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After reincarnating, Takasugi lived quietly in some unspoken town, in some unspoken corner, doing nothing worth speaking about. It was all about slouching around and being lazy with him here-- which was a real contrast to his old lifestyle, but really, he was tired of things.
He takes a drag of his kiseru pipe, laying on the branch of a tree--- watching the seas.
He’s spent a lifetime pursuing revenge and trying to destroy the world only to be the crux of what saves it-- he really doesn’t have any obligation to do anything this time around. Whoever’s up above should be satisfied with his productivity, he carried like half the villainy and heroism in the previous world. That’s impressive if he says so himself.
So this time, they should just leave him alone and let him be a mob character. That sounds great. He’s fucking tired.
“Of course not, son. What are you thinking about this time? Come back to the present.”
Takasugi is not, in fact, on the branch of a tree. He is on the yard of Moby Dick’s main mast, and everyone down there is casting bets on when he’ll fall down. This isn’t exactly a large area to sprawl.
Long story short, he got bored of boredom really fast.
“Maybe I should plot world domination again,” he sighs.
“You can’t do that,” Whitebeard calls up at him, “it’s almost time for dinner.”
“Shush for a bit, Oyaji, this is important,” Takasugi waves a foot at him, “for fuck’s sake I only came on board because I thought there’d at least be Yakult on another island. Now it’s been thirty years, what am I doing?”
“What’s going on with Taka?” someone asks.
“Sometimes, he thinks he’s still a temporary member. It happens sometimes, since he's so old. You just have to tolerate it when it happens.”
“He’s literally Second Mate?”
“Yes, exactly. But be patient with your brother, alright?”
“Why are you guys talking like he’s a thousand years old? He’s younger than most of us!”
Whitebeard is nothing like Shoyo. First of all he was the furthest thing from the kind fragility that epitomized his former teacher. Whitebeard was also violent, reckless, and required more parenting than the children themselves, because he didn’t know when to stop pushing himself. Shoyo was strong, and he had his childish moments– but he was never the type to join in on the quarrels for fun.
But the warmth that Takasugi felt, standing by his side-- it filled a hole in him that’d been left gaping for years.
He’d never admit it out loud, though.
He was content just being here, given warm clothes, warm home– warmth, and life. He may be a pirate (so different from being a space pirate, even if that experience was short,) but he was probably the happiest he’s been in a long time.
“You dress like a samurai. But you are not of Wano Kingdom?”
Kozuki Oden, his wife, and his vassal– they were strange people, and it took a considerable amount of time for them to earn Whitebeard’s recognition– but Takasugi spent the entire time on his spot on the mast and never quite interacted.
That was, until Izo walked up to question him.
“No,” Takasugi says, taking a drag of his kiseru pipe. “I am from Edo.”
“Edo?”
It is earth’s final fortress. The land of the proud. Of the strong. Of those that wield with their souls that will never be broken, no matter what. It is the world he comes from, tried to destroy, failed to, and regretted nothing about it.
“It is the land of the samurai,” he says. “Not a place this world will ever find.”
And Izo’s eyes light up.
“Is that so,” Izo says, bowing slightly in mutual respect that Takasugi decides it’s polite to return. “If you are samurai, then we are one and the same.”
Takasugi isn’t quite sure about that, but he smiles at the familiarity.
“If you’re looking for a swordfight, give up early.”
Takasugi hears the group gossiping to Izo soon enough. Izo has already taken Rakuyo’s challenge of swordsmanship, and the result of that battle is still a draw– but he hasn’t tried yet for Takasugi.
“Taka’s got a sword, but he never uses it,” Thatch says. “I guess he sits out on most battles anyways, but it’s sacred to him or something, y’know? He doesn’t do duels.”
Takasugi doesn’t see or hear Izo’s reaction to it, but Izo never approaches him with intentions of battle or anything of that ilk.
And that’s because Izo understands that a samurai’s sword is there to serve, not to harm.
Takasugi realizes that samurai in Wano country aren’t all that different from Edo after all.
(His position as Second Mate gets taken by Oden out of necessity, and he becomes an essential shadow leader– but Takasugi doesn’t really mind.)
(Takasugi sits by the deck, and he’s just glad that he can savour a meal of oden again. Now if only there was some atsukan to go with this…)
Finding Gintoki again was simply a chance in a million, a miracle in the waves, and an eye in the crowd, on opposite sides of a battlefield.
But when they did find each other– their blades froze, and the single moment of falter nearly cost each other their lives.
“TAKA! Focus!” Marco yells, barely deflecting a thrown dagger that had gone for his eye.
“Hey, that would’ve been bad, Gin!” Rayleigh hisses, having shoved the boy’s head down, right out of the way of a bullet.
“I was fine!” Takasugi insisted, to Marco’s scoff.
“My bad, baldy!” Gintoki stumbles, scrambling his sword up from the ground– it’s a wooden bokken again. Another one of those stupid things, he even got the Lake Touya carved on the hilt like the idiot he was.
And he ran toward him.
Takasugi sees it– and he straightens, eyes easing down, arms reaching toward his own sword. Marco readies a lecture at his lips, but it dies, when he sees Takasugi draw it out of its sheath.
A few eyes turned to it– to the reveal of that steel blade.
“Taka…?” Marco turns– this is out of character for him. He rarely ever fights– but there he was running for it without even a bit of hesitation. “Taka!”
Eyes turned. The Whitebeards were looking. Some were directing their attention over, alarmed.
“Wait, Gin!” Rayleigh calls, “that guy’s not someone you should take alone!”
The Roger Pirates were alarmed as well. Gintoki was fairly new to them– so of course, he wouldn’t know the rumoured strength of the Whitebeards’ tentative second mate.
But why?
Why was he so eager to fight this guy, particularly?
Some even stopped fighting, baffled by action as Takasugi charged forward, winding around the small fry– and Gintoki did the same.
Wooden sword meets steel in a clash that sounded more of steel on steel than steel on wood– and a second clash sends sparks flying.
Gintoki ducks sharply down when the sword aims for his head– and his sword gleams a coat of pure black before spiraling into Takasugi’s side. Takasugi hisses , the sharp crack of something giving way underneath– but he braces a foot backward, gaining just enough leverage to thrust the sheath of his sword forward, right into Gintoki’s stomach.
They tear away violently, hacking and choking.
“You coated that in Haki, you piece of shit,” Takasugi hisses, cradling his side, trying not to whimper at every movement. “That was not necessary. Dipshit.”
“Speak for your fucking self,” Gintoki retches, raw from throwing up absolutely everything and half of his guts while he was at it, “you aimed for the liver. Fucking low blow. Midget.”
“I’ll murder you.”
“I did it first.”
“It was my sword.”
“Fucker.”
A beat.
And then their swords crossed once more, whipping forward in a flash of light that shattered in the middle, over and over, forth and back.
Marco and Rayleigh keep a side eye out, trying to get to them– but they both stop a ways away– and realize that they were not, in fact, trying to murder each other.
Neither of them were the type to pick a target to indiscriminately assault.
It wasn’t done out of a long, deep-seated grudge, either. Sure, there was heat in their words and an unexplainable violence in every attack, almost as if they were seriously trying to kill each other and getting just too close for even the pirates’ comfort– but they were both smiling , their lips pulled wide and curled just a little upwards.
They were covered in wounds and bruises and littered with near-mortal wounds– but neither the Whitebeards nor the Rogers could do a thing about it.
They both looked the happiest they’ve ever been in their lives.