cherrykasugayama

[cherrykasugayama]

Ikemen Sengoku 10 Years Anniversary Illustration

[cherrykasugayama]

Can i request some Ieyasu angst where he was too late to return MC's feelings and now she's getting married to someone else?

Ooooh it's been a bit since I wrote something angsty. Here's approx. 600 words of heart-stricken Ieyasu!

Ieyasu trudged through the hall, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He paused at the chatelaine's door, glaring at it. His green eyes were hot, dampness gathering at the corners. He blinked away the wetness and put one trembling hand on the door. 

It slid open under his palm, and he took a step back in surprise.

"Ieyasu?" 

Her voice sent a sharp pain through his chest. His hand, still outstretched, ached to touch her. He dropped it to his side, fingers curling again into a fist. "You." He couldn't help the way his gaze drank in the sight of her, sweeping over her face, her form. 

"I'm so glad you came back in time!" She smiled at him brightly. "I was worried I would have to get married without my best friend beside me."

He hated the way her words hurt. The awful weakness that invaded his body and made him feel as if his legs could not support him, as if his arms were too heavy to lift. "You don't need me," he snapped, the words flat and cold and full of suppressed fury. Anger at himself for waiting, for saying nothing to her of how he felt. "You're just a fool." He wasn't sure if he meant himself or her.

The chatelaine gave a soft laugh. "You are always so sharp. But I know you wanted to be here. You came straight to see me, still in your traveling clothes."

Ieyasu opened his mouth, and closed it again. His heart throbbed in his chest, bruised and bleeding. He wanted to lash out. He wanted to cry. The air felt too thick to breathe. "Why . . ." The word escaped on a gasp, barely formed, hardly audible. 

Understanding filled her eyes, terrible and heavy. "Oh." That one syllable held a world. She hadn't known, hadn't understood. Not until this moment, this moment that was far too late. Her heart belonged to another, and whatever might have been would live only in dreams. "Ieyasu, I loved y-"

"Don't. I don't need your pity." He bit the words off in a rapid-fire staccato. She'd loved him and he pushed her away. Now there was another. And he - he felt like he was dying.

There was no wound of war so great as this, that tore him open and left him exposed. Vulnerable. Weak. The fires of his anger burned him, searing the raw pain of this loss. The grief of a love he'd been too afraid to enjoy. To admit. He was a coward.

Her fingertips brushed his arm, and he jerked away. "Please." A tear ran down her cheek.

Ieyasu turned away, unable to look. "Congratulations." The word choked him. His feet began to move, pushing him further away from her. He couldn't look back, though he could feel her eyes on him. All the things he wanted to say, the feelings he'd kept in for so long, threatened to break loose. He had to escape her before they did. Before he made himself look even more foolish. 

There would never be another love for him like this one. He knew he would hold her in his heart, his weak and silly heart, forever. While another enjoyed her smiles and wiped her tears away. Ieyasu could not forgive himself for his fear that kept the words "I love you" pinned inside his chest. Words that it was now too late to ever say. They were carved into his flesh now, as permanent as a scar. I love you. I love you. I love you. An echo of never-was and never-will-be.

[cherrykasugayama]

Hideyoshi would have a heart attack if he sees Mitsunari trying to ride a bike 🤣 Masamune would probably do motocross as a side hobby just for the thrill of it. Ieyasu would prefer a car by saying that it's more convenient when it's raining, totally not because his hair would get messier after he wears a helmet. I still can't see Kenshin as a biker 🥲

Hi how are you doing? It's not a request for a story, I just want to know your opinions. Who do you think are more likely to be bikers among Ikesen? I think Yukimura got that look. Nobunaga gave a CEO vibe in a luxury car having his own driver so he is no biker for me. Shingen can be a biker or have his own 4x4 truck, I don't know, what do you think? XD

OH OH OH WAIT!!! I totally see the guys you mentioned being bikers (like shingen riding a motorcycle is just ✨✨) BUT ALSO Keiji!! For the fun of it maybe? Like maybe hideyoshi knows how to ride a motorcycle but mostly in his youth, nowadays he would worry SICK if he sees anyone trying to ride one bc of how dangerous it can be

[cherrykasugayama]

Hello and Happy New Year 🎉🎇

I'd like to make a request for some Sweet Mitsuhide 💕🦊 for a prompt I guess lap pillow?

I imagine MC being slightly clingy; sits too close wants to hold hands, whatever. If Mitsu stays up too late working, she wants to stay close then, too. "I'll go to bed when you do."

Wishing you a lovely, cozy new year ✨ I hope you find many little joys this 2025

Thank you nonny! I love this scenario! Snuggly, teasing Mitsuhide is so much fun ^_^ Approx 2000 words of fluff!

Mitsuhide shifted in his seat, glancing at the woman to his right. She was sitting close enough that her leg pressed against his, a spot of warmth he found it hard to ignore. His lips curled up in a crescent moon smile as he leaned close. "What are you reading?" He made sure to speak close enough to her ear to tickle.

"Wha!" The chatelaine dropped the scroll in her hands, flailing for a moment. 

"What are you reading, little mouse," he repeated. Her reactions were a constant source of amusement. She was easily startled and blushed at the slightest provocation. It was too easy, but then, that was part of the fun.

She scooped up the scroll and smoothed it out. "Umm. This one? It's a - a history. Of Azuchi?" Her nervous response was adorable, but then she surprised him by leaning her head against his shoulder. "Thanks for asking! Would you like me to read it to you?"

Mitsuhide's eyes widened. He looked at her head, where it rested against his arm. "No. I've read that one." His voice was even but his mind was racing. What was she doing? What game was this?

"Mmm, alright." She stayed in that position as she lifted the scroll up to resume her reading.

If she was hoping to make him react, she had another thing coming. He was the Mitsuhide Akechi. Spy. Tease. Tormentor. So he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her up against his side. 

She made a surprised squeak, and he expected her to shift away or even stand up. Instead, she settled into the crook of his arm and began to read. 

Flummoxed, he tried to return to his reports and ignore the chatelaine completely. Except, it was nearly impossible to ignore someone nestled against your side. Especially when that someone was soft and warm and smelled nice. After several wasted minutes, Mitsuhide decided reading reports right now was not the best use of his time. He extricated himself from her and stood. 

"Are we done studying for today?" She blinked up at him with a happy smile. 

"Yes. I'm going to check on some things. You have my permission to -" Mitsuhide paused as she stood. "Are you going someplace?"

The chatelaine's smile widened. "Yep." She reached out and took his hand. "With you!"

"I . . ." He hadn't expected this. She wasn't supposed to want to come with him. "Why?"

"I dunno." She shrugged. "So where are we going?"

Mitsuhide wasn't about to let her get the better of him. "You'll see." He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "Maybe I should make you hold my hand everywhere we go together. We can tell people you're my toy."

"Pffft." She laughed. "If you want, I guess. But I don't think anyone would believe you. They'd probably think you kidnapped me or something."

This was true, he reflected. People did think the worst of him. He'd made sure of it. "Come on." He tugged her along with him out of the study and through the halls of his mansion. Servants peered at them as they passed, confused. Mitsuhide ignored the looks. This was hardly the strangest thing his servants saw him do. 

He didn't have a specific destination in mind, but decided on checking the training grounds. Kyubei was there, practicing with a bokken. Mitsuhide decided to join him. The little mouse surely wouldn't stick around for that. He let go of her hand. "I have practice to do. You're free to go."

The chatelaine smiled. "If it's alright, I'd rather stay and watch." 

"Alright." Mitsuhide decided to push her a little. Tease her. He leaned close, cupping her cheek with his hand. "Shall I take off my shirt to give you a show, little one?" 

He expected her to blush and stumble over her reply and she did blush, but her eyes widened and she didn't stutter at all. "I wouldn't mind that!"

Kyubei made a sound suspiciously like a laugh. 

Mitsuhide was determined to get a reaction, so he didn't let her throw him off his game. "As you like." He stepped back and slowly stripped off his top, moving with the grace of a dancer. He didn't look at her directly, but checked her reaction from side glances and a lowered gaze. She seemed to be genuinely enjoying it. Strange. 

Kyubei rolled his eyes. "Are you ready to spar, my lord?"

Mitsuhide responded with an attack, lunging toward him with a bokken in hand. For the next few hours they fought in a variety of styles. Practicing with each hand, with differing advantage, a variety of weapons. Training for the many situations their missions would sometimes put them in. He was so involved in the movement and strategy that he nearly forgot the chatelaine. But every time he glanced at her, she was watching with rapt attention.

Kyubei was very aware of her presence. Each time Mitsuhide's gaze traveled her direction, he gave his lord a knowing look. "You have a fan," he whispered when they came into close contact. 

He scoffed. This was just some game. There were several angles she could be working. Watching him for Hideyoshi, or fulfilling some promise she made to Nobunaga. Or perhaps she was afraid to be on her own, even within the castle. He was so distracted by the problem she presented that Kyubei got a hit on him. Which was surely what his vassal intended. 

"I think that's enough practice." Mitsuhide thanked Kyubei and put away his practice weapons. The chatelaine watched the whole time. He pulled his shirt back on and walked up to where she sat on the stairs. "That's all I have for you today. You can head back to the castle."

"That's alright. I'd rather stay here." She stood and held her hand out to him. "Where are we going now?"

"My room . . ." Mitsuhide gave her a slow, warm smile. "You want to be alone with me, in my room?" 

She took his hand. "Sure!"

He couldn't tell if she was trying to tease him or if she was faking this enthusiasm. Mitsuhide studied her face, but there was no sign of deception. The chatelaine was an open book, her emotions obvious. "I'm just going to be reading," he admitted.

"That's fine. I like to read." 

Mitushide looked down at their joined hands, feeling conflicted. She was pleasant company. He liked teasing her, seeing her cute reactions. Her company was enjoyable, but it wasn't good for her to be around him. Especially not alone in his rooms. There would be rumors. "You should go back to the castle," he repeated.

"Are you sending me away?" Her wide eyes held his gaze, and he couldn't miss the hurt in them.

"Do what you want," he said finally, "but know that people will talk. I have a certain reputation." Mitsuhide let his eyes travel down her body, taking in her pleasing, feminine form. "And it is not unearned."

The chatelaine gave a soft laugh. "You just like teasing me. I know you're secretly a nice guy. Deny it if you want."

He would have denied it, but her words surprised him so much that he had no snarky reply ready. Worse, he could hear Kyubei chuckling. "You're a fool," he murmured, and pulled her along with him, back into the hall.

Her hand was warm and soft in his, and Mitsuhide found some enjoyment as they walked together toward his room. He lifted their joined hands to his lips. 

"W-what are you doing?"

"You gave me your hand, so I've decided to enjoy the gift." He kissed the back of her hand slowly, sensually, his golden gaze fixed on her as he did. Her expression was most amusing. Her eyes went wide and heat spread up from her throat to her cheeks all the way to the tips of her ears. Her lips parted as if to say more, but no sound came out. 

Mitsuhide smiled widely as he lowered their joined hands. Then, acting as if nothing had occurred, he continued on. He'd enjoyed the taste of her skin, the satin feel of it against his lips. That little sample made him want more, and wanting was dangerous. For her. He glanced at the chatelaine from the corner of his eyes. She was smiling happily.

Strange.

Once in his room, he settled comfortably and began to review the reports sent by his contacts. Merchants and spies and warriors. All sending him a small piece of the larger picture. It was a puzzle he had to assemble, dissect, and analyze. Predicting possible  - the chatelaine was leaning on his arm again.

He glanced over at her. She'd sat down right next to him instead of literally anywhere else in his room. And now she was resting on his shoulder, a book open in her lap. Mitsuhide was tempted to tease her, but he needed to focus on his work. Besides, he was sure if he paid her no attention, she would get bored of this game she was playing and leave. And that was best. He ignored the quiet protest of his heart.

