“Nevermind that,” Ryo said quickly. “What took you so long?”

Remi grinned. “I have a little job for you, Ryo.”

“Yeah? So does Shinji, apparently.”

“His can wait!” Remi stepped out the door into the courtyard. Another chilly gust found its way in. “C’mon! I’ve got something better!”

The sun was fading fast. Pinkish rays twinkled softly through storm-gray clouds, and the wind that cascaded the courtyard garden smelled strongly of fresh earth and soft rain. The sensation was fleeting, for as soon as Remi yanked her apathetic partner into the outer corridor, the sound of approaching rain became a whisper and the noise of patrons trickling into the bar beyond the western door—a growing tide of mixed tongues and clattering mugs—grew strong, the warmth of their bodies shouldered close a familiar, stuffy scent. Remi pulled him closer, and as they drew near to the door yonder he could hear two distinct voices.

“… stepping outside your boundaries, boy. What did you think would happen, warugaki? I am a clansman! I am a professional, and as a professional, to hear the rumors in my town—my own town!—that someone else deserves greater respect than I…?”

Ryo stepped into the bar. Two men palmed the counter at the stools, one dark-haired with narrow eyes and a nose broken long ago that never set correctly. The other had a dark complexion with coal-black eyes and a frown that spread from cheek to cheek, a shaved head and meaty arms. They both wore similar soldiers’ uniforms, faded and torn and like a dozen others Ryo had seen, however he would recognize the type of men anywhere: those arrogant pricks of the Yiga clan. From their demeanor it was likely they had been drinking before they decided to arrive.

Despite the tension at the bar, the atmosphere in the room remained largely enthusiastic. Either the others noticed but cared little or took no heed at all: it was a seasoned crowd and they were familiar with these types. They were even more familiar with how they were dealt with.

“We own Kagamiishi.” The dark-haired one seethed. “Ishikawa? Koori? Ours!” He slammed his fist on the bar. “And to think your kind walks free through my land… a joke! A real joke, you are. An undeserved, cruel…”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.” The barman they spoke to was none other than the fresh teenage kid that had beamed so happily at Remi weeks ago. Ryo realized he had never caught his name before. “Would you fellows like a drink? I can make most that you know and a little what you don’t, I’m sure! First round’s on the house. I’m certain the Madame would appreciate your satisfaction.”

“I’ll have none of your swill, you stupid white monkey. The fact that I must speak to you at all…” the man grimaced and sneered. “… is insulting! Bring me your master now!”