Chapter Text
Hagi, the northerly town Shoka Sonjuku and all its beloved students called home, became a peaceful place in early autumn. Summertime was characterised by a distinct restlessness, one heard in the repeated chorus of insect cries and visible in the half-hearted waves of fans as the townspeople struggled to keep cool amid their daily toil. The very ground became slave to the sun, holding onto its heat long after the sky turned dark, and the sea breeze did little more than push warm air from one sweltering end of town to the other. In class, distracted students would toss and turn or else irritate each other, perhaps to obtain some quasi-revenge against the nature of the world for irritating them first. At night, they would lie beneath the stars, hoping for the blackness to sap the fire from their overheated bodies.
As one privy to centuries worth of summers, Yoshida Shoyo could admit the season had some merit. Summer was the time when his students went swimming, shared watermelon and sprinted through the golden light of festivals. Restlessness did not always mean boredom or discomfort—it was a type of energy and therefore could be guided towards excitement and interest with the correct attitude. Promises of water fights instead of afternoon lessons and explaining how longer days gave them more time to practice the sword could often keep their complaints at bay. But when autumn finally reappeared, he remembered that the temperature wasn't always something he needed to work around.
The change came with the first breath of the new season. It drew away the worst of the heat, making the daylight hours bearable once more. His students could chase each other beneath the dappled gingko trees without overheating and work happily through a whole school day. Their chatter was filled with fewer arguments and more ideas about how they'd spend the afternoon. He overheard dramatic exhales from several expressing their joy at autumn's return.
His students weren't alone in their happiness. Shoyo, personally, found a calm in the evening cool. The thirteen students who lived at the school with him now went to bed at a reasonable time and were quiet through the night. While during summer he felt an urge to check on them every hour (an urge absolutely justified by the number of times he'd found them riled up by the heat and at each other's throats), he could once again trust that silence from their room meant all was well. Rather than fretting, he was able to spend the late hours as he currently was, peacefully at his desk and working on his teaching materials. The night breeze drifting through his bedroom window even brought a strange clarity with its embrace. The strokes of his brush felt smoother and his thoughts clearer as the build-up of cloying heat from the months prior was neatly whisked away. Yes, summer was a season he could work with. But autumn was a season he enjoyed.
With a slow intake of the evening air, Shoyo finished the last character on the page before him and laid his brush down. With his exhale, he set the wet page aside and reached for a new sheet of parchment. Tonight's toil was writing out another copy of Shoka Sonjuku's textbook. He'd run out of his pre-made supply and, while he didn't have a particular person in mind, new students tended to drift through his classroom door without warning. It was essential to be prepared for the next enrolment.
To Shoyo's left lay his first version of the self-written textbook. He turned its page to check what he was copying next. When he'd opened the school a year and a half ago, the writing there had been clean and orderly. Now, the margins were scattered with ink drops and scribbled notes like "I could explain that better" and "I should give more detail about this". He considered the first note on the textbook's page, re-dipped his brush and moved to mark the fresh parchment with a newly phrased sentence in mind.
Something isn't right.
Shoyo stared blankly at the sheet before him, its pale face gaining a black stain as ink dripped from his interrupted brush. He reached for the unexpected thought. Where had it come from? He was used to his instincts alerting him of an enemy's strike, but this warning didn't have that abrupt urgency nor did it compel his body to move. Instead it slunk through him, disquieting and slow. This wasn't the harsh jolt of battle's call. This was a surreptitious whisper. Not adrenaline—anxiety.
A knock at the door broke his concentration. It was a hesitant noise, soft and meek, like the maker feared disturbing him. Not the usual suspects, then. Takasugi, Katsura and the older students had strong, hearty knocks. Gintoki would just walk in.
"Come in," he called, keeping the growing concern out of his voice. The screen door shook and then stuttered open to reveal a pair of soft eyes and quivering lips.
