When it was raining outside and they all were covered in blood an mud, traveling to a new location across the battlefield after a stressful night. Gintoki could only taste the salt from his sweat and the grit from the dirt in his mouth. A dull emptiness lay in his eyes (moreso than usual), and also his friends that accompanied him. It was far too quiet as the soldiers allowed their tension to flit into the air.
"Ahaha! Say, fellas! I bet'cha couldn't even beat me at my own game after tonight! What's with that look on yer faces..?" His boisterous laughter may have startled some, but by this point, Gintoki was accustomed to hearing it. It was nice to hear it, even though he wouldn't admit it. It just meant that his friend, Sakamoto, was still alive and well unlike some of his comrades who had perished on this battlefield.

Sakamoto would sit himself down right there, still looking joyous to conceal whatever pain he was feeling and offer his hand to Gintoki, thumb curved upward.
"I'll bet'cha 300 yen," that was the starting price, and anybody who knew Gintoki knew he couldn't deny a challenge, especially if money was involved. Sakamoto's hands were rough and large— but not broken back then.