Chopstick fixed cold eyes on the other ninja. “Don’t trust you, Angel-san,” he said. “You were my Sensei, my Yogi, but you sold yourself to the Shogun and left our clan. Not gonna take this gift, ‘cos I don’t trust you as far as I can sacrifice-throw you. Anyway he’s only a taikomochi. Not exactly a worthy adversary, is he?”
“I’m good with that,” Xander said. “I am not worthy! I am not worthy!”
“Sod off, then, unworthy one,” Chopstick said contemptuously.
Angel released Xander, who sucked in a deep breath and glared at the Sold Ninja. He opened his mouth for a sharp retort but was interrupted by one of Chopstick’s retinue of ronin.
“I have no problem with slaying a taikomochi,” the ronin announced, drawing his katana. Angel drew his own weapon and moved to attack the ronin. Xander dashed towards the doors, another ronin followed, and in seconds a chaotic fight was raging.
Chopstick ignored the chaos and strode on into the castle buildings. Before long he reached a stall selling sake. A small blonde girl stood beside the stall.
“When life gives you rice, make sake,” the girl said. “Hey, are you Chopstick-san? I thought you weren’t going to attack until the Chrysanthemum Festival.”
“Got bored,” Chopstick admitted. “Dishonorable, but so what? As a ronin and a ninja I’m already dishonored. Bit more dishonor won’t do any harm. Yeah, I’m Chopstick. You must be the renowned ninja girl Buffy Summers, right? A worthy adversary at last. Wrote a haiku in your honor.” He bowed and then struck a pose.
“Summers come
Too soon
Bright deadly sharp katana
Hot tin roof
Rain steams.”
Buffy frowned. “Guess you’d better stick your chopstick in my ear, ‘cause hey, that kinda sucked. ‘Katana hot tin roof?’ You so have to be kidding.”
Chopstick bridled. “Your unworthy ears shall soon be lying on the ground.”
He drew and struck in one move. Buffy parried, but only barely, and she was driven back away from the sake stall. His blows came fast and furious and Buffy began to feel that she was overmatched. “Do we really need weapons for this?” she suggested.
Chopstick stepped back for a moment. “A samurai’s honor lies in his sword.” He twirled the katana back into its scabbard. “But then, I’m not a samurai any more.”
Buffy sheathed her own weapon and adopted an Aikido stance. Chopstick advanced once more, and drove her back with a barrage of punches and kicks. Eventually she caught his right hand and began to apply a sankyo lock; but he somersaulted with the hold, freed himself, and reversed the position.
“You’d be a fair match for me in a year or so,” he told her. “Pity you won’t make it. Gonna chop your head off now.” His free hand went to the hilt of his katana, but suddenly he released her and stepped back with a cry of pain.
Buffy’s mother stood behind him holding a naginata. “Get away from my daughter!” Joyce Summers cried, and struck out at him once more.
Chopstick ducked under her blow and leaped away. He put his hand to his head and brought it away again with a smear of blood on his palm. “A ninja with family and friends? Shimata! That’s not in accordance with Bushido.” He turned and ran from the castle.
“What shall we tell the peasants?” the Shogun asked his Chamberlain, Snyder.
Snyder’s brows furrowed. “Yakuza on opium?”