Summary: Seta Soujiro's saga: his life as a rurouni and his search for truth. 7 years of wandering, told through the eyes of the 7 women he meets, as he follows in the footsteps of Himura Kenshin.

A/N: Hey! So basically, this fic is going to have 7 parts, for each of the women. It might get confusing. I'm sorry. For example, the very first part of the first chapter is confusing! There was supposed to be a prologue but I got too lazy to write it. Basically, Soujiro goes to Osaka and finds an old friend of Shishio's named Sato. Sato is a collector of swords and Soujiro uses all the yen he has to buy a katana made by Shakku (I probably spelled that wrong).

Yesh. Also, I'm not Japanese and I will probably make a whole lot of inaccuracies. All information pertaining to Japan are from online sites, such as food, names, cities, etc. If the sites are wrong (which makes me wrong) I apologize to anyone I might've offended. And some things may not be historically correct. Most of the history information I got from my World History textbook, but the textbook is very vague around this time period and so I had to be creative...a scary thought.

Oh, right! Disclaimer: I am not Japanese, I am not male, and my name is not Watsuki Nobuhiro. If I had all those characteristics, then I would own the rights to RuroKen and Soujiro would be taller and have a larger role. He is so short. But as it is, I'm just a pathetic little fangirl with no life but manga/anime and ridiculous wishes...

Ha, one more thing. I'm not going to talk about the other events after the Kyoto Arc because Soujiro is just kind of going to do his own thing. Well, I might. I don't know. But I thought I should warn you all beforehand...

Okay, okay, I won't bother you anymore. Read on and enjoy!

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Kuroda Midoriko

Chapter One

He’d only walked a mile or so from Sato’s when he realized something. He had used up all his yen on his katana. Also, his hardtack was running out. He decided he would find a way out of Osaka and catch frogs in the forest. He had had to resort to that before, when working for Shishio. However, it was easier said than done. He decided he would be smart. He would walk in the same direction the entire time, which would guarantee an escape from the city.

Osaka’s streets, though, don’t go in one simple direction. After wandering around for a few hours, he finally admitted something. He was utterly lost, and very hungry. He ate the rest of his hardtack, but it wasn’t enough.

As if fate wanted to spite him, he wandered some more and found himself in the middle of a food market. His stomach snarled at the stalls of fragrant roast pork and fish, strung up high for him to see. He walked past them reluctantly, all the while growing hungrier.

--

I was making my way through the markets to buy fish when I saw him, the young stranger. He was standing in front of Daisuke’s stall, looking all the world like a half-starved dog in a chicken coop. Daisuke was bellowing out in a loud voice, “Donburi! Delicious donburi here!” He turned to the stranger and asked, “You want some? I’ve got oyakodon, unadon, katsudon, and gyudon.”

“Oh,” said the stranger, smiling wistfully and throwing up his hands. “I’m broke.”

Daisuke turned away and began calling out to the public again, “Donburi! Delicious donburi here!”

The look on the stranger’s face as he stared at the food was hilarious. “Kid,” I said, walking up to him and putting my hand on his shoulder. “Which do you want?”

“No, thank you,” he said, smiling again. “Please, it’s all right.”

I turned to Daisuke and tossed him a few coins. “One bowl of katsudon,” I said.

“No, no,” protested the stranger, but I pulled him over to an empty table and shoved the bowl in front of him. He dug in very heartily. He must not have eaten in a long time. After he had wolfed down a few bites, he asked, “How do I repay you?”

“It’s all right, I don’t need to be repaid,” I answered. “What’s your name?”

“Seta Soujiro.” He finished his bowl and stood up. “Thank you, lady. You’ll have to excuse me, but I must continue.”

“Where are you going?” I asked him, following him out of the store.

Soujiro shrugged. “Wherever my feet take me,” he answered.

“And I hope you realize that there’s an edict against carrying swords?”

He shrugged.

“What’s that katana doing on your waist, then?”

He shrugged again.

“Speak to me, damn it!” I shouted, and slapped the top of his head. Oops—I always have had a very bad tendency to grow violent over small things. The poor kid was the victim of my next outburst. Soujiro stumbled a little, but straightened up and smiled that stupid smile. “I’m sorry, Soujiro, I just have a very short temper,” I said apologetically.

Soujiro laughed, “It’s fine. You have a very strong hand. Anyway, I was born a swordsman. I need this katana to survive. It gives me a sense of comfort.”

“You have a death threat, boy? The police here in Osaka have no mercy. How old are you anyway?”