"Mei-chan," Shoyo greeted. He couldn't stop surprise from swirling into his tone—the seven-year-old really wasn't one of the usual suspects. She was perhaps the shyest of his students, only ever speaking to him through the voices of her classmates. "Sensei, Mei-chan doesn't understand this", "Shoyo, Mei-chan didn't get dinner today", and so forth. Her trembling appearance drew the quiet anxiety up around his throat.
"Um. Sh-Shoyo-sensei." Her gaze shifted restlessly between him and the floor as her hands wrung the front of her crumpled jinbei. "Gintoki-kun said to come get you. It's, um, Zu— I mean, Katsura-kun."
"Kotaro-kun?" Shoyo spoke quickly out of confusion. He was accustomed to the phrases "It's Gintoki" and "It's Takasugi", but Katsura was a mediator first and troublemaker second. Even when he did get caught up in his friends' misadventures, he was the one who ensured everyone returned home safely, himself included.
"Y-yes, Sensei. I, I'm, I'm not sure, but..." Mei's eyes glossed over with thick tears as her tone pitched up. "I think he's really sick!"
Shoyo stood up from his desk, fast enough to satisfy his urgency but slow enough to not frighten the girl further. "Well, we'll have to help him then, won't we?" He offered his palm. "Could you please take me to him?"
Mei took ahold with one hand while the other wiped the tears away from her nodding cheeks. She tugged him out of his small room and onto the wooden decking that surrounded the school building. The outside area was usually pitch black by this hour, but tonight he could spy a pale glow coming from the training room. The room doubled as the makeshift bedroom his students shared. He allowed Mei to lead him towards it, his heavy footsteps moving in time with her butterfly-light rhythm until they reached the room's open door.
At this time of night, Shoyo would expect to find the training room filled with either peacefully occupied futons, hushed wrestling matches or below-the-covers ghost stories. The sight before him resembled none of those. Several students were sat up in their futons while the rest knelt in the middle of the room around a mass of blankets. The flickering light of a single candle gave the scene an almost ritualistic feel. Although everyone was obscured by the shadows reaching out from the corners of the room, Gintoki's silver hair marked his position. He was closest to the blanket pile and the most absorbed by its presence. When every other student looked to the door at Shoyo's arrival, Gintoki's focus stayed put.
"G-Gintoki-kun!" Mei choked out, squeezing Shoyo's hand once before releasing him. "I, I got Sensei!"
"Shoyo-sensei." Gintoki's attention had shot towards the door at Mei's voice. His tone reflected the glow of worry in his dull eyes. "Something's up with Zura."
It took one second for Shoyo to cross the tatami mat floor and kneel beside Gintoki. Shivering beneath the blanket pile was Katsura. He lay on his side, his eyes screwed shut and his fringe plastered against his face with sweat. Even with the mound of fabric obscuring his body, Shoyo could tell he was curled in on himself. One arm was hidden from view beneath the blankets. The other clung in a vice-like grip onto Gintoki's hand. Despite the great deal of pain the boy looked to be in, no more than a single whimper escaped his lips.
"He's really hot and he said his stomach hurts." Gintoki's knuckles were as white as Katsura's, but he delivered the information matter-of-factly. It was a near-perfect imitation of a grown-up's feigned calm.
Although he needed no further proof of Katsura's temperature, Shoyo placed his hand against the small forehead. It was, indeed, terribly hot. There was another soft noise from the boy at his touch. When Shoyo retracted his hand, he was greeted by Katsura's familiar olive-brown eyes glimmering in the candlelight.
"Shoyo-sensei," he mumbled as a tiny smile wavered onto his face, "it's not that bad. Really, 'm fine."
"Of course you are," Shoyo replied warmly. "But let me take a look at you just in case, alright? It won't take long."
"O... okay."
The anxiety around Shoyo's airway tightened its grip. While he couldn't explain what had originally caused the sensation, the reason for its new strength was clear. His proper instincts, knowledge and experience were all clocking in with warning bells. Whatever was wrong with Katsura, it was no simple fever or stomachache.
