do not think it was solely because I was getting married. For so long, I had been against the engagement...it was as if it was a symbol for me to not reveal my emotions to my fiance's family... It would have troubled relations between the Mito and Kishu Tokugawa branches..."

Tsuru touched the large, mushroom shaped kasa hat propped against the wall. "Giri makes me wear this in public to shield my face. My eyebrows don't appear to be growing back yet..."

"Maybe you could cut your hair to hide your forehead! Then, you could draw in fake eyebrows with a makeup pencil or charcoal!"

"That is a fine idea! Though, I would not be any good at cutting my hair. My servants had done practically everything for me. Sometimes, I feel...very helpless."

A thought sprung into Fuu's mind. "I can do it!"

"You...you would do that for me?"

"Sure!" In a flash, the older of the two ran off to her hanging kimono to pull out the pink tanto dagger tucked inside an inner sleeve.

Giri tensed again.

"It is fine, Giri. She means no harm."

Tsuru got up to approach the woman in pink, much to her bodyguard's distress; he did not at all find solace in the thought of a stranger's blade coming so close to his ward. His hand rested on the hilt of his katana. ...But his lord's orders were law.

The two young women eagerly knelt in the center of the stable, while their exasperated bodyguards still stayed on opposite ends of the building.

"Hmm… Do you have a cloth of any kind?"

The princess pulled out the sky blue handkerchief she'd washed earlier, after wiping the blood from Otachi's mouth. "Just this handkerchief...It's not very large but-"

"It'll have to do." Fuu placed it over Tsuru's shoulders, in order to prevent any hair sticking onto her kimono. "How short do you want it?

"Well, I am very bad at tying hair into fancy buns."

"You can always just wear ponytails! Hmm...how's shoulder length sound?"

"That would be nice. My father never allowed me to cut my hair, so it would attract a husband. It has been growing for many years..."

She unsheathed the plum blossom tanto. Tongue sticking out from the side of her mouth during her concentration, Fuu eyed out proper measurements, as her fingers brushed through the incredibly long ravenette lengths pooling around the noblewoman's waist. She made one clean slice. A shimmering stream of black slipped across the floor. Amazed, Tsuru reached back once, feeling around for the missing locks.

It felt...lighter. But not just physically. Growing out her hair to such lengths had been a tie to her father: an anchor to a future that she did not choose for herself.

Fuu took more careful consideration in shaping out the hair in the back. Gently and carefully, she sliced until the locks fell just a little longer past her neck, than on the sides.

While Fuu toiled, Tsuru hummed that song the child had sang in Fushimi. Only a few notes in, she ceased. "Fuu-san...could you teach me the lyrics to that lullaby?"

"Oh, sure!"

As she resituated herself in front of Tsuru, Fuu parted her lips, and combed through the front strands.

"Unwilling babysitting…"

"The snow begins to fall, and the baby cries."

Tsuru hummed along to Fuu's singing. Mugen and Giri listened in silence, troubled eyes now easily closing.

"How can I be happy when Bon Festival is here?"

"When I have no kimono or sash to wear."

Cut after cut, ribbons of more black hair fell upon the girl's shoulders and the dirt floor.

"This child continues to cry, and is so mean to me,"

"As I grow thinner by the day."

Just below where her eyebrows would have been, she trimmed the bangs into a neat and straight cut.

"I would quickly quit here and go back."

"To my parents' humble home over there."

Task complete, Fuu lightly took hold of Tsuru's shoulders, spinning her to face Giri.

The shiny black tresses landed neatly around her shoulders in a fringed cut, rather than that bold cut stretching far below her waist. In the front, straight bangs fell just above her eyes, while jagged sidebangs framed pale cheekbones, all the way down to below her chin. The beauty spot by her eye was now covered, which would likely be better for people not to recognize her. This fresh new style made Tsuru look years younger, closer to her actual age of sixteen, though no less beautiful than before.

The samurai gave her a nod. "It suits you well."

Tsuru turned back to Fuu, smiling so brightly, that Fuu couldn't help feeling overwhelmingly flattered.

"Thank you so very much! I owe you!"

"No, no! You gave us all that ryo in Osaka when you bet on Mugen's beetle, remember? That was all the pay I needed."

Tsuru shyly played with the ends, unable to contain her joy and excitement. She showed Giri, lovingly sliding her fingers through the silky locks, and then grasping and simulating how it could be tied into simpler styles like that of Fuu.

Smiling, Fuu returned to Mugen. She stood over him. He opened one eye, though couldn't even see through the messy curtain of overgrown hair.

"I can cut yours too, y'know."

He guffawed, the snapped piece of straw hanging off his lip. "No thanks, girlie. I ain't trustin' your clumsy ass with a knife near my head."

"I cut Tsuru's hair just fine." she sighed. "But whatever… I don't want your lice anyway."

"I ain't got lice!" he snapped.

"Then prove it! Let me cut your hair. Don't worry, it'll just be a trim so it's back to normal and your hair isn't in your eyes!"

He grumbled. ...Then he felt a pair of small, soft hands tugging on his arm.

"UP UP UP! I don't want you getting hurt in a fight, just because I didn't give you a haircut!"

"A'ight a'ight! Quit bein' so damn pushy!"

"Is it alright if I use your handkerchief again?" Fuu asked Tsuru.

The noblewoman nodded, and got up, passing the handkerchief back.

Mumbling some unflattering comment about his companion, Mugen plopped into the middle of the floor of the stable. Cross legged, one hand pressed onto his knee, and the other propped up his chin. Mugen donned a scowl that would likely make demons cower. He reasoned she'd at least be able to cut it more easily in the back than he could...

Finally, the moment arrived to live out the secret fantasy of running her hands through his wild black locks. Cutting it would be different from Tsuru's. More intimate… More difficult. She knelt beside the shirtless Ryukyuan, rising on both knees to reach up, rather than raising her arms too high, else the hems of his shirt revealed her exposed waist.

She started in the back to give time for her heart to steady. Hesitantly, Fuu touched his scalp.

When he flinched at the contact, so did she.

Again, she pressed her hands there. This time, he didn't move. His head remained a little damp from earlier, helping her to pick up clumps to cut the lengths evenly. The texture of his mane was unlike Tsuru's or her own, not silky smooth and oily. It felt thick, but no less soft...like the fur of an animal. A dog or wolf, perhaps.

Breathing in shallow breaths, Mugen attempted to keep his eyes open, while she threaded fingers between the strands. Her ministrations against his scalp, felt remarkably soothing. He released a long sigh.

With hooded eyes, Mugen glanced across the barn, where Tsuru lovingly scratched the white scalp of her pet dog, whose own eyes closed in contentment amidst getting the massage from his tender owner.

He frowned.

Fuu began a slow shear, from the scalp, downward. She sawed the pieces back to a tamed length he usually had it at, if his hair could be called such a thing as tame. Little by little, bits of shaggy locks fell across the handkerchief. Although the fabric separated skin from skin, he still felt her hands on his shoulders, brushing away the leftover bits.

When fingertips traveled lower, sliding towards the base of his neck…

A wonderful shiver trickled down the length of his spine. Instantly, Mugen shot back to sitting straight.