“Um, twenty, lady.”

I stared at him. He didn’t look seventeen. He looked maybe fifteen or sixteen! Well, I thought, he doesn’t look that bad. He’s actually kind of cute in a little boy way…

“Hey, boy!” someone shouted behind me. I turned, and saw Isamu barrel past me and pull Soujiro away. Isamu and I used to work together in a sukiyaki restaurant, where he cooked and I waited, until I was fired and told never to set foot in the restaurant again.

I knew what was coming the moment I heard Isamu’s voice. He drew Soujiro away a few yards and began whispering hurriedly, occasionally glancing back at me. He wasn’t a very good whisperer, but even if he were, I would still know exactly what he was saying. Isamu, like everyone else I knew save for a precious few, believed in the rumors that floated around me.

I was a widow of three husbands, Kichiro, Seiichi, and Osamu.

Isamu’s hisses reached my ears. “All three died mysterious, gruesome deaths, do you hear? On the seventh morning after the marriage, each one’s head was found in a pool of blood beside his sleeping mat. Each one lasted exactly six days. She’s a kitsune, boy, a fox demon in human form. She seduces men into marriage and eats their bodies. I hear if you accept food from a kitsune’s hand, you become her slave. Run, before she claims you!”

Soujiro looked mildly amused. He turned and walked back to me, leaving a fuming and confused Isamu behind. Was the boy going to run me through with his katana? I stepped back a bit. With a smile, Soujiro said, “I have always wanted to meet a kitsune.”

“Uh…” I was speechless. Most people, when they hear the rumors, they flee as instructed. I’d expected him to kill me or something! “Thank you, but I’m not a demon.”

“Is it true about your husbands?”

Feeling my face turn red, I looked off to the side. “Yes, I found their heads on the seventh morning, each one,” I said, looking up and gazing defiantly into his curious blue eyes. “But I didn’t kill them!”

“I’m sorry about their deaths.”

Again, I was caught dumbfounded. This boy was strange. Why should he be sorry, when everyone else turned his or her back? He didn’t even know my name! “You’re starting to freak me out, kid,” I said.

“Why?”

Oh gods, stop playing with me. “Because no one else has ever reacted like that before. No one else carries around a sword. No one else has heard the belief that I’m a kitsune and still smiled like that,” I answered angrily.

Soujiro’s hands flew to his head—for good reason. “Please don’t lose your temper again, lady,” he said.

Suddenly, I had an idea. I was so proud of myself. As my late second husband, Seiichi, once said, I am “a very practical, very conventional woman devoid of creativity and rare to come up with a decent strategy”. We had been playing that Western game, chess, and I had thrown the board off the table, scattered the pieces, and given him a good walloping when he’d said it.

Anyway, I had an idea. “Soujiro,” I said. “Would you like to help me find out who the murderer is? It could be payment for the donburi.”

“Sure, how?”

I winked at him and stepped closer. “Are you any good with that katana?”

Soujiro shrugged. “A little, I guess,” he said.

“Good.” In a quiet voice I explained, “We’ll pretend that we’re getting married. And on the sixth night, we’ll stay awake and you’ll catch whoever it is.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” said Soujiro. “Okay, I’ll help you. What’s your name, lady?”

“Kuroda Midoriko,” I answered. “I haven’t quite worked out the details yet, though.”

“Kuroda-san,” the boy began.

“Call me Midoriko.”

“Midoriko-san,” he began again.

“Just Midoriko!” I snapped.

“Midoriko,” Soujiro finally said. “How will we fake a marriage?”

“Um.” I thought briefly. “We could walk around together for a few weeks. Everyone who saw us would know that love is brewing. And we can’t tell anybody, not even our closest friends.” I peered hard at him. “You’re not from around here, anyway, are you?”

Soujiro shook his head. “I’m from Kyoto.”

“Okay, so no one knows you.” I continued with my plan, “Then, after a few weeks, we’ll go to the other side of Osaka where no one will follow us and come back on a white horse and in wedding garments. Everyone will assume we just got married.”

“You’re smart, Kuroda-san,” laughed the boy.

“Midoriko.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot, I’m sorry. You’re smart, Midoriko-san.” My fist connected, and he heaved himself up from the floor, rubbing his jaw. Onlookers laughed, until they saw it was the kitsune who’d punched someone. “Did I mention you have a very strong hand, Kuroda-san?”

I groaned inwardly. This was going to be a hell of a few weeks.