"There's nothing here!" shouted into the empty room, his voice echoing off the walls. Gintoki crouched in front of the open refrigerator, peering inside. His silver hair fell messily across his face. His pale brown eyes scanned every corner of the shelves methodically. He wore a loose white gi-style shirt and black pants. The small mole beneath his left eye twitched along with his disgruntled expression. Nothing. The pudding was gone. He'd been looking forward to it all morning—ever since he'd sprawled on the sofa reading the weekly magazine. He'd decided: "I'll eat it when I finish reading." That pudding. The one he'd bought at the convenience store "Dogura Magura" for 68 yen. This week's reward for himself. "…Where'd it go?" said quietly, standing up slowly. He looked around the room. Yorozuya Chaos as Usual!—the second floor of the dilapidated apartment building "Otose Building" in Kabuki-cho, with the "chi" character on the sign half-peeled off. The floorboards creaked when you stepped on them. The walls had cracks. The sofa had springs poking out, and three weekly magazines were stacked on it. The desk by the window had the job ledger left open, and this month's column was almost completely blank. Right now, only Gintoki was in this room. Kagura and Shinpachi were both out. Which meant the culprit was— "…Those bastards." muttered sarcastically. He opened the closet. Nothing. He checked the desk drawer. Nothing. He even checked under the sofa cushions—for no good reason, since it made no sense for it to be there. Nothing. Five minutes later, standing in the middle of the room, Gintoki looked up at the ceiling. The pudding was nowhere to be found. He sighed once, carefully stepped over the scattered magazines, and returned to the sofa. He lay down. He stared at the water stain on the ceiling. That shape... he'd been wondering about it for a while. It looked like a crab. …I want pudding. --- Then a voice came from downstairs. "Gintoki! Get down here for a minute!" shouted angrily. Gintoki's eyebrow twitched. Otose—the proprietress of the snack bar "Otose" on the first floor of this building. She ran the small eight-seat counter bar and was also Gintoki's landlady. She had a loud voice, a strong spirit, and the commanding presence of someone far younger than her sixty-some years. "…Yeah, yeah." said with a sarcastic tone. He dragged himself up and headed down the stairs. Creak, creak—each sound reminded him how old this building was. When he opened the door to the first floor, Otose was standing with her hands on her hips, mid-preparation. Her salt-and-pepper hair was tied back neatly, and she wore her work apron. Her eyes were narrow. This was her angry look. "Three months. Three months of rent—what are you gonna do about it?" "Ah, about that…" said casually. "This month, jobs have been kinda slow." "You say that every month!" "No, this month's actually slower. Slower than last month." "You said the same thing last month!" Otose's voice got even louder. The glasses on the counter rattled slightly. The Yorozuya was, true to its name, a jack-of-all-trades business. No official license. Anyone could hang up a sign and call themselves one. When jobs came in, you worked. When they didn't, you had no income. That was it—simple as that. Lately, decent jobs hadn't been coming in. There were small gigs here and there—finding lost cats, moving cargo—but nothing that paid enough to cover three months of rent at one ryo and two bu per month. "Well, I'll have it by the end of this month…" "If you don't pay by the end of this month, I'm throwing you out. I'm serious." said, holding up one finger and pointing it at his face. "…You're serious about this?" "Dead serious." Gintoki was quiet for a moment. He could tell from Otose's eyes that she meant it. "I heard the neighborhood's been getting dangerous lately," said, changing the subject with a mumble. Otose's expression shifted slightly. "…Yeah. I've been hearing that some weird types have been hanging around at night the past month or two." Her tone dropped. This wasn't a joking voice. "But that's not really your problem to deal with." "I'm a jack-of-all-trades, so if there's a job…" "Don't talk until you've paid your rent." cut him off sharply. Gintoki closed his mouth. Otose sighed and went back to her prep work. As Gintoki climbed the stairs, he picked up the wooden sword leaning against the wall—a souvenir from Toya Lake in Hokkaido. This was his "weapon" now. The Sword Prohibition Edict—issued by the shogunate after the Joui War ended—banned the wearing of swords. Breaking it meant imprisonment. But wooden swords weren't classified as swords. So Gintoki carried one. A loophole. He slung the wooden sword over his shoulder and headed out into the street. --- The main street of Kabuki-cho was as chaotic as ever. Scooters zipped past. A rickshaw passed alongside them. A soba vendor in a topknot hung out his curtain. Next door, a blue-skinned Amanto merchant stepped into a shop. The signs mixed Japanese and Amanto script. The smell of fried food drifted from somewhere. A kid ran by. A dog followed. Edo. The city had changed since the Amanto arrived. About twenty years ago, aliens—beings called the Amanto—came in droves and forced