[Katekyo Hitman Reborn!] At the Beginning (5.5/9)
Title: At the Beginning: Part V - The Rain (Side B)
Author: bearit
Rating: PG13 for violence and swearing
Genre: General/Friendship
Characters: Giotto, G, Knuckle, Ugetsu
Word Count: ~5,500
Summary: Giotto is about to learn that the land where the sun rises is truly indeed the land of new beginnings, though he never thought that a new beginning would be quite like this.
Notes: For this chapter, I'm playing with the idea that stories often change in the retelling; the spirit of Ugetsu's story is still there, but the exact details have changed. This chapter, above all others, is the one I'm worried most about being Jossed. Really, it's from this chapter on I'm concerned about, but we'll just see what happens. :)
Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn! belongs to Akira Amano. I have no rights to the series. This piece of fanwork is unofficial and not making a profit.
---
As the leaves fell off the trees, the Asari clan befriended their European guests with enthusiastic kindness, Ujizane notwithstanding. Every morning, a fresh set of kimono waited for them, though over the weeks the servants of the house learned not to set one aside for Knuckle. They then wandered to Ugetsu’s room to listen to him perform his morning tunes, and together the four walked to the main room for breakfast. There, Tokuhime, Ujizane, and Fuku waited for them. Ujizane always barked at them for keeping everybody waiting, but after a while, Giotto, G, and Knuckle learned not to pay any attention to him, but not before G felt comfortable enough in Japanese to respond back.
Giotto wanted to forget how purple Ujizane’s face had turned when he reached for his sword, only to be stopped by Ugetsu pleading for his brother to calm down.
“Now, now,” he had said gently. “G-dono didn’t mean it, Ani-ue.”
“Like hell I didn’t. Pompous prick,” G had muttered, thankfully in Italian.
Ever since then, breakfast continued without incident. Everyone enjoyed polite conversation and delicious food. Once the trays were cleared away, the three Asari children and their mother disappeared until the afternoon, leaving Giotto, G, and Knuckle free to explore the city of Nagasaki. Knuckle often visited a recently erected church while Giotto and G adventured around town, taking in the sights and visiting structures that did not exist anywhere in Europe.
Sometimes, Ugetsu had a free morning and accompanied them, pointing out places of interest and urging them to try food that Ujizane never allowed in their home. He told them stories of his family, about how Ujizane was not always so mean, that when their father passed away Ujizane had to take over and something about the way politics were going meant that Ujizane was always exhausted and on edge.
“I don’t know too much about it myself,” said Ugetsu in surprisingly good Italian for only learning it in a few weeks. “But that’s why I’m not the eldest.”
“That is not why you’re not the eldest,” said G, rolling his eyes. “That’s not how birth order works.”
Ugetsu laughed and changed the subject to any of the many other things he would go on about, slipping in between Italian and Japanese whenever he stumbled upon a phrase or a word G could not help translate.
Every once in a while, Fuku would be allowed to accompany them, though she rarely spoke a word. Ugetsu tried his best to include her in their conversation, but she kept her eyes to the ground, peering every so often at Giotto. Sometimes Giotto even tried asking her a question or two, but she gave simple answers with a deep blush.
Giotto had long since gotten over his initial embarrassment every time he saw Ugetsu’s younger sister ever since Ugetsu told him that Fuku was fascinated by him. “You saved her life, after all,” he pointed out after telling Giotto why Fuku had been out in the river in the first place. The wind had taken away her handkerchief, he said, a handkerchief from Kyoto that their father brought back for her just before he died. Ugetsu joked about how it must have been fate, because now they were all really good friends.
Now Giotto found himself growing more and more curious about Fuku, and whenever she could get away from whatever studies or chores or duties she had to perform, she always sought him out and he always welcomed her company, regardless of who was with him and what time of day it was. But it was only when they were alone, without G or Knuckle or Ugetsu, that Fuku said more than a couple of words at a time. She giggled, and she smiled more openly. Giotto quickly realized that he looked forward to alone time with her.
Sometime after midday, the group returned to the Asari household. Regardless of Ugetsu’s availability in the morning, he spent the rest of the afternoon practicing his flute. G always sat right outside his room to listen or nap. If Knuckle did not leave the church and Fuku was too busy to be with Giotto, they joined him.
On one such afternoon, Giotto joined his best friend underneath the barren tree beside Ugetsu’s room. G scooted over so that Giotto could have some of the trunk to lean against, a smoking cigarette hanging from his mouth. For a while they sat in companionable silence, enjoying the trills and smooth notes from Ugetsu’s flute.
Finally, G said just under the music, “That girl’s busy today?”
Giotto nodded. “She said something about needing to practice her calligraphy. She teaches me sometimes, after dinner, when you and Knuckle are with Ugetsu.”
G snorted. “Sounds far more interesting than my evenings. Those two are always going on and on about nonsense. Gives me a headache.”
“You can join me and Fuku if you want.”
To Giotto’s relief, G declined, but his reasoning made Giotto’s face flush. “No, I don’t want to interfere with you two lovebirds.”
“Wh-what?”
G smirked. “You like her. Even our resident God idiot noticed.”
“I-no! I mean, I do like her, but-”
“We think she likes you, too.”
“I… you do?”
G laughed, a sound that Giotto was not accustomed to hearing. The music from Ugetsu’s room stopped briefly before picking up again, and Giotto wondered if Ugetsu had heard everything. Oh, this was the worst.
“It’s not like that,” said Giotto helplessly. “I mean, she is cute, and nice, and there’s no reason not to like her, but… I mean…” G smiled, clearly unconvinced. “Oh, shut up, G.”
“It’s okay, Giotto,” said G, relaxing against the tree trunk and closing his eyes. “I know how you feel.”
Giotto frowned, unsure of what G meant but thought better of prying. They listened to the end of the tune, indicated by a prolonged pause at the end of the last note. Giotto almost expected Ugetsu to join them, but he instead launched into another piece, livelier than the last. G pulled away the cigarette and sighed, a small cloud of tobacco escaping from his mouth.
“Since when did you start smoking?” asked Giotto. Many of the Portuguese they had traveled with engaged in the habit, but this was the first time he had seen G do it. Had he been smoking all this time?
G shrugged. “A couple of weeks ago, when you and Fuku were out on the harbor. Ugetsu wanted to visit the church, and we ran into a few explorers and traders who were selling this stuff. The Father thought they were bothersome, so…”
Giotto sighed. “Of course you did. And Ugetsu doesn’t mind?”
“He thought it was funny.”
“And now?”
A pause. “He listens too much to the fucking priest. This is harmless.”
Giotto offered G a grin and moved on. “I was thinking, G, about the cherry blossom season. Fuku said it wouldn’t happen for another couple of months at least, but I was wondering… did you want to go back with Fernão? I only ask because, well, I don’t know if I’d be ready to leave in a couple of months. I mean, we all seem so much happier here, and we’re far away from the Medici now. If that man was ever going to find us, he would have by now, don’t you think? Besides, it’s like Fernão said. We can’t go much more east than here.”
