“‘Please… take care of yourself’… those were his last words to you.”
shinjuro grips the bottle, either his nails or the clay cracking. “ugh,” he begins to whimper before breaking down into pathetic sobs, as the first few tears welled up in his once fiery eyes and plopped onto the mat below. “kyojiro..”
If only his idiot son hadn’t died— of only that worthless boy had been better at swordsmanship, if only he hadn’t been chosen to go. If only he hadn’t picked up the sword at all—
“you useless piece of trash!” shinjuro can’t stop the sobs anymore. he falls over, beloved sake (second only to his wife) discarded and forgotten, and cries out whatever was left of his heart, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. “if you weren’t good enough, why did they have to pick you?! why did— why did you have to go.. why did you have to.. die?!”
rengoku shinjuro can’t help the loss either. First, he lost his wife and the mother to his two useless (beloved) sons and then, he lost his first born— the bane of his existence, (his pride and joy).
“Why… why did they have to take you away from me?”
Tears blot his vision— he can’t see anything, but.. then he does. His tears blurr and morph into something, or rather someone.Two familiar figures. His heart aches as the tears become a window and through them, he sees the smiling faces of the people he misses so, bright and so happy. As if they had never left him. (Oh, how he wishes they were here.)
“Please take care of yourself, father!” (Kyojiro beamed, face like the sun and his hands on his hips as he stood proudly— as if he had never fallen.)
“Please take care of yourself, anata.” (His wife nodded, smiling less wider but still just as brighter as his— their son— and opening her arms as if to him.)
shinjiro wanted to run to them, grab their arms and never let them go, but when he wiped his tears away, they were gone. Blubbering, the retired hashira shook his head.
“H-how can I take care of myself when you aren’t here with me…”