"Everyone," he said, directing his call to both the students around Katsura and those in their futons. "I'm going to check over Kotaro-kun for a bit. Would you please wait in the classroom? You can read and talk as much as you like. And..." He spoke with a flourish of cheek, "I keep a special jar of sweets under the floor in the back corner. You can have one each."
The younger students' apprehension vanished at the promise of such sacred treats as staying up late and eating sugar. They shot to their feet and rushed to the exit. The older students weren't so easily placated—it took several encouraging nods from Shoyo before they rose and shuffled out the doorway. Two, he noticed, grabbed Mei's hands as they left, the girl's fear unswayed. With that, Shoyo, Katsura and Gintoki were alone. Katsura's grip gave his friend no option to leave, and Shoyo knew he wouldn't have regardless.
"Sensei, here." Footsteps and the splashing of water served to answer the question that naturally rose when Katsura and Gintoki were a duo rather than a trio. Takasugi knelt at Shoyo's side and offered him a cloth and a bowl of water. Shoyo pressed the wet cloth against Katsura's neck and cheek. The boy shifted a fraction, but the cool touch brought him little relief.
"Kotaro-kun," Shoyo said between dabs, "I'm going to check your stomach. Is that okay?" He spoke loudly and clearly. The boy seemed cognisant enough, but he didn't want to startle him. Katsura responded with a weak nod.
Shoyo began to remove the first layer of the blanket pile. "When did you start feeling unwell?"
"M... 'm not sure..."
Shoyo frowned and looked to Takasugi and Gintoki as he pulled off another blanket. "What do you two think?"
"I dunno." Gintoki glanced at Takasugi for back-up. The action was so out of character that Shoyo's hands fumbled on the fabric.
"He skipped dinner and went to bed early, so I guess before then," Takasugi said.
And I didn't notice. Shoyo shoved the criticism away. He could worry about his mistakes later.
"When did he get this bad?"
It was Takasugi's turn to look at Gintoki. "He woke you up, right?"
"Yeah." Gintoki's grip tightened in response to another whine from Katsura. "He said he felt like he was gonna be sick, so I told him to go to the bathroom. That was probably an hour ago. But I kept thinking 'bout it, so I checked on him a few minutes back. I tried to get him to sit up and he... he was in a lot of pain. That's when Takasugi went to get water and I sent Mei-chan to you."
"But Sensei, Zura can't really be sick." Takasugi turned to his teacher with a frown and an air of denial. "You saw him this winter. He's always been like that. Never had a cold or anything."
It was true, Katsura's constitution was something to behold. Whenever another student fell ill the boy took it upon himself to tend to them, no matter how much Shoyo insisted otherwise. Despite that, Katsura had remained untouched during every outbreak throughout the cold season. But a strong resistance couldn't protect a human from everything.
"Certain sicknesses start within the body instead of coming from outside," Shoyo said to Takasugi's pout as he pulled back the final blanket. "Even the strongest being in the world can succumb to those."
Katsura's missing arm was wrapped tight around his abdomen. His knees, too, were curled up against his stomach. The boy's violent trembling added to the miserable sight—it was apparent why he'd piled on so many blankets.
"Kotaro-kun," Shoyo said in the same clear voice from before, "I'm going to press against your stomach now. I'll be gentle, I promise."
"Okay," Katsura murmured. He didn't resist as Shoyo rolled him onto his back and pried the protective arm away, nor did he make a sound as his teacher pulled up his jinbei's top to reveal the unblemished skin beneath. Shoyo touched the left side of Katsura's stomach first, pushing down with his middle and index fingers. Although the boy flinched at the touch, it didn't cause him further pain. Next, Shoyo brought his focus to the right side. Something about it was odd—while the skin had no rash or other impurity, the area above his hip was swollen. Shoyo brought his fingertips to the peak of the swelling and carefully pushed down.
"Stop!"