“Are you saying you want to stay?”
“I know we can’t impose on Ugetsu’s family forever. Maybe they can help us find work or something. I don’t know if that’s how it works here, but it’d be a start. I don’t know, G. What do you think?”
G said nothing at first, taking another drag from his cigarette and glancing in the direction of Ugetsu’s room. After a moment’s consideration, he smiled.
“I never really had any intentions of going back to Italy, anyway. We’ll figure something out. But yeah. Let’s stay.”
---
Knuckle seemed perplexed by the boys’ decision.
“But I extremely thought that was the point of coming all the way out here,” he said. Clearly, he never had any intentions of returning to Solntse, either.
And so it was decided, though they agreed to hold off telling Ugetsu and his family until the spring. Though they could certainly help the three find a way to survive without their assistance, they wanted to try their luck on their own first and get a more solid feel for the culture and what opportunities they had.
Knuckle determined that being a missionary was the path for him, though he was loath to separate from Giotto and G. There were plenty of missionaries in Nagasaki already, he said, but he knew that neither of them wanted to leave the city, either. He would make do somehow.
Actually keeping the news from Ugetsu and his family proved to be difficult. The topic of conversation at dinner anymore became Ujizane demanding to know when they would be rid of their guests with Tokuhime reprimanding him to be polite while kindly asking the three of them how much longer they were planning on staying in Nagasaki. While they gave Tokuhime and Ujizane vague answers, Ugetsu and Fuku continued the discussion after the meal or in the mornings while in the city. Unlike their older brother and mother, they seemed more distraught at the thought that Giotto, G, and Knuckle would return home someday soon.
“You won’t be going home until at least you see the cherry blossoms, right?” Fuku pleaded in Japanese. She never grasped onto Italian as easily as her brother had. “They’re very beautiful.”
“Fernão said the same thing,” said Giotto, dodging a fisherman carrying a net of fish too big to have noticed him. “But we’ll stay at least that long. Maybe even longer.”
“And then you’ll go home,” said Fuku. “Back to Italy. Ugetsu-ani-ue will be very sad. So will I,” she amended softly.
Giotto cringed. What was the best way to tell her they were staying without actually telling her? He hated to hear her so melancholy.
“Well, actually, we were thinking about maybe-definitely staying a lot longer than after the cherry blossoms bloom. If they’re as beautiful as everyone says, we were thinking about seeing them bloom more than just this year.” That was certainly a clumsy way of putting it. “But! We don’t want to… that is, your family has been so kind to us. We don’t want to trouble you much longer.”
“Oh, no, it’s no trouble! Please don’t mind Ujizane-ani-ue. He’s just always so busy and so tired, but I think he really does like you and G-dono and Nakkuru-dono. He will let you stay with us.”
“But your mother-”
“She likes you, too! I think they’re just asking how long you’re staying out of curiosity. To make sure you’ll stay with us a long time.”
Giotto frowned. That could not be true when they had been asking every night at dinner for the past week. Even breakfast had started to become uncomfortably silent, with Ujizane no longer greeting them with an impatient bark. Giotto never thought he would miss that.
They strolled wordlessly through the town, steering away from the docks. Fuku looked disheartened by their conversation. Giotto felt guilty. He had given her the wrong impression, maybe several wrong impressions. Maybe he should just tell her what he and G and Knuckle had discussed. There really was little reason to keep it a secret, and she and Ugetsu could help them establish themselves in Nagasaki. Besides, this would cheer her up, and that alone would be worth it.
Before he could begin giving her the news, his eyes caught the sight of a large man hovering over a small merchant stand stacked with the sweet rice cakes Ugetsu often treated them to. His face was contorted in an awful sneer as he held one of the rice cakes in his hands. The merchant trembled and sputtered apologies, but the man did not leave. A small crowd of whispering men and women circled around them, and others slowed their pace to glance at the scene from the corners of their eyes.
“Giotto-dono?” asked Fuku as Giotto gravitated with the crowd.
“You really expected me to pay for this, did you? Lousy peasant,” said the man. Giotto noticed then that the man carried a sword around his hip: a samurai, he realized. Ugetsu often mentioned them whenever he talked about his brother.
“I am sorry. Please forgive me,” said the merchant, all but dropping to his knees.
“Giotto-dono, let’s go. It’s impolite to stare,” Fuku pleaded.
Giotto ignored her and pushed his way through the crowd. Samurai or not, stealing was wrong, and bullying others was something he could not forgive, either.
The samurai grabbed the hilt of his sword.
“I think I ought to teach you some manners first,” he snarled as he unsheathed it and swung forward.
The crowd gasped. In that moment Giotto darted in front of the merchant with his cloak, thankful that it had been cold enough to wear it and hoping that it was just as effective against a blade as it was against bullets. When steel met cloth and Giotto felt only a dull thud, he realized that his arm was still attached. True to G’s theories about Lord Piero’s cloak, the attack had been nullified.
He enjoyed the victory for only a moment. The samurai pulled back and Giotto dropped his arm, glaring at the man and snapping, “I think the one who needs to learn manners is you.”
The samurai pursed his lips. “Little nanban, this does not concern you. Keep your nose out of the business of my people.”
“I will not,” said Giotto. “Not when you’re picking on someone weaker than you when you were the one who wasn’t going to pay him.”
“You speak pretty good Japanese for a nanban,” said the samurai as he drew his sword back. “That means you know better. So I should probably teach you a lesson too!”
G appeared at Giotto’s side then, gun drawn and pointed at the samurai.
“I would think twice about doing that, you cowardly son of a whore.” He spat the last part in Italian, Ugetsu never having taught words like that in Japanese.
The samurai paused mid-stride, and then he snorted. “Two little nanban! I had no idea we were being taken over by these barbaric monsters. Do you realize who you two are threatening?”
“I don’t care,” G snarled. “You have a problem with him, you have a problem with me. Drop. Your. Sword.”
The samurai stared at G, seeming as though he considered his threats to be legitimate. To Giotto’s surprise and relief, he sheathed his sword, but the moment was short-lived. The samurai laughed, and he raised his hand in the air and called out for the city guards. Half a dozen of them appeared at the samurai’s side in an instant.
With a smirk, the samurai said, “Arrest these boys. They have threatened one of the samurai unprovoked and deserve no less than the highest penalty.”
---
G did not go down without a fight. To his credit, he decided that shooting the approaching guards would not help their situation, but he ignored Giotto’s insistence that they run away in favor of dumping out his normal bullets for the special ones. He did not get the opportunity to fire his gun before the guards were on him. G kicked and punched and Giotto struggled to get free from their grasp.
