"Okay, im sorry". It’s amazing how much a some words can bring me back in time. A time of hunger and survival on the poverty-stricken streets of Tokyo. A time I had tried my best to forget and—for a while—succeeded. My mood darkened as my warm buzz started to fade.
“I am no samurai, and that’s rented silk you’re wearing. Work on your Southern accent, or the royals here will flay you alive.”
The sweaty man wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, yet another tell towards his poor upbringing. I wasn’t sure if I was starting to like him more or less, but I sure wished the kid would hurry up with our rooms.
“P-please keep your voice down, master samurai. I-I mean, the title I meant was...” He fumbled around for the right word. He and I both knew the word he was looking for, he was just too afraid to say it. Ronin.
“...my name is Kin Takashi. My wife and I are here with our child to arrange a marriage with the Uzemaki branch family. If you would sit at our table, your presence would bring us great honor.” Kin whispered the plot as if he were a politician trying to usurp his liege lord. His ego needn’t worry—the only thing this sellsword could displace was a bowl of noodles.
The wife held up an orange haori—a formal jacket—and smiled from ear-to-ear. I might have underestimated these Southerners. If nothing else, they had come prepared. The scheme was to dress up a dirty ronin and pass him off as a semi-respectable samurai. A family without powerful hereditary ties, yet had a samurai in their personal employ? That meant wealth, and lots of it.
Honestly this plan might just work.And for a few minutes,10 gold was a good deal.(But why do I get the feeling I will regret this..)
YOU ARE READING
Never A Samurai..
HistoryczneWitness the era of Samurai's , with the eyes of a Ronin where steel meets magic and drugs meets love. (Mature Content)
