notes: thank you to ffnet user underlings for the kind beta! a lot of japanese terms were used here and so technical notes can be found at the end of this fic, i hope you like it! sdr2 spoilers up to chapter 2. now excuse me while i cry myself a lake and catch all the fish in it because these two are HEARTBREAKING

you have made me brave

The first word she learned was 'tool'. Before her name, before the colour of the sky, before the sound cats made when they basked in the sunlight on the veranda; there was only one word.

Tool.

Master Kuzuryuu, for as long as she could remember, sat with her every morning just to tell her this. "You are a tool." She also remembered how he would always say it as if he were reading out of a dictionary. Here, this is you. This is what you are. Nothing less.

To be a tool for the Kuzuryuu family was the highest honour, he taught her. She had been too young to fully understand what 'honour' was and whether it was as precious as the diamonds Mistress Kuzuryuu wore on her ears or the fresh salmon the family's chef cooked for dinner every night. She only knew that it was a better fate compared to what her real parents had left her to - abandoned in a dark alley, wailing out, helpless and ripe for death.

He told her the first things she ever touched as an infant were her blade and the young master's hand. And so, she learned the word 'possession'. A noun. 'The state of being possessed.' Again, Master Kuzuryuu repeated his teachings: There, that is you. That is what you are. That is why you exist. That is your only role.

Many words followed suit - "loyalty", "duty", "discipline", "justice", "respect", ninkyo. She built herself off vocabulary. She listened and learned until it no longer bore repeating.

She held the dripping calligraphy brush over the parchment. The Mistress' hand was gentle and lined with rings, guiding her brush with every stroke. Pekoyama.

"What does it mean?" she asked.

A smile appeared. "Pekoyama. Boundary. Hill." The woman gestured to the characters in turn, bracelets clinking.

She nodded before moving on to write her first name on the paper. Peko.

"This?"

Mistress Kuzuryuu's hand moved from the table to the top of her head to stroke her braided hair. Only later on, when she was older, did she notice how the delicate fingers plucking at the dust on the sleeves of her small yukata had seemed out of place with the words she'd heard back then.

"Why, there is no meaning."

Peko Pekoyama was just a name. It was something to make administration and identification in the Kuzuryuu conglomerate go smoothly. She had acknowledged that early on. Even Master and Mistress Kuzuryuu dropped the name when they weren't with company. 'You', 'Come' and 'Child', were the other names she had as she grew up in the household, wooden practice sword in one hand and basic technique, posture and stance bundled like a mantra she could not forgot in the other.

The only one who ever used 'Peko' like he believed it held meaning, was the young master.

Late one night, she woke up to the feeling of being shaken. Tilting her chin up as she stirred, she saw the blurred outline of the young master. "Peko! Peko! Help me," he said, voice hushed. In the dim light of the moon peeking through the door crack, she could make out the tension etched on his round face. The sheets rustled as she got up, and they tottered from the servant's sleeping quarters back to his room at the end of the eastern corridor.

"I heard something," the boy told her, words quiet and grave. His mouth and nose scrunched up at the recollection.

Their tiny footsteps left creaks in the floorboards as they walked. "Go to your father," she said.

"No, I can't!" the young master squeaked. By the time they reached his room, he was sniffing. "He says I gots to be brave, that's why." He rubbed his hands messily over his face and front. She pushed the door aside, and the large empty room with a futon laid out in the middle of the tatami flooring was the only thing she could see. It was very different from how the servants slept, back to back, a mess of limbs, all taking up a designated portion of the floor. This was a lonely room.

She took a moment to come up with a plan of action.

"... Young master, please sleep. I will stay awake instead."

"B-but what if a monster comes? What if it's a Namahage?" he asked her, furrowing his brow.

"I won't leave. I will dispose of it." She held up her shinai with both hands to demonstrate.

"P-promise?"

"Yes."