Mitsuhide focused on his reports, and the hours passed. He couldn't shake his general awareness of the chatelaine. Her warmth and the soft pressure against his side were impossible to ignore, but he didn't react. Despite his silence, she didn't show any sign of getting bored or leaving for her own room. "You should go to bed," he said suddenly, surprising himself and her.

The chatelaine tilted her head to look up at him without shifting from her spot on his shoulder. "Nope. I'll go to bed when you do."

"What?" 

"I don't want to go to bed until you do." She smiled up at him. "So stop trying to get rid of me. Aren't you the one that said you were gonna keep me close? Keep an eye on me."

"I did say that," Mitsuhide chuckled. "This wasn't quite what I had in mind, but if you like being close . . ." He gave in to his own desire to touch and tease. His arm slipped around her, pulling his little mouse tight against his side. 

She snuggled into the space. "That's better." 

This position might have been more comfortable for her, but for Mitsuhide this position was worse. She was half in his lap, her head on his chest. He could feel wisps of her hair where they brushed up against his throat. The chatelaine was incredibly distracting. No longer just a warmth at his side, she was now a bundle of sweetness in his arms and the reports he was meant to read were nowhere near as interesting. 

Mitsuhide did his best to focus on the words, on his plans, but he was hyper aware of every shift of her body, the rise and fall of her chest, the sweet scent of her. And she seemed completely ignorant of the effect she had on him. The chatelaine only sat there, reading her book without any problem, as if being curled in the crook of his arm was completely normal for her. 

The hour grew late, and outside the servants were lighting lanterns. It was well past time for the chatelaine to return to her own room, but she was still leaned up against him. Her head had slipped down his chest and now she lay against his belly. He noticed she wasn't turning the pages of her book anymore. 

"That must be the most difficult page in the book," he joked. She didn't reply. "Little mouse?"

"Mmm." She made a little humming sound and turned to slip further down from his belly to his lap. He could see her eyes were closed, her lips turned up in a slight smile. Mitsuhide knew he ought to wake her and send her away now, but she looked so precious. And it felt so nice to hold her like this. 

He lightly stroked her hair back from her face, unaware of the smile that curled the corners of his mouth. "You are such a little fool," he whispered. "Confidentially, just between us, I rather like it." It would be wise to send her away, but just for now, just tonight, he decided to enjoy it. Tomorrow he would do his best to push her away. "My little one." He pressed a kiss to her temple, chaste and sweet, and full of a love he wasn't ready to confess.

[cherrykasugayama]

awww

[cherrykasugayama]

Some love stories were never meant to exist. Some lovers were never meant to meet.

Yet, when Uesugi Kenshin and Nobunaga's little sister stood on opposite sides of the battlefield, fate had already decided they would be each others' salvation, or perhaps damnation.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

The Water Was Not Enough.

No matter how many times Chieri scrubbed her skin, she could still feel it.

The ghost of their hands.

She dragged her nails over her arms, her shoulders, her neck, anywhere they had touched. Her skin burned from the force of her scrubbing, raw and red, but it wasn’t enough. The water rushed over her, trickling down in thin streams, but it did nothing.

The feeling lingered.

Her stomach twisted.

She had always known the dangers beyond castle walls. She had heard the warnings spoken by cautious retainers, whispered by worried handmaidens. She had been told of what happened to women when they were caught in the chaos of war.

She had known.

But knowing was not the same as being held down.

Not the same as feeling rough fingers seize her wrist, her hair.

Not the same as the terror that seized her when she couldn’t break free.

Her breath hitched, her chest tightening. She gripped the edge of the wooden basin, her knuckles aching with how hard she clung to it. The room felt too small, the walls pressing in, the air too thick to breathe.

She had been so sheltered.

Nobunaga had kept her safe, hidden away behind castle walls, where no enemy could reach her, where no filthy hands could touch her. She had been his treasure, protected, untouched.

And now—

Now, she was here.

Alone. A prisoner. A survivor.

A soft knock against the wooden tub sent a jolt through her.

She turned sharply, her breath ragged, her shoulders tense. A Uesugi handmaiden, an unfamiliar woman with a lowered gaze, knelt beside the basin, holding out a fresh robe.

"My lady," the woman murmured, her voice careful, quiet.

"You must change."

Chieri’s gaze fell to the fabric. It was plain, rough against the handmaiden’s fingers, nothing like the silks that once wrapped around her body.

For the first time, she realized how exposed she was.

Her nails dug into her arms.

She hadn’t even noticed she was shaking.

---

After stepping into the camp, she had seen him only once.

Uesugi Kenshin.

The Dragon of Echigo. A man untouched by arrows, standing beneath the torchlight, his pale hair catching the glow of the flames. His sharp gaze had cut through her, cold and unreadable.

No mockery.

No curiosity.

Not even satisfaction at her capture.

Just indifference.

To him, she was nothing.

And yet, he had saved her.

The bandits had surrounded her, her men slaughtered, her fate sealed, until he appeared. A blade of winter slicing through the carnage.

He had drawn his sword for her.

He had killed for her.

Why?

Why had the sworn enemy of Nobunaga, the Demon King’s sister, been worth saving?

She did not understand.

---

That night, Chieri sat curled in her tent, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at the flickering shadows on the fabric walls.

The Uesugi camp was quiet.

The dead had long since stopped screaming.

But outside, beyond the thin walls of her prison, the living still spoke.

One voice stood out.

It was his voice, Kenshin, the man who had saved her.

"Send word to the nearest shrine."

Chieri tensed.

"Ensure the monks receive payment. The dead will be returned to Owari and Azuchi."

Her fingers curled against the rough fabric of her robe.

Matsue…

Matsue would go home.

A shaky breath slipped past her lips. Relief and grief warred inside her, a cruel contradiction.

A retainer hesitated. “My lord… these men and women were your enemy.”

Silence.

Then—

"I do not fight the dead."

His voice was calm, resolute.

Chieri’s brows furrowed.

It wasn’t kindness. But it wasn’t cruelty, either.

This man, her enemy, made no sense.

And for the first time since she had been taken, she didn’t know what to feel.

---

Chieri stood before Uesugi Kenshin, steadying her breath.

He was seated with effortless grace, one leg drawn up, an arm resting against the low table. The dim lantern light flickered over his sharp features, turning him into something untouchable, like a deity carved from ice.

But it was his eyes that unsettled her the most.

One blue, cold as a winter sky.

One green, deep as the forest shadows.

Unyielding. Calculating. Watching her with unreadable intent.

She curled her fingers in her lap, forcing her voice to remain steady.

"Thank you."

Kenshin’s gaze flickered. A pause.

He had expected defiance. Perhaps fear. But gratitude?

"For saving me," she continued, her voice softer but firm.

"And for ensuring the dead return home instead of being left to rot."

Silence.

Slowly, he tilted his head, watching her with the detached curiosity one might give to a caged bird speaking unexpectedly.

"You knew." His voice was quiet, like the glint of a blade before it struck.

Chieri swallowed. She had overheard his orders. It had not been an act of mercy, merely what should be done. And yet… it was more consideration than she had expected from a man feared as a god of war.

She lifted her chin. "I need to return as well."

A soft breath escaped his lips, something close to amusement.

"Need?" His smirk was razor-sharp, his mismatched eyes gleaming.

"You believe you are in a position to make demands? Woman, you are my prisoner."

Chieri did not shrink under his gaze. Instead, she straightened.

"You don’t even know my name."

Kenshin chuckled, low and quiet.

"You are Oda Chieri, Nobunaga’s sister."

Something in her chest twisted, raw, aching.

Her brother.

Did he even know she was alive?

Did he think she was among the dead being sent back?

Her throat tightened, but she swallowed it down. "He will come for me."

Kenshin’s smirk deepened. "Good."

The ease in which he said it sent a chill through her. He wanted Nobunaga to come. He welcomed it.

Chieri clenched her hands but did not waver.

"It doesn’t need to come to that. I am willing to negotiate my release."

Kenshin leaned back, resting his chin against his knuckles, the other hand tracing the hilt of his sword, silent amusement.

"Negotiate?"

She nodded. "If you release me, I can convince my brother to form an alliance with the Uesugi. Together, you could—"

A sharp chuckle cut through her words.

"An alliance?" Kenshin repeated, the very idea amusing him. "You truly do not know me."

Chieri frowned. "You would rather waste men and resources on war when you could—"

"Waste?" His voice turned softer, but it was the kind of softness that made the air feel colder. He tilted his head, watching her like a wolf humoring prey that did not yet understand its place.

"I do not seek alliances, woman. I seek battle."

Chieri inhaled sharply.

"You are willing to destroy everything just for the sake of fighting?"

Kenshin smiled. "Yes. I am willing to fight because I live for war."

The absolute certainty in his voice made her stomach turn.

A man like this cannot be reasoned with.

Still, she tried.

"Even if you win against my brother, the land will turn against you. The clans will not follow a warlord who only seeks bloodshed."

Kenshin studied her for a long moment.

Then, he leaned forward, voice dropping into something almost intimate.

"You assume I fight for conquest. I do not."

A pause.

"I fight because it is the purest form of joy."

Chieri's breath hitched.

Kenshin straightened, brushing off her words like falling snow. "If you are hoping to sway me with logic, you are wasting your breath."

Chieri’s pulse quickened. "But you listened."

His gaze flickered.

She had caught his interest.

But that was all.

Kenshin rose, his presence looming, his silhouette dark against the lantern light.

"Your attempt to convince me was quite entertaining," he murmured.

"But a debt is only useful if the one owing it lives long enough to repay it."

He left her with those words, his presence retreating like the hush before a storm.

And as the tent flap fell closed behind him, Chieri felt the weight of his final statement settle deep in her bones.

He was not a man to be bargained with.

He was a man who decided, on his own terms, when and if she would leave.

And right now—

He had no intention of letting her go.

---

The wagons creaked as they rolled into Kiyosu Castle.

The sky was clear.

The sun burned bright.

But no warmth touched the ground.

Not today.

Not when death had come home.

Nobunaga stood at the center of the courtyard, motionless. The wind tugged at the crimson fabric of his sleeves, but he did not move.

The monks stepped forward first, their prayers a hushed murmur.

Then came the retainers, their expressions grim as they lifted each body from the wagons.

One by one—

The dead were named.

And he waited.

His hands were steady.

His breath was even.

The last body was laid before him.

The last name was spoken.

And it was not hers.

The world shifted. For a moment, Nobunaga felt a huge relief.

A monk stepped forward, pressing his forehead to the ground.

"My lord—" the monk’s voice wavered, as if afraid of the words he had to speak.

"Lady Chieri is not among the dead."

Nobunaga did not speak.

Did not move.

The silence stretched unbearably long.

His retainers dared not breathe.

Hideyoshi, ever watchful, glanced at the others uneasily. Nobunaga was never silent.

Silence from him was far worse than shouting.

But inside Nobunaga’s mind—

His brain was storming for an answer.

If she was not among the dead—

Then where?

She was not at the castle.

She was not in the wagons.

She was not anywhere.

A slow, terrible realization settled in his chest.

She was missing.

A foreign sensation curled in his gut.

Something he had not felt in years.

Fear.

It sank deep, twisting and writhing, poisoning his veins.

His breath left him in a slow, controlled exhale. But his hands, his hands had clenched into fists so tightly that blood welled where his nails bit into his palms.

His sister. His precious, foolish little sister—

Gone.

Taken.

His retainers remained stiff, waiting. The Azai envoys shifted uneasily.

"My lord," Hideyoshi finally spoke, careful, respectful.

"Perhaps she was taken prisoner?"

Prisoner.

The word rang through him like a war drum.

His shoulders straightened.

The wind howled through the courtyard, carrying the scent of incense and blood, but inside him, something snapped.

