Bullets | Short story

My week thus far, in bullets:

• To Kill A Mockingbird must be a required reading during anyone's lifetime. If I chanced upon this book earlier in my life, I might have seriously considered becoming a lawyer. 
• In relation to this, I love Atticus Finch. /oldmanfangirlingnanaman
• If any of you reading this have a copy of the movie, can I borrow it?
• I'm still happy I didn't become a lawyer.
• I'm dealing with a lot of discontent right now. It comes and it goes, and I'd like to think it's all part of the dreaded quarter-life crisis. I'm particularly peeved with the following:
• The NBSB status. Most of the time it's not an issue, but when someone rubs it in, ye gads, it's like an itch that won't go away.
• Some of the things I'm doing now are seriously hampering my ability to do other stuff I want to do, i.e. rest, more sleeping and reading time, more bulakbol time, more me time (in a nutshell). These things may seem really trivial, but I need to do these things. 
• My utter lack of a social life. I can't count anymore the number of times I've been told that I need to get out more. One went as far as telling me that I have to get out because my complexion is more sickly than pale. 

Yeah. That's it. XD

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For those who have been encouraging me in my "author" journey, "thank you" cannot even begin to express my gratitude.  I've been asked by some people what kind of stories do I write, and I usually just smile at them most of the time. When I dared to answer it directly, I think one of my replies was "I write about death". The stare I got from one person was so...how do I even describe it? It was a stare that said, "Why in the world would you write about such a morbid topic?", or "I never thought a person like you would write about that!". 

Ever since the author class thing started, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I remember that one of the goals of setting up this blog was this:

Since college, there's this small itch to actually go public with some of the stuff I write or do, but I have this fear (which nags me till now) that people who know me in real life will not understand it, or it will be shot down as horrible/inconceivable. So, I want to find out for myself if those fears are grounded in truth. Hence, this blog was born.

I want to stay true to this goal - no matter how scary it is. Hence, I have decided to post a story I did two years ago, which is about death. /ye gads

If you know me in real life and you see this story, let me know what you think. As in, seriously. I'd really like to know. A little background follows after the jump.

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First, this is a Saiunkoku Monogatari fanfic. It would help if you know something about the series, but it's not necessary. You may find some pronouns and way of addresses questionable (i.e. "us" instead of "me" - the former is used due to the person being royalty, i.e. king or emperor).

The inspiration for this story came from a conversation between me and this person (Beybeh I♥U), which revolved around the phrase omae o korosu (I'll kill you) - which was uttered by Heero Yuy in Gundam Wing -  and tights (still in reference to Heero XD). Then, it evolved into this story. Mahabang explanation pa if I say how it jumped from one series to another, but if you know your seiyuus, then it will make sense.

This story won first place in a fanfiction challenge community dedicated to the series. I wasn't supposed to submit it, but when I saw that one of the themes was Unconventional, I decided to submit it. I was dumbfounded when they announced the results, because in my opinion, there was a [1] better entry (as in idol kong magsulat yung taong yun at nung nakita kong may mga sinubmit siyang gawa niya I was convinced that she'd win first place); [2] mine was so bizarre; and [3] my ending warranted a OMGWHATDIDYOUDOTOMYFAVORITECHARACTER kind of reaction.

So, without anymore ado, here is the fic:




Title: The Last Assignment 
Theme: Unconventional 
Summary: An ambitious mission has been given to the Satsujinzoku. In response to the challenge, they send one of their finest. They know, without a shadow of doubt, that Shousempou will overcome.
Warnings: Character death/s, and AU (if that constitutes a warning).
A/N: I can never own such awesome characters with these kind of issues. 



He slung his pack on one shoulder, then took his buckle and fastened it around his waist. His sword came next, a long, straight-edged sword, with a blade that was merciless as it was straightforward.

He fastened the scabbard onto his belt and made sure that it rested evenly on his side. His garb was as dark as the night, but his head remained unclothed. When he striked, his colleagues likened him to a flash of silver, who took his targets out as fast as lightning, his hair the color of polished pewter was likely the last vision his victims beheld. The syndicate’s boss likened his skill to a sudden, unexpected gush of wind, capable of bringing disaster that was total.

He was Shousempou. The Little Whirlwind.

Long had he outgrown the moniker, but it somehow stuck with him throughout the years. He would have preferred to remain without proper address; after all, a name seemed to be a needless luxury after being an assassin for so long. 

Before him was a folded piece of paper, the last item he took to his hand. He unfolded it, and read the instructions. There wasn’t much written on it – assassins need not be eloquent, rather, they were direct. And so was the directive written therein.

His next target was an ambitious one. The Satsujinzoku chose him to kill no less than the Emperor of Saiunkoku.



People from high places were some of the Satsujinzoku’s most esteemed clients. Never did he meet any of them personally, for his work was executed in the shadows. But he knew well enough that if he was the one being sent to do the job, the price that was paid and the victim were equally ambitious.