Knuckle even showed up in time to plead the boys’ case (“They’re children,” he had insisted repeatedly), but all of it was futile. Giotto and G soon found themselves in a dark prison cell with no other companions but rats and old bones and rusty bars.
Neither Giotto nor G spoke to one another. G strained his ears to listen for any clues as to their fates in between scouting the perimeter of the cell for a way to escape. Giotto sat in the far corner of the cell, where the rats seemed to be the least interested in, most likely for the lack of bones littering the area. He hugged his knees to his chest, struggling to find the words to say to G not only to thank him for helping but to apologize for getting him involved and arrested.
G kicked one of the cell bars, flakes of brown rust shedding to the floor.
“Damn it,” he grumbled. “I really hope that the God idiot saw the bullets and picked them up. We might need them when we get out of here.”
“You mean you don’t have them?” Giotto did not mean to sound so disheartened.
“I think I dropped them when they grabbed me. Even if I did have them, it wouldn’t do us a lot of good. They took my gun, remember?”
Giotto remembered. The guards stripped the boys of all their belongings save for their clothes, which meant that not only did they have G’s weapon but Giotto’s cloak and ring. In fact, the samurai had insisted that the guards confiscate Giotto’s cloak.
“G, I… I’m really sorry,” he said. It was now or never. “It’s my fault you’re in here and-”
“It’s my own damn fault I’m in here,” said G. “I made the choice to step in, and I don’t regret it. That asshole was ready to slice your head off and I didn’t have my Family’s bullets loaded at the time. It was the only thing I could do, and if I could do it all over again, I would have. I wouldn’t even need a moment to think about it.”
Giotto felt a grin spread across his face as G turned back to inspecting the bars.
“Thank you, G,” he said.
“Prison is better than dead. At least we have a chance to get out of here.” G sighed. “But I don’t think we can stay in Nagasaki anymore. I’m not sure if we’d be able to stay in Japan any longer. We’re running out of places in the world to hide.”
Giotto did not respond. G was right; it was too dangerous to stay. They stood out too much. If they broke out of prison, everyone would know exactly who to look for and they would be much too easy to find. Even if they ventured north, the guards could track them down much easier than the Medici had been able to. And they could not even say goodbye to Knuckle or Ugetsu or Fuku: to see them again would get them into trouble.
“Two years,” he murmured. “We traveled two years to get all the way out here. And now we have to leave.”
G did not look away from the bars. “I’m sorry, Giotto.”
Giotto shook his head. “No. Grandpa told me that this was the land of beginnings. And it is. I don’t know what this is the beginning of, but it’s the beginning of something, right? And maybe we can return to Italy. Maybe the Medici forgot about us by now, and if they didn’t-”
“The mafia don’t forget so easily. If we go back, they’ll kill us.”
Giotto grinned. “Or try to. G, we’re not who we used to be. And if we can get your Family’s bullets back-and the cloak and ring-before we leave, maybe we can actually do something about the Medici and all the rest of the mafia. Don’t you think?”
“It won’t be that easy.”
“Well, if we can get out of here and get the cloak and ring back from under the guard’s noses, and get back the bullets, too, I think we’ll be able to do anything. Especially if we have each other.”
Then Giotto stopped and thought about what he was saying. What was he saying?
“But, at the very least, let’s just do that much. We don’t have to worry about the Medici now, or ever, if you don’t want to. It’s just… I think we can go back to Italy, and they won’t bother us. And if they do…”
“We’ll tell them we’re Vongola, not Guinizelli,” said G, turning to Giotto with a smile. “And then we’ll make sure they won’t hurt anybody else ever again. You have some crazy ideas, Giotto. I think I like them.”
“Then let’s go.”
Giotto picked himself from the ground and started mimicking G’s inspection of the perimeter of the cell. He skimmed the walls and the bars of the jail cell, not really knowing what to look for. G felt around the floor, and when Giotto asked what he was looking for G told him that though the bars were rusted, there was no way they could force their way out.
“I’m looking for a needle or something, see if I can’t pick our way out. At least they’re using European locks. I’m familiar with those.”
Giotto nodded and followed suit. After a few minutes of touching the cold floor and holding back a yelp whenever his fingers brushed something warm and furry, G said, “Are you sure you’re willing to leave everyone behind? Knuckle, Ugetsu, Fuku…?”
“I don’t want to,” said Giotto. “But we have to.”
G pursed his lips but silently continued his search. Giotto knew that he did not want to leave them behind either, but they had no place with them anymore. It would be cruel to ask them to go with them back to Italy. Still, they would miss them: Knuckle’s loud and enthusiastic sermons and Ugetsu’s music and laughter and Fuku’s endlessly shy kindness.
“What are you two doing?”
Giotto gasped and quickly spun to see Knuckle standing on the other side of the bars, an eyebrow raised and a small sack in his arms.
“Knuckle!” he said as G exclaimed, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Knuckle waved a hand.
“You two got yourself into an extreme mess,” he said. “Gospodin Fernão came by to try to release you, but the guards would have none of it. You do realize that a samurai has an extreme position of power in this country, right?”
“That didn’t give him the right-”
“It did, Giotto. We may not agree with it, but it did give him the right to do whatever he wanted. According to Ugetsu, what he was doing was not honorable even for a samurai but some of them are drunk with power. The one you two threatened was one of those types. And he wants the two of you dead in some sort of elaborate execution. Gospodin Fernão and Ugetsu both refused to go into the details.”
“Well, they won’t get the chance to kill us,” said G, crossing his arms. “We’re getting the hell out of here. If you know what’s good for you, you’d leave so you can feign innocence. By the way, do you have those bullets?”
Knuckle held up a small sack.
“I even got back your ring and cloak, Giotto. I told them that they were family heirlooms that I had entrusted to you. And as for leaving so I can pretend like I didn’t know you two were planning on escaping, G, I think you extremely misunderstand my purpose for this visit.”
He pulled a small pin from his pocket. “I told the guards that it is our custom for a priest to absolve the sins of the condemned before death. But I know a thing or two about lock-picking, to the extreme.”
Giotto’s jaw dropped, and G said not ungratefully, “Lying is a sin, you God damned idiot priest.”
“God forgives all sins if they are properly repented,” said Knuckle as he worked the lock. “And more importantly, I could never face Him at the gates of Heaven if I let you two die in the morning.”
With a click, the lock fell to the floor and Knuckle pushed the door open. “We have to hurry. There’s no telling when they’ll be by to tell me my time is up.”
Giotto and G hurried out of the prison cell, taking from Knuckle their respective belongings. As Giotto wrapped himself in the cloak, he heard the clang of metal and the howls of men falling to the ground from the other side of the wall that separated the prison from the rest of the building. Knuckle positioned himself in front of the boys with his fists to his face, trembling from the inevitability of having to break his vow yet again.
“Don’t worry about it, Father,” G muttered as he loaded his gun with a black-colored bullet. “You won’t have to sin more than you already have.”