For the first time, his voice broke the silence.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

"Find her."

No hesitation.

His men moved instantly.

The retainers scrambled. Spies were summoned. Orders were issued.

But none of it mattered.

Not until he knew who had dared take her.

Not until he knew where she was.

Not until she was standing before him, alive.

And if she was not—

The land itself would burn.

---

By nightfall, the reports arrived.

His sister was at Kasugayama.

Under Kenshin.

Alive.

Unharmed.

But not returned.

A messenger was sent to Kasugayama immediately.

The message was simple.

"Name your price."

He offered gold.

He offered land.

He offered anything Kenshin desired.

The reply arrived a few days later.

Sealed with the Uesugi crest.

Nobunaga opened it.

Read it once.

Then twice.

And then—

He laughed.

Low. Dark.

It was not the sound of amusement.

The retainers stiffened.

Even Hideyoshi tensed.

Because it was not real laughter.

It was the kind that came before a storm.

He held up the letter.

"He refused."

Silence.

"He does not want gold."

The paper crumpled in his fist.

"He does not want land."

The veins in his hands pulsed, rage bleeding through.

His head tilted.

"What he wants," he murmured, voice dropping into something near a growl,

"is my sister."

And that—

That was unforgivable.

---

Kanetsugu stood before Kenshin, watching him with barely restrained frustration.

"Did you mean it?" he asked at last.

Kenshin, seated leisurely, tilted his sake cup and let the liquid swirl.

"Mean what?"

Kanetsugu's jaw clenched.

"When you refused Nobunaga’s offer. When you wrote that you wanted her."

Silence.

Then—

A smirk.

A quiet chuckle.

"No."

Kanetsugu exhaled.

Relief—

Until—

"If I had asked for Nobunaga’s life—"

Kenshin swirled his sake again, lazily watching it ripple.

"He would have given it."

Kanetsugu froze.

Because he knew it was true.

For Chieri, Nobunaga would have torn out his own heart if it meant her safe return.

"But," Kenshin murmured, finally sipping his drink,

"that is not what I want."

Kanetsugu stared.

"What do you want then, my lord?"

Kenshin set his cup down, mismatched eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"A fight."

Kanetsugu inhaled sharply.

Kenshin wanted this war, and he happily provoked Nobunaga to fight him.

And now, the Devil King would deliver it to him.

To be continued...

[cherrykasugayama]

Some love stories were never meant to exist.

Some lovers were never meant to meet.

Yet, when Uesugi Kenshin and Nobunaga's little sister stood on opposite sides of the battlefield, fate had already decided they would be each others' salvation, or perhaps damnation.

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 2

Nobunaga’s hand hovered over the parchment, fingers curled tightly around the brush. The ink threatened to drip, yet he did not move. His entire body was rigid, his breath slow, controlled. It had to be. If he let it waver, his resolve might crumble.

The candle beside him flickered, casting long shadows across the war maps and letters sprawled over his desk. Reports of unrest. Imperial demands wrapped in veiled threats. Proposals from warlords seeking alliances, many of which involved her.

At the center of it all was a single name.

Chieri.

His little sister. His dear Ichi.

The girl who had once clung to his robes, her laughter light and unburdened. The one who had waited for his letters, her faith in him unwavering despite his silence.

The last weakness his enemies could exploit.

His fingers tightened around the brush. If she married Azai Nagamasa, she would become Azai first, Oda second. That was the only way to protect her. No one would dare touch the consort of the Azai lord, and no one would be foolish enough to use her against him if she was no longer truly his.

Nobunaga exhaled sharply, as if that justification could erase the bitter taste in his mouth.

He had delayed this long enough.

He had ignored them. Defied them. Cut down those who dared lay claim to her.

But the world was closing in. If he did nothing, they would take her, by force, by treachery, by something far worse than a political marriage. The Imperial Court had already begun its games, whispering of alliances that would bind her fate to those who sought to destroy the Oda.

Nagamasa was the least vile option. A man of honor. A leader who would not discard her like a mere political piece.

But no matter how much he justified it, the truth remained.

He was sending her away.

The brush touched parchment.

His hand did not stop trembling.

---

The lacquered box gleamed in the candlelight, the Oda crest pressed firm into the wax seal.

Chieri’s fingers trembled as she reached for it. Her breath caught between anticipation and longing.

It had been so long.

Too long.

She had written to him countless times, spilling her thoughts, her worries, her love onto parchment. But she had never received a reply.

Until now.

Nobunaga had finally answered her.

She cradled the box against her chest as if it were something fragile, something precious.

Had he finally come to take her to Azuchi?

Had he finally remembered her?

Her attendants watched with soft smiles, their voices a chorus of gentle encouragement.

"See, my lady? Lord Nobunaga has not forgotten you."

"Surely, this must be good news."

Chieri swallowed the lump in her throat and carefully broke the seal.

The familiar strokes of her brother’s handwriting greeted her.

And with each word, her hands grew colder.

---

"Chieri,

By the time this letter reaches you, preparations will already be underway. You will wed Azai Nagamasa.

This is not a request. It is my decision.

I have fought for years to keep you safe. But I can no longer shield you from the world that seeks to devour you.

The Imperial Court watches us with growing suspicion. The warlords who smile before me whisper behind my back. And the men who bow at my feet would not hesitate to use you as a pawn to break me.

I will not allow that to happen.

You are my sister. My most precious treasure. And I am placing you in the only hands I can trust.

I know you will hate me for this. Perhaps, one day, you will understand. But I do not ask for your forgiveness. I only ask that you live.

This is the only way I can protect you now.

- Oda Nobunaga."

---

The letter slipped from her fingers.

It fluttered to the floor, crumpling upon impact.

Her attendants gasped, rushing forward, but Chieri remained still.

She could not move.

Could not breathe.

The excitement that had swelled within her had shattered into something dark, something hollow.

She had waited years for this moment.

For her brother’s words.

For his call.

But this letter was not a summons home.

It was a sentence.

A farewell.

Her attendants mistook her silence for shyness, their voices light and eager as they tried to comfort her.

"My lady, Lord Azai is a noble man. You are most fortunate."

"He is young and courageous, known for his loyalty. He will surely treasure you."

"He is the perfect husband for a princess of the Oda."

The perfect husband?

Chieri said nothing.

She did not know Azai Nagamasa.

She did not love him.

She did not want him.

She wanted Nobunaga.

She wanted home.

But home had abandoned her.

---

The journey was long, the palanquin swaying with the movement of the horses. Outside, the sky was a muted gray, heavy with the scent of rain.

Chieri sat in silence, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

Matsue, her attendant, had been the one to dress her that morning. The old woman’s hands were gentle as she combed Chieri’s long black hair, weaving delicate pins through the strands.

“You look beautiful, my lady,” she had murmured.

Chieri had not replied.

She had only stared at her reflection in the polished bronze mirror, at the girl staring back at her.

She felt nothing.

The journey continued. Outside the curtains, she could hear the murmured voices of her attendants, the steady clop of hooves against the earth.

Somewhere, in the folds of her sleeve, lay Nobunaga’s letter.

"This is not a request. It is my decision."

The words echoed in her mind, sharp as a blade.

She shut her eyes.

If she did not look beyond the curtains, if she did not listen, perhaps she could pretend she was still in Owari.

That she was not being sent away.

That she was not leaving everything behind.

Then—

A sound.

Sharp. Sudden.

The twang of a bowstring.

A scream.

The palanquin jolted violently.

The horses whinnied in panic.

Then came the clash of steel.

Blood.

"AMBUSH!"

The palanquin tilted, throwing her sideways. She barely had time to brace herself before the door wrenched open, and rough hands grabbed her, yanking her out.

She hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from her lungs.

The scent of blood filled her nose.

Screams tore through the air.

Her attendants. Her guards.

They were being slaughtered.

Steel flashed. Bodies fell. The earth was stained red.

"M-My lady—!"

She turned, eyes widening in horror.

Matsue.

The old woman was on her knees, gripping the hilt of a dagger with trembling hands.

A bandit loomed over her, laughing.

“Old hag,” he sneered. “What do you think you can do?”

Matsue did not flinch.

She turned to Chieri, her face pale but determined.

“My lady, run!”

Chieri could not move.

The bandit’s blade came down.

Matsue gasped.

For a moment, she did not fall.

Then, blood bubbled at her lips.

She crumpled, the dagger slipping from her grasp.

Chieri screamed.

Her world shattered.

“Matsue—”

A hand clamped over her mouth.

She was dragged backward, her legs kicking uselessly against the dirt.

She struggled, but there were too many hands, too many voices.

“Look at this one,” a voice sneered.

A rough hand grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up.

She gasped.

The man was grinning, his teeth yellowed, his breath hot against her skin.

"Never seen a woman this beautiful before."

Fingers traced her cheek.

"What a fine bride," another chuckled, grabbing her arm.

"But wouldn’t it be a waste if we left her untouched?"

She thrashed, panic rising in her throat.

Laughter rumbled around her.

"Soft," one murmured, his fingers trailing down her sleeve. "Like a doll."

No.

No, no, no.

She twisted, tried to scream, but a sharp yank at her scalp forced her head back.

"I wonder," a voice whispered against her ear, "if she screams as pretty as she looks—"

The words never finished.

Steel flashed.

A sickening gurgle.

The grip on her hair slackened.

Then—

Blood.

Warm. Sticky.

It splattered against her cheek.

The man who had held her crumpled, a blade buried deep in his throat.

His eyes rolled back as he fell, twitching.

Chieri barely had time to react before another figure moved, silent, precise.

The other bandits barely had time to scream before death came for them, swift and merciless.

A shadow weaved through them like a phantom, cutting them down with inhuman speed.

One by one, they fell.

The laughter turned to screams.

Then, silence.

A hand grasped her chin.

She gasped, eyes snapping up.

And froze.

He was beautiful.

Not in a way that was soft or comforting.

But in a way that stole the breath from her lungs.

Light blonde hair, pale as winter sunlight, falling in loose strands around his face.

Mismatched eyes, one a piercing ice blue, the other a deep, haunting green.

Sharp, angular features, carved from frost and steel.

His expression was unreadable.

Cold.

Terrifying.

Not a savior.

Something else entirely.

Chieri trembled.

All she could see was him.

But he said nothing.

The wind howled through the clearing, rustling the trees.

Then—

"LORD KENSHIN!"

The voice shattered the silence, and the beautiful man released her chin.

Chieri stiffened.

The sound of footsteps, men emerging from the trees, breathless, weapons drawn.

"You should have waited for us!" one of them shouted, glancing at the bodies littering the ground.

"You always do this—hunting bandits alone—"

Chieri barely heard the rest.

Her mind reeled.

Kenshin.

Kenshin.

The name echoed in her mind, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs.

There was only one Kenshin who wielded a blade like that.

Only one man with a name that made even the strongest warriors tremble.

The Dragon of Echigo.

Uesugi Kenshin.

Her brother’s greatest enemy.

And he had just saved her.

She flinched as the soldiers turned to their lord.

"Lord Kenshin," one hesitated.

"Her guards… they carry the Oda flag."

The weight of the words hung in the air.

The men tensed.

"She is Oda," another muttered. "We cannot—"

Kenshin turned.

His gaze swept over his men, cold, sharp, absolute.

The air shifted.

A silent, unspoken warning.

The soldiers stiffened.

No one dared to speak again.

Even without words, Kenshin had made his order clear.

"Do not question me."

The silence was suffocating.

Finally, Kenshin spoke.

"Take her back to camp."

The command left no room for argument.

One of the soldiers hesitated.

"But, my lord—"

Kenshin's gaze snapped to him.

The man immediately fell silent.

No one spoke again.

The orders were absolute.

Chieri barely registered the hands that grabbed her arms, lifting her to her feet.

Her body moved, but her mind remained frozen.

