Chapter Text
Beyond the grimy, dust-covered windows of an abandoned apartment in one of the high-rises of Little China, the evening hum of the city sounded like a familiar symphony — woven from fragments of voices, intrusive advertisements, and honking cars. The world outside lived its own life — fast, greedy, blind — while Goro sat in an old, worn-out armchair with peeling leather upholstery, and his fingers, confident and precise from years of repetition, methodically disassembling a pistol.
Each time he touched the cold metal, he felt a familiar, quiet sense of satisfaction. Every click, every soft grinding — like a whisper from the past. Snippets of a bygone life surfaced — pressed suits, a flawless office, expensive food, the comfort and power that now felt distant, almost non-existent past.
Only the weapon in his hands remained unchanged.
While cleaning the parts from dust and grime, the man froze for a moment, barely catching the quiet footsteps behind the door. He slightly pulled back the sleeve of his jacket, his gaze dropped to his wristwatch. Carefully setting the part and the cloth on the table, he stood up.
As soon as he approached the door, a characteristic knock rang out: two quick taps, followed by two slow ones. Takemura opened the door, and the air was immediately filled with the smell of fast food.
Aria stood on the threshold, shifting slightly from toe to heel, a paper bag in her hands. She was punctual to the core, so she’d arrived two minutes earlier than the time they had agreed on.
The light from inside caught her face — a shy, soft smile tugged at her lips, and her cheeks were faintly pink with excitement.
“Hi,” she greeted timidly and rustled the paper bag, lifted it slightly. “I brought you some burgers… And fries.”
Goro gave a short nod, stepping aside with quiet formality: “Come in.”
Aria stepped inside, heading toward the center of the “living room” and placing the paper bag onto the improvised table made of two crates and a wooden plank. The old lamp on the table gave off a quiet hum, casting a dim, cold white light. Her gaze lingered briefly on the neatly arranged weapon parts laid out in perfect order and the pistol itself, and something elusive flashed in her eyes. Looking away, the girl took the backpack off her shoulder and placed it on the sagging, dusty sofa. Sitting on its edge, she watched as the man sat down in the chair and began cleaning the weapon.
"You’re not going to eat?" she asked.
Takemura cast a brief glance at the paper bag. This kind of food never appealed to him — too greasy, too caloric, far from what he had grown used to over his long years of service with Arasaka. But when hunger took over, he would eat in silence, always offering his polite thanks.
“I’m not hungry yet,” he replied curtly.
“Okie.” Aria nodded faintly and sank into quiet observation of his movements. At first stealing glances, then watching more openly.
His focus seemed almost meditative. His hands moved measuredly, each motion exact, without a single wasted gesture. She watched his hands, fascinated — strong, firm, with neatly protruding veins and metallic joints that glinted faintly in the lamplight. For a moment, she had the sudden urge to touch them, to feel his skin beneath her fingers, draw paths along these protruding veins. Unconsciously, she bit her lip.
The sudden thought of how ridiculous this might look from the outside — to sit like this and look at a man who has years of life behind him filled with faithful service to his patron and murders, when she herself has only recently ceased to be a teenager — made her perk up and flush with embarrassment.
Hoping that Goro hadn’t noticed anything, Aria tried to appear casual and reached for her backpack, placing it on her lap. Nervously fiddling with the edge of the clasp in doubt, she finally unzipped it and pulled out a small, neatly folded stack of papers.
Takemura watched her actions carefully but unnoticeably, noting out of the corner of his eye every awkward movement and slight trembling of her fingers.
Aria began to fan out the cut paper rectangles in her left hand. The handwriting on each one is crooked, slightly smudged, but diligent. She looked up at the man, still feeling doubtful, and yet, despite her uncertainty, she called out quietly: “Goro…”
He turned his head toward her. There was a restrained attentiveness in his gaze.
“I’m sorry if I’m bothering you. I… just… I have something for you,” the girl lowered her eyes, timidly holding out her hand with the papers, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks. “It’s… probably silly. But I did this when I was little. And… sometimes, when it's scary or unclear, it helps.
Aria felt small and awkward in the presence of this mature, self-assured man, but she kept speaking: “These are… petals. Each one has an answer. Not exactly ‘yes’ or ‘no’. More like… a piece of advice. Or a hint. Or something in between.”
A subtle, cautious curiosity appeared in his eyes. Takemura gave a silent nod, inviting her to go on.
“I thought… if you’d like, you could pull out one. Just… um... For luck.”
Her heart was beating so loudly that she could hardly hear the sounds outside the open window. He could refuse, after all. Say he didn’t want to be distracted by such nonsense. Or — worse — say it was ridiculous and naive, which would make her wish she could vanish on the spot.
His fingers were still touching Kenshin’s inner mechanisms. Aria timidly looked up. There was no rejection in his gaze — only a flicker of surprise. She held her breath as Goro carefully set the part down on the table and, without a word, he extended his hand, took one petal, and unfolded it. On the piece of paper, written in blue ink:
“You’ll witness what you thought impossible. And it will change your path.”
He read it to himself, his expression not changing. But his gaze became a little more thoughtful.
“Hm. It sounds… vague.”
“Well… ye-eah,” the girl exhaled and gave a faint smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I tried to make them sound… poetic. Not like ‘yes’ or ‘no’, but more like… a possibility.”
“You wrote them yourself?” raised an attentive, studying gaze to her.
She nodded, once again avoiding his gaze. Aria didn’t mention that she had spent almost the entire night on it, tearing out the remaining blank sheets from Misty's old notebook and cutting out the sheets with blunt scissors, coming up with phrases and rewriting them several times just because she accidentally made mistakes in words or her handwriting was uneven.
That had poured more into them than simple words.
Takemura remained silent for a while, then asked: “So… this is your message?”
The girl flushed, her cheeks burning even more.
It was just a question. Just logic.
But it was as if he had seen something too personal. As if he had looked too deeply, come too close to what she did not dare even name.
Her heart pounded so loudly, it drowned out the city outside, and she almost hid behind the fan of petals.
“I didn’t… well, I just…” she squeezed her knee with her right hand. “I just wanted to do something… kind. For you. Just so you’d know... that everything might not be so bad.”
The man was looking at her in silence. Several long seconds passed before he quietly said: “Thank you, Aria.”
There was an unusual warmth in his voice, careful and gentle, that made her heart flutter. Aria exhaled, feeling the tension leave her shoulders, giving way to a gentle, quiet joy.
“You’re welcome,” she replied just as softly, a soft smile blooming on her lips.
In the resulting silence between them, something strange, warm, almost cozy, arose. Goro returned to his occupation. But now, his movements were a little slower. A little more attentive.
Aria carefully arranged the remaining petals on her lap, as if creating her own little garden of prophecies. And none of them seemed so silly to her anymore.