If the high-pitched cry alone didn't force Shoyo's hands back, the kick to his gut certainly finished the job. While he was as surprised as Gintoki and Takasugi by Katsura's violent reaction, any offence he felt was dismissed by the sight of the boy's face—wide-eyed, stricken with betrayal and, unusually, marked by tears. These tears were nowhere near as heavy and plentiful as Mei's from earlier; they gathered in tiny pools at the edge of Katsura's eyes and spilled onto his cheeks in single drops. But from a boy who never cried at pain, they might as well have been an ocean.
I did that. I hurt him.
For a moment, the horror of this thought crashed Shoyo's mental clarity. He shut it down with a single breath. Rational. He had to be rational about this.
"I'm sorry." Shoyo placed a hand on Katsura's head and rubbed his thumb gingerly against his hot forehead. "I didn't mean to do that."
"...S'okay." Katsura's tiny smile held no malice but his face had darkened with sudden exhaustion. He rewrapped his free arm around his stomach and closed his eyes. His other hand still clung to Gintoki.
"Shoyo, he's gonna be okay, right?" The boy in question had cast aside the attempt to hide his fear.
"I can get the doctor," Takasugi said, leaping to his feet. Shoyo took the boy by his wrist to gently pull him back to the ground and lay his other hand on Gintoki's shoulder.
"Unfortunately, our town doctor won't be able to help," he replied softly. "But I know people who can. Shinsuke," he pressed the cloth and bowl of water into his student's palms, "please keep him cool. Gintoki?" The other boy's gaze shot up from his friend's quivering form. "Keep holding his hand. I'll be right back."
"Sensei?" The weak voice gave Shoyo pause. Katsura's eyes had cracked open. "Where... are you going?"
"Just to my room." He patted Katsura's shoulder. "I need to gather some things. It’ll take no time at all."
True to his word, Shoyo travelled to his room and back in less than two minutes. He paused just once during his rush—when he returned to the training room to overhear a conversation between his three little samurai.
"This is 'cause you don't get sick, Zura. Look, it hit you all at once. You gotta learn to pace yourself. Hell, sometimes I even fake being sick. Confuses the diseases."
"Gintoki... that's terrible..."
"Nah, it's logic. Keeps the mega sickness away. Takasugi, you get it, right?"
"You don't count. You have the mega sickness of living without a brain."
"Ignore him Zura, he's sick with shortness."
Shoyo prepared to jump in before the two could get rowdier but, as always, he had no need. The cure to their ill temper was already beside them.
"Don't fight." Katsura's command lacked strength but it silenced the boys faster than usual.
"Zura, hey." There was the sound of shuffling fabric and sloshing water. Takasugi must have been moving closer to his friend. "Don't forget it's Monday. You're on general duty. Nobody else is gonna do the job, so you have to get better."
"I thought... we weren't doing shifts..." The frail voice had some laughter to it.
"I, the Sunday general, changed it back to shifts yesterday," Gintoki announced. "Sorry, Zura. Takasugi's right."
"Okay... got it..."
The smile Shoyo hadn't noticed began to fade. He couldn't give them more time. He walked back into the room, immediately grabbing their attention.
"Sensei—" Takasugi cut himself off. Gintoki, too, looked like he was biting back a word. Their silence was brought on by the items in Shoyo's hands—a woven bamboo hat, a water flask, a travelling bag and a coin purse—plus the sword hung at his side.
"Are you gonna get a doctor?" Gintoki spoke slowly, bringing Katsura's hand to his chest.
"Not quite." Shoyo slipped the flask inside the bag. He'd already packed some travelling rations. "I'm going to take Kotaro-kun to one out of town."
"What? Why can't the local doctor help?" Takasugi asked. He subconsciously moved between Katsura and the door as he spoke.
Shoyo hesitated, wondering if they would question his knowledge. Being as... experienced as he was had its benefits. He'd seen every wound and disease that could harm a human being. Even though the latter couldn't touch his body, he'd watched the effects on his victims and fellow Naraku over the centuries. Katsura's symptoms had cropped up several times.