Before Knuckle could respond, the door slid open, revealing a black-clad man with two swords in each hand, each a different length. Black cloth covered his entire face save for his awfully familiar eyes. He stared at the three for a long moment, murmuring something under his breath.
A noise behind the man caught his attention. He spun to greet the new threat by taking a low fighting stance. After a tense moment, he waved at the three of them to come to him, but none of them budged.
“Is this our executioner here early?” asked G.
Knuckle shook his head. “I don’t think so. He’s not acting like I think an executioner would.”
The black-clad man waved at them again, and Giotto knew him to be an ally.
“We should follow him,” he said. “I think he’s helping us escape.”
G sighed but did not protest. “Fine, but if he winds up killing us, we’re going to have a nice, long talk in Hell about being entirely too trusting of strangers.”
They followed closely behind the man as they ducked behind walls, darting through open hallways that were lined with unconscious guards. Whenever a group of guards came into their path, the black-clad man wasted no time in drawing his swords. Before Giotto could blink all of them had fallen to the ground in a large heap. The black-clad man pushed past them, only glancing back to make sure Giotto, G, and Knuckle were still behind him.
Finally, they left the final walls of the building, quietly slinking through the trees and bushes to the gates. There they stopped, the black-clad man peering back onto the grounds to make sure they were not being followed.
As Giotto struggled to catch his breath, the man pulled off his mask. A beaming Ugetsu stood before them, and Giotto felt as though he would never be able to breathe right again.
---
Ugetsu led them through the back alleys toward the docks, telling them what they already knew.
“You can’t stay here,” he said in a strangely mournful voice. “They’ll find you if you stay on the island, or even if you tried to head up to Kyoto. Going on the ship is your only chance. I think they leave sometime tomorrow morning. I have some extra money I can give you for anything you might need for the trip.”
They reached the harbor, hiding up against the wall of a Portuguese-owned smithy. A large Portuguese trade ship loomed ahead of them with only a large crowd of people bustling in their way. Easier said than done, Giotto realized, but a bigger question nagged at him.
“Ugetsu, where did you learn how to fight like that?” he asked. “Fuku told me that most nobles anymore have to learn sword-fighting, but that was always more Ujizane’s concern, not yours, and that you cared more for music than swordsmanship.”
Ugetsu grinned, but something in his smile was strained. “Fuku-chan is right. Men have to know how to fight. Ani-ue tells me every day that our position as nobility is threatened with the rise of the samurai and that we have to be as much a part of them as we can so we don’t lost our power. I train with Ani-ue some mornings. I don’t like it, but it’s something I have to do. I really do prefer music to it.”
His face fell. “It’s something that even Ani-ue agrees I’m better suited for. But that doesn’t matter now. Friendship always comes first, right?”
He tried to smile again, but this time even G and Knuckle noticed that something was off.
“Are you okay, Ugetsu?” asked Knuckle.
G said softly, immediately after the priest, “What happened? What did you do?”
“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter,” said Ugetsu. “They were going to have you killed tomorrow, and I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. You understand, don’t you? Come, let’s find a way to get you onto the ship.”
Giotto frowned. He understood the feeling of not doing anything when others were in danger, and especially his friends, but something about the boy’s demeanor was unsettling.
“Ugetsu-” he began, but he was cut off by a small voice from behind them.
“Ugetsu-ani-ue, there you are,” said Fuku, crouching next to her brother. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
She looked at Giotto, and then G, and then Knuckle, and her face became distressed. “So it’s true. You helped them escape.”
“What do you mean, ‘so it’s true?’” asked G. “We didn’t bust out too long ago. Does everyone already know?”
Fuku shook her head. “No, not everyone. Not yet, anyway. But Ujizane-ani-ue went to the prison and once he found out what had happened, he said that it was you, Ugetsu-ani-ue. That you probably had some swords somewhere in the house that he didn’t know about, because all of his were still there and that you had disappeared, and you were the only who could do such a thing.”
Giotto could not read Ugetsu’s face.
“I see,” he said. He sighed and glanced at the mask he had worn in the prison. “I’d wanted to protect you, and Ani-ue, and Mother.”
“Ugetsu-ani-ue… Ujizane-ani-ue, he… he’s disowned you.” Fuku dropped her head and covered her face with her hands. “He said that you have dishonored our family and have no place among us anymore. If you go back home, they’ll have you…” She trailed off into her sobs.
A stunned silence fell over everybody. Giotto watched Ugetsu carefully, seeing his face transform from horror to distressed acceptance.
“I… see,” he said slowly. “It’s probably better this way anyway.”
“Like hell it is!” G snapped, so loud that even Knuckle jumped. “That son of a bitch, why am I not surprised that he would pull shit like this?”
“G!” cried Giotto, begging for his best friend to quiet down.
“This is not what family is about!”
Ugetsu said, “Yes, it is, G-dono. They probably would have figured out it was me eventually. Ani-ue is only making sure that Fuku-chan and Mother is safe. They would punish all of us for what I have done. This way, I am the only one who suffers.”
“It’s… it’s not fair,” G insisted. Giotto recognized the look in his eyes: it was the same look he had back in Racale when Giotto threw the apple core at the back of the Medici man’s head, and the same look he had in the Guinizelli mansion when he shot the man strangling Giotto during the massacre of his Family. “For our sake, you… it’s not fair.”
Ugetsu gently laughed, in spite of the situation. “Life is rarely fair, G-dono. But I’d do it again, because I meant it. Friendship is more important than anything.”
Fuku launched herself into her brother’s arms, sobbing into his shoulder.
“I love you, Ani-ue. I love you and thank you so much,” she said over and over again. Ugetsu gently embraced her, and Giotto realized what Ugetsu’s fate would be. For helping two prisoners condemned to death escape, he was now facing execution himself.
Giotto could not allow that.
“Ugetsu, come with us,” he said. “Please. I can’t let you… I can’t let you die after everything you’ve done for us.”
Brother and sister stared at Giotto as they processed what he said. Oh, Giotto hoped that his Japanese made sense despite how upset he was.
“Giotto-dono, I-” Ugetsu closed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter where I go.”
“Ugetsu, we’re going to Italy,” said G softly. “We’re going to Italy and I remember you saying how much you want to see it. Here’s your chance. And more importantly, Giotto’s right. After everything you’ve done, this is the least we can do to repay you. Please.”
“G-dono…” Ugetsu murmured. He glanced at Fuku, who nodded with a small smile, and then Knuckle. He sighed, but the familiar bright smile soon covered his face again. “Alright. I’ll go with you.”
There was still something off about his smile, but Giotto knew they had many months of travel ahead to figure it out. At least this way, Asari Ugetsu would not die for their sake, and they would not have to say goodbye to him anytime soon.
---
Interlude 1: When in Rome
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Translation Notes:
Nanban - literally, "Southern barbarian." This is how the Japanese referred to the Portuguese (and other Europeans) during the Muromachi period.