the shogunate to open the country. There was no refusing. Since then, the city had become a chaotic place where topknots and scooters shared the same streets. Now, Amanto floating warships hovered constantly above Edo Castle, visible from anywhere on a clear day. The people of Edo had gotten used to it. Gintoki drifted along with the crowd, walking leisurely. No particular reason to hurry. He was just heading to the candy shop to find something to make up for the lost pudding. Halfway there, he heard a voice in front of a restaurant. "Listen here, human. You know about the Amanto preferential policy, right? For you humans to run a shop in the same district as us, you gotta pay triple the taxes. That's the rule." Gintoki glanced sideways. The restaurant owner—a round-faced man in his fifties—stood rigid in front of the Amanto merchant, who was holding out an invoice. The Amanto was well-built, with arms twice the size of a human's, folded across his chest. "…If only we didn't have that Amanto preferential policy…" muttered under their breath as they passed. Gintoki heard it. But he didn't stop walking. The Amanto preferential policy. The Amanto got better conditions than humans in business and land acquisition. Human shops in the same district had to pay triple taxes. It was natural to be frustrated. But that was how Edo worked now. Gintoki kept walking. (I don't hate this city, though.) He thought it vaguely. Chaotic, unreasonable, loud—but somehow, it felt alive. Not bad. --- Standing in front of the candy shop shelves, Gintoki had a serious expression on his face. He was searching for a pudding substitute. He picked up a round bean candy. The shape was similar to pudding. But it wasn't right. He put it back. Next, he grabbed something in a yellow bag. Not caramel-colored. Wrong. He put it back. He picked up something else. "…Not it." said to himself. He repeated this three times. The candy shop owner was giving him a strange look, but Gintoki didn't care. In the end, he bought a single yellow lollipop. Not pudding, but sweet. Good enough. On the way back, as he passed an alley, he heard something. A heavy, muffled sound—like wooden crates being moved. Gintoki's feet stopped naturally. He glanced into the alley. Two Amanto men were opening the lid of a large wooden crate. They kept checking their surroundings. One of them reached inside to check the contents. From the edge of the crate, the barrel of a gun was barely visible. An old-model, high-energy weapon. The kind used during the Joui War. Something changed in Gintoki's eyes for just a moment. His hand gripping the wooden sword moved slightly. His fingers adjusted their grip on the hilt. In the depths of his pale brown eyes, something other than the sleepy look from before flickered to life. It lasted only a second or two. "…Too much trouble." whispered. With just that, he turned his back to the alley. Chewing on the lollipop, he started walking back toward the Yorozuya. His gait was light, the same lazy walk as before. --- When the sun set and Gintoki returned to the Yorozuya, an envelope was wedged under the front door. There was no return address. Gintoki stared at it for a while, then picked it up. He opened it. Inside was a single photograph. Old. Black and white. A young man stood on a battlefield. The background was rubble and smoke. In the man's hand was not a wooden sword, but a real blade. His entire body was covered in blood spray. His clothes were torn, his hair disheveled. Yet he stood. His eyes were cold. Nothing like Gintoki's sleepy eyes now. Like glass marbles—eyes that reflected nothing, or perhaps saw through everything. Sharp eyes. Gintoki sat on the sofa. He stared at the photograph without moving for a long time. On the back of the photo was a scrawled message. —I'll spread your past all over Kabuki-cho. The room fell silent. Distant sounds of the street drifted in. The sound of scooters. Someone's laughter. Kabuki-cho's night was lively. Images flashed through Gintoki's mind. Flames. Falling bodies. The smell of mud and blood. Someone screaming his name. White Demon, White Demon. Fifteen years ago. The Joui War—started by samurai who resisted Amanto rule. A stupid war where samurai fought aliens with nothing but pride, swords, and spirit. In that war, there was a man called the White Demon. Gintoki was that man. He'd been young. He'd feared nothing. But the war was lost. Comrades died. Many died. The shogunate made peace with the Amanto and issued the Sword Prohibition Edict. The age of samurai ended. Gintoki left the battlefield and started a jack-of-all-trades business. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Gintoki looked away from the photograph. --- For a few seconds, there was silence. "…Like I give a damn." said coldly. That was all. He crumpled the photograph in his fist and tossed it into the trash. He lay back on the sofa and opened a manga. Dead fish eyes stared at the ceiling. He turned a page. Then another. His hand trembled slightly. "…Who the hell ate my pudding?" whispered to himself. The words fell into the quiet room. From the edge of the trash can, the crumpled photograph poked out slightly. The black and white image. Cold eyes. Staring upward into the darkness.