The young master looked at her, now visibly relieved. His eyes were dry and bright. "Mm!" He nodded before crawling under his futon and rolling aside to leave her some room to sit. She sat down neatly, tucked her feet in and placed one hand on top of the other on her lap the way the maids taught her to, and laid her wooden sword in front of herself. The silence of the night was daunting, and so she distracted herself by counting the time the young master took to close his eyes and fall sleep.

She watched how the shadows of the trees outside paint the grey walls of the room. The stray noises that she heard, she could divide into five distinct categories: someone moving outside, the wind's whistles and howls, cats or dogs still awake, the sleepy sounds the young master made, indiscernible grunts that she couldn't decide were mumbles or grumbles. The last were the sounds she pretended didn't exist.

When she was tired, she allowed herself to lie down.

And so she spent many nights there, eyes wide open, staring straight up into the swirling darkness that flooded the room. One hand on the handle of her shinai, the other clutching the futon.

She laid in that huge room soaked in the night, listening to the young master's breathing as he slept, till even she was no longer afraid.

Her blade cleaved through the air with each stroke. She repeated the action, the sound of each slice like an anchor for her focus. Planting her feet firmly on the floor, she steadied herself and pictured the name of an empire on her shoulder blades. It weighed down on her. When she thought of the small boy with the patterns shaved across the sides of his head, the heaviness multiplied. The image hindered her; her movements now dulled, not sharp. Beads of sweat rolled down her face as she transferred from one position to the next. Too slow. Too weak. She was repeating mistakes from the last training.

"Focus!" the old sensei screeched from across the hall, yanking her out of her thoughts. "Don't let anything distract you. You're a tool. Tools do not feel. Tools have no intent. You're reeking of emotion. Hesitation, doubt, restraint - cast everything away. That is the key."

She inhaled. No emotion. No feeling. Nothing. Just do as you're told.

Raising the shinai, she breathed out, and tried once more.

"Don't come up!"

The sole of her left shoe was already braced against the bark of the tree. The long grey skirt of her new middle school uniform fluttered as a breeze rolled through the park. She tested the sturdiness of the tree trunk with her foot and looked up at the branch the young master was seated on, stray leaves scattered on the shoulders of his jacket and pants. If the Mistress were to find out that her son was climbing up trees in brand new Armani, well - the consequences would be severe and unimaginable.

As she estimated the distance she needed to jump, she knew he could tell what she planning because he squinted at her the next moment.

"I mean it!" he squawked.

She took a step back from the tree. His eyebrows creased as he frowned, still suspicious.

The young master was thirteen and awkward and irritable. For a while now, he'd been treating her a little differently. It was minor at best, and though it didn't hinder her from her duties, it was an odd change. When they used be ferried to elementary school in the family's limousine, he'd always sat next to her on the leather seats without a qualm. However, since middle school started, he was never satisfied until she was walking at least one street lamp behind him. She stared at the laces of her shoes and thought, Yes, this is proper. Far more proper than the how they behaved was when they were younger. This was how she was supposed to be treated.

When she lifted her eyes from her shoes, he opened his mouth, preparing to speak.

"Are you going to leave?"

She shook her head. "Why are you up there?" she asked.

"Because I don't want to come down," he said plainly. Then, he paused, and when he next spoke, his voice was softer. "My classmates started making fun of me because of you. Could you not stand so close to me in school? I have enough trouble with the guys in class talking about me behind my back already. Know what I'm gonna do? I'll remember all their names, and ten years later when I'm the boss, I'll make sure the companies they work for go bankrupt." He let one of his legs dangle off the branch.

"Isn't that precisely the reason why you should go back home, young master? To learn how to take over the family?"

The young master scoffed. "I don't want to go home and get another lecture from the old man about how I'm not cut out to be a boss, and how I still know jackshit about everything." He buried his face into his hands and shook his head furiously. She thought about how difficult it must be for him. Since they were children, his dream had always been to take over the position of boss. Things hadn't fared so well for the last few years. She remembered Master Kuzuryuu's face a rare and angry red, the young master holding a bag of ice against his chin, the constant chattering of the gang members.

