#samuruha

Embers and Bubblegum

I didn't actually plan on making a fic series at first. You can tell because the publication date of this fic was way before Natsuki's debut. I was in a slump and needed practice, wanted to try my hands at a double-drabble sequence fic, and had been wanting to write a multiship fic for a while to Spread My Vision into the world.

I knew I wanted to write something about smoking (courtesy of seeing fanart of Fushimi vaping/smoking on Twitter and obviously Samura is canonically a smoker) but there is already a very excellent samuruha fic with smoking as a motif so I didn't want to repeat what has already been done. If I were to do it, I wanted to bring something new to the table.

To me, vices such as smoking are as much about the substances themselves as they are about identity and connection/community. It's a great metaphor for growing up, coming into yourself, and building relationships with other people. With Uruha as the main character, who canonically has an idol worship streak nearly 20 years long and clearly struggles to define himself outside of being an Enchanted Blade wielder, but also has a strong desire and natural affinity to connect with other people, it is a perfect sustained metaphor to use. After that was decided, it wasn't difficult at all to come up with the rest of the fic.

The double-drabble sequence format posed some interesting challenges as well; every word has to hit, and the fic needs to be much tighter than I'm used to. So the fact that I had a central theme clearly defined definitely made things a lot easier.

Still Waters

I enjoy natsuruha casually as a comedic duo, but as a ship it took some work for me to form a Vision for it. How much work? 9k words' worth of it, clearly.

My take on Natsuki is that he doesn't hate Uruha; he has massive insecurity, guilt, and unresolved grief, and Uruha is a convenient target to project all of it on. So this entire fic is really a character study challenge for myself. Can I write a scenario in which Natsuki and Uruha develop a relationship that is believable and compelling, given Natsuki's Many Unresolved Issues? Along with that, can I write an Uruha that is complex and compelling in his own right, even through Natsuki's very biased POV? This fic is basically the result of this experiment.

Unlike the previous fic, in which the motif was decided first, I approach this one as an entirely character-driven fic. Well. Delusion-driven (as all fanfics are), but delusion in a way that feels as in-character as possible. If that makes any sense.

When writing, I also enjoy worldbuilding - in this case, adding minor details which ground a story in the time and location it is situated. Lucky for me, I lived and worked in Japan for quite some time, so while Kagurabachi is set in a fictional alternate version of Japan, I was happy to sneak in details from my experience to bring a little authenticity to the fic. So yeah, drunken karaoke nights, company housing, the weather - it's all Very Real 2 Me.

Speaking of karaoke, the karaoke scene was one of the first scenes I envisioned delusioned, but I didn't pick the actual song for it until I had gotten to actually writing that scene. This was just after Uruha's birthday was revealed to be February 12 - a winter birthday - so Haru yo, koi (May spring come) is really just the perfect song. It's one of my favorite songs of all time and has that bittersweet, hopeful message that fits the theme in this fic to a T. And it's old-school, which suits the ages of Uruha and Natsuki - if Matsutoya Yumi existed in Kagurabachi's Japan, they would definitely know this song.

And of course, sections 1-5, and 8 are all 200 words each, just like Embers and Bubblegum.

-

Uruha is in a very interesting position as a supporting character, who, despite the expanding cast and fast pace of the manga, has been shown to have varied, complex relationships with multiple other characters in the story. I have seen people talk about how he has "main character" vibes and I agree with them; draw a map of Uruha's social network and you can see how "well-connected" he is. (That's why I've always been a believer in a multiship vision for Uruha; or at least, a monoship vision that acknowledges all the important relationships in his life.)

“Absolutely not.”

Samura stood by the doorway as if blocking it physically with his body would stop Shirakai’s abhorrent plan.

“Do you think this is something I’ve come to decide lightly?” Shirakai said, tiredness apparent in his voice. The government sent out a call for every able-bodied sorcerer-swordsmen to join the fight in the southeastern seas, where the invaders from the mysterious island began their attack a little over a month ago. “Every fighter counts. Uruha has killed already, you can stop looking at him as a child.”

