Goemon x Rin - 'Back to Kyoto'

Note: This is a fanfic!

We waited in the back hall of King Enma’s palace, Rin beside me, her hand lightly brushing against mine. The King lounged in his chair like he owned eternity itself, Carmen the cat perched on his lap, ignoring everything except the sunbeam she had claimed.

“Finally,” I muttered under my breath.

Rin glanced at me, smiling softly. “Goemon…”

I shot her a small, fond look. “Just… prepare yourself. The Old Man is in particularly teasing form today.”

King Enma’s sharp eyes twinkled as he caught my glare. “Ah, Goemon. Always so grim. And my sweet daughter looks radiant, as usual.”

“Father…” she said.

“Call me Daddy,” he said, wagging a finger at her, “My Sweet.”

“I prefer Father,” she replied calmly, eyes sparkling faintly.

I muttered under my breath, “Old Man…”

King Enma leaned forward, tapping his scepter on the floor. “So, I heard the both of you wish to leave Asakusa for a short trip? My Sweet, to wander into the world? With this… thief?”

“I am no longer a thief,” I said, voice firm but measured. “And I have completed my sentence in Hell.”

“Hmm?” the King murmured, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “You still manage to look like you’re plotting something.”

Rin squeezed my hand gently, leaning closer. “Daddy…” she whispered.

I shot King Enma a glare. “Old Man, I have endured enough teasing and torturing for one lifetime.”

The King chuckled.

“You kept us apart,” I snapped, standing only slightly. “Do you know how long I suffered in Eternal Hell, thinking I would never see her again? You teased me, laughed at me every day—”

Rin pressed her hand to mine, her warm calm anchoring me. “Goemon” she said my name softly to calm me down. No matter what, I want to go on this trip with her. I was resolute.

King Enma’s eyes softened as he looked at Rin. “I was only protecting My Sweet. You were not ready, Goemon. And perhaps… neither was she. But you both survived, and here you are, finally seeking the place where your hearts began.”

King Enma chuckled warmly. “Go, then. But if you even think of harming My Sweet… I will extend your… sentence accordingly.”

Rin smiled. “Thank you, Daddy.”

King Enma waved his hand dismissively. “Off you go. And Goemon… try to behave.”

I shot him a final glare. I swear someday I will punch him once.

Rin laughed softly and leaned into me. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s finally go home.”

And then we were outside, the sun warming our faces, free at last, walking toward Kyoto—and toward the beginning of everything we had once been denied.

I never thought I would see it again. Not truly.

Asakusa had been home for years now, but the streets felt too familiar, too small. King Enma had finally granted us permission to leave—permission, yes, as if freedom were something to be asked for, even after death. Rin stood beside me, hands intertwined with mine, her eyes bright with excitement, though I could see the tremor of something deeper beneath it. A memory? Anticipation?

“Are you sure about this, Goemon?” she asked softly.

I squeezed her hand. “Of course. We’re going to Kyoto. To the place where… it all started.”

Her lips curved in a small, uncertain smile. I could tell she was holding herself back from fully imagining it. From fully letting herself remember. But I did. I remembered every detail, every day I had passed by her little dango stall, hoping to hear her voice, to see her smile. Hoping, yet never daring to claim her. I had been a fugitive, a thief, a man who could not offer her a life of safety or warmth. She had been blind then, yet even so, I had loved her more than the world itself. And I had stayed away.

Now, centuries later, she was here. Alive in this life, in this body, standing beside me. And I would never let her go.

The journey was quiet at first. We took the train slowly, the world outside a blur of fields and towns, unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. Rin’s head rested lightly on my shoulder, and I could feel her fingers clinging to mine in small, nervous tugs. I allowed myself to smile.

“It’s different from what I imagined,” she said finally, looking out the window. “The city… it’s changed so much.”

I nodded. “Most of the streets are gone. The buildings… everything has changed. But the river… the river will always feel the same.”

Kyoto greeted us with the low hum of a modern city, the distant mountains framing the skyline. I guided Rin carefully along the streets, our steps slow, reverent. Somewhere along the way, I saw her pause, looking down a small side street as if she could see something invisible.

“That street… I remember it,” she murmured. “But… it’s not the same.”

“No,” I agreed softly. “It isn’t. The stall is gone. The shop where you grilled dango every day… it’s just memories now.”