He said little of his assignments, and felt no remorse for the deaths of his victims. He had seen many deaths before; prior to this job he caused his own share of fatalities at a young age. He had learned to keep his emotions at bay. Doing otherwise would only slow him down.

For this job, however, the other members of the gang noticed something amiss about their fair assassin. Usually, Shousempou accepted assignments with a calmness about him, closing his eyes, folding the paper once more and putting it inside his pocket. The latest one, however, made his face twitch – an unnatural reaction – and had him storming out all of a sudden. He never said a word, but his actions were testament to the unusual. 

Yet, despite this, there was no doubt amongst themselves that whatever the assignment was, Shousempou would muster the will to see it through the end. 




He had been given a map of the palace prior to his deployment. The mammoth size and number of structures of the complex could spell disaster to the unknowing assassin. He had snuck into its entrance easily, worrying little about its tight security. He already knew the byways of the palace long before this mission.

His steps on the palace hallways were stealthy. He blended easily in the stillness of the night by blending himself within shadows cast, the discreet whistling of the wind covered for the small sound of his footsteps. With much patience and care, he was able to slither into the inner court. The assassin first proceeded to the royal quarters. With his trained senses he felt for a living presence behind its doors. He waited, but the silence felt natural. The Emperor wasn’t there.

He did not fret. He knew of other places to look.

Shousempou made his way to Sentoushou, one of the most revered places of the palace. He entered it in stealth, passing the guards guarding its gates easily, making sure that his steps were made in shadowed places. But, there was no one present, save for the guards who took their posts outside, ignorant of his presence.

The assassin clicked his tongue at the sight of two elder officials that made their way in the hallowed halls of Sentoushou. This will make his exit harder, but he knew he could take his time, as long as there was no daylight. His profession thrived in nighttime.

Succeeding in keeping stealth, Shousempou left the building unseen and unfelt. He proceeded to other places in the palace. He quickly breezed through the ministers’ offices, the Emperor’s own work quarters, the dens of his most esteemed generals. The Emperor was nowhere in sight.

If another assassin was sent for this job, he would likely have retreated to perform the duty at another time. The instructions were not specific on the day the deed is to be performed, but rather the performance of which was the only imperative. Given this premise, It would be pointless to execute if the target was nowhere in sight. Shousempou, on the other hand, thought differently. He felt his prize was in the palace. He only had to look harder.

He was rather good with finding things he's looking for.



Shousempou eyes flashed at the sight of flowing silk. In the darkness, the purple hue was overlaid with black, but golden trimmings unmistakably glimmered faintly in low light.

He was there.

The assassin was standing on well-trimmed glass, his back behind a shrub. His head was tilted all the way to the right, to the direction where the Emperor was standing. From his vantage point he scrutinized his prey from top to bottom. The elegance of his robes were proof to his identity, although he was missing a crown. His left palm was planted flat on the trunk of a huge tree directly before him. In his right hand was a sword, a detail that Shousempou did not anticipate.

His arrival was expected. 

The silence was deafening, different from the quiet that he managed to navigate through when he searched for his target. The assassin knew full well that his presence was already known.

“You have come for us, haven’t you?” The Emperor asked, the tone of his voice was as if it was said in ceremony. He remained facing the opposite side. The fingers of his left hand contracted, as if it was clawing through bark. The assassin did not see the need to conceal himself any longer. He revealed himself with much ease, stepping out of the thicket, into that open space. It was then that the Emperor faced him. His eyes shone furiously, showing unspoken readiness. He held the scabbard of his sword with his left hand and pulled his sword out. 

Just by looking at the sheath, Shousempou already knew what weapon he was up against. It was Bakuya, one half of the swords of the royal family. He also knew that it was bestowed upon the Emperor long ago by his elder brother, the second prince, who was originally given both swords. But this prince chose to keep only Kanshou – the other half – and gave the sword’s twin to his younger brother. 

The older brother, however, was exiled. And due to the civil war and other events that ensued not long after,, Kanshou was placed back in Sentoushou without an appointed wielder, for the Emperor insisted on using only Bakuya, The assassin couldn’t help but wonder why this was so. But in his profession, there was no room for dithering. He drew his sword out, and after a short moment of respite, he charged.



Metal pounded against metal. There was grunting and gnashing of teeth. The Emperor was focused, intent on winning this ordeal. His eyes were never removed from the assassin, who kept his own gaze hidden beneath his long fringe.

They seemed to be equally matched. There was no audience. Only the nocturnal sounds could be heard in the background, blending seamlessly in their battle. 

Their swords met loudly at one point that both of them retreated from its sheer force. The Emperor calmly took deep breaths, utterly unfazed with the impending threat to his life. “Who sent you?” He demanded, his voice booming with authority.

Shousempou was silent. His benefactors were unknown to him, they always will be. So in response, he charged again, but the Emperor was well trained with the sword, just as he was. He was able to block it. This didn’t discourage the assassin. He delivered another blow, to which the Emperor evaded well.

He saw in the younger man’s face a look of sheer surprise. Despite having successfully dodged his move, what he did was something that shocked him, without a doubt. The assassin did not know why, he need not know why. He took a quick glance on his sword – its blade glistened with pride. When it met the opposing sword it seemed to sing for want of bloodshed. 