It wasn’t explicitly mentioned, but great repercussions await those who ignore the call. He and Samura had been arguing the past hour about going on the frontlines, while Uruha who had just been licensed for the Iai White Purity style a little less than a year ago listened to them in silence.

“And what of Iai?” Samura continued to argue. “If we all go out there and we die, your sword style becomes obsolete.”

“Don’t start pretending to care about Iai now, Samura," Shirakai scoffed. “Besides, if this country falls under, what use is there for Iai to survive? It’s much more useful out there – Uruha!”

“Sensei.” Uruha immediately stood in attention, looking at their master with determined eyes. Samura might have been the one overseeing his training all these years, but here in the dojo, Shirakai’s words were the law.

“Make sure the two of you have packed tonight. We’re leaving before sunrise.”

Not welcoming any more dissentions, Shirakai stepped out of the room, barely brushing against Samura’s shoulder. Uruha followed the master with his eyes and drew back his gaze at once to Samura who was still standing by the doorway, his forehead crumpled into a furious frown.

“Don’t worry about me, Samura-san,” Uruha said cheerfully, trying to dispel the dreadfulness in the air. “Shirakai-sensei wouldn’t have licensed me for Iai if I do not have the skills to back it up.”

Samura sighed in exasperation, the fury in his face being washed away with concern.  He wouldn’t deny that Uruha was a prodigy with the sword, and given his instincts, he was very much suited to being on the battlefield. Probably even more than himself. But Uruha was barely an adult, only turning seventeen this coming winter. He might already have an experience staking out criminals and killing them in their own strongholds, but to step foot in war was a different matter altogether.

No matter how Shirakai framed it, Uruha was still a child.

“Promise me one thing,” Samura finally said, walking over to Uruha and placing a hand on his shoulder, gripping the muscles in them he had not realized had developed. Wasn’t this just a bony frame a while ago?  “Do not be a hero, do you understand? I know you thrive in these sword fights; I feel it every time we go out on missions together. But you must learn not to cross your limits. I will try my best to watch over you, but I can’t always be there. Uruha, I’m asking you not to die. Can you do that for me?”

“I won’t die, Samura-san," Uruha declared with conviction. “And neither should you, not until I’ve defeated you.”

Samura let out a chuckle, his heart feeling at ease. Somehow, he believed wholeheartedly this disciple of his could stand equally next to him soon enough, but for his own sake, he must be humbled for now. “I might just become an immortal, then.”

“Liar.”

Samura vanished into ashes, leaving only Tobimune behind. There was no grave to visit, nowhere to leave offerings, nothing to light an incense for. Nevertheless, Uruha knelt before a maple tree, a makeshift grave for a corpse that did not exist, pouring wine from the jar in his hand. His master used to fly over the battlefield with Tobimune, but without the enchanted blade, he feared Samura would have to walk his way to the afterlife. How fast would that take him? Would he still be walking when it was Uruha’s turn to die? Could he still catch up?

“But I guess I broke my promise, too.” Uruha smiled wryly as the jar was emptied to its last drop. “I died by your hand. I’ve lost to you.”

He set the jar aside and continued to kneel in silence. Uruha placed a hand over his chest, where he could swear the flames of Suzaku still burned, breathing life into him. But it was all a phantom sensation; once sorcery was activated, it would have no more reason to stay. And when the sorcerer who cast it died, it would disappear along with it.

Samura had told him since he was young, do not be a hero. The last time they talked, he had killed the “hero” this nation had come to know. Now, Uruha lived as Uruha Yoji again, reclaiming his sorcery, carrying on the Iai White Purity style’s legacy. The Uruha Yoji that would have lived if he never stepped into the war along with Samura Seiichi. It might have been a peaceful life, it would have made him the dojo’s instructor in a few years’ time, and maybe it would have saved his guards from pointlessly dying for him.

Uruha understood, just as those people perished to let him live a little longer, Samura gave him an even more valuable gift – more than a second chance at life, he gave him a new purpose.

“Don’t worry, Samura-san, I know what to do.”

With a final bow, Uruha stood up from the ground and turned on his heel. Samura had placed his bet on the future. Uruha would ensure his win. This time, he wouldn’t be a hero. But for the younger generation whom Samura believed in, he would be their most reliable mentor. Just as Samura was to him.