In comparison, she led a simple life. After all, all a tool had to do was to listen to orders and to be used. She thought it made everything simple. It made her purpose clear. People spent their entire lives searching, clawing towards a purpose, desperately fighting for their place. She had been given hers on the day she entered the Kuzuryuu empire.

"Look, Peko, I hate school. I hate home. There's your 'reason'. Now leave me alone."

"No."

"What the hell? Seriously?" the young master lamented. "Why not?"

"I'm your tool," she said, by way of a reminder.

The boy's frown deepened. "... How can you say something like that with such a straight face?"

She didn't answer.

"Let's make it clear. I don't need things like tools. That crabby old man's always spouting crap," the young master said sharply.

Her skin prickled, but - "I'm still not leaving," she said.

There was a long pause before he let out a defeated sigh. "It's strange how you spout all this 'tool' stuff but in the end, you don't really do what I ask, do you?"

The statement took her by surprise. She shifted her eyes away in a brief, indignant moment. What also surprised her was that he hadn't sounded angry when he'd said those words. He sounded pleased but annoyed. It was an unlikely combination.

"No," she replied. "No," she repeated, "I only have one purpose. Even if it means disobeying you, I need to be able to protect you."

He made a frustrated noise and turned his head so that she could no longer see his expression. "I hate it when you talk like that," he muttered in a quiet voice. It was hard to tell if he was talking to her or to himself.

Upsetting him upset her, but there was nothing else she could say. There was nothing else she could ever say. She rested her shinai against the tree and sat down at its base. The warmth of the afternoon grass against her socks, the sounds of the park-goers walking their dogs, and the children playing recklessly at the nearby playground were the only things she remembered from that day after school.

She couldn't even remember how they got home in the end. They probably stayed out until it was dark and the Kuzuryuu had sent out hitmen to look for them and coax them to return to the grounds. Recalling everything now, she didn't even know if all that had happened on one particular day in question.

She realised that during their first year of middle school, they spent many days like that in the city's park. She started asking for boxed lunches from the kitchen so they wouldn't grow hungry when night fell. On some days, even the young mistress came to look for them after her classes in elementary school. She'd taunt the young master and he'd hurl comebacks at her. Once, the two siblings had gotten into a fistfight, and had rolled all over the grass.

She'd promised the young master that she wouldn't tell anyone know who had won.

As these afternoons turned into memories, she watched the tree turn orange to bare to pink to green again.

She slid the shōji door aside and waited for him to nod before entering the room.

She positioned her blade on the floor as she settled behind him. The young master was inspecting an old, faulty revolver and its empty bullet shells. He continued to fiddle with it before placing it down, saying nothing at first. He stared blankly at the floor, considering something before adjusting his seat so that he could see her.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

"... Happy?" The word sounded odd when she said it.

The young master tapped his fingers against the desk, waiting, as if expecting her to add on to it. When she didn't, he sighed and chose to continue speaking. "I've decided. I'm going to get strong enough to lead the Kuzuryuu."

"So you'll start speaking with your father again?"

"No. I don't want the old man's help. I need to do this all by myself."

"Young master?" She couldn't quite understand.

"You don't get it?" He laughed. "If I continue following his orders and doing what he wants me to, I'm not going to make a difference. Everyone just thinks I'm riding on his tailcoats. They all look down on me because of this face. My own sister gets more respect than I do around here" He grimaced, freckles dancing. "I need to show them, my own way."

"Is that the only reason?" She couldn't help but feel that there was more to the young master's decision.

"I hate my father," he said without reservation. His shoulders tensed. He reached out for the empty revolver and held it steady, closing his right eye, as if aiming on an invisible target on the wall. "I hate him."

"Why?"

The young master raised his eyes. They held each other's gazes and as the seconds passed, she wondered why he was looking at her with those unblinking eyes. Those eyes reminded her of nights in a dark lonely room, but also days spent under the sweltering sun. She knew those eyes. They resembled Master Kuzuryuu's, but only in shape and colour. Yet, she couldn't decipher what they were trying to say this time. It was as if he was trying to tell her something.

