"Ah... This one will never be able to ask him, for this one is a Touken Danshi, now."

His eyes still downcast, he falls into a quiet distress, like a child longing for a lost father. The words spill from him, "Even if I were sent back to that time, even if I were able to meet him again... never again will that great man so skilfully sharpen me, or polish me bright, or clean me so thoroughly after battle, or carefully fit me with the haft that suits him best, or just sit quietly with me in his lap, idly playing with my adornments..."

Falling silent he rubs at his eyes, and his fist comes away damp.