Author: bearit
Rating: PG13 for violence and swearing
Genre: General/Friendship
Characters: Giotto, G, Knuckle, Ugetsu
Word Count: ~5,500
Summary: Giotto is about to learn that the land where the sun rises is truly indeed the land of new beginnings, though he never thought that a new beginning would be quite like this.
Notes: For this chapter, I'm playing with the idea that stories often change in the retelling; the spirit of Ugetsu's story is still there, but the exact details have changed. This chapter, above all others, is the one I'm worried most about being Jossed. Really, it's from this chapter on I'm concerned about, but we'll just see what happens. :)
Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn! belongs to Akira Amano. I have no rights to the series. This piece of fanwork is unofficial and not making a profit.
---
As the leaves fell off the trees, the Asari clan befriended their European guests with enthusiastic kindness, Ujizane notwithstanding. Every morning, a fresh set of kimono waited for them, though over the weeks the servants of the house learned not to set one aside for Knuckle. They then wandered to Ugetsu’s room to listen to him perform his morning tunes, and together the four walked to the main room for breakfast. There, Tokuhime, Ujizane, and Fuku waited for them. Ujizane always barked at them for keeping everybody waiting, but after a while, Giotto, G, and Knuckle learned not to pay any attention to him, but not before G felt comfortable enough in Japanese to respond back.
Giotto wanted to forget how purple Ujizane’s face had turned when he reached for his sword, only to be stopped by Ugetsu pleading for his brother to calm down.
“Now, now,” he had said gently. “G-dono didn’t mean it, Ani-ue.”
“Like hell I didn’t. Pompous prick,” G had muttered, thankfully in Italian.
Ever since then, breakfast continued without incident. Everyone enjoyed polite conversation and delicious food. Once the trays were cleared away, the three Asari children and their mother disappeared until the afternoon, leaving Giotto, G, and Knuckle free to explore the city of Nagasaki. Knuckle often visited a recently erected church while Giotto and G adventured around town, taking in the sights and visiting structures that did not exist anywhere in Europe.
Sometimes, Ugetsu had a free morning and accompanied them, pointing out places of interest and urging them to try food that Ujizane never allowed in their home. He told them stories of his family, about how Ujizane was not always so mean, that when their father passed away Ujizane had to take over and something about the way politics were going meant that Ujizane was always exhausted and on edge.
“I don’t know too much about it myself,” said Ugetsu in surprisingly good Italian for only learning it in a few weeks. “But that’s why I’m not the eldest.”
“That is not why you’re not the eldest,” said G, rolling his eyes. “That’s not how birth order works.”
Ugetsu laughed and changed the subject to any of the many other things he would go on about, slipping in between Italian and Japanese whenever he stumbled upon a phrase or a word G could not help translate.
Every once in a while, Fuku would be allowed to accompany them, though she rarely spoke a word. Ugetsu tried his best to include her in their conversation, but she kept her eyes to the ground, peering every so often at Giotto. Sometimes Giotto even tried asking her a question or two, but she gave simple answers with a deep blush.
Giotto had long since gotten over his initial embarrassment every time he saw Ugetsu’s younger sister ever since Ugetsu told him that Fuku was fascinated by him. “You saved her life, after all,” he pointed out after telling Giotto why Fuku had been out in the river in the first place. The wind had taken away her handkerchief, he said, a handkerchief from Kyoto that their father brought back for her just before he died. Ugetsu joked about how it must have been fate, because now they were all really good friends.
Now Giotto found himself growing more and more curious about Fuku, and whenever she could get away from whatever studies or chores or duties she had to perform, she always sought him out and he always welcomed her company, regardless of who was with him and what time of day it was. But it was only when they were alone, without G or Knuckle or Ugetsu, that Fuku said more than a couple of words at a time. She giggled, and she smiled more openly. Giotto quickly realized that he looked forward to alone time with her.
Sometime after midday, the group returned to the Asari household. Regardless of Ugetsu’s availability in the morning, he spent the rest of the afternoon practicing his flute. G always sat right outside his room to listen or nap. If Knuckle did not leave the church and Fuku was too busy to be with Giotto, they joined him.
On one such afternoon, Giotto joined his best friend underneath the barren tree beside Ugetsu’s room. G scooted over so that Giotto could have some of the trunk to lean against, a smoking cigarette hanging from his mouth. For a while they sat in companionable silence, enjoying the trills and smooth notes from Ugetsu’s flute.
Finally, G said just under the music, “That girl’s busy today?”
Giotto nodded. “She said something about needing to practice her calligraphy. She teaches me sometimes, after dinner, when you and Knuckle are with Ugetsu.”
G snorted. “Sounds far more interesting than my evenings. Those two are always going on and on about nonsense. Gives me a headache.”
“You can join me and Fuku if you want.”
To Giotto’s relief, G declined, but his reasoning made Giotto’s face flush. “No, I don’t want to interfere with you two lovebirds.”
“Wh-what?”
G smirked. “You like her. Even our resident God idiot noticed.”
“I-no! I mean, I do like her, but-”
“We think she likes you, too.”
“I… you do?”
G laughed, a sound that Giotto was not accustomed to hearing. The music from Ugetsu’s room stopped briefly before picking up again, and Giotto wondered if Ugetsu had heard everything. Oh, this was the worst.
“It’s not like that,” said Giotto helplessly. “I mean, she is cute, and nice, and there’s no reason not to like her, but… I mean…” G smiled, clearly unconvinced. “Oh, shut up, G.”
“It’s okay, Giotto,” said G, relaxing against the tree trunk and closing his eyes. “I know how you feel.”
Giotto frowned, unsure of what G meant but thought better of prying. They listened to the end of the tune, indicated by a prolonged pause at the end of the last note. Giotto almost expected Ugetsu to join them, but he instead launched into another piece, livelier than the last. G pulled away the cigarette and sighed, a small cloud of tobacco escaping from his mouth.
“Since when did you start smoking?” asked Giotto. Many of the Portuguese they had traveled with engaged in the habit, but this was the first time he had seen G do it. Had he been smoking all this time?
G shrugged. “A couple of weeks ago, when you and Fuku were out on the harbor. Ugetsu wanted to visit the church, and we ran into a few explorers and traders who were selling this stuff. The Father thought they were bothersome, so…”
Giotto sighed. “Of course you did. And Ugetsu doesn’t mind?”
“He thought it was funny.”
“And now?”
A pause. “He listens too much to the fucking priest. This is harmless.”
Giotto offered G a grin and moved on. “I was thinking, G, about the cherry blossom season. Fuku said it wouldn’t happen for another couple of months at least, but I was wondering… did you want to go back with Fernão? I only ask because, well, I don’t know if I’d be ready to leave in a couple of months. I mean, we all seem so much happier here, and we’re far away from the Medici now. If that man was ever going to find us, he would have by now, don’t you think? Besides, it’s like Fernão said. We can’t go much more east than here.”