When the back and sides were suitably shaped, Fuu positioned herself in front of him, leaning so close, the edges of her knees pressed into his folded leg...and her chest stood inches from his mouth. He tried to turn his head, but she yanked him back by the chin.

"Keep your head straight, okay?"

He bared his teeth, but Fuu just smiled back.

A new challenge had been posed. If Mugen looked slightly down, he'd be staring at her breasts… If he looked too far up, he'd be staring into her eyes. He found himself caught in the middle, fixated on the smooth curve of her neck. At this proximity, her skin radiated that honey sweet smell that had Mugen desperately wanting to grab the small of her back and push her into his lap.

"...Ya almost done?"

"Y'know...good things come to those who wait." Fuu's attention flickered from the task, down at him.

His eyes found hers. "Well, you sure like takin' it slow…"

"I can go faster if you want." Her voice fell to nearly a whisper. "But I'm worried I'll mess up...or you won't like it."

They stared at each other.

"...Then go at whatever speed ya want, girlie."

Where the conversation had stopped being about haircuts and when it'd started referring to something else entirely...neither truly knew for certain.

She carried on, fringing the edges of the bangs, so they no longer fell in front of his eyes, then moved on to trimming the sides at his temples. Leaning down, one hand with the pink tanto pressed onto the floor for leverage. The other drifted over his forehead, pulling back the bangs she'd been working on.

That scarred eyebrow reignited her curiosity.

Like the others, she expected the scar to hold some story of an altercation of the past: killing some famous swordsman, or escaping the law. Something dangerous and full of pride over opponents he'd faced and beaten.

She wanted to know. There was still so much she wanted to know.

He felt two fingers trace the dark, broken line of his eyebrow. The contact had him look straight into her eyes again. This time, her face had gotten closer. She'd paused on cutting his hair.

"So...where'd you get this one?"

Mugen's answer defied any previous expectation.

"Don't know."

"Eh? Really?"

"Had that one 'fer as long as I can remember. Coulda' been from fallin', or getting cut when I was a kid. So I wouldn't know."

For him to have such a scar since childhood filled Fuu with an ache that she did not at all expect. Such an injury nearly could've taken out his right eye. It reminded her of the fact that he did not know his own birthday; there were some things even he didn't know about his violent upbringing…

Even after asking, her fingers still brushed the line, so tenderly, that Mugen almost reached up to grab her wrist, like he'd done three times earlier. But he restrained himself for the time being and allowed for the contact.

She'd always liked that scar. It had captivated her since the day he first pulled back the flap to the teahouse... No one she'd ever met had a scar quite like it.

"It's funny to think you had it since you were a kid. It makes you look kind of...rough and…"

"Sexy?" he grinned wolfishly.

He knew.

Fuu blushed, "...Like a guy who only causes trouble."

Her fingers resumed, clipping onto the bangs covering the eyebrow and flattening out the hair, as she raised the tanto back up to snip at it.

"Is that whatcha' thought when we first met?"

"Yup! I thought you were trouble, through and through. Practically a wild animal!"

"Guess ya had me all figured out real fast, eh?"

"Not everything." Again, she dropped her tone, mumbling out a hushed little phrase. "There's a few things I'm only learning now…"

One cut later, she brushed away some stray strands that clung to his face, ruffled the bangs in her fingers, and then leaned back. "All done!" Fuu declared proudly.

No more hair covered his sight. He tweaked with the strands, then shook his whole head. Numerous remnants of the sheared lengths fell to the stable ground.

"If ya fucked up anything, I'll shave your head while you're sleepin'."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

Tsuru chimed in as Fuu returned her handkerchief. "I think it looks great, Mugen-san!"

Time passed very quickly. Though the pace of the rain lessened, light retreated from the stable. Storm clouds had buried the feeble rays of the setting sun. Luckily, she'd finished Mugen's haircut before it had gotten too dark to see.

Otachi's ears perked up once. He went to the broken stable door, scratching lightly, until Tsuru got up to let him outside. She then retired to her respective bale of hay for rest, while Giri stayed sitting against the wall, katana propped against his left shoulder blade.

Mugen sauntered back to their side of the barn. This time, he laid down on a different pile of hay than before, as their soaked clothes and hair had left the other damp. When he looked behind him...he found that Fuu shyly traced his steps, rather than finding some other bed of straw to lay in; there were plenty of others to choose. Sitting beside him, she reached at the tips of her own chestnut hair resting against her back, twiddling with the lengths, then coiling them around each finger.

"Hmm...maybe I should cut my own hair soon. It's getting pretty long."

Casually swinging her legs back and forth, she glanced behind her. There, Fuu found his brow had knitted together. It made her curious...if the hair comment had caused such a thing, unlikely as it was. She didn't know where she'd acquired the bravery to be so forward. Maybe just knowing how he felt about her...

"Um…do you like long hair or short hair?"

"Long hair gets in my eyes. But I ain't interested in shavin'."

"No I mean...what do you like...on a woman?"

Fuu stared forward, fingers squeezing around pieces of straw.

Seconds passed.

"...The hell ya askin' me for?"

"...Just curious."

Mugen attempted to sound uninterested. Though...he definitely knew what he preferred. Long. Definitely long on her.

"I don't friggin' know, long...I guess?"

More seconds passed.

"...Maybe I'll...keep growing it out then."

She'd mumbled it. But he heard. And she knew he did. She'd wanted him to. ...Neither made further mention of the subject.

He laid down on the hay. At just an arm's length away, all too short, yet all too far, she did the same. Even after everything...even after they'd nearly made a mistake, Fuu still didn't care.

Staying in an abandoned stable wasn't exactly the most dignified of sleeping arrangements. Every inhale brought in an unwanted whiff of stale odors—mildew and musty earth. But they'd slept in pigsties and chicken coops, at one point or another. Sleeping in an abandoned barn beat sleeping in an occupied one, where the stench of livestock smelled nigh unbearable. Here, the soft, dry bed of straw beneath them, felt more comfortable on their backs, than the hard dirt of the outside.

It sounded like Giri and Tsuru had already turned in for the night, for the two had finally stopped talking. Side by side in the darkness, Mugen and Fuu stared at the abyss of the ceiling, listening to the slowed drizzle dancing overheard, and the thunder that had fled many miles off, only a dull hum in the distance now.

Moments passed by.

Simultaneously, their soft whispers played over the rain.

"Mu-"

"Fuu."

"-gen." she finished.

He'd said her name again. Fuu waited, a swell of nervousness and anticipation filling her chest.

They paused, allowing more moments to pass them by.

"You first." Mugen said.

"No, you."

"...Lost my train a' thought." he lied.

"...Same." she lied too.

Another low rumble of thunder came. Their quiet laughter followed. It almost sounded…nervous.

"...What the heck is wrong with us?" Fuu sighed.

"Us?" Mugen yawned. "Speak for yourself, girlie."

If that's what he wanted…

An open opportunity presented itself: his arms didn't rest behind his head. They laid at his sides. Across that little distance over the straw bed, her hands searched in the dark, until the very tips of her fingers lightly grazed his right arm.

Mugen jumped. He'd actually jumped.