The revolver clattered back onto the desk. He closed his eyes, as if he'd given up on trying to word his thoughts. It was a rare occurrence. Since they were only as tall as Master Kuzuryuu's elbows, whenever the young master had something on his mind, he'd always voiced it, regardless of what it was.

She didn't know why he stopped talking and she never asked. They stayed unmoving in his room until it was time for dinner.

"What movie are we watching?" the young master asked them as they walked towards the theatre. He'd refused to take the limousine, refused the five or so other bodyguards who insisted they follow, and refused his father's orders to stay at home and learn about the intricacies of extorting glittery multi-billion dollar corporations with a 'fuck you, old man!'

"Something with loads of romance!" the young mistress chimed. She exchanged her smile with the young master's scowl. "But don't worry, I won't force Bro to go through the torture of watching a lovey-dovey show," she said with a skip in her step. "But, then again, I guess the person who gets to the ticket office first is the one who gets to decide on what movie we're watching!"

As the young master gave his sister a puzzled look, the young mistress immediately broke into the jog down the street, the skirt of her dress rippling.

"Hey!" he yelled after her, but she was already gone past the corner of the kerb.

"That little demon. No wonder everyone thinks she's got a better chance of heading the family than me," he muttered to himself, thrusting his hands into his pockets. He only allowed himself to linger on his words briefly before looking over his shoulder. "What about you, Peko? What kind of movies do you like?"

"I don't know. What sort do you prefer, young master?"

The boy sighed. It was a short but heavy sigh. "I told you to drop the 'young master' thing," he mumbled, kicking at a stray pebble on the pavement. Just then, she realised that he was still walking at an even pace.

"You aren't going to chase after the young mistress?"

"Not planning on it."

"I could catch her if you if you want me to," she informed him.

The young master gave her a sidelong glance, holding it for a moment. "There's no need," he said, sounding tired for some reason. "She can watch whatever movie she wants to. I don't care." He crossed his arms and attempted to look nonchalant.

Ah, she thought as they walked side by side. What he lacked was the ruthlessness the rest of his family thrived on. He really was a kind person after all. How troublesome. Still, she was his tool, and so she didn't really mind.

The crime organisations in Italy were unlike those in Japan in many respects. For one, the Kuzuryuu hadn't bought out the police. Yet.

She remained in the shadows of the alley just opposite the old police station. They were keeping the young master in a personal cell in there, no doubt. Her fingers spidered over the hilt of her sword, readying for the assault. She'd replaced her shinai with a katana, just for tonight. The Master had made it clear - once the Tigre showed hostility, they were open to dissemination by the Kuzuryuu. She was in luck that they had members of the family working undercover in Sicily. The snipers would start the operation any moment.

The Tigre were never on very good terms with the Kuzuryuu to begin with. They were one of the largerst mafia families in Sicily, and held considerable sway over trade in the Mediterranean. When the Tigre had extended an invitation to form an alliance, the Kuzuryuu heads were all opposed to the idea. Though the Kuzuryuu could stand to gain leverage from an agreement, they didn't want the boss flying down to European seas into what was mostly likely a trap, if not something far worse.

The young master had volunteered then. He'd told his father that he would form alliances with the Tigre in his place. Master Kuzuryuu shook with a bout of hearty laughter at the suggestion. His son, though annoyed, didn't move from his spot standing before his father.

"You want to prove something? Fine, go," the boss decided. "A son of mine should be able to handle at least this much." He'd exchanged a look with Mistress Kuzuryuu after saying that. She deliberated over his words before nodding her head, elegant and poised. "Return safely," she spoke lightly, like she'd given him a piece of advice.

Keeping those words in mind, she'd made it a point to be on high alert the moment they landed in Sicily. What no one had anticipated was that the stewards and stewardesses on the Kuzuryuu's private jet had already been infiltrated by members of the Tigre. When the steward pointed a gun into the back of the young master's head, her only option was to raise her hands. She stole a look to the seats behind them in the cabin. The dozens of hitmen who had followed them were lying dead, seatbelts still strapped.