The weight of Matsue’s death pressed against her chest, suffocating.

Her fingers curled into the blood-soaked fabric of her sleeves.

The soldiers were speaking.

The world was moving.

But Matsue was dead.

Gone.

She bit her lip.

The first tear slipped down her cheek.

Then another.

Her vision blurred.

The moment the sob tore from her throat, she couldn't stop.

Her body trembled.

She pressed her hands over her mouth, but the sound broke through anyway, raw, aching, uncontrollable.

She didn’t care anymore.

Not about the soldiers watching.

Not about the enemy hands gripping her arms.

Not even about the man who had saved her.

All that mattered was the gaping hole in her chest.

The warmth that was gone.

The voice that would never call her my lady again.

The hands that would never brush her hair again.

She sobbed.

She sobbed as they dragged her away.

As the scent of blood and rain filled the air.

As Uesugi Kenshin watched in silence.

To be continued...

[cherrykasugayama]

he definitely would lmao 😂

lucifer would love life360

[cherrykasugayama]

Some love stories were never meant to exist.

Some lovers were never meant to meet.

Yet, when Uesugi Kenshin and Nobunaga's little sister stood on opposite sides of the battlefield, fate had already decided they would be each others' salvation, or perhaps damnation.

Warning: Childhood tragedy, betrayal, mention of self-exit

............

The Beginning

Oichi was born when Nobunaga was 10 years old. She was the youngest of the Oda siblings, and from the moment she could walk, she clung to her eldest brother with wide, adoring eyes. Nobunaga, still a boy himself, would hoist her onto his shoulders and run through the fields of Owari, laughing as she squealed in delight.

“Nii-sama! Higher!” she would demand, and he would grin, holding her tight as he spun her around.

In those days, Oichi had two brothers who loved her dearly, Nobunaga, the wild yet warm eldest, and Nobuyuki, the gentler second son who always held her hand when she cried.

Nobunaga was infamous for his reckless behavior, often called the 'Fool of Owari' for his unkempt appearance and unorthodox ways.

While the court mocked him, Oichi saw none of that. To her, he was the brightest star in the sky. She chased after him barefoot, never caring for the scolding she received for behaving ‘unladylike.’ Nobunaga would only ruffle her hair and say,

“Let her be. Ichi is stronger than all of you combined.”

Nobuyuki, in contrast, was soft-spoken and refined. He taught her how to write, how to string words together into elegant poetry. He never raised his voice, never stormed off in frustration like Nobunaga did.

When their mother scolded Nobunaga for his wildness, she would turn to Nobuyuki and sigh,

“Why couldn’t you have been the eldest?”

Oichi, too young to understand, only knew that she loved them both dearly.

But childhood never lasts forever.

---

When Oichi was six, their father, Oda Nobuhide, died. Nobunaga was only sixteen.

At their father’s funeral, Nobunaga stood before the clan elders, disheveled, dressed in plain clothes, chewing on incense as if mocking the solemnity of the occasion. And then, in a fit of rage, he threw the ceremonial incense burner, sending embers scattering across the floor.

The elders recoiled in shock. To them, this was proof that Nobunaga was unfit to lead.

Oichi, too young to understand the weight of this moment, only knew that her brother looked angry, angrier than she had ever seen him. She reached for his hand, but he barely noticed. He was already walking away.

That night, she crawled into his room, curling up beside him like she always did when she had nightmares.

“Nii-sama, don’t be angry,” she whispered.

Nobunaga didn’t answer at first. His gaze was fixed outside, his expression unreadable.

But after a long silence, he murmured, “Ichi, do you think I’m a fool?”

She shook her head fiercely. “You’re the strongest.”

A small chuckle left him, but it was hollow. “Then I’ll show them.”

From that day on, Nobunaga changed. The boy who once played in the fields with her now spent his days strategizing, training, preparing. The warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something colder, sharper.

---

The Betrayal

As Nobunaga fought to hold onto his position as the Oda heir, his enemies multiplied. One of them, to his heartbreak, was his own brother, Nobuyuki.

Oichi was nine when the first whispers of rebellion reached her ears. At first, she refused to believe it. How could Nobuyuki, her gentle, kind brother, betray their eldest brother?

But then came the assassination attempts.

Nobunaga, too accustomed to danger, spoke of them lightly.

“Another assassin last night. Their blade was dull.”

She would wake in the middle of the night and find her brother hunched over a Go board, playing against himself, his eyes shadowed from sleeplessness.

“Why don’t you sleep, Nii-sama?” she asked once.

He glanced at her, then moved a black stone across the board.

“Because I don’t know if I’ll wake up.”

It was the first time Oichi felt fear, not of her brother, but for him.

---

Nobunaga fought back against the rebellion and won. He spared Nobuyuki once.

The second time, he could not.

Oichi, barely ten, was not allowed to witness it, but she felt it, the cold silence that followed, the absence of her second brother, the way Nobunaga refused to speak of it.

Their mother, Tsukiyama-dono, broke.

She had sided with Nobuyuki, believing he was the better heir. She had whispered to him in the dead of night, telling him how to gain allies, how to topple his reckless elder brother.

And now, she had lost both sons, one by execution, the other by her own betrayal.

Days later, she took her own life.

Oichi, too young to understand everything, only knew that her family was disappearing one by one.

---

After their mother’s death, Nobunaga changed again.

Where once he had been reckless but warm, now he was distant, his mind set on something far beyond Owari.

“The age of warring clans must end,” he told Oichi one evening as they sat by the garden.

“If we do not unite this land, more brothers will be forced to kill each other. More families will be torn apart. I won’t let this cycle continue.”

Oichi, now eleven, clutched the sleeve of his robe.

“Then let me stay with you, Nii-sama.”

He hesitated. Just for a moment.

Then he brushed a hand through her hair and smiled, but it was the saddest smile she had ever seen.

“No,” he said.

“Ichi, you must stay here. I will build a new world, but you must not see the monster I will become to do it.”

And then, he left.

Oichi ran after him, but he did not turn back.

---

At first, Oichi wrote letters.

Nii-sama, when will you come back?

Nii-sama, they are saying strange things about you here. But I don’t believe them.

Nii-sama, please let me come to Azuchi.

For years, she sent them. For years, there was no reply.

Oichi waited. She smiled in front of the retainers, spoke with grace, performed her duties as a princess of Owari.

But at night, she sat by the window, waiting for a response that never came.

She wanted to be by her brother’s side. But he had built a home without her.

She was alone.

---

On her fifteenth birthday, Nobunaga finally returned.

Oichi stood before him, dressed in the finest silks, her once-childish face now sharper, more refined.

Nobunaga studied her for a long time. Then, at last, he said,

“You have grown, Ichi.”

Oichi’s throat tightened. “Nii-sama…”

He reached out, brushing his fingers against her hair.

“Oichi is a child's name. From today onward, you will be Chieri.”

千恵梨. Chi (千) for a thousand blessings. E (恵) for wisdom. Ri (梨) for resilience, like the pear blossom that endures even the harshest of winters.

She clutched the name like a lifeline. If he was giving her this, then surely, he still cared.

But then, just as quickly as he had come, Nobunaga left again.

And Chieri, alone once more, could only smile in sadness.

To be continued...

[cherrykasugayama]

Behold, Oda Uchiha Nobunaga!

Who needs long years of war to unite the country when you have sharingan? Just one look at his eyes and the enemy is frozen on the spot.

Is he going to abuse the power to get Konpeito forcefully or not? 😅 He might.

Art by: @reii-ichi

[cherrykasugayama]

Fleeting Memories

Kenshin struggles to overcome his grief after the death of his wife, straining his relationship further with his children. He became detached and distant. (Last Part!)

Warning: Heavy angst, bad daddy Kenshin, unnamed MC

Children: Uesugi Takeru (13 years old), Uesugi Ken (13 years old), Uesugi Sakura (5 years old)

Other children: Takeda Oujiro, Takeda Himeko (11 years old)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

.........

Thank you to anyone who has read this story, tbh it is lacking so much and I swear there are a lot of cringe moments. It was fun doing this. I hope you will enjoy this last part.

Also shout out to @reii-ichi for this lovely art!💕

Always happy to see more daddy Kenshin content! 🤭

The castle bustled with the energy of a new day, but Kenshin sat alone in his study, nursing a cup of sake.

....................................

-Kasugayama Castle-

He stared at the papers on his desk, war reports, letters from retainers, but they blurred together. His mind drifted back to the image of his daughter crying.

Letting Sakura return was a mistake, he thought bitterly, taking another swig of sake. She doesn’t belong here.

“Father,” Ken’s voice broke through his thoughts. The blonde boy stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“You broke her gift, didn't you?”

Kenshin didn’t look up. “I have no time for such a useless trinket.”

Ken’s jaw tightened. He muttered a curse under his breath and left without another word.

...........

Sakura giggled and skipped among the scattered blossoms.

Takeru followed close behind, arms crossed but smiling faintly as he watched her. “You’re going to trip if you keep running like that, Sakura.”

“No, I won’t!” she called back, spinning in circles. Her laughter rang out, light and carefree, until it was interrupted by a sudden, harsh cough.

...........

Kenshin stiffened, the cup in his hand freezing mid-air when he heard one of his children screaming. He hot to his feet, the sake cup shattering as it hit the floor. The urgency in Ken’s voice sent a chill through him.

He was already moving, his feet pounding against the wooden floor as he rushed to the garden.

The sight stopped him cold.

In the garden, Takeru knelt on the ground, holding a limp and pale Sakura in his arms. Her doll lay forgotten in the grass beside her.

“She just fell,” Takeru stammered, his usual calm composition completely broke as tears streaming down his face. “She said her chest hurt, and then... ”

Kenshin didn’t speak. He crossed the garden in two long strides, his heart racing as he knelt beside his children.

“Wake up,” he said sharply, his voice more commanding than gentle.

She didn’t respond. He pressed a hand to her forehead, it was burning hot. His heart clenched.

“Inside. Now.”

Takeru hesitated, his tears spilling over. “But—”

“Now!” Kenshin snapped, scooping Sakura into his arms and carrying her toward her room. He moved with such urgency.

“Someone, get a healer!” Ken shouted, running close behind.

............

Ken paced back and forth, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. “Why aren’t they here yet?” he growled.

“They’re taking too long!” Takeru snapped, his voice sharp, filled with an anger that rarely surfaced. He knelt by Sakura, holding her small, limp hand, his face pale. “She doesn’t have time for this!”

Ken slammed his fist against the wall, startling a servant nearby. “I’ll drag them here myself!” He turned to leave, determination blazing in his eyes.

“Ken, stop!” Takeru called after him, but it was too late. His twin was already gone. Left behind, Takeru gritted his teeth and knelt down, he gently held Sakura's hand.

“She’ll be fine,” he murmured, as much to himself as to her. “You’ll be fine. Just hold on.”

After a while, Ken burst through the doors, his clothes dusted with dirt and his eyes burning with fury. Behind him stumbled the healer, her face pale and fearful.

“You’re late!” Takeru roared, his voice echoing through the room.

The healer bowed deeply, trembling as she stepped forward. “Forgive me, young master, I came as fast as I—”.

“Enough,” Kenshin’s cold voice cut through the tension, silencing everyone.

His piercing gaze fell on the healer. “Do your job,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The healer knelt beside Sakura, her hands shaking as she examined the child. Sweat beaded on her forehead under Kenshin’s and his sons’ watchful stares.

“She has a high fever,” the healer began, her voice barely audible. “It is severe, and—”

“And what?” Kenshin’s voice was low and dangerous. He stepped closer, his shadow looming over her. “If this child does not recover, you will regret ever stepping foot in this castle. Do I make myself clear?”

The healer paled, bowing so deeply her forehead nearly touched the floor.

“I- I will do everything within my power to help our young lady, my lord."

............