Her earlier "secret plan to touch Mugen more" didn't have to simply cease to be, the moment they'd entered the barn, and almost made a radical change to their already bizarre relationship. This could be something she continued to do…something they alone shared.

Mugen felt her palm his forearm, like she waded in shark infested waters, testing how much he'd allow to be touched. Headstrong and stubborn, only Fuu ever dared to breach such solid walls with an ex-criminal of his kind.

They both couldn't see well in the dark. But it was as if she memorized exactly where the width of the tattoos started and ended. Each ring, she traced tentatively with her thumb. Exhaling deeply, Mugen found himself falling entirely at the mercy of her touch, just like during the haircut. So tender, so...so like Fuu to do such a thing.

"You never told me how you got them." she said quietly.

Even as she spoke, her hand lingered there, upon that tainted skin, ink long faded to that teal tinge, though not by enough to be rid of it.

"...You never asked."

Fuu knew it had to be a difficult topic. But he had not yet pulled away his arm...and she wanted to breach more and more barriers.

"Was it before or after you started pirating?"

"Before."

He turned his head towards her. Although she couldn't see, she'd heard the straw strain beneath the movement.

Only leftover lightning filtered through the cracks in the barn walls, and into the slit of the broken stable door. During the brief flash, their eyes met... Then the pitch darkness came again.

It only made her touch feel that much more...real. She touched him...even after what nearly happened. Even after what they nearly did. Even after they both knew now.

He couldn't hide. She couldn't hide. It was strange. So very strange.

"I'd like to hear what you did, and how you got them. Can you tell me the story? I mean, not now, but...another time?"

He raised an eyebrow, though she couldn't see. Now or later didn't matter; it wasn't as if he concerned himself with what some random man and woman across the barn thought about his criminal past, even if the lady happened to be the literal princess of Japan. Plus, he was pretty sure the two had already fallen asleep.

"I ain't got nothin' to hide."

"I know, but…still…" Gently, she traced the tattoo again. "I want you to tell me...when..."

He heard her take in a trembling inhale.

"When it's just us…"

"...Just us?"

Her pulse grew painful. But she had to say it.

"You know...when we can be...alone together again."

Mugen's chest thumped.

If only he could see her in the dark…

If only she could see him in the dark…

But the lightning didn't come.

Fuu didn't need to say anything else. This time, finally, Mugen knew he hadn't overthought such a subtle thing. Not this time.

It was intimate. Touching him. Telling her. And she wanted it that way.

Jin didn't have any tattoos. An honorable samurai lacked any such dishonorable stories to share with Fuu. This was something only Mugen could give to her...sickening as that was to him.

It made his stomach churn. He knew the whole arrangement had gone too far. But damn. Just as much as the logical part of him wanted to push her away, for Jin's sake, for her sake, a guiltier part of him looked forward to whatever she intended behind the prospect of...being alone together again.

"If that's what ya want." he tried to answer casually, yawning into his palm a second time.

Fuu smiled, blush hidden by the darkness, and finally removed her hands from his arm. She'd done it. She'd tested a boundary...and could only hope Mugen understood full well what she meant by it.

He stared up at the black ceiling. She rolled onto her back again, staring at the ceiling too. After that, they didn't share another word. To the steady rhythm of each other's breaths, they drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

By morning, Mugen finally accepted his awful lot. So long as Fuu kept on doing these little things, intentional or accidental, for the rest of their trip, he'd be in a perpetual state of horny. If Fuu's behavior yesterday had nearly killed him...well he must have been dead now.

The rain had ended. With half lidded eyes brimming with fatigued frustration, Mugen stared at that mangled barn ceiling, now illuminated by bright rays of dawn. His arousal had grown so prominent and painful, that his teeth clenched together, hard enough that he might have actually grinded down his incisors.

But he couldn't move.

Of course he'd wake up this way...

A slumbering Fuu clung on tightly...to the very same tattooed arm she'd touched last night.

Her far too soft chest pressed against his bicep, while dainty arms interlaced around his whole forearm. Every airy breath the girl released, tickled his pierced earlobe, and swept gently down his neck, since her face rested against his shoulder. Worst of all, during the night...his hand had...unintentionally slipped onto her...and had gotten wrapped upon between those silky legs. His palm rested on her left inner thigh, and her right thigh squeezed it down there.

She only wore his shirt. Only. His. Shirt. What a blunder he'd made, suggesting such a thing. He should've taken his chances with that see-through juban. Gods above, he could feel the heat radiating from between her legs.

Damn that stupid noblewoman and her samurai for arguing this morning and waking him up.

Damn Fuu for not waking up yet!

And damn his own dumb self for making the awful mistake of tilting his head slightly, to get a peek at the sleeping girl snuggly pressed against him.

While oversized on her thin frame, the bottom hem of his shirt had rolled up on the dip of her waist, leaving her bare hip entirely exposed. He slowly reached over with the arm she didn't cling to, to tug it back down on her leg...so he didn't accidentally see more of her lower half. At the same time, he tried to pull his other hand free from where her thighs clamped down on it. Bad mistake.

The subtle slide of fingers along her inner thigh...had Fuu let out the tiniest moan. Tired brown eyes fluttered open.

He didn't dare turn his head back to the right.

"...Took ya long enough to wake up."

When Fuu found Mugen staring back up at the ceiling, jaw clenched, and face inches from her own, her eyes shot open. Horrified, Fuu wondered if some unconscious desire caused her sleeping self to inch closer to him... Her arms and legs felt more like they'd been filled with wet noodles, rather than muscle. She didn't move, only stared.

Quite intimately, she felt his calloused palm and the pads of each of his fingers pressing into the skin of her inner thigh, utterly trapped between both legs. Mugen's touch felt so...hot. Her body burned up too, and probably spilled warmth all over him! She feared he heard or felt her thudding pulse.

Something. Had. Changed.

"...Mind if I have my arm back now?"

Shudders of breaths slipped from her lips. They tickled his neck again.

Fuu tried to open her mouth to say something, anything. It came out dry. Before she could move...she made the awful mistake of looking down. She blinked.

'Oh.'

The unexpected sight below Mugen's waist...made the daze subside.

Face on fire, she unwound her arms and legs from him. Fuu bolted to a sitting position. Sure, she'd accidentally seen Mugen naked before—when he'd stood up in the hot spring two years ago—but only now, Fuu understood full well what those courtesans were talking about when they said men grew bigger…

"I didn't mean-it was...I was… H-how long were you awake?"

Mugen sat up too, bending his knee, in an attempt to try to cover the massive tent in his shorts that he grew painfully aware Fuu had already seen. Well...she had to know at some point how his body reacted to her.

"...An hour. Hard ta' sleep with you snorin' in my ear."

Her mind screamed. 'An hour?!'

An hour of Mugen's hand trapped between her legs, completely aroused, yet with no way to remedy it.

Her hands balled up the hems of his shirt on her lap, though she desperately wanted to reach up and bury her face to muffle an embarrassed scream. "I-I-I don't snore!"

"...How would you know? You were asleep."

Before things could spiral out any more awkwardly than they already were, the dispute across the barn distracted them.

"We cannot leave! Not yet. Otachi always returns! Always!"

