at zhiyi's request.

miki shinichirou! ^_^

[samurai 7 | ref - ep 4]

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For Kyuuzou, things have always been simple. He does his job as it is
requested of him; above that, he has his loyalties to Ukyou. There is
little that upsets this, particularly where the latter is concerned.
Kyuuzou is not the sort to find reasons for himself, but if he wished
to do so it would be easy enough: Ukyou may be foolish, but he is not
entirely a fool, and his laughing, childish weakness lends him defence
from the dust of the city - a tarnish which nothing else seems to
escape. And as long as Ukyou is free from it, Kyuuzou will follow.

***

He knows, by now, that all cities taste like rust. It disturbs him
somewhere he cannot quite place, though he has never bothered trying to 
do so; and though he recognises that staying inside is a poor defence,
it is a defence nonetheless. It is thus that he takes his task with
something approaching distaste, or at least would do so if he were
allowed to feel anything except acceptance. The streets are filled with 
people stained by the city, unsubtle blades and tarnished eyes, and
Kyuuzou finds it suffocating.

But his first breath of fresh air comes when he sights the boy; it
comes in the form of a gaze alight with idealism, in the thoughtless
grace of one who has not learnt the guarded walk of a samurai. The boy
is not made for the city, with its clumsy brutality, and does not
deserve this dust-choked air.

The city corrupts almost everyone it touches. Kyuuzou knows, with his
usual clarity, that he does not wish this boy to fall to rust.

***

There is little that can call Kyuuzou's loyalty into question, and even 
less that can blunt his efficiency. Yet somehow, when the boy swallows
in apprehension at his readied blade, it is enough to still his hand.
In a rare moment of weakness, Kyuuzou will ignore this fact until later.
When he does think upon it again, he finds no more answer to it than he
does to the question of why the city air feels wrong against his skin.

He keeps his blades cleanly polished.

If he lets himself think about it, he can admit that he is waiting.