Sakura’s condition remained fragile on the next day. Shingen and his children had been staying at the castle during the turmoil, but word arrived that issues in Kai required Shingen’s immediate attention.

“I have to go,” Shingen told Kenshin, his voice heavy with regret as they stood in the hallway. “Kai needs me, but I wish I could stay longer.”

“Go,” Kenshin said simply, his tone unreadable.

Oujiro tried his best to hold back tears, while Himeko clung to her father’s arm, sobbing uncontrollably. The usually spirited 11-year-old girl could barely speak through her cries.

“I don’t want to leave!” she wailed. “Sakura’s still so sick. What if she doesn’t—”

“She will,” Shingen interrupted firmly, though his expression softened. He knelt before his daughter, placing his hands on her shoulders. “She’s strong, Himeko. You have to believe in her. Say your goodbyes for now, and we’ll return soon.”

Himeko sniffled but nodded. She approached Sakura’s bedside, her lower lip trembling as she clutched Sakura’s hand.

“Get better, okay?” she whispered. “I will visit again, we will play together.”

Sakura, barely conscious, gave a weak nod, her lips curling into the faintest smile.

...........

Days passed, and the castle grew quieter.

Kenshin had long convinced himself that his stoicism was a strength, a shield to protect his children and himself from the pain of their loss. But now, as he sat outside Sakura’s room, he felt that shield crack.

The faint sound of her cough seeped through the walls, gnawing at his resolve. He couldn’t focus on anything, his mind kept returning to her frail form, her trembling voice calling out for him.

Ken and Takeru remained by her side constantly, but Kenshin found excuses to linger nearby, watching through the doorway or pretending to check on the healer’s progress.

He hesitated before stepping inside, his footsteps almost silent.

“Father?” Ken’s sharp voice cut through the quiet. The boy was awake, his arms crossed as he glared at Kenshin. “Why are you here?”

Kenshin frowned. “Do I need permission to check on my own daughter?”

Ken didn’t back down. “You haven’t cared before. What’s changed now?”

“Ken,” Takeru muttered, trying to de-escalate.

But Kenshin’s gaze didn’t waver. “I was wrong,” he said simply, his voice firm.

Ken blinked, caught off guard by the blunt admission.

Kenshin knelt beside Sakura, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. His hand lingered for a moment, trembling slightly before he withdrew it.

Ken and Takeru exchanged a glance, they still feel skeptical, but decided to leave their father be.

...........

On the next day, Takeru and Ken had to continue their lessons and training as they could no longer skip them, so Kenshin decided to watch over his daughter.

The healer knelt trembling on the tatami floor, her hands shaking as she packed away her supplies. “The fever is dangerously high,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “If it doesn’t break soon…”

Her words hung heavily in the air, unfinished.

Kenshin's arms crossed, his shadow stretching ominously across the room. Without his sons nearby, his cold presence was even more pronounced. His piercing gaze bore into the healer, making her almost paralyzed with fear.

“You’re telling me there's nothing more we can do?” Kenshin’s voice was low, yet it carried an edge of menace that made the healer flinch.

“M-my lord, I have tried everything,” she stammered, bowing deeply. “It is up to her will now…”

Kenshin stepped forward, his footsteps deliberate and heavy. The air grew colder as he towered over her.

“If she dies, your failure will not be forgiven,” he said, his voice like ice. “Pray to your gods that your efforts are enough.”

The healer bowed even lower, her forehead nearly touching the ground. “Y-yes, my lord.” She scurried away, the sound of her hurried footsteps fading down the corridor.

Kenshin stood motionless for a long moment, staring at the small, fevered form on the futon. He had been through wars, had watched men fall in agony, yet nothing had ever torn him apart like the sight of his daughter, so frail and helpless.

Her tiny face was flushed, damp hair clinging to her forehead. Her breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps.

“Daddy…”

Her voice, weak and trembling, shattered the icy armor around his heart. Her eyes fluttered open, barely able to focus on him.

“I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, her small hand twitching as if trying to reach for him.

“I didn’t mean to be bad… Please don’t hate me.”

Kenshin’s chest tightened painfully. His jaw clenched as he knelt beside her.

“You… foolish child,” he murmured, his voice cracking.

“Please… don’t be mad,” she continued, her voice breaking. “I’ll get better soon. I’ll be good.”

Kenshin couldn’t hold it in anymore. The walls he had so carefully built around himself came crashing down.

“Stop,” he whispered hoarsely, his hand fisted tightly. “Don’t say that. Don’t…”

Sakura’s lips quivered, tears slipping from her fevered eyes. “I’m sorry…”

“No,” Kenshin choked, bowing his head, his tears falling freely. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault... ”

It's mine.

For the first time, he allowed himself to call her name.

“Sakura.”

Her name felt heavy on his tongue, but it was a truth he could no longer deny.

“Stay with me,” he whispered. “Don’t leave. I can’t... I can’t lose you too.”

“You don’t hate me?” Her voice weakening, a sign that she was falling asleep.

“Never,” Kenshin said firmly, he reached out for her tiny hand. “I could never hate you. I’ve been a fool.”

Sakura was already asleep so he didn't know if she heard all of it. Kenshin didn’t move. He stayed at her side, his hand never leaving hers, as the night stretched on.

He would not fail her again.

.............

In the solitude of his study, Kenshin set the broken crane on the workbench.

He surveyed the tools and materials at hand. Among them, a small container of nikawa sat tucked in the corner. The glue, made from animal hide, had been used by his craftsmen for years to repair furniture and ceremonial items. He set it over a brazier to warm, the faint smell of the adhesive filling the room.

Carefully, he cleaned the splintered edges of the crane, sanding them down just enough to fit the pieces together snugly. The nikawa softened as it warmed, turning into a smooth, sticky paste. Kenshin dipped a fine brush into the adhesive and began applying it to the fractures with meticulous care.

The process was slow. Each piece needed time to set before he could move on to the next, and the delicate wings required extra attention. His hands, so accustomed to the weight of a sword, trembled slightly as he held the fragile crane.

As dawn broke, Kenshin pressed the final piece into place and held it steady until the glue set. The crane was not perfect, small scars remained where the wood had splintered, but it stood whole once more.

........

The early morning felt unexpectedly calming. Kenshin stayed at Sakura’s side, his hand resting lightly on hers. Ken and Takeru dozed fitfully nearby, they were clearly exhausted because of their lessons and training. Despite warnings that they might catch the sickness, they refused to sleep anywhere but near their little sister.

Sakura’s breaths, once shallow and uneven, had begun to deepen. Kenshin barely moved, his heart pounding at every little sound she made. He was afraid to hope, but when the healer finally arrived to check her again, the woman’s face lit up with cautious optimism.

“The fever has broken,” she said quietly, bowing to Kenshin. “Young lady Sakura is recovering.”

Ken and Takeru, who had just woken up, smiled widely at the news. Kenshin closed his eyes briefly, sighing out in relief as well.

.........

When Sakura woke, her fever has indeed broken as the colour has returned to her chubby little face, Kenshin was there, the repaired crane in his hands.

“You fixed it?” she whispered, her voice soft but filled with wonder.

Kenshin nodded. “I tried my best, but it's not perfect.”

Sakura took the crane, cradling it gently. “It’s perfect,” she murmured, her eyes lighting up with joy.

“Did he... just fix something for Sakura?” Ken muttered, rubbing his eyes as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Maybe he’s possessed,” Takeru suggested.

“Thank you, father.” she murmured, her voice stronger than before.

Kenshin frowned. “It’s ‘Daddy,’” he corrected, his tone firm but not unkind.

The little girl blinked adorably at him, then gave a tiny, shy smile. “Daddy…”

The corners of Kenshin’s lips twitched upward, and he nodded. “Much better.”

Ken and Takeru both froze at the exchange.

Ken whispered in disbelief, “Did he just asked her to call him 'Daddy'?”

Takeru grimaced, looking deeply uncomfortable. “I think she did. Please don’t make us say it.”

“Yeah, no way,” Ken muttered. “He’s ‘Father’ or ‘Old Man.’ That’s it.”

Kenshin shot them a pointed look. “Would you like to say something, boys?”

Both twins straightened up immediately, shaking their heads vigorously. “Nothing, Father!” they chorused.

Sakura giggled weakly, watching her brothers squirm. “Daddy’s nice…”

Ken raised an eyebrow at her. “You sure we’re talking about the same person, Sakura?”

Sakura giggled again, her laugh light and joyous. “Ken… you’re silly.”

Ken crossed his arms. Takeru leaned in, careful not to squish her as he hugged her.

“You better get strong soon. I need someone to help me fight Ken.”

“Hey!” Ken protested, but he leaned in too, wrapping his arms around both of them.

Kenshin watched his children, his heart swelling with a mix of love and regret. He knelt down and pulled all three of them into a firm embrace.

The twins froze, glancing at each other in silent panic.

“I think Father is truly sick. Or this might be a dream.” Ken whispered, pinching Takeru’s arm.

“Ow!” Takeru hissed. “It’s real, you idiot.”

Sakura snuggled closer into her father’s arms, her giggles bubbling up again. “Daddy’s hugging us…”

Ken groaned. “Can you not call him that?”

Sakura’s laughter grew louder, which made her brothers and father smile as well.

Kenshin held them tighter, vowing silently to protect his children and never let them drift apart again. It might be difficult to atone for all of his mistakes, but he would never give up, just like how his children had never given up on him.

Outside, the cherry blossoms danced in the wind, their soft petals swirling like whispers of hope. Kenshin glanced toward the window, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

It was almost as if his late wife was there, watching over them, her presence lingering in the gentle breeze. He could almost hear her voice, warm and full of pride, urging him to cherish this precious bond, to hold his family close.

And for the first time in years, Kenshin felt a fragile but certain peace take root in his heart.

[cherrykasugayama]

[cherrykasugayama]

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[cherrykasugayama]

Fleeting Memories

Kenshin struggles to overcome his grief after the death of his wife, straining his relationship further with his children. He became detached and distant. (Part 3)

Warning: Heavy angst, bad daddy Kenshin, unnamed MC

Children: Uesugi Takeru, 13 years old, Uesugi Ken, 13 years old, Uesugi Sakura, 5 years old

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

.........

The night pressed down heavily, wrapping Kenshin in its suffocating embrace. His body twisted on the futon, his face damp with cold sweat as the dream seized him.

He was there again.

The room was too quiet, suffused with a silence so heavy it pressed against his chest. The dim lantern light flickered, casting shadows over the crimson-stained sheets. She lay motionless on the futon, her breaths shallow and weak, her pale face framed by strands of damp, dark hair.

Kenshin knelt beside her, his hand trembling as he held hers. It felt so small, so fragile—like it might shatter at the slightest touch. Her lips moved, but no sound came at first. He leaned in closer, desperate not to miss a single word.

“The boys…” her voice was a faint whisper, each word forced out like it carried the weight of her life. “They’re too noisy… aren’t they?”

He shook his head vehemently, his other hand smoothing her hair back. “They’ll be quiet. Rest, please.”

A weak, fleeting smile touched her lips. “I’m glad… Sakura will never be lonely.” Her gaze drifted toward the corner of the room where the midwife cradled the swaddled bundle. The infant let out a faint cry, so small, so helpless.

“She’s strong,” Kenshin whispered, though his voice cracked. His throat tightened painfully. “Like you.”

Her fingers weakly gripped his, and her glassy eyes locked onto his with a sudden intensity. “Promise me…”

Kenshin’s heart clenched. “Anything. Just hold on—”

“Promise me you’ll… stay with them,” she murmured, her voice a fragile thread unraveling. Her grip slackened, her head tilting slightly to the side. “Even when it hurts…”

“No,” Kenshin pleaded, his voice breaking. “Don’t—stay with me—”

Her body trembled, her chest rising with one last, ragged breath. And then… nothing.