The leader of the cabin crew eyed her with a perverse smirk before speaking to the rest in Italian. She didn't care, all she could find in herself to do was to look dead into the eyes of the man holding the gun up to the young master. She committed his face to memory and vowed to break all the bones in his body later on. Then, she slid her gaze over to the young master, and the outrage on his face was unmistakeable. The sudden twist in her gut, the shameful realisation that she had been careless, had failed, became even more would pay for this.

She could only watch as they herded the young master away once the jet had landed. They had probably decided to spare her life for a moment longer, poor judgement on their part. Having taken her shinai away from her, the remaining four who remained to watch her were celebrating their easy victory. Once they got careless, it didn't take long to dispatch them and retrieve her shinai. She spent the next few hours tracking down the young master and meeting up with the Kuzuryuu spies in the city.

Soon, they were at an advantage. The Tigre were now complacent, assuming that the only Kuzuryuu left in the city was her. She'd been informed that there were only eight people guarding the young master in the building. She could only allow herself to fail once, she couldn't afford to lose the young master because of a mistake ever again.

When gunshots rang through the air and the two men standing outside the building slump down onto the ground, bullets in their skulls, she charged in.

When one of the men inside opened the door, she rammed into his gut, the snipers aiding her. Once she was in the station, she ran through a short corridor and down a flight of stairs before she came to the basement where the holding cells were located. Seven men were standing around the second cell, where the young master was sitting.

There.

She stepped out, skin burning and erasing everything else from her mind. She thought of dragons dancing through clouds as she glided across the floor from one target to the next. Slipping under a loaded gun and disarming the bulky man, she used his body as cover when a barrage of bullets flew from the other guards. She heard the young master shouting, "They're reloading!" and burst out from behind her defence, unsheathing her sword and making quick work of the remaining bodies. She deflected bullets and dodged desperate punches and sliced flesh to meet white bone. The dragon at the back of her mind roared as she plunged her blade into the chest of the final man.

As she flicked the blood off her sword, she heard the sound of seven bodies collapsing on to the floor behind her.

When they emerged out of the police station, she saw the remaining Tigre around the building scattering away, some jumping onto motorcycles, the others ducking into the shadows of the streets. She then watched the rest of the Kuzuryuu split into neat groups to hunt them down. They would be disposed of shortly. Good.

"Peko!" She turned to face the young master. "What the hell did were you thinking, doing something as reckless as that?" he shouted at her, his hands gripping into tight fists. "What if you got hurt?"

She replied immediately, "Negligible. I could have carried on until you were safe. That is my role as a tool."

"You're human!" he burst out.

She blinked. She hadn't expected to her those words, and she couldn't make sense of them. She was a tool, there was no mistake. The expression on the young master's face darkened and he lowered eyes. She watched the way he ducked his head and clenched his jaw and knew that he was angry. Angrier than he had been when the gun had pressed into his scalp.

"Damn you. I told you to stop talking like that," he said, his voice hardening.

No matter how much he wanted to prove it to others, the young master was still a ways away from succeeding as Kuzuryuu boss. He still couldn't commit to the basics his father had told him: never show emotion. 'Just like Peko', Master Kuzuryuu had said with a fine laugh. His son never really had much luck at hiding his feelings, even when he tried.

When the young master raised his head and glared at her, she realised that he had never intended to conceal his emotions. This was not the first time she saw that face. It was the same as what she'd seen a few times before: the misplaced concern that he, in a careless moment, showed and she would have to block out. She never... never understood that.

"How can you say things like that?" he growled.

"What do you mean?"

He gaped at her. "Don't give me that bullshit. You know exactly what I mean. I've been saying it for ages!" and then he was shouting again and the street was emptied of people. His arm moved, as if he wanted to touch her elbow. Out of instinct, she stepped away. "Why can't you see that you're not - you're - !" The young master's voice wilted as his hand closed around air. He bit his lip and slammed a foot onto the ground, storming off.