"Hime-sama, I do not doubt he will. But he will find us along the road. We shouldn't stay in one place for too long."

Despite any attempts to convince her, Giri's pleas failed to reach Tsuru. She refused to leave after Otachi had not returned during the night, nor even the morning. Ever distrustful of peasants like Mugen and Fuu, he had hoped they could leave before the unwanted guests in the barn had even awoken to report their location for the bounty reward.

"Just another two hours. Please. I know he will return!" she pleaded.

Giri sighed.

"Those two been talkin' all damn morning. The chick is losin' her shit over the dog, or somethin'." Mugen muttered. "We should probably head out soon. The rain stopped."

Fuu darted up, tiptoeing back into the horse stall to change back into her bindings, juban and kimono. They'd dried for the most part. When she finished, and exited, she threw Mugen's shirt back at him, blushing all the more, as he readily slipped it on, despite knowing it'd been pressed against her naked body. After he'd got on his haori, and slung the leather holster of his European sword back over his shoulder, Mugen wasted no time in jumping into both geta and heading for the door. Fuu tied back her hair, slipped on both zori, but then turned to Tsuru and Giri, bowing.

"It was nice seeing you again!"

"Fuu-san, thank you greatly for cutting my hair. I will take your advice and start drawing my eyebrows in." Tsuru bowed back.

"No problem. Stay safe out there, alright?"

With that goodbye, Fuu and Mugen headed back on the road once more. Mugen made the uncomfortable realization that the sweet honey scent of Fuu permeated throughout his shirt from just a single night of wearing it. Every inhale meant allowing the subtle scent to waft into his nostrils. It made him nauseous. When had he become addicted?

"Oh, Mugen, wait up!"

Two hands grabbed onto his arm again, tugging him to face her. Fuu must have seriously been trying to kill him.

"After all the work I did, cutting your hair, and now it's all messy!" Standing on the tips of her platformed zori, she plucked out shoots of straw, tossing them across the muddy country road lined by wet barley, and deep puddles.

"Is there any straw in mine?" she asked.

"Everywhere."

"Can you get it out for me?"

One piece dangled by her sidebangs. He picked it out, flicked it right at her nose, and then walked off. "Too much work. Get it out yourself!"

"Mugeeeen!"

Scrambling to pluck out the various stems before they made it to the next town, Fuu looked back once to the abandoned stable. Even though their special moment had been interrupted, she wanted to thank Tsuru and Giri's presence for allowing something simpler, yet still very sweet to happen.

Maybe she still could take these strange changes slowly with Mugen. At least, until one of them lost control again...

An unwanted find marked their arrival in the port town of Amagasaki. Pained yelps and barks of a distressed animal echoed from afar. As they traversed the poorer streets, the bright white in the distance allowed Mugen and Fuu's eyes to easily recognize the origin of the desperate sounds.

A group of five men wrangled a struggling white dog bound in chords of fraying rope. For every squirm and twist made, the choking noose dug deeper into the furry neck of the canine. A pair of dirty, injured guys—one with a bandaged stump of a hand, and the other with bandages on a fist with two missing fingers—directed the other three goons. Two tugged on separate sides of the rope, to prevent him from getting too close to either. He bared his teeth, gnashing at them, but to no avail. When he disobeyed by bracing all four paws on the ground, the fifth man whipped his legs with a leather riding crop.

"Isn't that… Isn't that Tsuru-san's dog?!"

Mugen squinted at the group in the distance. "Seems that way."

After numerous lashes, Otachi whimpered, falling victim to their tugging. Further and further on, they dragged the dog along with passerby watching the display, though none making any move to lift a finger. Due to the yakuza presence in Amagasaki...such things were commonplace, and best left alone.

"We have to do something!" Fuu screamed, already picking up the speed of her troubled steps.

Mugen stomped just a pace behind her. "What the hell did I tell ya about gettin' involved in other people's problems?!"

Like always though, the ever compassionate girl did not pay heed to a single one of his words, and had already started jogging off after the men in the distance, before they could get out of sight.

"Oi!"

Moments later, they found themselves in the Amagasaki slums, peeking from behind the corner of a slaughterhouse. They recoiled at the stench of raw meat and rotting fish pervading the dank streets of this part of town, where the dead animals hung haphazardly on hooks in the humid air. Before they could get close enough, that group of five dragging along Otachi had already made it to a large building coated in paint graffiti, and falling into disrepair. Some guard let them in easily. Otachi cried out one last time, body pulling onto the rope, as he attempted to break free. The tensing arms of the two men yanked him into the darkness. The warehouse door shut behind them.

"You found a good one, boys. You'll be making a killing today." the guard laughed.

The man with the missing fingers stayed outside. "...Part of me wants me to see him lose, after what he did to my fucking hand."

"Just means you'll be jackin' off less."

"Fuck you." he spat at the snickering thug.

Fuu looked up to Mugen, who had his head peering just above hers. "See him lose? What are they talking about? What are they gonna do with him?!"

"Dogfights probably. Pit two dogs against each other. Bet on which one can kill the other."

"Can't we report them?"

"If they decide ta' use that lady's mutt for a fight right now, he might be dead by the time the police move a finger."

She jumped out from behind the building, all the ready to stomp towards the guard. The sharp tug on her arm threw her back behind the corner of the slaughterhouse again.

"Hold your damn horses, woman! You tryin' ta' get yourself killed?!"

"Well, you already said that we shouldn't get involved. So if the police will take too long, and you won't help me, what else am I supposed to do?! And it's not just Otachi that's in there. There's probably other dogs that they're abusing!"

Mugen groaned and inhaled.

."...Go report 'em. I'll take care of the rest."

"But Mugen…"

"You ain't gonna let it go, until we get the dog back, right?" he stared at the entrance of the warehouse. "Better it's me goin' in there, than you."

"Alright. I'll go try to find some officers! Do you think you can get him back without killing anyone? If we're getting police involved, I don't want you getting charged for murder..."

"I can try. But no promises."

Fuu pouted. "You're gonna be safe?"

"I'm the picture of safety."

"More like the picture of insanity…"

He grinned, then nodded towards the direction of which they came. "Go on."

With that, she darted off in order to find any doshin patrol officers in Amagasaki.

"...That broad never makes it easy for me, does she." Snapping his neck from one side to the other, he made way towards the large warehouse.

Slouched against the wall, the guard filed down his nails, blowing at the dust. The clicking of stilted geta had his head dart up to see the vagabond in red, who wore an...eerily wide grin, all teeth showing.

"Need something, buddy."

"Came here for a fight."

The man with missing fingers sized up the blue rings decorating Mugen's wrists and ankles. "He should be fine. If he wants to gamble, let him in."

The maimed chump then leaned and whispered to the guard, though Mugen's keen ears easily discerned it. "Just no fucking samurai. That bastard's probably looking for the chickie's dog as we speak. She ain't ever gonna see him again, after what they did to us."

They slid open the warehouse door, allowing the ex-criminal to slip into the darkness. The man with the missing fingers followed him in, making way over to the other goons that had dragged in the dog.