The silence returned, cruel and deafening.

“No.” Kenshin shook her, his hands desperate to bring her back. “No, no—this can’t—” His cries filled the room, raw and broken, mingling with the infant’s helpless wails.

But her body was still. Her warmth began to fade.

The midwife’s soft voice called out hesitantly, “My lord… the child…”

Kenshin tore his gaze from his wife’s lifeless form. The baby in the midwife’s arms squirmed, her cries sharp and insistent. His heart twisted at the sight—a new life in his world, born from the death of the woman he loved.

Outside, the muffled laughter of his sons drifted in from the garden, their voices bright and oblivious to the tragedy that had just unfolded.

Kenshin clutched his wife’s hand tightly, his tears soaking into her sleeve. His world collapsed around him, the weight of his grief suffocating him.

---

Kenshin bolted upright, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His chest heaved as his eyes darted around the room, desperate to anchor himself in reality. The faint flicker of the lantern cast long shadows, but nothing chased away the lingering ache.

His hand found the small sake bottle beside the table. With trembling fingers, he poured a cup, swallowing it down in one bitter gulp.

But no matter how much he drank, the ache in his chest never dulled.

Why did I agree to bring her back?

---

The soft creak of floorboards echoed down the dim hallway. Kenshin’s cold gaze narrowed as Ken stumbled forward from the opposite direction.

Even in his half-asleep state, Ken was undeniably handsome, a reflection of his father’s striking features. Both shared the same messy blonde hair and sharp eyes that can terrify people with a single glare. However, Kenshin’s spotless robes and upright posture were a stark contrast to Ken’s loosely draped yukata, slipping off one shoulder like he had rolled straight out of bed.

Ken mumbled as he shuffled past, “Father—morning.” His voice was thick with sleep, his squinting eyes barely registering Kenshin’s presence.

Kenshin’s voice broke the silence. “Pitiful.”

Ken stopped, swaying slightly, and turned with a groggy, “Huh?”

Kenshin’s piercing gaze swept over him, a chill settling in the hallway. “Your appearance is a disgrace. Straighten yourself before someone sees you.”

Ken blinked slowly, then smirked faintly, “Didn’t know you cared so much about fashion.”

Kenshin’s expression didn’t shift, his silence heavier than words. He stepped past Ken with measured strides, his cloak swishing lightly, as if to emphasize his authority.

Ken yawned loudly, stretching as he watched his father disappear into the shadows of the corridor. “Man, whatever,” he muttered, tugging his yukata half-heartedly into place before continuing on, as unbothered as ever.

---

Sakura’s room was already alive with noise.

Wooden tops, dolls, and small trinkets lay scattered across the tatami. In the center, Sakura knelt, humming softly as she rearranged them.

Ken appeared in the doorway, hair disheveled and eyes half-lidded. He leaned against the frame like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Sakura,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep, “what are you doing at this hour?”

Sakura lifted a small wooden doll, her face bright. “Sayori’s awake!”

Ken squinted at her, his expression unimpressed. “Sayori,” he echoed flatly. “Right. The doll.”

“She was in the rain. Takeru left her there.”

Ken grunted, sliding down the doorframe until he was sitting on the floor. His head lolled to the side, blonde hair falling over his closed eyes. “Figures. Takeru’s a menace.”

Sakura giggled. “Did he do stuff like that before I was born?”

Ken cracked one eye open, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Worse. You’re lucky you missed it.”

“Tell me!” Sakura scooted closer, hugging Sayori tightly.

“Let's see... ah, we got into a fight once,” Ken said, his voice still monotone but his green eyes glinting with faint amusement. “He was so mad he threw my toy into a tree.”

“That’s horrible!”

“Right? He’s got a mean streak.”

From the doorway, Takeru’s voice cut in, calm and even. “I seem to remember someone threw my toy into a pond first.”

The soft clink of bowls echoed as Takeru placed a breakfast tray on the low table.

“It was an accident,” Ken muttered, looking away.

Takeru arched a brow. “Really? I thought it was because I made Himeko cry.”

Ken’s ears turned pink, and he glared at the floor. “That was different.”

Takeru smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. “I heard Himeko will be visiting in a few days.”

Sakura gasped, her hands clapping together. “Really? Himeko’s coming? I have to show her Sayori! And my new room! And—”

Ken cleared his throat sharply, cutting her off. “Eat your breakfast first.” He rose from his slouch and shuffled to the table, his expression a little stiffer than usual.

Sakura grinned as she plopped down with them, eagerly accepting a bowl of rice from Takeru.

Ken sat across from her, eyeing her doll. “You know, it’s a miracle Sayori survived this long. After everything Takeru’s done to her.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Takeru said flatly.

“You left her in the rain,” Sakura reminded him, hugging the doll protectively.

Takeru exhaled, rubbing his temple. “That was an accident. I was carrying all your things when you moved into the castle. Remember?”

Ken snorted. “Dropped Sayori, huh? That tracks.”

“She slipped out of the bundle,” Takeru said defensively, though there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “I didn’t notice until the next morning.”

Sakura studied him intently, her expression serious. Finally, she placed Sayori beside her rice bowl. “It’s okay. She forgives you.”

Takeru let out a small chuckle. “Good to know.”

Sakura fumbled with her chopsticks, managing a single grain of rice before the rest tumbled back into the bowl. Her brows furrowed in frustration, and she tried again, earning the same result.

Ken leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. “How were you eating before you came here? Were you just chasing rice around the table?”

Sakura pouted. “No! Sasuke made me something special to use.”

Ken raised a brow, glancing at Takeru. “Something special?”

Sakura nodded proudly. “It’s called a ‘spoon.’”

Ken snorted softly. “A spoon? What a weirdo.”

“He’s a genius! Sasuke carved it for me out of wood,” Sakura said, attempting to scoop rice again, only to drop half of it onto the mat.

“I liked the spoon better,” she pouted. “It was easier than these.” She held up her chopsticks with a scowl. “I never dropped anything.”

Ken smirked faintly. “Sounds like cheating.”

“It’s not cheating!”

“It is,” Ken replied curtly. “No wonder you’re struggling now.”

Takeru reached across the table, gently adjusting her small fingers around the chopsticks. “Thumb here. Hold them like this.”

Sakura mimicked his grip, her brows furrowed in concentration. The chopsticks wobbled uncertainly.

“You’re making it harder,” Ken said, shifting closer to help. “It’s easier if you let the bottom one rest against your ring finger—like this.” He guided her hand quickly, his tone more gruff than gentle.

Takeru leaned his chin on his palm, smirking. “Look at you. *Brother of the Year.*”

“Fixing your bad advice,” Ken shot back, though his tone lacked venom.

Sakura’s tongue peeked out as she attempted another scoop. This time, the rice stayed between the chopsticks. She gasped in delight.

“I did it!”

“See? Not so hard,” Ken said, giving her a small nod.

Takeru feigned offense. “I softened you up for success.”

“No, you didn’t,” Sakura giggled, taking another wobbly bite.

Ken slouched back, his smirk faint. “Takeru always makes easy things harder.”

“Shut up and eat,” Takeru muttered, though warmth flickered in his eyes as Sakura beamed at her newfound skill.

“Will Father eat with us today?” Sakura asked suddenly.

The question dropped like a stone in the room.

Ken’s smirk disappeared, and Takeru’s chopsticks hovered over his bowl for just a second too long.

“He’s busy,” Takeru said lightly, though his tone lacked its usual teasing edge. “Maybe next time.”

“It’s been a week,” Sakura murmured, poking at her rice. “He hasn’t eaten with us since I came here.”

Ken shrugged, glancing toward the doorway. “Father’s just... not a morning person.”

Sakura’s face brightened a little. “Like you.”

“Exactly,” Ken replied curtly, though his gaze flickered with guilt.

Satisfied, Sakura returned to her breakfast, gently moving Sayori so she could “eat” alongside her.

Takeru glanced at Ken. Neither of them spoke, but the same thought lingered in their minds.

---

Once breakfast was over, her brothers departed reluctantly, dragged away by the weight of their lessons and training. Left alone, Sakura stayed in her small room, curling her legs beneath her as she worked. In her lap rested a block of wood, and with painstaking care, her tiny hands carved away at it, shaping the fragile form of a crane.

Beside her, Sayori the doll leaned quietly, as if standing guard. Her silent presence was enough to make Sakura feel as though she wasn’t truly alone.

She remembered something Takeru had told her once—his voice warm as he held a paper crane in his hands.

“Cranes are symbols of hope and happiness,” he had said with a small, wistful smile. “Mother used to love them.”

The memory lingered like a fading echo. Sakura had never met their mother, but the idea of her love for cranes filled some quiet part of Sakura’s heart. Maybe if her father saw this crane, he would feel something too. Maybe he would smile. And maybe… maybe that would be enough.

Still, fear gnawed at the edges of that hope. She couldn’t give it to him herself. What if he didn’t like it? Worse—what if he threw it away?

Her hands tightened around the small crane, fresh cuts stinging against the rough wood.

“Sasuke,” she called softly, voice barely louder than a whisper.

The shadows in the corner of the room shifted, and within moments, the quiet ninja appeared, crouched low with his usual unreadable expression.

“What is it, princess?”

Sakura hesitated, then carefully held out the crane, her fingers trembling slightly.

“Can you… can you give this to father?” Her gaze dropped to the floor, words spilling out hurriedly. “But don’t tell him it’s from me. I think he’ll hate it if he knows.”

Sasuke’s eyes flickered toward the faint red marks along her small hands. His stoic expression softened, though only slightly.

“I’ll make sure he gets it,” he said quietly, accepting the crane with a nod.

Relief bloomed across Sakura’s face, the smallest glimmer of hope rising to the surface.

“Thank you, Sasuke.”

He said nothing more but tucked the crane into his robes and disappeared as silently as he had arrived, leaving Sakura to sit quietly with Sayori, watching the door long after he had gone.

---

Kenshin’s study was cold, papers lay scattered across his desk, waiting for attention he could no longer give. His thoughts drifted, tangled in shadows he refused to acknowledge.

When Sasuke entered, silent as always, he placed the wooden crane carefully on the desk.

Kenshin’s sharp gaze flickered to it, his brow creasing.

“What is this?” His voice was as cold as the room.

“A gift,” Sasuke replied, his tone even but laced with something softer.

Kenshin’s fingers brushed the crane, tracing the uneven shape. Its edges were rough, the wings unbalanced, carved by unpracticed hands. The imperfections stood out like glaring faults, but… there was something in the way it had been made. Something that made his chest ache.

His hand lingered a moment too long.

“It’s crude,” he murmured, turning the crane between his fingers.

“Crude, but heartfelt,” Sasuke said quietly.

Kenshin’s expression darkened, the vulnerability in Sasuke’s words pressing too close to something buried.

“I have no need for such things.” His voice was harsher than he intended. He placed the crane near the edge of his desk and returned to his papers, dismissing the moment as if it hadn’t mattered.

But as he moved, his arm brushed against the delicate figure.

The crane slipped.

The sharp crack of wood splintering rang out, loud in the quiet room.

Kenshin’s eyes flicked to the floor, where the crane now lay—one fragile wing broken clean off.

Sasuke’s gaze hardened faintly, but he said nothing. Bowing, he slipped out, leaving Kenshin alone with the fractured gift.

For a long time, Kenshin stared at it. Then, as if the sight disturbed him, he turned back to his work, though the ache in his chest lingered like an unwelcome guest.

---

That evening, Sakura crept down the dimly lit hall, her small footsteps barely making a sound. Her heart pounded louder than the soft taps of her feet.

She didn’t belong in his study. She knew that. But something pulled her forward—a quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, the crane had made him smile.

The door was slightly ajar.

Sakura peeked inside, her eyes scanning the room. Her breath caught when she saw the crane, lying on the floor, broken.

