July 26th, 1876. Tokyo, Japan.

The Imperial Palace.

Ever since he found out you practised your swordsmanship blindfolded, Emperor Meiji had used you as his entertainment for his guests. After asking your consent, of course. But how could anyone refuse the Emperor himself?

Whenever officials, nobles or even important people from other countries visited his palace, you always knew your cue, and you did not disappoint.

Today was no different for you, you thought. Entertaining a group of Americans from the West that were going to train the Japanese army to use firearms and weapons that they had brought. Colonel Bagley, Captain Algren, and Corporal Zeb, along with a translator you had met before (you could never remember his name, though). Meiji did love to revolutionise, after all. You didn't agree much with the idea of using firearms, but you never voiced your opinions.

You and your opponent for today, Saigo (though he was still your friend, regardless of who lost), stepped into the room, shoes off, socks on. You slide the shoji shut, and the pair of you bow deeply towards the Emperor for five seconds before standing back up properly. You take a few steps backwards as Saigo does the same, and the both of you turn towards each other, bowing and standing up again.

You briefly glance over at the three Americans sat beside Meiji's throne, their legs folded underneath them as they sit on the straw mat, watching you and Saigo. You make eye contact with one of the men. Colonel Bagley, perchance? No. He didn't seem like a Colonel. Perhaps it was the Captain. Scruffy beard, shaggy brown hair, glassy hazel eyes, and demeanour of a drunk who had been off alcohol a few hours too long. 'How did they let him in the army?' You thought. He looked at you intently, almost as if he were peering through your soul, but you turned your gaze to Saigo before the stranger could start a staring contest with you.

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a maroon cloth, tying it around your head and pulling the cloth over your eyes. You draw your bokutō, exhaling before the fight begins.

After a few rounds of fighting, you win. Narrowly. You always liked Saigo, not just because he was your friend, but because he could nearly always match your swordsmanship.

Once the brief meeting with Emperor Meiji had ended, Nathan had left as quickly (and respectfully) as he could, trying to find you. He catches a glimpse of your coat billowing in the breeze as you step into the courtyard.

"Hey." The Captain calls out, jogging after you.*

"I try not to talk to Westerners." You answer curtly. "Why not?" Nathan asks, now walking alongside you. "You were amazing. I just want to compliment you. I've never seen anyone fight like that before–"

"I don't wish to speak to you." You cut him off promptly, keeping your eyes locked ahead. Nathan grabs your hand, stopping you in your tracks and turning you around. "And why not?" He asks.

You narrow your eyes at him. "You bring these foreign firearms into my country to teach Japanese army soldiers to fight against Samurai who risk their lives for Japan, and you expect me to like you? Killing should be done with respect, not recklessness. Fight by hand, or don't fight at all. Using machines to kill for you is pathetic. This.. modernisation and industrialism is diminishing an ancient, legendary culture that has been around for hundreds of years. The Samurai have lives, too. They're not just warriors. It's a way of life. Their life."

Nathan pauses for a moment, his grip on your hand loosening. He clearly wasn't expecting that answer.