In the autumn of 1880, Tokyo is a city of brass bands, silk top hats, and festering shadows. Former samurai, now destitute, drift into crime or drink. The police are undermanned; the government, paranoid.
For the first time in ten years, Kenshin does not smile. His grip on the sakabatō turns white. Kaoru, chained to a pillar, sees his eyes go flat and cold. The Rurouni Kenshin
Kaoru runs after him in the mist.
Kenshin stumbles into their lives when he stops a gang of opium thugs from seizing Kaoru’s land deed. He does not kill them. He simply redirects their strikes—using the sakabatō to break wrists and knock men unconscious. One thug slashes his back. Kenshin does not flinch. He smiles, says "oro?" —and ends the fight. In the autumn of 1880, Tokyo is a
Kenshin: "No. The difference is that you still believe the era needs wolves." For the first time in ten years, Kenshin does not smile
They clash. Saito's gatotsu thrust pierces Kenshin's shoulder. Kenshin's sakabatō snaps Saito's ribs. Neither wins. Both bleed.