The soft creak of the door as she slipped inside felt deafening. She knelt carefully, gathering the fractured pieces with trembling hands.

Her tiny fingers traced the jagged edge where the wing had snapped, and something in her chest twisted painfully.

“It’s okay,” she whispered to the fragile pieces in her hands, though her voice shook. “I can fix it. Maybe next time… he’ll like it more.”

Her words barely held back the tears welling in her eyes.

Behind her, Kenshin stood just beyond the door, unnoticed.

He watched her small figure hunched over the broken crane, her shoulders trembling as she held it close to her chest.

His mouth opened as if to speak—an apology, perhaps, or something softer—but no words came.

Instead, he lingered in the silence, then turned and walked away, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hall.

In the study, Sakura gently held the crane’s pieces, pressing them together as if her tiny hands alone could mend what had been broken.

---

The next day, the Takeda delegation arrived with a lively procession. Himeko and Oujiro leaped from their horses, their faces lighting up as they spotted Takeru and Ken.

“Takeru! Ken!” Himeko called, her voice bright.

Ken groaned, stepping back instinctively. “She’s here…”

Takeru smirked, patting his brother on the shoulder. “Try not to look too happy.”

Himeko ran up to Ken, stopping just short of crashing into him. “Ken! Did you miss me?”

Ken blinked, his usual composure slipping. “Uh, sure.”

Himeko narrowed her eyes playfully. “Sure? That’s all I get?” She poked his chest. “Come on, admit it. You missed me.”

Takeru laughed, stepping in to save his flustered brother. “Ken’s bad with words. He probably dreamed about you every night.”

Ken shot Takeru a glare. “Don’t make me hit you.”

Himeko grinned, undeterred. “It’s okay, Ken. I already know you’re shy.”

From the sidelines, Shingen groaned dramatically. “Why does my daughter chase after that boy?”

Kenshin stood beside him, his expression as stoic as ever. “She’s bold for a girl.”

“Too bold,” Shingen muttered. “And that boy—he doesn’t even pretend to like her.”

Kenshin glanced at Ken, who stood awkwardly as Himeko tugged on his sleeve. “Does he?”

Shingen sighed heavily. “I hope not.”

---

The children gathered in the garden, their laughter filling the air. Sakura clutched Sayori tightly, watching the lively scene unfold.

“Takeru!” Oujiro yelled, brandishing a stick. “Let’s duel!”

“You’re on,” Takeru replied, grabbing his own “sword.”

The two boys clashed, their sticks smacking loudly against each other.

“You’ve gotten slower, Oujiro,” Takeru teased the younger boy, dodging a wide swing.

“And you’ve gotten cocky!” Oujiro shot back, lunging forward.

Behind them, Himeko was in relentless pursuit of Ken, who was trying to maintain his usual aloof demeanor.

“Stop running!” she demanded, her face flushed.

Ken stopped suddenly, causing Himeko to crash into his back. She stumbled, catching herself before glaring at him.

“You did that on purpose!”

Ken raised an eyebrow. “You told me to stop.”

Himeko huffed, crossing her arms. “You’re impossible.”

Ken smirked faintly. “You’re persistent.”

From her spot, Sakura giggled.

Himeko turned to her. “Sakura! Come play!”

Sakura hesitated, clutching Sayori. “I-I don’t know how to play like you…”

Himeko knelt in front of her, smiling warmly. “Then we’ll teach you.”

Oujiro chimed in, “Yeah! Come on, Sakura!”

Encouraged, Sakura stood, holding Sayori close. “Okay… but can Sayori come too?”

“Of course!” Himeko said brightly, taking her hand.

---

The night was heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth as Kenshin and Shingen stood in the quiet of the warlord’s war council room. The earlier talks of alliances and military strategies had faded, leaving only the lingering weight of unspoken matters between them.

“Kenshin,” Shingen began, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “We’ve known each other for years. And I know you’re not as heartless as you want the world to believe.”

Kenshin’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he kept his focus on the flickering lantern by his desk. “I don’t pretend to be anything.”

Shingen’s expression remained calm, but there was an edge to his words. “You do. And it’s hurting them.”

Kenshin’s posture stiffened. “They’ll be stronger for it.”

“They need their father, not a shadow,” Shingen countered, his gaze locking onto Kenshin’s. “Sakura—she’s trying, Kenshin. She’s trying so hard to make you happy.”

Kenshin’s hand paused over a scroll, but he didn’t lift his head. The image of the broken wooden crane flickered unbidden in his mind.

“She’s terrified of you,” Shingen said plainly, the words cutting deeper than intended. “Afraid that if she steps wrong, you’ll turn away from her for good.”

Kenshin’s breath caught for a fleeting second, but he forced himself to stay still. “She doesn’t understand,” he said, though the words felt weak the moment they left his lips.

“She understands more than you realize,” Shingen replied gently. “Children… they see everything, even the things we think we hide. She carries the weight of your grief like it’s her burden to bear.”

The room fell into a long, strained silence. Kenshin’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the paper too hard.

Shingen stepped forward and placed a steady hand on Kenshin’s shoulder. “It’s not too late,” he said quietly. “She’s reaching for you, Kenshin. Reach back, even if it’s small. A word, a gesture, acknowledge her. Let her know you see her.”

Kenshin lowered his head, the weight of Shingen’s words pressing harder than any battlefield defeat. “I don’t know how,” he admitted, so softly it barely reached Shingen’s ears.

A faint, knowing smile tugged at Shingen’s lips. “You’ll learn. If not for yourself… then for her.”

For the briefest of moments, Kenshin’s cold exterior cracked, the flicker of something long buried surfacing in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, and Kenshin turned away, stepping back into the shadows where he felt he belonged.

As he walked past, Shingen exhaled, watching him with a quiet shake of his head. “Stubborn fool…” he muttered, though his voice carried a note of hope.

---

In her room, Sakura sat under the dim lantern light, carefully trying to mend the broken crane. It has been days and she have yet able to fix it. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks as she whispered, “It’s okay. I can fix you.”

Outside, Kenshin lingered, his heart heavy with unspoken words. The faint light from her room spilled into the corridor, a fragile beacon in the darkness of his world.

But once again, he turned away, unable to face the hope in her tiny hands.

[cherrykasugayama]

[cherrykasugayama]

Fleeting Memories

Kenshin struggles to overcome his grief after the death of his wife, straining his relationship further with his children. He became detached and distant. (Part 2)

Warning: Heavy angst, bad daddy Kenshin, unnamed MC

Children: Uesugi Takeru, 13 years old, Uesugi Ken, 13 years old, Uesugi Sakura, 5 years old

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

.....................................................

Kasugayama Castle – Lesson Hall

The mid-morning sun cast a soft glow over the polished wooden floor of the lesson hall. Incense wafted faintly through the air, giving the room an air of calm that the brothers seated within were doing their best to undermine.

Takeru sat straight, as disciplined as ever, his dark hair falling perfectly into place above his sharp, composed features. His blue eyes reflected quiet intensity as he listened to their tutor’s lecture on castle fortifications.

Beside him, Ken was the picture of rebellion. His messy blond hair and lazy slouch seemed to suck the discipline out of the room. He absentmindedly twirled an ink brush in one hand while his other worked on something far more important than the lecture—a doodle.

"Ken."

Takeru’s voice broke the monotony. He didn’t even turn his head to know his brother was up to no good.

"What?" Ken muttered, his brush still moving.

"You’re drawing."

"Observant as ever, dear brother," Ken quipped, not bothering to look up.

Takeru leaned over slightly, his expression slipping into disbelief as he caught sight of the parchment.

The sketch depicted their father, Kenshin, looking thoroughly defeated as a chibi Sakura delivered a heroic headbutt to his gut. Above them, bold letters declared, “LOVE YOUR DAUGHTER OR PERISH!”

Takeru couldn’t help the small twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “Is that supposed to be Father and Sakura?”

“Obviously,” Ken replied, holding up the drawing for closer inspection. “Sasuke said people in his village use art like this to tell stories. I thought I’d give it a shot.”

Takeru sighed. "And you chose to insult our father?"

Ken grinned, holding up the parchment. "Boldness runs in our family."

The tutor cleared his throat, glaring at them with all the authority a man who’d just been ignored for a few minutes could muster.

"Lord Takeru. Lord Ken. Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me about the siege of Odawara?"

Takeru straightened, but Ken waved a dismissive hand. "That’s the one where Hojo Ujiyasu’s men hid like scared rabbits until Father cut off their supplies and made them surrender. Easy."

The tutor blinked, momentarily taken aback.

"…Correct."

Takeru turned to Ken, impressed despite himself. "You do listen."

Ken leaned back, crossing his arms with a smug grin. “I always listen. I just don’t feel the need to make a show of it like you.”

Before Takeru could retort, a knock at the door drew their attention. A servant entered, bowing low. "A letter for Lord Ken."

Ken perked up immediately, snatching the letter from the servant’s hands with a suspicious level of enthusiasm.

"From who?" Takeru asked.

Ken didn’t answer, already engrossed in the letter.

The tutor frowned, his patience wearing thin.

“My lords, this lesson is not yet complete—”

Takeru turned to him, his voice calm and authoritative.

"Sensei, my deepest apologies, but this is a pressing family matter. We must conclude for today."

The tutor hesitated, glancing between the brothers. "Lord Takeru, this is highly irregular—"

"I assure you, we will return tomorrow ready to focus fully on your teachings,"

Takeru said, bowing slightly. His tone was polished, yet firm enough to leave no room for argument.

With a resigned sigh, the tutor gathered his scrolls.

"Very well. Until tomorrow, my lords. But don’t forget, Lord Kenshin expects you both at the war council this afternoon." He exited, muttering 'insolent youth' under his breath.

Once the door slid shut, Ken relaxed visibly, grinning. "Nicely done."

Takeru ignored him, already reaching for the letter.

"Let me see that," he said smoothly, his hand darting out.

Ken pulled it back. "It’s private."

Takeru arched an eyebrow. "Private? From Himeko?"

Ken scowled. "I said no—"

But Takeru moved faster, snatching the letter from his brother’s grasp.

"Hey!" Ken lunged for it, but Takeru danced out of reach, unfolding the letter with practiced ease. His grin widened as he began reading aloud.

"Dear Ken,

I received your letter. How brave of you to ask for my help so earnestly. It’s quite charming to see you so concerned for little Sakura. Truly, your heart is kinder than your temper suggests.

Also, the idea of you worrying over me is… flattering. Perhaps you should write more often? I wouldn’t mind having more of your attention.

I’ll speak to my father about intervening with Lord Kenshin. And if all else fails… I’ll simply take Sakura with me. She’ll be safe at our castle.

With love,

Himeko."

Takeru folded the letter neatly, his smirk wide. "She’s definitely flirting with you."

Ken’s ears turned bright red as he snatched the letter back. "She’s not flirting. She’s just… polite."

"Polite?" Takeru raised an eyebrow. "She practically invited you to write her love letters."

Ken stood abruptly, tucking the letter into his sleeve. "Let’s just focus on Sakura before Himeko actually kidnaps her."

Takeru chuckled as Ken stormed off, muttering under his breath. "You’re right. But you’re still blushing."

Ken’s response was muffled, but it sounded suspiciously like a threat.

.........................

Kasugayama Castle – War Council Room

After the lesson, the twins headed to the war council, where Kenshin, his advisors, and a few generals were gathered. Maps lay spread across the long table, detailing troop movements, supply routes, and defensive fortifications.

As the meeting wound down, Takeru seized the moment.

“Father,” he began, his voice calm and measured, “I’d like to discuss Sakura’s safety.”

Kenshin didn’t look up from the map. “She’s safe where she is.”

Takeru pressed on. “The manor is secluded. If something were to happen, it would take too long for aid to arrive. She would be safer here at the main castle.”

