A/N: Hey guys! Excited to start this new story about a grumpy ronin, a town full of trouble, and maybe some cool sword fights? Let me know what you think!

Sunrise in Amihara. Aka, Signal for the Noise to Start.

Gulls screamed like banshees overhead. Down below, the fish market roared to life, a chaotic symphony of shouting merchants and thudding crates. My room above the Sakana's Breath tavern offered zero protection. The smell of stale sake, cheap perfume, and questionable seafood seeped through the floorboards. Just another day in paradise.

I swung my legs off the futon, the familiar twinge in my shoulder reminding me why I hated mornings. Why I hated remembering, period. First things first. Katana maintenance.

Unsheathing the blade, the steel gleamed coolly in the dim light. It was old, the wrappings on the handle worn smooth, but the edge... the edge was hungry. Cleaning it was the only ritual I allowed myself. Focus. Breathe. Forget the ghosts.

Breakfast was cold rice and pickles that tasted suspiciously like the harbor at low tide. Fuel. That's all it was. Enough to keep me upright, keep me moving, keep me invisible. That was the plan. Blend in. Earn enough for rent and rice. Avoid trouble.

Yeah, right. Trouble finds me like flies find fish guts in this town.

Out on the streets, Amihara was alive, a frantic, messy organism. Nets draped like macabre decorations, stalls overflowed with goods, kids darted underfoot. But beneath it all, tension coiled thick and heavy. Shogunate guards – the Machi-Bugyo – walked their patrols, eyes like chips of flint, radiating 'don't-mess-with-me.' You could practically hear the whispers trailing behind them – rebels, taxes, people vanishing. The usual cheerful tunes of a port town.

And then I saw it. Predictable as the tide. Three local idiots, reeking of cheap booze, backing an old ceramics vendor against his stall. The vendor looked terrified, clutching a small clay pot like a shield.

My first instinct screamed: Walk away, Mōmōtarō! Not your circus, not your monkeys! Involvement meant attention. Attention meant problems I didn't need.

But then one of them, the biggest one, backhanded the old man. Pottery shattered. The vendor whimpered.

Damn it.

With a sigh that felt heavier than lead, I moved. Didn't draw my sword – overkill for these clowns. Just... flowed. An elbow here, a wrist lock there, a swift leg sweep. Thump. Thump. Thump. Three idiots decorating the dirt road. Quick. Efficient. Annoying.

The vendor bowed, tears in his eyes, pressing coins into my hand. I took them. Rent was due. "Watch yourself," I grunted, melting back into the crowd before the inevitable guard patrol showed up.

Later, trying to find some shade near the Magistrate's imposing office, I saw the notice go up. A crowd gathered. Someone read it aloud. "...treaty... ships... Vestian Republic... arriving soon..."

Vestians. Foreigners. My stomach clenched. Treaties, foreigners, Shogunate oversight – it was a powder keg waiting for a spark. Nothing good ever came from mixing powers.

Found my usual spot on a quiet jetty. Watched the waves crash. The setting sun painted the water the color of rust and blood. That fragile illusion of peace I'd tried to build here? Yeah. It felt like it was about to shatter.

A/N: So, meet Takashi! Grumpy, skilled, and wants to be left alone. Fat chance in Amihara, right? What do you think of him? Are you excited/nervous about the Vestians arriving?