The rusty stench of freshly spilled blood trickled through the moldy air of the dank, dark warehouse. Shadows of the roaring crowds moved like waves of ink along the walls. Bamboo crates caging numerous dogs—Akita, Shiba, Tosa—were stacked upon the left hand side of the warehouse. Through the bars, fangs shined, and eyes gleamed. Barks, growls and saliva poured through their teeth. But Mugen recognized that crazed look.

Fear. The fear of dying.

Despite being a gambler, Mugen had never been a fan of dogfights—or cockfights, for that matter. It wasn't anything like beetle wrestling; he trained the damn beetles himself, and fed them high quality seed for their efforts. Rarely ever did an insect die in a match.

These fights were different. He'd seen it all before.

"Trainers" left the dogs half starved, until they were nothing more than ravenous. Then, they beat them. Hard. Through bloodshot eyes, they only saw red. Usually, the violent fights only left a single dog standing, covered in deep bites, and scarlet dripping from their jaws. The dogs didn't fight out of choice; they were at the mercy of whoever threw them into the fighting pits to kill—or die.

He didn't take any pleasure in watching it, knowing what kind of treatment they'd subjected the animals to, to get them into that frenzied state. Most of the fuckers doing that to the animals, were pansies who couldn't even handle themselves in a fight, man to man. And this place was filled with just the same kind of weak minded scum he'd seen before.

During his lethargic meander deeper into the rank confines of the fighting den, Mugen's eyes slowly scoped out potential opponents. Gamblers belched and laughed over sake. Gangsters passed around pipes of opium. Tattoos not unlike his, marked their arms, legs and necks; one even had the kanji for "dog" plastered on his forehead. They paid him no mind. He blended in fine here, unlike men like Jin or Giri. These were all criminals both petty and organized, and likely untrained.

Groups circled the center of the warehouse, where they'd built a pit surrounded by wooden crates. Some announcer stood on top of a box, bellowing over the ruckus of the room about an impending fight that would begin in just a few moments.

"Five minutes left to place your bets!"

Mugen shrugged through the sweaty, retched crowds, closer to the fighting pit. Two yakuza dragged out an unmoving Akita, its mangled fur leaving along a sticky trail of blood, as it slid sickeningly from the ring. They unceremoniously threw the dead dog into a corner, and covered it with a tarp.

Mugen was glad that Fuu hadn't been here to see it; the compassionate girl probably might have cried.

The opposite ends of the pit housed two cages that faced each other. On one side, a hulking, brown Tosa dog emitted deep, guttural snarls. On the other side, Otachi had been stuffed into a tight cage. One of the wranglers standing over it, nursed a fresh wound.

"Fucker bit me!" He kicked the cage, inciting another bark from the white Kishu dog.

Another wrangler laughed, "Good. Means he'll do well."

Just as he'd expected...they intended for Otachi to fight soon.

"One minute before the show begins!

Mugen knew already, he could easily take out the entire room on his own. Yakuza could act as tough as they liked. But without their packmates, they were nothing at all but whimpering pups. All bark, no bite. Giving the groups of yakuza and their clientele one more once over, he made way to a bookmaker behind a rickety crate, poorly guised to be some official desk for collecting bets.

"Who are you betting on." the bookie coughed out between puffs of opium.

"Me." Mugen answered.

He blinked three times, pus seeping out of the corners of his sticky eyelids, "...What?"

Mugen leaned forward, grabbing the collar of the bookie's gi in his fist, and dragged him right up onto the counter, until skinny chicken legs dangled behind him. "I bet I can take out all the fuckers in this place barehanded. And when I do, I'm takin' that white dog over there with me."

Leaking eyes desperately searched the room, making the slightest nod gesture to someone behind Mugen. Heavy stomps approached him fast. But he didn't move.

Not until they stepped right behind him.

Two sake bottles swung towards his head. He ducked.

Glass shattered across the crown of the bookmaker's head. His pruny face smashed into the counter below. He'd been knocked out cold. In that same second, the devilish Ryukyuan slid his legs, hitting the two aggressors in their shins. They stumbled backward.

Everyone in the room set their furious squints and upturned lips on him now. Many already drew weapons: brass knuckles, butterfly tantos, wooden sticks with nails, and metal beams.

"You guys are some sick fucks. But if you're lookin' for a dogfight," Rolling back his shoulders, Mugen raised up both fists by his chin. "Then I'll take all you bitches on!"

"Probably some asshole looking for his dog." One of the thugs said, repeatedly slapping a metal beam into his sweaty, open palm. "Kill him."

The thunderous parade of feet charged toward the grinning wolf of a man.

Mugen's fist found a yakuza's jaw. Teeth and blood flew out. His foot found another's temple. A cracking skull smacked into the wall. Five more men running at him, found their near weightless bodies crashing into partitions, crates, and each other, after Mugen's spinning windmill kicked them away.

The criminal with the dog kanji imprinted on his forehead tried to tackle him into a submission. Mugen grabbed him by the ears, and bashed a knee into his face. Once. Twice. Three times, before his body fell slack. The tattoo now ran red with blood.

One thug, fat cheeks spread out like a bullfrog, sprinted at him, arms raised up with a nail lined wooden bokuto. With a quick strike of his heel, Mugen struck his solar plexus. The chubby gangster fell into a stack of crates, clutching onto his chest, gasping and croaking to take in air.

Throughout the chaotic riot, the bamboo crates against the walls shook in a violent frenzy; the dogs inside barked and bashed into the sides to be let out. Luckily, the thugs hadn't siced any of the caged hounds on Mugen...probably out of fear the feral animals would turn their viciousness on the very masters who had been abusing them.

After around half the room fell to the wild onslaught of the crazed intruder, the rest of the fighters formed a ring around him. Some had hands that shook, even as they held out their weapons.

A bigger dude—probably some head honcho—pushed one of the smaller henchmen forward.

"Don't fucking stand there! KILL HIM!"

After a flare kick, that poor bastard crashed back into the encircling crowd. Two more dudes tried to tackle him. Mugen punched the one, and bit onto the other's arm, drawing blood, not unlike the very same vicious dogs they'd kept in cages.

Swearing and pushing his men aside, the big thug brandished brass knuckles and raised up his fists. The two circled each other. Another unfortunate man creeping behind Mugen, got decked rather hard in the eye. Mugen quickly redirected his attention to the giant, and attempted to kick his chest.

The man caught him by the leg. He grappled him to the ground. The fucker sat on his waist, holding his prone body down under his bone crushing weight. His grubby hand grabbed his tattooed arm. His brass fist collided into Mugen's jaw.

He spit blood.

The surrounding thugs cheered.

Now Mugen was pissed. He almost reached behind his waist to grab the tanto tied there to just gouge it in the yakuza's neck. But he refrained from doing so. Regardless of Fuu's earlier request...this was an interesting challenge now, beating these guys without using a weapon.

When the man raised his fist again, Mugen moved his head to the right.

The concrete floor cracked beneath the large, metal lined knuckles.

Mugen had an opening.

His free fist struck the thug's liver. He recoiled. Mugen jabbed that same weak spot, over and over and over, until the huge, heavy musclehead sprayed red from his lips, the droplets landing across Mugen's haori. When the injured boss finally let go of his other arm, and his clenched teeth opened, Mugen threw a hook at his face, shattering his open jaw.

