"Three days? Dammit, doesn't anyone around here eat anymore?" No wonder these kids were thin enough to break in one hand. "Hell, last time I went three days without eating was back in the war. No, soldier pills totally count. Back on the streets."

And that brought back memories so hard they hurt. Kids with hollow cheeks and enormous eyes, dirty faces, bony limbs. Kids begging in the streets, fighting over garbage scraps, drinking canal-water and chewing leather to sate the hunger-pangs. The little ones, the ones already too thin and too weak to join the gangs, had died first...

He tucked the empty water bottle into the crook of his elbow and dug through his pockets, producing two rubber bands, a knotted bit of string, a foil packet of painkillers, a smooth pebble, and a solid handful of crumpled cash and coins. The whole mess went into Hayate's hands. He jerked his own back, and shoved them into his pockets again, before the boy could refuse. "That should cover both of you. If Morimoto-san's in the cafeteria kitchen, tell him I sent you. I'll cover anything this doesn't."

If there was anything else, he couldn't think of it. These two would be okay; but he hadn't been back to Canal Street in weeks, hadn't checked on the ragged few orphans who still haunted the old alleys since before he'd left on his last, disastrous mission with Tsume. They got along better than he had, even without the protection of a gang; peace-time was kinder on orphans than war had ever been. But still, if something had happened while he'd been gone--if they'd needed him, and he hadn't come--

He'd been gone for months before, on the border and on missions. It didn't matter. He ducked his head at Katsuko, pulled up a vague smile for Hayate. "Gotta run. I'll see you around."