"There is a part of your body right here called an appendix." He pointed to the right side of his stomach, deciding the information wasn't worth hiding. "If it gets infected, some doctors know how to perform a special treatment."
He kept quiet about how new the treatment was. Hagi's town doctor had a contact in Edo who often sent him papers on the latest advancements and technologies, and the man was happy to share them with a teacher. The Amanto had offered plenty of knowledge to humanity in the years since their first contact, despite the unresolved conflict between them, the government and the people of the nation.
Gintoki gazed at his friend with gritted teeth. "In that case, we'll come too. Zura'll get lonely without us."
"Yeah." Takasugi nodded. "We're ready to go right now."
Affection and despair fought against Shoyo's urgency. "I'm sorry, but I need you two to stay here." He raised his hand when the two boys began to protest in unison. "Who else can I trust to take care of everyone while we're gone?"
Takasugi and Gintoki fell quiet at that. It wasn't the sole reason Shoyo wanted them to stay—it would be far quicker to travel with just Katsura—but that didn't make it any less true. Of all his students, they were the eldest, the most self-sufficient and, above all, the most trusted by their peers. Bar Katsura, of course. The students of Shoka Sonjuku relied on their school for more than a simple education and he needed to ensure they would be protected in his absence.
"How..." Takasugi stared at the bowl he'd placed on the floor. "How long will you be gone?"
"No more than a week, I'd say. Hopefully less. Can I count on you until then?" His students looked at each other then offered Shoyo a determined nod. "Good. In that case, I need you to promise three things. One—" Shoyo took the coin purse and held it out in his palm. "—this is your allowance. Use it only for food. You need to make sure everyone who normally eats meals from the school gets fed. Do you promise?"
Even the serious circumstances couldn't prevent fascination from shining in the boys' eyes at the clink of coins. "Promise."
"Alright." Shoyo gave the purse to Takasugi. The boy appeared the obvious choice since his hands were free, but the truth was Shoyo didn't think Gintoki understood the true value of money just yet.
"Two—" Shoyo held up two fingers. "—if something happens that you can't handle, you must get a grown up. A town guard, for example." He didn't like relying on other adults, but he could at least take comfort in knowing it would take a lot for Takasugi and Gintoki to find a situation they couldn't manage. He could already see the denial in their eyes. "Do you promise?"
"Yes, Sensei."
"Good. Now the last promise..." Shoyo held up three fingers. "Until we return, the two of you are not allowed to argue. At all. Not once."
"Shoyo, no way!"
"You can't expect us not to—!"
There was the pushback he'd been anticipating. Shoyo held a hand up to silence their clamour.
"Since Kotaro-kun and I will be gone, the younger students might get nervous. And if they see you fight, they'll worry more. So please, just for a little while. Promise me."
Takasugi and Gintoki continued to stare at each other with ire but spoke up all the same. "We promise."
"Thank you."
"Shoyo-sensei..."
As with all his students, Shoyo knew who had spoken with his name alone. This time it was Akito. However, when he turned to check the doorway behind him, the boy's frowning face was accompanied by nine others. He regarded them all with a gentle smile.
"Don't tell me you ate all those sweets already?"
His words did nothing to relax them. The group stepped closer, fearful voices tumbling out of their mouths.
"Are you really going somewhere?"
"Is Katsura-kun going to be okay?"
"Sensei, don't leave us!"
"Now, now, everyone." Shoyo shook his head and signalled for silence. "I'm taking Kotaro-kun to someone who will help him feel better. It won't be for too long, and I know I can count on all of you to look after each other until I get back. Am I right?"
Ten voices responded, half of them teary. "Yes, Sensei."
"Wonderful. Gintoki and Shinsuke are in charge until I get back."
