Sasaki Yuki struggled with the wooden handles of the overstocked cart digging into his bony palms. His back hurt more and more with each grueling step. He prayed he had gotten the correct goods this time for sensei. A jolt of pain shot through his shoulders each time the rickety cart wheels hit an uneven cobblestone, of which there were many in Kyoto's temple and shrine rich Gion district. Almost as brutal as the cart, the Kansai sun beat down on his bare shoulders and nape. His hands glistened with sweat, which made gripping the handles even harder.

An old man was selling kakigori and frosty glasses of water from an ice box on the side of the road. Yuki gulped and breathed hard. The old Yuki would have dropped the blasted wagon right then and there.

He repeated Master Drake’s words. “A retainer’s needs come second to the needs of his lord.”

Yuki was no longer a weak person; he was a warrior.

“Only a little further. Ganbatte, Sasaki! Can't drop it. Dropping it is unforgivable.”

The handles slipped through his grasp and the cart landed hard on the road. A couple of apples fell into the dirt and rolled past two identical, young women eating dango on the steps of a small shrine. Time slowed for him as he watched them bite the first two ball-like deserts off of their respective skewers in unison. One twin had a longbow resting beside her and the other, a katana. Their beautiful, pale skin, toned muscles, cat-like faces, and more than anything else, their intimidating auras could not belong to anyone else.

Kiryuu Keiko and Kiryuu Rin had come to Kyoto.

They must’ve came all the way from Tohoku for Drake-sensei’s head, and possibly Yuki’s. The old Yuki would have ran to them, clasped their hands, and begged their forgiveness. But he was no longer that weak person. He pressed his handkerchief to his face, wiping the sweat from his face, a desperate act to hide his presence from Keiko, who looked even sexier than he remembered, and Rin, who bore the nasty scar running down her cheek from that fateful day Drake-sensei arrived in Kami-machi.

Yuki left the cart and sprinted to his sensei with every ounce of strength remaining in his tortured body.

By the time he reached his dojo, he was hyperventilating. His friends waiting outside asked him what the problem was, but he could only manage mumbled nonsense in response.

Inside, rows of fellow students practiced swordplay in the courtyard. Some were taken aback by his haggard state, but the vast majority continued their drills with monk-like devotion as he ploughed through them like a drunken bull.

Master Drake was in his quarters, his silhouette cast on the shoji screen doors. The aroma of rosehip tea permeated throughout the area. Sensei claimed it staved off his thirst for blood.

Yuki knelt outside of the door, inhaled deeply, and boldly made his presence known. "Pardon me! It's Sasaki Yuki! May I enter, sensei? It's urgent!"

"Yes, come in Sasaki-kun," Drake-sensei responded in a friendly manner.

Yuki slid the door open and bowed. Grinning broadly, his master waved him in. Drake-sensei kept his tatami room bare and simple: a short table, floor pillows, and a few small, ukiyoe paintings. He had his greyish-brown hair unknotted, which Yuki was unused to seeing, and it fell around his shoulders, past his beard. He took a band and pulled his hair back into a neat top-knot. It was still strange for Yuki to observe a European kyuuketsuki conducting himself in such a Japanese fashion.

"You’re drenched in sweat. What’s the matter?"

"It's the Kiryuu twins. They're here in Kyoto."

Drake smiled, baring his deadly fangs, and slapped his palm on Yuki’s back. The impact knocked the wind out of Yuki’s lungs. “Excellent!”

“Excellent?” Yuki coughed.

Drake looked out the window wistfully. “You’ve done well, Sasaki-kun. Very well.” He turned to Yuki with hungry eyes that made him stagger back. “I have another job for you. I can see that you’re tired, and I apologize. But it must be done.”

This was it. A superb chance to deepen sensei’s trust in him.

“I understand.”

“This isn’t like collecting groceries. You cannot fail me.”

Yuki straightened his back. “I won’t.”

“Good. I need you to go to Carmilla’s.”

Yuki stood and backed away. He hadn’t expected that. “The whorehouse? But sensei, I can’t go there! I’m a teenager.”

Drake grabbed the folds of his kendogi and dragged him back to a seated position. “You’re mature for your age. Just do as I say and it will be fine.”

Yuki grovelled against the tatami. “I was wrong to question you. Oyurushi kudasai.”

Drake swatted the apology away with his hand, dismissing the offense. “I want you to find Carmilla and tell her exactly what you told me.”

“Yes, sensei.”

“Tell her to send a present to the twins. Oh, and whatever you do, don’t fuck any of the women there.”

Yuki waved his hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“You say that now. But Sakura…” Drake-sensei looked as though a spark went off inside his head. He placed his hands on Yuki’s shoulders. “If any women come onto you-- ”

“Come onto me?”

Drake smiled. “Tell them you have a disease. Or better yet, that you don’t have any money.”

Yuki shrugged. “I don’t have any money.”

Drake stood and opened the door for Yuki. “Perfect. Leave as soon as you're able. I must make my own preparations.”