He pressed on with his attack, reminding himself that every swing of his sword was a chance at claiming victory. He was nowhere near the losing end of the battle – he had a good background of the Emperor’s technique. He had the opportunity to see it in play before. The night will surely be his.

But as the fight progressed, he began to realize that all of his moves have been precisely read. The Emperor knew his technique already. Shousempou saw this as a threat. At first he didn’t think it to be possible. But then again, the foundation of his training was done on the very grounds they were standing on. He admonished himself – it should have come to him as no surprise.

Their swords clashed mightily in the dark. Both of them retreated again for a breather. The intensity of the Emperor’s gaze lessened, replaced with a growing sense of wonder. 

“Who are you?” The Emperor asked.

Shousempou did not say a word. He was not being paid to talk.

“Answer me!”

The sudden change of address did not distract him. He stretched out his sword and readied himself to take a charge.

“Do I know you?”

The assassin clicked his tongue at the unexpected turn of events. He had to finish the job now. His identity was on the verge of being compromised.

He lunged forward, and rapidly ran straight to the Emperor, stretching the hand that held his sword to the limit. The Emperor gasped, realizing that he briefly let his guard down. He immediately met the assassin’s blade by thrusting his sword upward, meeting it at a right angle. It would have sent the assassin’s sword flying, but Shousempou quickly removed his weapon from this otherwise devastating maneuver. The finishing move must be delivered now, but it should be something that this Emperor, who knew his technique well, would not be expecting. 

He had but a split second to think. 

He pushed the Emperor until his back was pressed firmly against the tree behind them. This caught the Emperor off-guard. There wasn’t a moment to waste. Shousempou drew his sword backwards, beyond the usual limits of his arm, until the tip of his sword was behind his back. Then, he rammed it through.



It was done. It was a clean thrust to the Emperor’s heart.

But the blade plunged through the assassin’s own chest as well.

Blood was pouring out from both of them. The Emperor was aghast. His breathing was labored, eyes were wide as if he had achieved a heightened sense of understanding. He beheld his murderer with a gaze that did not falter, mouth opened, crimson lifestream flowing out of it. Then, he spoke.

“Seien-aniue?”

The assassin had not heard that name for more than a decade. He had forsaken it when he, the former second prince of Saiunkoku, was exiled. The years he had spent as a nobody were but a mere continuation of the suffering he experienced as a prince unwanted 

Yet, there was one who treated him otherwise. That person was before him, bleeding to death.

“Seien-aniue, is it really you?” The Emperor choked on his own blood. He coughed and spat it out, after which his breathing became shallow. “No one else … no one had that same technique …” His voice faded. “But that last move …”

Shousempou knew what he meant. The last maneuver he did – thrusting his sword like one would a skewer, beginning from his back until the blade came out and penetrated its actual target was anything but orthodox. 

It was a move that could only be done if the user himself was willing to perish with his prey.

He felt blood rising to his throat. He let it be so. Soon enough, he felt the warmth of his body gradually recede; his own blood now flowed out of his mouth inasmuch as it was gushing out of his chest, making an indelible mark on his dark clothes. 

“Aniue …” The Emperor went on, the pain that he felt was already evident in his voice. “I waited … I waited so long … I always wished you’ll come back …” He smiled faintly. His eyes became watery, his blond tresses were now soaked with blood. “But … I never thought … this …”

His voice broke, and at that point the tears escaped from the Emperor’s eyes. The assassin had seen this happen many times before. In the past, only Prince Seien was able to understand the sixth prince's emotions. It was only Prince Seien who was able to figure out the sixth prince’s whereabouts. It was Prince Seien alone who knew the sixth prince well.

All these things made the assignment easy enough. 

He raised his left hand, the one which was laid on the Emperor’s shoulder. Shousempou craned his neck closer to the Emperor’s face. It was almost as if Prince Seien was about to give this poor little prince comfort as he neared his impending doom.

“Ryuuki.” The assassin whispered the Emperor’s name. He heard him gasp, his neck curled upward at the seemingly endearing way his name was uttered. Shousempou rested his left hand on the face of his prize, and thumbed away the tears he had shed. 

“I have been sent to kill you.” The expression he wore on his face was vacant, yet, he whispered the words smoothly, as one would to a beloved. 

With his right hand that still grasped the sword, he forced it forward until it bore through the tree that was before him. The rest was a blur – the sudden outpour of blood from both him and the Emperor, the last shallow breath that erupted from the lips of his prize, and then finally, the lifeless head that fell on his shoulder, his victim finally being reunited with the older brother he had been waiting for so long. 

Thus here the ended the reign and life of Shi Ryuuki – too brief the Emperor of Saiunkoku – at the hand of the only brother he loved, and the grief of his loss was graven on the face of his slayer, the former Prince Seien, with whom he was impaled. 

The assassin closed his eyes and smiled, as he reveled in this reunion that would last an eternity.