“Are you saying you want to stay?”
“I know we can’t impose on Ugetsu’s family forever. Maybe they can help us find work or something. I don’t know if that’s how it works here, but it’d be a start. I don’t know, G. What do you think?”
G said nothing at first, taking another drag from his cigarette and glancing in the direction of Ugetsu’s room. After a moment’s consideration, he smiled.
“I never really had any intentions of going back to Italy, anyway. We’ll figure something out. But yeah. Let’s stay.”
---
Knuckle seemed perplexed by the boys’ decision.
“But I extremely thought that was the point of coming all the way out here,” he said. Clearly, he never had any intentions of returning to Solntse, either.
And so it was decided, though they agreed to hold off telling Ugetsu and his family until the spring. Though they could certainly help the three find a way to survive without their assistance, they wanted to try their luck on their own first and get a more solid feel for the culture and what opportunities they had.
Knuckle determined that being a missionary was the path for him, though he was loath to separate from Giotto and G. There were plenty of missionaries in Nagasaki already, he said, but he knew that neither of them wanted to leave the city, either. He would make do somehow.
Actually keeping the news from Ugetsu and his family proved to be difficult. The topic of conversation at dinner anymore became Ujizane demanding to know when they would be rid of their guests with Tokuhime reprimanding him to be polite while kindly asking the three of them how much longer they were planning on staying in Nagasaki. While they gave Tokuhime and Ujizane vague answers, Ugetsu and Fuku continued the discussion after the meal or in the mornings while in the city. Unlike their older brother and mother, they seemed more distraught at the thought that Giotto, G, and Knuckle would return home someday soon.
“You won’t be going home until at least you see the cherry blossoms, right?” Fuku pleaded in Japanese. She never grasped onto Italian as easily as her brother had. “They’re very beautiful.”
“Fernão said the same thing,” said Giotto, dodging a fisherman carrying a net of fish too big to have noticed him. “But we’ll stay at least that long. Maybe even longer.”
“And then you’ll go home,” said Fuku. “Back to Italy. Ugetsu-ani-ue will be very sad. So will I,” she amended softly.
Giotto cringed. What was the best way to tell her they were staying without actually telling her? He hated to hear her so melancholy.
“Well, actually, we were thinking about maybe-definitely staying a lot longer than after the cherry blossoms bloom. If they’re as beautiful as everyone says, we were thinking about seeing them bloom more than just this year.” That was certainly a clumsy way of putting it. “But! We don’t want to… that is, your family has been so kind to us. We don’t want to trouble you much longer.”
“Oh, no, it’s no trouble! Please don’t mind Ujizane-ani-ue. He’s just always so busy and so tired, but I think he really does like you and G-dono and Nakkuru-dono. He will let you stay with us.”
“But your mother-”
“She likes you, too! I think they’re just asking how long you’re staying out of curiosity. To make sure you’ll stay with us a long time.”
Giotto frowned. That could not be true when they had been asking every night at dinner for the past week. Even breakfast had started to become uncomfortably silent, with Ujizane no longer greeting them with an impatient bark. Giotto never thought he would miss that.
They strolled wordlessly through the town, steering away from the docks. Fuku looked disheartened by their conversation. Giotto felt guilty. He had given her the wrong impression, maybe several wrong impressions. Maybe he should just tell her what he and G and Knuckle had discussed. There really was little reason to keep it a secret, and she and Ugetsu could help them establish themselves in Nagasaki. Besides, this would cheer her up, and that alone would be worth it.
Before he could begin giving her the news, his eyes caught the sight of a large man hovering over a small merchant stand stacked with the sweet rice cakes Ugetsu often treated them to. His face was contorted in an awful sneer as he held one of the rice cakes in his hands. The merchant trembled and sputtered apologies, but the man did not leave. A small crowd of whispering men and women circled around them, and others slowed their pace to glance at the scene from the corners of their eyes.
“Giotto-dono?” asked Fuku as Giotto gravitated with the crowd.
“You really expected me to pay for this, did you? Lousy peasant,” said the man. Giotto noticed then that the man carried a sword around his hip: a samurai, he realized. Ugetsu often mentioned them whenever he talked about his brother.
“I am sorry. Please forgive me,” said the merchant, all but dropping to his knees.
“Giotto-dono, let’s go. It’s impolite to stare,” Fuku pleaded.
Giotto ignored her and pushed his way through the crowd. Samurai or not, stealing was wrong, and bullying others was something he could not forgive, either.
The samurai grabbed the hilt of his sword.
“I think I ought to teach you some manners first,” he snarled as he unsheathed it and swung forward.
The crowd gasped. In that moment Giotto darted in front of the merchant with his cloak, thankful that it had been cold enough to wear it and hoping that it was just as effective against a blade as it was against bullets. When steel met cloth and Giotto felt only a dull thud, he realized that his arm was still attached. True to G’s theories about Lord Piero’s cloak, the attack had been nullified.
He enjoyed the victory for only a moment. The samurai pulled back and Giotto dropped his arm, glaring at the man and snapping, “I think the one who needs to learn manners is you.”
The samurai pursed his lips. “Little nanban, this does not concern you. Keep your nose out of the business of my people.”
“I will not,” said Giotto. “Not when you’re picking on someone weaker than you when you were the one who wasn’t going to pay him.”
“You speak pretty good Japanese for a nanban,” said the samurai as he drew his sword back. “That means you know better. So I should probably teach you a lesson too!”
G appeared at Giotto’s side then, gun drawn and pointed at the samurai.
“I would think twice about doing that, you cowardly son of a whore.” He spat the last part in Italian, Ugetsu never having taught words like that in Japanese.
The samurai paused mid-stride, and then he snorted. “Two little nanban! I had no idea we were being taken over by these barbaric monsters. Do you realize who you two are threatening?”
“I don’t care,” G snarled. “You have a problem with him, you have a problem with me. Drop. Your. Sword.”
The samurai stared at G, seeming as though he considered his threats to be legitimate. To Giotto’s surprise and relief, he sheathed his sword, but the moment was short-lived. The samurai laughed, and he raised his hand in the air and called out for the city guards. Half a dozen of them appeared at the samurai’s side in an instant.
With a smirk, the samurai said, “Arrest these boys. They have threatened one of the samurai unprovoked and deserve no less than the highest penalty.”
---
G did not go down without a fight. To his credit, he decided that shooting the approaching guards would not help their situation, but he ignored Giotto’s insistence that they run away in favor of dumping out his normal bullets for the special ones. He did not get the opportunity to fire his gun before the guards were on him. G kicked and punched and Giotto struggled to get free from their grasp.
Knuckle even showed up in time to plead the boys’ case (“They’re children,” he had insisted repeatedly), but all of it was futile. Giotto and G soon found themselves in a dark prison cell with no other companions but rats and old bones and rusty bars.