“Natsuki! Help me here!”

Working together with Natsuki, they clear the area of debris in no time—

And sees someone who is definitely not the Samura he last saw at the Senkutsuji Temple. But Uruha can’t mistake these features for anyone else – his wavy dark hair, the scowl between his forehead, those deep purple eyes that groggily opens at them…they could only belong to one person.

“Who is that?” Natsuki asks cautiously, looking at the person Uruha is pulling out of the rubble and patting down clean.

“Samura-san.” Uruha answers without hesitation. He grabs the younger-looking Samura before him by the shoulders, looking him up and down. “Samura-san, it’s you, right?”

“What are you talk—” The voice that comes out is Samura’s, but also isn’t his. It’s devoid of years of cigarette and age, the tone of a teenager who has just recently settled into adolescence. Samura stops in the middle of talking, his hand coming up to touch his own throat, realizing the sudden difference in his tone, as well.

Uruha sees at his fingers then, barely visible underneath his coat sleeves that are suddenly too long for him. Instead of the wrinkled, calloused skin Uruha’s more familiar with, what he sees now are smooth, slender fingers that seemed to have picked up the sword just not too long ago.

“Do you know who we are?” Uruha asks the boy before him, unsure which Samura is he talking to.

It feels strange to think of him as his Samura. This form he took is a younger Samura who was just about to meet Uruha Yoji.

“Of course, I know the two of you.”

“Good,” Uruha breathes in relief. He’s the Samura he knows. Whatever happened during his fight with the Sword Master, it somehow reverted his body back several years younger. Then, he realizes his hands are still tightly gripping Samura’s shoulders. He immediately lets go, as if he has touched a hot surface. He just can’t touch him casually. “That’s good, Samura-san. It’s still you.”

The last time they were face to face, Samura had meant to kill him. Now, they stand before each other, the matter of Uruha’s ‘assassination’ dangling in the air to be discussed.

“I’ll…go look for Yura’s body. He should be secured before anything else happens.” Natsuki says, sensing the atmosphere between this pair of master and disciple. “You deal with this.”

“Thanks.” Uruha turns to Natsuki with a grateful smile at which Natsuki rolls his eye at.

“I’m not doing you a favor.” Natsuki grumbles before leaving.

“Good thing Suzaku’s revival worked on you,” Samura says as soon as they are alone, breaking the short but tense silence. “You are its first human. Of course, I wouldn’t have used it if I haven’t mastered it, but…seeing Chihiro be revived still made me feel at ease about your condition.”

Uruha briefly runs a hand across the spot where Samura cut him down. It hasn’t been that long, but with all that has gone down here, it already feels like a lifetime ago. He isn’t even sure he would get to see Samura again, and definitely not like this.

“I understand why you did it, Samura-san. You have no need to further explain things to me. But,” Uruha curls both his fists on his lap, looking his master in the eye. “You should have asked me to help you, at least. I would have gone with you in a heartbeat.”

“Which is why I didn’t.” Samura says, his pensive expression looking out of place in such a youthful face. “I’ve already dragged you in so many hells. This should have been the last one, mine alone.”

“But Chihiro won you over, didn’t he?”

“That, he did.” Samura heaves a sigh, raising his hands before him. These are the hands of someone who is still learning how to strike faster than the eyes can see, hands not stained with blood yet. Samura knows it’s the same body, but without the marks of the past decades, he does feel like reborn. “How old do I look to you?”

To describe this encounter as strange is an understatement. Uruha has witnessed transformation sorcery, changing one’s appearance is no big deal to him. But to see the man he has been watching for years turn back into this younger form is enough to make Uruha question his reality.

“Fifteen.” Uruha answers without even thinking.

“How could you be so sure?”

“Because I met you when you were at that age.” Uruha smiles. “I’ll never forget how you looked that time.”

Back then, this same boy was looking at him through scrutinizing eyes, standing over a foot taller than an eleven-year-old Uruha, a sword strapped by his waist. Uruha remembered feeling a mixture of fear and amazement – fear that he still didn’t know what the old man wanted from him after taking him away from the streets, and amazement that he finally met someone so alike to the samurai he liked hearing about in people’s stories.

