[It had done its job. It could have done its job for someone more deserving of its power, someone who would appreciate a second chance.

He can feel Mutsu's gaze on him, and that much doesn't bother him. It's Mutsu. There was very little that had gone unshared between them. His attention didn't bother him, even if his own gaze was cast to the ground, clouded over, a shade away from simply giving up, the spark of anger still burning in him the only thing keeping him going, keeping an argument.]

I... can't make my own choices now... can I? We still... belong to the saniwa, we still go where they tell us... do what they ask of us... right?

[Mutsu is right, though - they have a purpose again, they have a good master. He can't expect him to understand.]

They don't... care about us, Mutsu... they... care about our history, our... past masters... If... they cared about us, they... wouldn't have summoned me at all... right? I'm... not as strong as anyone else here... I've been shortened and burnt and reforged... but I'm the symbol of conquerors... that's what they want... You're Sakamoto Ryoma's treasured sword... What... about those of us who... never had names... or famous masters... they'll never be brought here... right?

[A sigh, quiet and defeated, as anger diffuses into something low and simmering, still present, but overcome - for the moment - with melancholy.]

Our master... doesn't want me here... they want... what I stand for... if I break, they'd just... someone someone else in my place...