Neither Giotto nor G spoke to one another. G strained his ears to listen for any clues as to their fates in between scouting the perimeter of the cell for a way to escape. Giotto sat in the far corner of the cell, where the rats seemed to be the least interested in, most likely for the lack of bones littering the area. He hugged his knees to his chest, struggling to find the words to say to G not only to thank him for helping but to apologize for getting him involved and arrested.
G kicked one of the cell bars, flakes of brown rust shedding to the floor.
“Damn it,” he grumbled. “I really hope that the God idiot saw the bullets and picked them up. We might need them when we get out of here.”
“You mean you don’t have them?” Giotto did not mean to sound so disheartened.
“I think I dropped them when they grabbed me. Even if I did have them, it wouldn’t do us a lot of good. They took my gun, remember?”
Giotto remembered. The guards stripped the boys of all their belongings save for their clothes, which meant that not only did they have G’s weapon but Giotto’s cloak and ring. In fact, the samurai had insisted that the guards confiscate Giotto’s cloak.
“G, I… I’m really sorry,” he said. It was now or never. “It’s my fault you’re in here and-”
“It’s my own damn fault I’m in here,” said G. “I made the choice to step in, and I don’t regret it. That asshole was ready to slice your head off and I didn’t have my Family’s bullets loaded at the time. It was the only thing I could do, and if I could do it all over again, I would have. I wouldn’t even need a moment to think about it.”
Giotto felt a grin spread across his face as G turned back to inspecting the bars.
“Thank you, G,” he said.
“Prison is better than dead. At least we have a chance to get out of here.” G sighed. “But I don’t think we can stay in Nagasaki anymore. I’m not sure if we’d be able to stay in Japan any longer. We’re running out of places in the world to hide.”
Giotto did not respond. G was right; it was too dangerous to stay. They stood out too much. If they broke out of prison, everyone would know exactly who to look for and they would be much too easy to find. Even if they ventured north, the guards could track them down much easier than the Medici had been able to. And they could not even say goodbye to Knuckle or Ugetsu or Fuku: to see them again would get them into trouble.
“Two years,” he murmured. “We traveled two years to get all the way out here. And now we have to leave.”
G did not look away from the bars. “I’m sorry, Giotto.”
Giotto shook his head. “No. Grandpa told me that this was the land of beginnings. And it is. I don’t know what this is the beginning of, but it’s the beginning of something, right? And maybe we can return to Italy. Maybe the Medici forgot about us by now, and if they didn’t-”
“The mafia don’t forget so easily. If we go back, they’ll kill us.”
Giotto grinned. “Or try to. G, we’re not who we used to be. And if we can get your Family’s bullets back-and the cloak and ring-before we leave, maybe we can actually do something about the Medici and all the rest of the mafia. Don’t you think?”
“It won’t be that easy.”
“Well, if we can get out of here and get the cloak and ring back from under the guard’s noses, and get back the bullets, too, I think we’ll be able to do anything. Especially if we have each other.”
Then Giotto stopped and thought about what he was saying. What was he saying?
“But, at the very least, let’s just do that much. We don’t have to worry about the Medici now, or ever, if you don’t want to. It’s just… I think we can go back to Italy, and they won’t bother us. And if they do…”
“We’ll tell them we’re Vongola, not Guinizelli,” said G, turning to Giotto with a smile. “And then we’ll make sure they won’t hurt anybody else ever again. You have some crazy ideas, Giotto. I think I like them.”
“Then let’s go.”
Giotto picked himself from the ground and started mimicking G’s inspection of the perimeter of the cell. He skimmed the walls and the bars of the jail cell, not really knowing what to look for. G felt around the floor, and when Giotto asked what he was looking for G told him that though the bars were rusted, there was no way they could force their way out.
“I’m looking for a needle or something, see if I can’t pick our way out. At least they’re using European locks. I’m familiar with those.”
Giotto nodded and followed suit. After a few minutes of touching the cold floor and holding back a yelp whenever his fingers brushed something warm and furry, G said, “Are you sure you’re willing to leave everyone behind? Knuckle, Ugetsu, Fuku…?”
“I don’t want to,” said Giotto. “But we have to.”
G pursed his lips but silently continued his search. Giotto knew that he did not want to leave them behind either, but they had no place with them anymore. It would be cruel to ask them to go with them back to Italy. Still, they would miss them: Knuckle’s loud and enthusiastic sermons and Ugetsu’s music and laughter and Fuku’s endlessly shy kindness.
“What are you two doing?”
Giotto gasped and quickly spun to see Knuckle standing on the other side of the bars, an eyebrow raised and a small sack in his arms.
“Knuckle!” he said as G exclaimed, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Knuckle waved a hand.
“You two got yourself into an extreme mess,” he said. “Gospodin Fernão came by to try to release you, but the guards would have none of it. You do realize that a samurai has an extreme position of power in this country, right?”
“That didn’t give him the right-”
“It did, Giotto. We may not agree with it, but it did give him the right to do whatever he wanted. According to Ugetsu, what he was doing was not honorable even for a samurai but some of them are drunk with power. The one you two threatened was one of those types. And he wants the two of you dead in some sort of elaborate execution. Gospodin Fernão and Ugetsu both refused to go into the details.”
“Well, they won’t get the chance to kill us,” said G, crossing his arms. “We’re getting the hell out of here. If you know what’s good for you, you’d leave so you can feign innocence. By the way, do you have those bullets?”
Knuckle held up a small sack.
“I even got back your ring and cloak, Giotto. I told them that they were family heirlooms that I had entrusted to you. And as for leaving so I can pretend like I didn’t know you two were planning on escaping, G, I think you extremely misunderstand my purpose for this visit.”
He pulled a small pin from his pocket. “I told the guards that it is our custom for a priest to absolve the sins of the condemned before death. But I know a thing or two about lock-picking, to the extreme.”
Giotto’s jaw dropped, and G said not ungratefully, “Lying is a sin, you God damned idiot priest.”
“God forgives all sins if they are properly repented,” said Knuckle as he worked the lock. “And more importantly, I could never face Him at the gates of Heaven if I let you two die in the morning.”
With a click, the lock fell to the floor and Knuckle pushed the door open. “We have to hurry. There’s no telling when they’ll be by to tell me my time is up.”
Giotto and G hurried out of the prison cell, taking from Knuckle their respective belongings. As Giotto wrapped himself in the cloak, he heard the clang of metal and the howls of men falling to the ground from the other side of the wall that separated the prison from the rest of the building. Knuckle positioned himself in front of the boys with his fists to his face, trembling from the inevitability of having to break his vow yet again.
“Don’t worry about it, Father,” G muttered as he loaded his gun with a black-colored bullet. “You won’t have to sin more than you already have.”