Mugen threw him off.

Another gambler tried to smash at his head with a bottle, while he laid on the ground. But he balanced on his elbows, kicking upward with both geta.

Nothing about the fight was clean.

With every punch, bones cracked.

With every kick, internal organs ruptured.

The two guys he'd seen with Otachi—one with the missing hand, the other with the missing fingers—attacked him while Mugen had been preoccupied punching two others.

The dog thief with the missing hand wrapped his arm around Mugen's neck in a headlock. Simultaneously, the other thief with missing fingers, drew a knife, and attempted to gouge his stomach with it while his buddy held him in place.

Mugen managed to twist his body. But the knife slashed into his arm.

He winced, growling.

With all his weight, Mugen leaned forward, despite the squeeze on his throat, simultaneously kicking into his attacker's knee. He snapped his head back, bashing the back of his skull into the bastard's nose behind him. The grip on him quickly relinquished, as the man crumpled to the floor.

He moved under another swipe of the knife.

The shimmer of the steel darted around Mugen's eyes. Just as the guy pierced forward, Mugen swerved to the left. He grabbed the man's wrist, dragging him down, arm up and at his mercy. Mugen forced his knee down onto the man's elbow. A loud crack of shattered bone burst from the limb that twisted the opposite way it should have. The knife clattered to the floor. So did the already maimed man holding it.

When cowardly gamblers attempted to flee, Mugen caught them, breaking their wrists or even their ankles—whichever stopped them from running first.

By the end, yakuza and gamblers lying about with broken bones, busted lips, bruised eyes, bites, and all other manners of injuries to internal organs decorated the entire surface of the warehouse floor. Most of them were knocked out cold. Though, many were still conscious, whimpering on the floor of the warehouse while they clutched their ligaments.

Heaving for oxygen, Mugen slouched, wiping at the blood from his mouth with the divot of his thumb. "Shit." The deep cut on his forearm bled uncontrollably. He squeezed down on it, then made way to the cage housing Otachi.

Each step closer raised the volume of the aggressive warning growls. Otachi likely couldn't recognize him right away, over the stimuli of the foreign warehouse, and the smells of numerous strangers around. Squatting down, Mugen stared the growling dog in the face through the bars.

"Now listen here, mutt. If you bite, I bite. We clear?"

Mugen held out his hand to the cage. The low growl altered into a whining pant, as he sniffed that familiar scent from earlier that day...and also a month ago.

He flicked the latch. The door to the cage swung open. Otachi bounded out, shaking his white fur. His pointed ears perked up towards the door.

"POLICE!"

The warehouse flew open. A team of a dozen doshin officers led by a yoriki commander of Amagasaki stormed into the illegal establishment. Armed to the teeth with barbed and spined sasumata, tsukubo and sodegarami polearms of varying lengths, they all raised their weapons for a fight with the yakuza they had been trying to capture for weeks. But...they could only stare, horrified at the quivering ocean of bodies already scattered haphazardly across the floor.

A young brunette in pink squeezed past them, armed with her own weapons: bandages and a bottle of sake. She'd come very prepared. Easily, Fuu caught sight of Mugen beside Otachi, hopping and skipping over the numerous groaning bodies without even a hint of regard for them. "You're hurt!" Her hands flew to Mugen's injured forearm.

"Just a few knicks. Nothing serious… Hey, watch how you're-"

Alcohol spilled out of the tipped bottle, seeping into the deep gash.

"Ah! FUCK!"

Fuu dressed the cut with a roll of gauze, ripping the edge of the cloth with her teeth. She finalized the work by tying the bandages into a cute little bow. "Geez, Mugen, I told you to be safe!"

An officer brandishing the forked sasumata spear stepped closer. "Your wife was extremely worried about you, sir, after you'd gone to rescue your dog. But I'm afraid that we cannot allow the work of a vigilante to go unpunished… We will have to take you into our custody as well."

"My wi-"

Fuu's heel slammed into Mugen's foot.

"My idiot husband here has three kids to feed at home! Could you please please please overlook any of the injuries he gave to the men here? He just couldn't bear the thought of someone stealing his dog!" she pressed both hands together in a visible plea.

Two of the officers looked between each other.

Fuu's bottom lip quivered. She buried her face into her hands, letting loose a wave of crocodile tears and false, though surprisingly believable, sobs. "He always makes me so worried… I can't bear the thought of his children crying, finding out he'd be arrested, all so he could bring our beloved pet home. I can't bear it!"

Mugen's jaw dropped.

One officer scratched his head. The other wiped his sweating brow. "...Means less paperwork for us to fill out, I suppose. Plus...we won't have to give her the money reward for reporting dog abusers...nor the yakuza." said a third.

"Reward?" Fuu tilted her head.

The head officer coughed and sputtered, "We saw nothing here, ma'am!" They then shifted their gaze to the stupefied vagabond in red. "But please sir...next time, don't take the law into your own hands… Fighting a whole yakuza gang is rather dangerous. You shouldn't make this beautiful wife of yours cry!"

The other officers nodded their heads in agreement.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!"

Fuu bowed repeatedly, then grabbed onto the back of Mugen's head, forcing him to bow beside her. He snarled before shoving her hand off.

"We'll take care of these criminals, and try to find suitable homes for these dogs. Thank you for the tip, and helping us to apprehend these men."

The officers began arresting the dogfighting thugs, tying their hands to each other in ropes, while one left to request backup so that they could find a way to transport the injured and the caged animals. Two policemen gossiped fearfully about the hurricane of the man that had swept through the warehouse; they grew terrified just a single person could inflict such levels of damage.

Everyone soon cleared the building. Only they and Otachi remained in the Amagasaki slums. The police were well out of earshot.

"...What was that about?" Mugen picked at his ear.

"They would've tried arresting you if I didn't give them some kind of pity story. Apparently, around all the towns near Osaka, a lot of dogs were getting kidnapped and sold to those yakuza. So...when I told them that my husband, a father of three...was in danger of being killed by the men who stole his dog for dog fights...they didn't waste any time in coming to help."

An odd memory came to them. Mugen of all people, had said something similar to this...on their old journey.

"The moon is so big…" Fuu stares off, lost in the heavenly glow falling gently across the monastery. Tonight is the night Mugen intends to duel against the notorious street killer with the moniker of Shoryu. For a whole week straight, she's watched him train, observing, hoping, that his daily progress will serve him well.

"...I'm headin' out for a bit."

"Hey…you haven't forgotten, have you?" Fuu says, arms hanging from the temple banisters, gaze fixated on that full moon illuminating them.

"Hah?"

She's bad with words. So is he. She knows this very well, even after their few months together. So Fuu tells her irresponsible bodyguard, that she wants him to come back alive...in the only way she knows how.

"You're gonna help me look for the samurai who smells of sunflowers...right?"

"...Yeah, I know."

"Don't forget." Jin's voice adds in from his post inside the temple. "I will be the one who kills you."

Mugen says nothing as he turns to walk away from his frustrating traveling companions.

Knelt behind him, Fuu lifts up her kiribi set: an agate stone, and a shard of iron attached to a wooden handle. She scratches them together, twice. Bright sparks fly free under the moonlight, landing across the space of the wooden deck between him and her.