She waited until he was one street lamp away before following.

The sword was pressed flat against the man's neck. When she tightened her grip and angled her wrist, he whimpered. It was a very different picture from how he was acted only minutes ago. He'd staggered past the young master, face red and smelling of sake, muttering about the poor disappointment of the negotiations with the Tigre. 'Well, what else could we expect from the babyface?' he'd whispered, but not soft enough.

"What the fuck did you just say, bastard?" the young master yelled into the man's face. He gathered a handful of his collar and yanked him down. "You think just because my old man's not here, you can get away with saying shit like that? Think again!"

When he was at the same eye-level, staring directly at the young master's face, the man visibly relaxed. He even began to chuckle slightly, as if a realisation had washed over him. "Feh, you're still weak, kid. You can kill me here, but that wouldn't prove you were strong. It'd only prove that your tool was strong. You only rely on others. Try as you might, your family power is the only reason you're still here, kid. Face it."

The young master choked.

"I was right, wasn't I?"

She was prepared to slit his throat, just one nod from the boy was all it took. The young master instead shoved the man into the wall and snatched his hand back from the collar. He tucked his hand in, fingers curling over his stomach, like he had been the one who was wounded. He was being soft again, she thought. As the drunk laughed, a sweat of relief pooling at the armpits on his shirt, he slid down onto the floor and seemed to pass out. When she turned back to the young master, he was already stalking down the hall.

"After all that, after I tried so hard, those bastards - they still - " He banged a fist against the wall outside his room. His knuckles tore through the flimsy papering. His arm fell back to his side and he turned to face the garden, dropping into a seat on the veranda. He stared intently at the ground and at his feet for awhile.

"... Leave me alone, Peko," he said.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

The young master didn't look at her. He shifted to the side, putting more distance between them but didn't reply. She took that as permission to stay. She leant her sword against a wooden pillar and sat next to him under the glow of the moonlight. The cool breeze reminded her of the nights she used to spend underneath a quiet tree.

She couldn't see the young master's face as he moved to press it hard into his hands, shoulders shaking, but she knew how it must have looked like.

The tail flicked lazily back and forth in the air.

She'd seen this tabby cat before. It snuck into the grounds on some nights and waited for the maids to throw out the day's garbage so that it could scavenge through them. Today, it was lounging along the corridors in the sunlight. She'd never managed to get so close to the cat before. Inching closer, she crouched down next to it as it yawned and stretched. The effortless flex of its muscles and the soft bristles of fur both impressed and interested her. She took one step forward and began to reach a hand out.

The cat's ear flicked as it spun onto its feet in one swift motion, rivalling the speed she'd perfected in kendo. Hissing and spitting, it arched its back, registering her presence. The cat glared at her before bounding across the lawn and stealing under the bushes.

She pulled her hand back, cupping it over her elbow. Her skin was cold, like the metal of a thin blade. How fitting, she thought.

"Peko, what're you doing? Come on, let's go."

She stood up as the young master approached from down the hall.

"You like cats?" he asked casually.

"They are... pleasant," she replied, wondering if she had chosen the right word.

The young master smiled. It had been a long time since she'd seen him smile. It was a happy one.

"Maybe we can get one at Hope's Peak. Keep it in the dorms and stuff," he suggested as they went on their way to retrieve the bags they'd packed for the move into the new school.

"You should try talking to the others, young master. Perhaps later tonight, during the party."

She placed the plate of food on the desk for him to eat later. Scanning his room, the only messy corner she could find was his bed.

"Like hell I should," he mumbled from his spot leaning against the door.

It was odd, spending the last few days so far apart from the young master. She visited him often enough when the other students were preoccupied with their own matters, but it unnerved her to leave him unattended. They needed to get off this island as soon as they could. She had to bring him back home safely. That was the only outcome she could see in this seemingly hopeless situation.

"I don't need to make friends to survive this. And if I survive this, I can prove to everyone that I'm strong." The young master folded his arms. She saw that his knuckles were whitening from how hard he was clenching his hand. "That'll show them. All of them. Including the old man."

