Convex

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Ink Burns

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

This is a work of fanfiction, produced according to the principles of transformative fair use as put forward in US copyright law, and abiding by the custom and practice of fan-produced work in Japan, where the source texts were created. No author is in any way affiliated with any of the creators of the source texts, nor with the companies who distribute their products, nor any other rights holder, and these stories were not authorized by either the creators or the producers. Ink Burns is a fan site and the material here is freely provided for the enjoyment of fellow fan-community members; there is no commercial infringement.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 US license at the Ink Burns fanfiction archive (http://alltrees.org/archive/).

Published on 2006-06-01 18:35:22.

Attributions can be made by author's name and a link to the archive.

This ebook edition was published on May 16, 2012 by the Ink Burns fanfiction archive.

Convex

Echizen cleans his sword and thinks about his new place. Drama, I-3

Ryouma sat in his rooms in the middle town, with his sword over his knees, cleaning it. His hands moved automatically, years and years of familiarity guiding them while his eyes rested on the blade without seeing it.

There were strong people, here. Not many that could give him trouble, but a handful who might be worth something to him. A handful who might help him step up. Not that he cared about rank, not like Horio, or even Kachiro, whose ambitions were a lot more realistic. He'd watched his father's distant smirk at generals who passed through their town. Rank wouldn't help.

His sword flashed lantern light up at him as he turned it over and he blinked dark spots out of his eyes as he reached for the oil.

Rank wouldn't help. Talent wouldn't help. Plenty of people were talented; Ryouma was talented; talent wasn't enough to get past his father. The rest of the world fell away from Ryouma's sword and left only him standing, and still he couldn't find the step to reach where his father stood.

Stood smirking.

Ryouma gazed blankly at the surface of his sword as his hands smoothed a fold of soft paper down its curve, wiping away excess oil.

Maybe Uesugi would be different. Maybe he would finally find it here.

Whatever it was.

End