Now, in the same body, Samura doesn’t look so much like a samurai anymore. He was also just a kid when they first met, perhaps forced to act responsibly after being assigned to look after a grubby eleven-year-old who didn’t even know how to draw a sword, much less than how to hold it. He is now back to that state, a kid who would need an adult to guide him. Uruha is that adult now.

“Kunishige really outdid himself. How can a sword achieve something like this?” Samura pulls his now-oversized coat closer to his body, as if to make himself smaller. “I know this is my body, but it also feels like it isn’t. Not to mention…” He put a hand over his heart, feeling for something. “Tobimune disappeared, but I can still feel its spirit energy stirring within me.”

“If anything, that is your sorcery that unlocked Tobimune’s full potential, Samura-san. You must have had a strong reason to want to live. The enchanted blades will always answer to their wielder’s will.”

A strong reason for living, huh?

“Iori,” Samura suddenly says, remembering the daughter who’s waiting for her. After years of running away, he finally had the chance to see how much she’s grown up. After achieving his goal here with the enchanted blades and the Sword Master, he should be making up for those years he deprived her of a real family. “My daughter…she’s still in Kyoto waiting for me.”

Uruha takes a while before remembering the baby he briefly saw almost eighteen years ago. It was just a short encounter, after all, Shirakai Itsuo wasn’t so heartless that he wouldn’t check on his first successful disciple’s first child. Though, Uruha had an inkling Shirakai-sensei just wanted to check if the baby was a boy and if he could, in the future, be a practitioner of Iai White Purity, as well. How come Uruha’s only remembering this again now? Did his memory get altered or something?

“Once everything settles down here, we can go together,” Uruha suggests. “I’m sure the two of you haven’t had a proper reunion yet.”

“Like us?” Samura winces, looking back at the only proper disciple he had in his life. Echoing the words he had told him back at the temple, he adds, “We…haven’t had a proper chance to talk. Even until now.”

“We’ll get our chance.” Uruha inches closer to Samura then, adjusting the oversized coat on his body, rolling up the sleeves so that Samura’s hands are free. He does the same to the hems of Samura’s pants, rolling them up to his knees. Once done, he meets Samura’s gaze with a determined look. “I won’t die again, and neither will you.”

Ever since Shirakai completely dumped Uruha’s training under his responsibility, he had tried his best to be an adult Uruha could emulate, even if it meant putting distance between the two of them. A distance that didn’t exist in the first place when they were just a pair of Iai students.

What good did it do them, though? Uruha saw it as challenge, exerting every bit of energy to get licensed for Iai just so he could catch up to Samura. Which then led to Uruha being drafted along with Samura to the war, to being chosen as a wielder of an enchanted blade, to being complicit in the death of two hundred thousand lives, to living the rest of his life carrying that sin, and to be struck down by Samura himself in Samura’s attempt to atone for everyone.

Perhaps, trying hard to be an adult has doomed them from the very start.

And perhaps, Tobimune knew that too, and when it gave its last breath for Samura’s rebirth, it gave him this form where he could start all over again.

“I can’t take care of my daughter like this,” he says in resignation, looking again at his now youthful hands. Iori is seventeen, and in this form, she even seems more reliable than him. What type of father can he be in this situation?

“I’ll take care of both of you!” Uruha earnestly replies, holding Samura’s hands between his. “We can stay at the dojo, rebuild everything. I’m sure Shirakai-sensei wouldn’t mind. And if Iori is there, maybe Kiri would second guess about destroying Iai? It’s only her grandpa she’s really going after, anyway. If sorcery turned you like this, I’m sure we’ll find a way to bring you back. Don’t lose hope, Samura-san.”

Samura chuckles then, Uruha’s rambles about the future stirring something akin to hope in his chest. For the longest time, he thought getting by alone is the best way to course through this life. But again and again, he’s proven wrong. By Inori, by the Masumi, by Chihiro…and now, Uruha lays before him a future where he is surrounded by the people he cares for the most, a ragtag of personalities, but still a family.