"The other students, they are not... it is too soon to assume that they are untrustworthy people," she told him. Trust was not something so easily earned, and yet, maybe it was the only way they would be able to escape from this.

"That doesn't matter. The fact is that I can't rely on anyone. I will never rely on anyone," he said through gritted teeth.

At those words, a familiar prickling sensation came over her. She closed her eyes and pictured the first stance of the sword. She imagined raising her shinai over her head. No emotion. No feeling.

When she opened her eyes, the expression on the young master's face was different. He seemed taken aback for some reason. He stepped aside from the door.

"... Go. They'll suspect something if we're alone together for too long."

And so, she went.

"Don't go yet...!" he told her, exhaling a shaky breath. His eyes were wide and red with tears.

She swallowed, throat dry and emptied of words to comfort him, hands trembling as she balled them at her sides. She couldn't break. She couldn't. Not now, not in front of everyone else, but especially not in front of him. Her fingernails bit into the skin of her palms and left angry crescent marks. She tugged at the strap of her sword bag and thought about the Namahage and Italy's streetlights and ninkyo.

With all her willpower, she broke eye contact with him and turned her head away to nod at the giggling bear. This was the only road she could take.

For the longest time, her own road had been carved out for her over and over again. Be abandoned. Be a tool. Serve the young master as a possession. Bend into a blade. Bow into a shield. Train until she was, undoubtedly, the best swordswoman of her age. Live by him, die by him. She'd always accepted things as they were, never questioning her place, never looking back, never fighting to break free from her bonds. It was unlike the young master, who had spent every day since he was fourteen fighting and fighting and fighting to cast away the suffocating mantle of the Kuzuryuu.

Thinking back, perhaps she felt closest to freedom when she was with the young master, who had always treated her as someone more than what she was built to be, who was so unpredictable that many paths branched out at his feet. She would have followed him down any one. Ah, she wished she could have spent just a little bit longer beside him.

"I need you! Don't - Don't go and leave me by myself!"

As those words came out in sobs, it struck her then, that for sixteen years, she had never left him even once. She had never even considered that possibility until this moment.

"Young master?"

The tears felt hot as they spilled down her cheeks. She tried to blink them back furiously. She could feel her heart in her chest, calm only moments before, now throttling at full speed, scared. It was not for death - for a long while, she'd come to accept it as an obligation, as natural as the Kuzuryuu's pristine rooftops bathed in moonlight on cloudless nights, as certain as the devotion that had found its place guarding a small boy's big heart.

She looked back at him. Hesitation and fear felt strange but familiar as it crept and winded around her heart, like a childhood friend she'd long forgotten the face of. What felt even stranger was the strong, strong feeling of not wanting to leave. The intense desire of wanting so desperately to listen to his order, to carry it out. Because that was what she wasn't supposed to do, wasn't it? That was what Peko Pekoyama was supposed to do, right? To stay by his side. To protect him, no matter what.

The last things Peko touched were her blade and Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu's hand.

notes:

namahage - in japanese folklore these are demons who go door to door admonishing children who may be guilty of laziness or bad behaviour
shinai - bamboo sword used to train in kendo, Peko carries this commonly but swaps it in for a much more lethal katana (sword with blade) when it's necessary
ninkyo - the Yakuza's code of honour, it values justice and duty.
shōji door - the traditional Japanese sliding doors made of paper held over a wooden frame, I suppose the Kuzuryuu estate would mostly cost of traditional architecture

Peko's name - 'Pekoyama' is written in kanji (辺古山), Peko is written in hiragana (ペコ). In this case, 'Pekoyama' is made up of meaningful characters (Peko, 辺古, is an archaic term for 'surrounding area' and Yama, 山, is hill). But her first name is written as ペコ, which only reflects the sounds, 'pe' and 'ko'. Think of it as similar to the English alphabet. Each letter has a sound, but doesn't have meaning unlike in kanji characters. (also an extra tidbit from tvtropes is that 'pekopeko' can mean 'servile')