Her hand found mine again, this time gripping tighter. “But the feeling is still here.”

I swallowed hard. That was true. I could feel it too. That slow, warm ache that had haunted me for centuries. The memory of standing just across from her, watching her hands shape the sweet rice dumplings, listening to her hum as she worked. I had wanted to tell her then—wanted to tell her everything—but I had not. I had feared that my presence would ruin her life, that my love would only bring her pain. And so I had waited, silently, endlessly.

Now, I didn’t have to wait.

The weight of that realization settled into me as she stepped out from behind the screen, dressed in borrowed cloth that looked far too much like memory. We had rented them from a small shop tucked away in a quieter street. For a moment, the world narrowed until there was only her and the echo of everything I had once denied myself.

When Rin stepped out from behind the screen, my breath caught before I could stop it.

The fabric suited her too well. Deep reds and dark patterns that moved when she walked, sleeves that whispered softly with every step. Her hair had been pinned back with a simple ornament, the kind a woman at her age might have worn.

She looked at me, eyes bright. “Is it strange?”

“No,” I said immediately. Too quickly. Then, more softly, “It is familiar.”

She smiled at that, like she understood more than she let on.

We walked through Kyoto’s old town as the sky began to darken, lanterns slowly lighting one by one. The streets were narrower here. Wooden facades. Stone paths worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. The modern world receded just enough that my chest began to ache.

Rin slipped her hand into mine without asking. Her fingers were warm, steady.

“You are quiet,” she said.

“I am remembering,” I replied.

The scent hit me first. Sweet rice. Charcoal. Sugar caramelizing just a little too much at the edges.

I stopped.

She followed my gaze to a small stall nearby. Not the same one. I knew that. The sign was different. The hands that worked the grill were younger. But the sound, the smell, the way the dumplings turned slowly over the fire.

It was close enough.

Rin inhaled softly. “Dango.”

I nodded. “You used to stand just like that. Right there. You would hum without realizing it.”

She looked at me, surprised. “I did?”

“Yes. Every time.”

We bought a skewer and stood to the side, sharing it without speaking. The taste was not exactly the same. Time changes even the smallest things. But the warmth of it, the simple sweetness.

That part stayed.

I watched her as she ate, the lantern light catching in her eyes. Five hundred years ago, I used to stand a few steps away, pretending I was just another customer. I told myself it was enough to see her alive, eating, smiling.

It was never enough.

“I came every day,” I said quietly.

She turned to me. “I know.”

I frowned. “You did?”

She nodded slowly. “I could hear your footsteps. You walked differently from the others. Careful. Like you were afraid to take up space.”

My throat tightened.

“I wanted to take you away from all of it,” I admitted. “Then I remembered who I was. What I was. A fugitive. A thief with blood on his hands. I thought if I loved you quietly, from a distance, that would be kinder.”

Rin stopped walking. She faced me fully now, her expression gentle but serious.

“I was blind,” she said. “But I was not helpless. And I loved you too.”

The words landed softly, and still they shattered something in me.

“You never said anything,” I whispered.

She smiled sadly. “Neither did you.”

I reached up, brushing my thumb against her cheek, reverent. “I was afraid I could not give you a good life.”

She leaned into my touch. “And yet you gave me something better. You came back. You chose me again.”

I lowered my forehead to hers, breathing her in. In another life, I might have done this sooner. In this one, I would not waste another moment.

We continued walking, slower now. We passed old bridges, quiet alleys, places where my memory filled in what time had erased. Each step felt like reclaiming something that had once been denied to us.

At one point, she tugged me closer, her sleeve brushing against my arm. “Goemon.”

“Yes.”

“If we had married back then,” she said carefully, “what do you think it would have been like?”

I exhaled, then smiled faintly. “Difficult. Poor. Probably loud.”

She laughed softly.

“But,” I continued, “I would have come home every day. Even if I was injured. Even if I had nothing. Just to hear your voice.”

She squeezed my hand. “Then I am glad we get this life instead.”

So was I.

Under the lantern light, dressed in borrowed cloth, walking streets that remembered us even when the world had forgotten, I realized something simple and terrifying.

We were not reliving what should have been.

We were finally living it.

I pressed a kiss to her forehead, right there in the open, and did not care who saw.

This time, I chose her without fear.

Donate ❤