Kenshin’s gaze lifted, icy and sharp. “The manor is impenetrable. She stays.”

Ken, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, his voice laced with frustration.

“She’s our sister. She belongs here, with her family.”

Kenshin’s eyes flicked to Ken, his cold expression unchanging. “And I’ve decided what is best for her.”

“She’s not just some responsibility you can lock away,” Ken said, his voice rising. “She’s part of this family, and we want her closer.”

Kenshin’s voice was like steel. “Enough. I will not be questioned on this.”

Ken’s fists clenched, but Takeru stepped in, his hand lightly touching his brother’s arm. “We understand, Father,” he said smoothly, though his tone carried an edge.

Kenshin’s gaze lingered on them for a moment longer before he turned back to the map.

“Dismissed.”

Outside the meeting hall, Ken’s temper finally erupted. “How can he be so blind? She’s alone out there!”

Takeru sighed, his own frustration barely contained. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure something out.”

Ken nodded, but his anger remained.

.........................

Kasugayama Castle – Training Grounds

The sun hung low in the sky by the time Takeru and Ken arrived at the training grounds. The air was heavy with the quiet hum of cicadas, but the tension between the brothers was louder.

Kenshin stood at the far end of the courtyard, his arms crossed as he watched them approach. His presence felt colder than the steel of the katana resting at his side.

“Pick up your weapons,” Kenshin ordered without preamble.

Takeru and Ken exchanged a glance. Takeru took a wooden practice sword from the rack, but Ken hesitated. His grip lingered over the hilt of the bokken before finally snatching it up.

Kenshin’s eyes narrowed. “You’re angry. That’s good. It means today's training will be more worthwhile.”

Ken stepped forward, jaw tight. “Let me spar with you.”

Takeru’s head snapped toward his brother, but Kenshin didn’t react.

“Ken,” Takeru started, but Ken ignored him.

“I’ll fight you, Father. You said I’m reckless and weak. Let’s see if I am.” Ken’s green eyes burned with defiance.

Kenshin’s gaze was unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, finally, he turned to Takeru.

“You,” Kenshin said coldly, “will spar him.”

Ken’s eyes flickered with frustration.

“That’s not—”

“If you can’t surpass your brother,” Kenshin interrupted, “you’re not ready to face me.”

Ken’s grip tightened on the bokken until his knuckles turned white.

“Fine.”

Takeru sighed under his breath but stepped into position, leveling his practice sword at Ken. “Let’s get this over with.”

They circled each other in silence, the courtyard thick with the weight of Kenshin’s gaze.

Ken attacked first, fast and wild. His bokken arced through the air, a blur of frustration-fueled strength. Takeru met him head-on, deflecting with the ease of someone who had done this countless times.

Wood clashed sharply, echoing through the courtyard. Ken pressed forward, each strike faster, stronger, fueled by the lingering frustration of the war council. But no matter how much force he poured into his attacks, Takeru parried each one with calm precision.

“Stop blocking!” Ken snapped, breathless. “Fight me properly!”

“I am fighting you,” Takeru replied, sliding past another strike. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. “You’re just not thinking.”

Ken lunged, but Takeru sidestepped, striking his brother lightly on the ribs.

“Damn it—!” Ken staggered back, panting.

Kenshin’s voice cut through the air, cold and sharp. “Predictable. You let anger cloud your judgment. That is why you lose.”

Ken’s grip trembled. His heart pounded with more than just exertion. He hated how calm Takeru looked. How easily his brother always seemed to handle everything.

“Maybe if you stopped running—”

Takeru’s eyes hardened. In an instant, he closed the gap between them, knocking Ken’s bokken aside and striking him squarely on the shoulder. Ken stumbled, his weapon clattering to the ground.

He froze, staring at it as silence filled the courtyard.

Kenshin stepped forward, his expression like carved ice. “Weak.”

Ken’s fists clenched at his sides. “I’m not weak.”

Kenshin’s gaze bore down on him. “Strength without control is recklessness. And recklessness gets people killed.”

Ken’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “Then teach me to control it! You keep telling me what I lack, but you never—”

“You think strength is given?” Kenshin interrupted, his voice cold. “It’s something you take. Something you bleed for. If you don’t understand that, you don’t deserve to stand here.”

Ken’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak.

Kenshin’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before turning to Takeru. “Again.”

Takeru hesitated.

“Father, maybe that’s enough—”

A flicker of warning flashed in Kenshin’s eyes, and Takeru fell silent. He returned to his position, his grip firm around the wooden blade.

Ken retrieved his bokken, his knuckles pale.

“I won’t hold back,” Takeru said softly.

Ken glared at him. “Good. I don’t want you to.”

This time, Takeru struck first. Ken barely deflected the blow, his muscles burning as he pushed back. The clash of wood echoed again and again, each strike heavier than the last.

Takeru’s attacks were controlled, efficient. Ken’s were fierce and desperate. But no matter how hard he swung, Takeru’s blade met his own.

Finally, Takeru swept Ken’s legs out from beneath him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Ken coughed, his body aching from the fall. He stayed there, staring up at the sky.

Takeru crouched beside him, offering a hand. “You’ll get there. You just need to stop trying to win with anger alone.”

Ken sighed, feeling disgruntled. “I can’t believe I always lost to ‘Hey, let’s talk it out.’ guy. You like to solve things peacefully, but you fight like him...”

Takeru blinked, caught off guard by the humor laced with a hint of self-loathing. “You lost because you let your anger fight for you. If you can learn to control it, you’ll be unstoppable. You can even surpass me.”

“Easy for you to say.” Ken rolled his eyes and took his hand, letting Takeru pulled him to his feet.

From the edge of the training grounds, Kenshin’s voice cut through the air. “Sentiment is wasted on him, Takeru.”

Takeru turned, his jaw tightening. “I wasn’t being sentimental,” he said, his voice firm. “I was being a brother.”

Kenshin’s gaze flickered, but his expression remained cold. “Training is over. Takeru, with me.”

Ken straightened. “What about me?”

Kenshin’s eyes flicked to him. “Stay. Reflect.”

The word stung, but Ken said nothing.

As Kenshin and Takeru walked away, Ken dropped onto the grass beneath the shade of a tree, limbs heavy with exhaustion and frustration. He leaned back against the rough bark, emerald-green eyes clouded with thought before slowly sliding shut.

From the corner of his eye, Sasuke approached, his usual blank expression giving nothing away.

“Lord Ken,” Sasuke began, his tone calm yet careful, “if you’d like, I can spar with you. I promise not to win too quickly.”

Ken smirked faintly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “I’ve had enough humiliation for one day.”

Sasuke tilted his head. “Reflecting, then?”

Ken sighed, leaning further into the shade. The warm light of the setting sun caught in his blonde hair, giving it a soft glow. He had inherited his striking looks from Kenshin, the same sharp bone structure and piercing gaze, but where Kenshin’s features were cold and imposing, Ken’s were softened by traces of his mother’s gentler feature.

“Yeah,” Ken murmured, voice quieter now. “Reflecting… with my eyes closed.”

Sasuke said nothing more, standing nearby in silence.

As Ken took a nap beneath the flickering sunlight, his soft blonde hair stirred gently in the breeze. In that peaceful moment, he looked less like Kenshin’s rebellious son and more like the child he still was.

.......................

The crunch of gravel beneath their feet was the only sound as Takeru and Kenshin walked side by side, their path leading away from one training ground toward another. The air between them was heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken words. Takeru’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, his jaw tight, every part of him bristling with the need to speak but terrified of what would come after.

“You have something to say,” Kenshin said finally, breaking the silence.

Takeru glanced sideways at his father, his expression guarded. “I don’t think you understand what it’s like for her. For any of us.”

Kenshin raised an eyebrow. “This again?”

“You demand perfection,” Takeru said, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed emotion. “From Ken and I. But you’ve never shown us what it meant to be loved, you..."

'weren't the loving father I remember years ago.'

Is what Takeru wanted to say, but his words caught in his throat, the accusation too raw, too dangerous. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to redirect. “Sakura is your daughter, yet you treat her like she’s invisible.”

Kenshin’s steps slowed, his face a mask of cold indifference.

Takeru’s composure began to crack at his silence, his voice rising. “And in doing so, you’ve stripped us of everything else. If you have lost the capability to love, at least don't rob it from us. Let Sakura move in with us so we can at least shower her with love, even if you won't.”

The plea hung in the air, raw and trembling. For a moment, Takeru thought he saw something in Kenshin’s eyes, pain, regret, something human. But it vanished, replaced by a chilling resolve.

“If you think you know better, prove it. Draw your sword.”

Takeru blinked, the words hitting him like a slap. “Father, no. This isn’t—”

“Draw. Your. Sword,” Kenshin repeated, his tone brooking no argument. “If you believe you have the right to question me, show me.”

Takeru’s hand hovered over the hilt of his practice blade. His instincts screamed at him to walk away, to find another way. He didn't want to resolve this with fighting. He had always relied on words, on reason, because violence felt too dangerous, too close to becoming… him.

But Kenshin’s gaze bored into him, unyielding, demanding.

Takeru’s hand tightened around the hilt of his blade, and he drew it slowly, the weight of it unfamiliar and heavy.

.....................

The clash of their swords was deafening, echoing off the stone walls. Kenshin’s strikes were relentless, each one a calculated blow meant to overwhelm. Takeru struggled to keep up, his movements increasingly desperate.

“You think love makes you strong?” Kenshin said, his voice calm even as his attacks intensified. “It makes you reckless.”

Takeru gritted his teeth, sweat dripping into his eyes. “It makes me human.”

“And that is your weakness,” Kenshin countered, delivering a blow that sent Takeru staggering.

The fight wasn’t fair. Kenshin was faster, stronger, and more experienced. Every time Takeru tried to gain ground, Kenshin would take it back with ease.

“You hesitate,” Kenshin said, his blade whistling through the air. “You think too much. You hold back.”

Takeru’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred with sweat and tears. He fought not just his father but the darkness rising within himself, the strange, terrible thrill of the fight. He didn’t want to feel it, didn’t want to give in to the same hunger that drove Kenshin.

I hate you.

The thought surged through him, fierce and undeniable. He hated Kenshin for the coldness, the cruelty, for the ways he was scared to confront his feelings, the way he enjoyed swinging his sword. And he hated himself for feeling the same fire burning in his own chest.

Kenshin’s blade came down in a crushing arc, but Takeru, fueled by desperation, deflected it with a strength he didn’t know he possessed. With a wild, reckless swing, he disarmed Kenshin, the older man’s sword clattering to the ground.

Silence fell like a hammer, the echoes of their clash fading into the void.

Kenshin looked down at his empty hand, his face unreadable. For a fleeting moment, Takeru thought he saw something in Kenshin's eyes—pride, but it quickly disappeared, swallowed by the mask his father always wore.

“You’ve made your point,” Kenshin said, his voice hollow. “Sakura will return to the castle.”

He turned and walked away without another word, leaving Takeru standing alone in the gathering twilight.

Takeru sank to his knees, his sword slipping from his grasp. His chest heaved, but the air around him felt suffocating, crushing.

He had won.

But it felt wrong.

Tears blurred his vision as he stared at the ground, his body shaking. He had fought to protect Sakura, to demand the love she deserved. But in doing so, he had felt something terrifying stir within him.

I’m just like him.

The thought tore through him, raw and unforgiving. He had sworn to be different, to lead with compassion, with wisdom, as his mother had wanted. But for one terrible moment, he had embraced the darkness. He had fought not just Kenshin but the part of himself that was drawn to the same cold, madness.

His hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms. He would fight it. He had to. For Sakura. For Ken. For Mother. For the family he still dreamed of saving.

But deep down, the fear lingered. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he fought… he was his father’s son. And that truth terrified him most of all.

[cherrykasugayama]

He’s wearing a batman mask