The sound of those two distinct little clicks halts his departure.

He's heard of this Buddhist tradition from the monk at this monastery. Women often cast sparks on the backs of men departing home, in order to ensure they came back safely. For Fuu to do such a strange thing…meant...

Mugen shoots the fifteen year old girl a perplexed look over his shoulder.

"...Who do ya think you are, my wife or somethin'?"

Though she says nothing, her worried eyes no longer stare at that far off moon, but now stay on the white triangle of his red haori and the Ryukyuan tsurugi strapped onto his back, until he's out of sight.

Mugen reckons that Fuu is foolish to worry.

He'll return to her before dawn, while that bright moon is still in the sky.

Calling Fuu his "wife" had been a bad joke, way back when… Seems that two years later, she'd reversed the joke on him.

"Damn though, girlie. I get lyin' to them and all but..." Mugen's shit-eating grin spread from ear to ear. "Three kids together? Sounds like me and you sure got busy, eh?"

"Sh-shush! I said three for dramatic effect!" Fuu stammered out. "Anyway," she huffed. "I thought they'd come sooner...but you still got injured." She grabbed hold of his arm again, pressing a thumb on the bandaged cut.

"Ey, that stings!"

"I shouldn't have asked you to go in there..."

"Ya didn't ask."

She giggled. "You're right. But you did it anyway...for me."

Fuu reached up, lightly caressing the abrasion on his jaw from being punched by the head of the yakuza. It would likely bruise purple. He stared down at her.

Before becoming a bodyguard to Fuu two years ago, he'd always lived for little more than to fight…

But damn...he now couldn't deny that he liked living for after the fight just as much—maybe even more—knowing Fuu's soothing touch would clean the wounds, bandage them...and trace the scars after the injuries healed.

Otachi nudged the back of his shin hard with his black snout, causing Mugen to stumble forward into Fuu.

To keep himself steady...his hands found her hips. She made a surprised little gasp, though made no such indication of moving away, or slapping at his grip. Her one hand by his chin, met with her other that landed on his chest. Both clutched tightly onto the fabric of his haori. She clung to him, just as much as he held onto her, pinning each other there.

And suddenly...it was like they stood back in that stable again, staring at one another, filled with uncertainties, things to say, and yet neither knew how to form words.

Playful barks and tail wags made the two peer down, and then back at each other.

They simultaneously vaulted backwards. Mugen lazily scratched at his hair. Fuu shyly pressed her hands to her chest. They weren't alone together. Not yet.

They watched the Kishu dog sauntering down the town road. But he stopped at the end, and sat and waited. They thought it to be a sign the dog wanted them to follow. And that's exactly what they found themselves doing, at least to make sure he got back to his owner safely, and their efforts were not in vain. Every few paces, he sniffed at the ground, trotted off, and then waited for them to catch up again.

Tsuru grasped the Shinto rope, jingling the brass bell above to awaken the Kami housed within the shrine. Uncontrollable tears streaked her pale face. She clasped her hands together in silent prayer.

Arms folded in his green sleeves, Giri watched from afar, knowing all too well what she prayed for. But he did not know how to say Otachi likely wouldn't come back. Any number of cruel fates could have befallen the wandering dog: he could've gotten lost, injured, caught in a trap, killed for a peasant's meal, and who knew what else. Sighing, he sat down at a table near the shrine altar, opening the parcel of items he'd bought for his lord at an Amagasaki shop: a makeup pencil for her eyebrows, a container of strawberry mochi sweets, and a stack of origami folding paper.

While Tsuru lost herself in somber prayer, her attendant grasped a yellow sheet of the square paper, and went to work folding it, crease by crease, flap by flap.

In just a few moments, he held in his hand, the origami of a yellow paper crane. Over the years, he'd perfected them. Throughout her childhood, Giri always made them to cheer the girl up. He'd place them in areas she often frequented: her bedroom, around the castle garden, or even the archives, where she poured over many a tale. This happened to be the very same reason he'd bought her a yellow kimono with paper cranes on it. She'd always been so fond of the birds that shared her name.

He approached Tsuru's back. She had just finished a prayer. Slowly, she turned back around, though kept her face tilted to conceal the sorrow afflicting her typically reserved expression.

Giri felt his heart breaking for her.

"For you, Hime-sama." he held out the yellow crane perched upon his weathered palm.

Tsuru tried to smile weakly for him. She outstretched her hand to grasp onto the kind, sentimental gift Giri had made. A shrill bark caused her fingers to stop.

Through the great red torii gate, a white dog sprinted towards them, a little worse for wear, but very much alive.

"Otachi!"

The heels of her zori nearly slipped off of Tsuru's tabi socks, as she tripped down the stone stairs of the altar, passing the lion-dog Komainu statues on each side. Otachi galloped faster. The girl and her beloved pet nearly tackled one another down, had Tsuru not knelt down to wrap her arms around him in a snug embrace. Happily whining, Otachi vigorously licked at the tears on her cheeks, until the two were little more than a bundle of cries and giggles on the walkway.

Giri looked onward and saw the silhouette of red and pink approach. When they were in close enough distance, he took note of the bruise on the ex-criminal's face, as well as the bandage wrapped upon his arm. "You're injured… What happened?"

Mugen didn't bother responding to the older swordsman. He scoffed and looked away.

Fuu answered instead, "We saw a group of men with your dog… They brought Otachi to a dog fighting ring run by yakuza. And well…Mugen infiltrated and beat all the guys up. The police arrested them, and are gonna try to find homes for the other dogs, or at least places to take care of them."

Water flowed down Tsuru's puffy eyes. Her shivering arms squeezed around her beloved canine.

"Th-Thank you so much for saving him!"

"I didn't do it for you." Mugen pointed a thumb at Fuu beside him. "This broad here, wouldn't get off my damn case about it."

Fuu shyly scratched the back of her head.

"Please forgive me for all the trouble I have caused you. I am deeply indebted to you!" Tsuru bowed formally multiple times, crying so hard that Fuu gripped onto her shoulders in an attempt to get the apologetic younger girl to stop. "I...I must repay you both!"

"It's no problem! Really!"

"How much we talkin'." Mugen said.

"Mugen!" Fuu whined.

"Giri and I are traveling west! ...Are you two also headed west?"

"Yup! To Hiroshima."

At that moment, Tsuru looked to her bodyguard. While Giri sighed his discontent...he already knew where the conversation headed. So, without a remark, a warning, or a disagreement, he merely nodded his approval to his lord.

"Please...if I am not being too forthcoming, would you two be willing to travel with us, at least until we part ways? We can pay for all your food and lodgings! It's the least I can do, after you saved Otachi! He means the world to me, and I cannot be more grateful."

Fuu turned to Mugen.

He shrugged, "Guess there ain't no harm in free food."

"Then we would love to!"

Before the group shared more words...a loud rumble resounded from both Mugen and Fuu's empty stomachs.

Tsuru laughed, despite her previous tears, and beckoned them to sit with her at the nearby table. She popped open the little box of ichigo daifuku confections Giri had purchased, holding it out until everyone grabbed one piece of the chewy strawberry mochi (Mugen's fist grabbed for five). She looked up at Giri beside her, holding onto the stack of multicolored paper he'd bought. "Giri, could you make more paper cranes for me?"

