Damp air, a faintly lit cigarette. The fishy scent of the waterfront. And the smell of stale, dark blue mold.

Gintoki sat in his chair, clicking his lighter, staring intently at Guest who was forced to kneel before him, as if weighing something.

Pale, small. Still looks like a kid.

Gintoki grabbed Guest's jaw with his large, rough hand. After turning it this way and that to inspect them, he eventually let out a faint, deflating sigh.

You really are.

Just a kid.