Before Knuckle could respond, the door slid open, revealing a black-clad man with two swords in each hand, each a different length. Black cloth covered his entire face save for his awfully familiar eyes. He stared at the three for a long moment, murmuring something under his breath.
A noise behind the man caught his attention. He spun to greet the new threat by taking a low fighting stance. After a tense moment, he waved at the three of them to come to him, but none of them budged.
“Is this our executioner here early?” asked G.
Knuckle shook his head. “I don’t think so. He’s not acting like I think an executioner would.”
The black-clad man waved at them again, and Giotto knew him to be an ally.
“We should follow him,” he said. “I think he’s helping us escape.”
G sighed but did not protest. “Fine, but if he winds up killing us, we’re going to have a nice, long talk in Hell about being entirely too trusting of strangers.”
They followed closely behind the man as they ducked behind walls, darting through open hallways that were lined with unconscious guards. Whenever a group of guards came into their path, the black-clad man wasted no time in drawing his swords. Before Giotto could blink all of them had fallen to the ground in a large heap. The black-clad man pushed past them, only glancing back to make sure Giotto, G, and Knuckle were still behind him.
Finally, they left the final walls of the building, quietly slinking through the trees and bushes to the gates. There they stopped, the black-clad man peering back onto the grounds to make sure they were not being followed.
As Giotto struggled to catch his breath, the man pulled off his mask. A beaming Ugetsu stood before them, and Giotto felt as though he would never be able to breathe right again.
---
Ugetsu led them through the back alleys toward the docks, telling them what they already knew.
“You can’t stay here,” he said in a strangely mournful voice. “They’ll find you if you stay on the island, or even if you tried to head up to Kyoto. Going on the ship is your only chance. I think they leave sometime tomorrow morning. I have some extra money I can give you for anything you might need for the trip.”
They reached the harbor, hiding up against the wall of a Portuguese-owned smithy. A large Portuguese trade ship loomed ahead of them with only a large crowd of people bustling in their way. Easier said than done, Giotto realized, but a bigger question nagged at him.
“Ugetsu, where did you learn how to fight like that?” he asked. “Fuku told me that most nobles anymore have to learn sword-fighting, but that was always more Ujizane’s concern, not yours, and that you cared more for music than swordsmanship.”
Ugetsu grinned, but something in his smile was strained. “Fuku-chan is right. Men have to know how to fight. Ani-ue tells me every day that our position as nobility is threatened with the rise of the samurai and that we have to be as much a part of them as we can so we don’t lost our power. I train with Ani-ue some mornings. I don’t like it, but it’s something I have to do. I really do prefer music to it.”
His face fell. “It’s something that even Ani-ue agrees I’m better suited for. But that doesn’t matter now. Friendship always comes first, right?”
He tried to smile again, but this time even G and Knuckle noticed that something was off.
“Are you okay, Ugetsu?” asked Knuckle.
G said softly, immediately after the priest, “What happened? What did you do?”
“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter,” said Ugetsu. “They were going to have you killed tomorrow, and I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. You understand, don’t you? Come, let’s find a way to get you onto the ship.”
Giotto frowned. He understood the feeling of not doing anything when others were in danger, and especially his friends, but something about the boy’s demeanor was unsettling.
“Ugetsu-” he began, but he was cut off by a small voice from behind them.
“Ugetsu-ani-ue, there you are,” said Fuku, crouching next to her brother. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
She looked at Giotto, and then G, and then Knuckle, and her face became distressed. “So it’s true. You helped them escape.”
“What do you mean, ‘so it’s true?’” asked G. “We didn’t bust out too long ago. Does everyone already know?”
Fuku shook her head. “No, not everyone. Not yet, anyway. But Ujizane-ani-ue went to the prison and once he found out what had happened, he said that it was you, Ugetsu-ani-ue. That you probably had some swords somewhere in the house that he didn’t know about, because all of his were still there and that you had disappeared, and you were the only who could do such a thing.”
Giotto could not read Ugetsu’s face.
“I see,” he said. He sighed and glanced at the mask he had worn in the prison. “I’d wanted to protect you, and Ani-ue, and Mother.”
“Ugetsu-ani-ue… Ujizane-ani-ue, he… he’s disowned you.” Fuku dropped her head and covered her face with her hands. “He said that you have dishonored our family and have no place among us anymore. If you go back home, they’ll have you…” She trailed off into her sobs.
A stunned silence fell over everybody. Giotto watched Ugetsu carefully, seeing his face transform from horror to distressed acceptance.
“I… see,” he said slowly. “It’s probably better this way anyway.”
“Like hell it is!” G snapped, so loud that even Knuckle jumped. “That son of a bitch, why am I not surprised that he would pull shit like this?”
“G!” cried Giotto, begging for his best friend to quiet down.
“This is not what family is about!”
Ugetsu said, “Yes, it is, G-dono. They probably would have figured out it was me eventually. Ani-ue is only making sure that Fuku-chan and Mother is safe. They would punish all of us for what I have done. This way, I am the only one who suffers.”
“It’s… it’s not fair,” G insisted. Giotto recognized the look in his eyes: it was the same look he had back in Racale when Giotto threw the apple core at the back of the Medici man’s head, and the same look he had in the Guinizelli mansion when he shot the man strangling Giotto during the massacre of his Family. “For our sake, you… it’s not fair.”
Ugetsu gently laughed, in spite of the situation. “Life is rarely fair, G-dono. But I’d do it again, because I meant it. Friendship is more important than anything.”
Fuku launched herself into her brother’s arms, sobbing into his shoulder.
“I love you, Ani-ue. I love you and thank you so much,” she said over and over again. Ugetsu gently embraced her, and Giotto realized what Ugetsu’s fate would be. For helping two prisoners condemned to death escape, he was now facing execution himself.
Giotto could not allow that.
“Ugetsu, come with us,” he said. “Please. I can’t let you… I can’t let you die after everything you’ve done for us.”
Brother and sister stared at Giotto as they processed what he said. Oh, Giotto hoped that his Japanese made sense despite how upset he was.
“Giotto-dono, I-” Ugetsu closed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter where I go.”
“Ugetsu, we’re going to Italy,” said G softly. “We’re going to Italy and I remember you saying how much you want to see it. Here’s your chance. And more importantly, Giotto’s right. After everything you’ve done, this is the least we can do to repay you. Please.”
“G-dono…” Ugetsu murmured. He glanced at Fuku, who nodded with a small smile, and then Knuckle. He sighed, but the familiar bright smile soon covered his face again. “Alright. I’ll go with you.”
There was still something off about his smile, but Giotto knew they had many months of travel ahead to figure it out. At least this way, Asari Ugetsu would not die for their sake, and they would not have to say goodbye to him anytime soon.
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Interlude 1: When in Rome
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Translation Notes:
Nanban - literally, "Southern barbarian." This is how the Japanese referred to the Portuguese (and other Europeans) during the Muromachi period.