"If that is your wish."

"I'd like a green, pink, red and white one, to go with the yellow one you made me."

Momo popped out of Fuu's collar.

"Oh! And a little brown one too."

Giri immediately went to work creasing the paper. Popping the sweet and tart mochi treats into their mouths, Mugen and Fuu watched the intricate and delicate work of the skilled samurai folding the thin sheets of colored paper, forming wings and beaks. For the brown one, he creased the paper to tear it, making the square half the size.

After the samurai finished folding together the red crane, Tsuru picked up the makeup pencil for the purpose of drawing in her eyebrows. She took hold of that specific origami, pressing the tip of the black pencil to the very edges of the wings, then on each of the folds of the bottom.

"The hell is that?" Mugen asked.

Fuu squinted. "It's your...tattoos?"

Tsuru beamed and nodded eagerly.

Once Giri finished all six of the colorful paper cranes, Tsuru happily scooped up the whole pile, and then scurried back to the temple altar. She placed the bundle as an offering, and then silently gave yet another prayer, this one, of gratitude, rather than of a plea.

Giri watched on fondly.

One of her wishes from long, long ago had been granted this very day. In a position where all of the nobility had eyes on her, Tsuru always felt that she only had superiors who used her, and subjects who saw her as nothing more than a royal princess. She never had friends...besides that of himself and Otachi. Today, that seemed to have changed.

Though Giri did not voice it aloud, he thought that perhaps he had entirely misjudged these strange young travelers known as Mugen and Fuu.

"MUGEN! You can't eat the whole box!"

"If I don't, your FAT ASS will. It's a dog eat dog world, girlie. Survival of the fittest."

Dumbstruck, the samurai stroked his beard, holding in a small chuckle amidst his silent contemplation. Perhaps, he'd only partially misjudged them.

~To Be Continued~

[A/N]: The song of this chapter is once again Lullaby of Takeda, which can be found on YouTube sang by the Red Birds. It shall serve as the theme song of Tsuru-himegimi.

Hikimayu (引眉)- the practice of removing eyebrows and painting black smudges in their place. This was practiced in the Heian period by nobility. Because eyebrows were considered expressive, the eyebrows were shaved to hide their emotions in politics. During the Tokugawa era however, women shaved their eyebrows for their wedding ceremony and the duration of their marriage. (Women in samurai families did so after giving birth to their first child). But Samurai Champloo did not show this with any married female characters, so I have included it with nobility alone. Like Samurai Champloo mashes up history, Tsuru-himegimi does indeed have eyebrows shaved because she was to be married, but also as a reference to the princesses of pre-modern Japan.

Tsuru (鶴)- crane. In Japanese culture, the crane is a symbol of marital fidelity, undying love, and also long life, since cranes live for a thousand years. Cranes are often put on wedding kimonos, just like Tsuru's in chapter 32. This name is then an irony that she ran away from her arranged marriage.

Tsuru-himegimi (鶴姫君)- hime means "my lady" or "princess" while "kimi/gimi" was used for aristocratic noblewomen and the Shogun's daughters. Tsuru-himegimi was a real historical figure, and daughter of Shogun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. The real princess was married to Lord Tsunanori at 8 years old, and is known to have had one of the most extravagant weddings in Edo history.

In FTFES...WY?, the sixteen year old "real" Tsuru ran away, causing there to be a giant cover up, and a different, younger daughter of a concubine to be used in her place, in order to still maintain friendly ties between Edo and Wakayama. All public records of the "real Tsuru" running away had thus been deleted. Gotta love Samurai Champloo style historical creative liberties. This will be explained further in future chapters.

Otachi (大太刀)- "great blade". Tachi were longer swords that preceded katana, and adding the prefix of "o" meant it was larger. "Odachi" is often synonymous. He's a vicious dog to protect his master, and not unlike a weapon!

Dogs and Tokugawa Tsunayoshi- During the reign of the real shogun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi (Tsuru's father)...dogs were heavily revered and respected, to the point where it was considered eccentric. There was severe punishment for anyone who hurt dogs, let alone killed them, and rewards were provided for those who reported dog abusers. Vast amounts of government funding went towards housing and feeding stray dogs in Edo. All of this led to him being dubbed the "Dog Shogun". This fact will become more important as the Tsuru arc progresses, and I will provide more info.

Tosa Dog Breed- large, brown dog bred in Shikoku in the 19th century that were crossbred with European breeds (another anachronism) for the purpose of dog fights. Today, dog fights are a legal sport in various parts of Japan, but only allow this type of dog, and are very strictly judged and observed to prevent severe injury and death. Dogfighting hasn't been banned in all parts of Japan, likely because of its affiliation with tradition, and Yakuza.

Mugen's Shirt- Woven from the banana plant, Basho-fu or Miyako-fu was exported from the Ryukyu Islands, to Japan. There, it took on the name Satsuma-fu, due to Satsuma Domain having control over the Ryukyuan trading policies. It is a stiff and dry fabric that is also light. Considering Mugen is from the penal colony of Tarama Island which is part of the Miyako Islands, and the Paantu are also from a Miyako festival, it makes sense this would be the material he would use for his shirt.

Thank you ladroone for finding this info!

Kiribi Set- In episode 10, before Mugen fought Shoryu, Fuu struck a piece of stone against metal to create sparks. This rare, old tradition is said to bring a loved one back home safely. This is why Mugen asked her "Who do you think you are, my wife?" in the anime. CANON CANON CANON. I have a longer post about this on my ryukyuan-sunflower Tumblr, for those interested.

Ichigo Daifuku- a Springtime dessert (still Spring in the story) made by putting an entire strawberry covered in sweet red bean paste inside of mochi dough. Though the origin is dubious, it was likely invented in the 1980s. (Food anachronism.)

Fuu: *stares*

Mugen: Shit, does it look that bad? *touches bruise on face*

Fuu: No, I was just thinking...you really are like a wild dog, getting into crazy fights like that.

Mugen: Woof.

Fuu: *giggles*

Mugen: Ya know, I am a fan of doggy style…

Tsuru: What is this doggy style you speak of? Is this your fighting technique?

Giri: *hand on katana* Watch how you speak in front of my lord, vagrant.

Mugen: Ain't like I'd be tryin' it on her.

Fuu: *blushes* PERVERT PERVERT PERVERT!

Mugen is compared to a wild dog in episode 9 of the anime, and his title image is a rooster. Both animals are used in illegal fighting rings, so thus, this chapter idea came to be. Fuu of course, would be the kind girl who has given this stray mutt love. X3 (It's also funny Mugen always calls her a "little bitch" in English: bitch being a female dog).

It feels like this chapter's interactions are the closest Mugen and Fuu have ever gotten to…"dating". Hahaha XD

Updates might be slowed due to writing Chapter 42, and the fantasy lemon/lime stable one-shot simultaneously. Still, I will be hard at work on them! Please let me know all your thoughts on the chapter in a review, favorite if you enjoy the story, and follow for updates! Stay safe out there! And be sure to hug any pets you have at home!

End of Chapter 41