As important as tending to all his students was, this was an emergency and Shoyo didn't have another second to spare. He knew an infection like this was unpredictable. It could claim a victim in three days or in one. He placed the hat on his head and rewrapped the bottom-most of the blankets around Katsura's body. Gintoki begrudgingly pried his hand free and Takasugi removed the wet cloth from the boy's forehead.
"Alright, Kotaro-kun, I'm going to carry you. I'll be very careful but it might hurt when I pick you up. Is that okay?"
He half-expected Katsura to refuse and insist he could walk, but all he did was agree with a silent nod. Shoyo scooped the boy into his arms, earning a stifled gasp. He was smaller and lighter than expected. He was so mature and articulate compared to his classmates, it sometimes escaped Shoyo that he really was just a child. A further reminder of this truth was Katsura's hand—while one remained firmly pressed against his pained side, the second clung to the robe at Shoyo's chest.
"Take care." Shoyo nodded at his two little samurai then at the rest of his students. "All of you." With that, he carried Katsura past his classmates and through the doorway, out into the cool autumn air. As he went, he was keenly aware of several tiny hands tugging at his robe and haori, holding onto him for as long as they could. But as he moved from the decking to the school's front path, they all let go.
"Sensei, wait!"
Takasugi was the one who had called out. Shoyo halted in surprise. The boy ran in front of him, something clenched in his hands.
"Zura's gotta have this." He held out the item. It was one of Shoyo's textbooks. Katsura's, no doubt. The boy unlatched his hand from Shoyo's clothes and carefully accepted the offering.
"Thanks..." he said with a smile, tucking the book between his jinbei and chest.
"Thank me by getting better."
"Yeah, Zura! Get better soon!" Gintoki called out from the decking, his figure surrounded by his classmates. His yell spurred a chorus of farewells.
"Take care, Katsura-kun!"
"You owe me a sparring match!"
"Promise you'll read to us again!"
"We'll be waiting for you!"
Katsura took a breath so deep that Shoyo could feel his body tremble with the effort before he shouted his response.
"It's not Zura! It's Katsura!" He slumped back into Shoyo's arms, drained from the exertion, but his cry had served its purpose. The students cheered and continued to shout their goodbyes, even as Shoyo passed beneath the school's gate and began to walk down the town's dirt road, his precious package in arm.
"Tell me if you need anything," he said, noting the small hand was clinging onto him again.
"Yes, Sensei," Katsura mumbled.
"It's going to be a bit of a trip, so try to get some sleep."
"Yes, Sensei."
Of all the students this could have happened to, Shoyo supposed he was lucky that it was the mild-mannered Katsura. He'd no doubt Gintoki would have kicked up a fuss at being carried and Takasugi would have stubbornly refused the assistance. Meanwhile, Katsura tucked his head against his chest and kept his eyes shut. Shoyo rocked him as they walked. It would be better for him to be asleep once they got to the outskirts of Hagi, where he could increase his travel speed. In the depths of town where they might be seen, he needed to walk normally.
Hagi wasn't exactly a large town by population, but it was significantly spread out enough that it took Shoyo at least half an hour to escape the grips of human habitation. When the last building disappeared from view, he dared to peek at his disciple.
"Kotaro-kun," he said in a hush, "how are you going?"
Katsura didn't reply. Though his brow was furrowed and his breath slightly laboured, his silence belonged to sleep.
Good. Shoyo covered Katsura's closed eyes with the top of the blanket, leaving only his mouth and nose visible. Now let's put this cursed body to some use.
He braced his legs and pushed forward, shooting off like the wind and thundering down the empty path. There was nothing wholly unusually about Shoyo's speed—any good sprinter could have matched him pace for pace—but the key word there was sprinter. Shoyo could keep this speed up for days if necessary. The sight would cause a stir once the dawn broke, but for now he could hurry without fear.
Shoyo glanced down at Katsura to check if the sudden acceleration had disturbed the boy, but his body wasn't shifting and his breath hadn't changed. Shoyo directed his attention forward and shoved his fear behind him. They had a long journey ahead.
Please hold on, Kotaro-kun.