The skies above Edo were painted in a dull gray as Gintoki Sakata strolled down the familiar streets, his wooden sandals clacking rhythmically against the stone path. It had been one of those quiet days, the kind that allowed his thoughts to wander back to the past. The weight of his sword was light on his back, but the weight of memories was far heavier.

He barely remembered the face of his little brother. It had been 15 years since that fateful night—chaos, fire, and war tearing their family apart. Gintoki was barely a teenager then, forced to grow up too fast, while his brother, still a child, was whisked away in the confusion. He had searched for years, through battles and wandering, but never found a single clue.

Time numbs even the sharpest pain, and eventually, Gintoki had stopped looking. Life had taken him in many directions, some noble, some less so. But always, there was a hollow space in his heart, reserved for the sibling he had lost.

As he approached the marketplace, he noticed a commotion near a food stall. A group of local thugs surrounded a lone man. Gintoki sighed, pushing his hand through his unruly silver hair. Another day, another hassle.

"Oi," he called out lazily, his tone flat. "You punks making trouble again? Can't you give it a rest?"

The thugs turned to face him, but their leader, a scarred man with a crooked grin, stood his ground. The man they were harassing, however, caught Gintoki’s attention. He was young, around the age Gintoki’s brother would be now, with dark, tired eyes and a calm, defiant posture. Something in his face struck a chord deep within Gintoki’s memory, but the years had clouded those images.

"Who are you supposed to be, huh?" the thug leader spat at the stranger. "Think you can stand up to us alone?"

The young man said nothing, simply adjusting his stance. Gintoki stepped forward, scratching his nose.

"Look, I don't care who he is," Gintoki said, "but if you don't clear out in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna have to give you a lesson you won’t forget."