Side Story #30: Jun's Promise (Female MC Version) (Patreon)

<Author’s note: This story takes place before the events of Book 1.>

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Side Story 30: Jun’s Promise (Female MC Version)

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■■ Northern Hyuga ■■

“Again, Jun! Your footwork is…it needs work. Don’t get sloppy!” an old teacher yelled to his student. His voice was frail—far weaker than it had been years ago—yet it carried as much force as the whipping wind across the mountain peak. While the harshest of the winter months had passed, even in spring the gusts were cold.

And even in his twilight years, Sensei remained the strongest swordsman Jun knew.

“Hai! Yes, Sensei!” Jun replied, adjusting his feet once more. In truth, his positioning was flawless: it was a perfect jōdan—an overhead stance—that had been drilled into his mind and body years ago. The very same man who had taught him was now telling him that he was wrong, and so the obedient student made adjustments.

“Give me a break. You know the front foot shouldn’t be out that far,” remarked a less-than-obedient student observing the practice duel from afar. She was an orphan girl from Genfu who had since become a woman—not that Jun ever treated her as such. Not outside their futon, anyway.

The orphan was the only rival, friend and lover Jun had. She was all the brown-haired student ever wanted...and everything he needed. But right now, she was being a real pest.

Jun focused on the practice duel—even if it wasn’t particularly intense or instructive. The student and master exchanged strikes with their wooden practice swords as the former was out-tricked by obvious feints and overpowered by wobbly swings. Jun was holding back throughout yet acted as if he was giving it his all.

The objective of these duels against Sensei had shifted over time: when Jun was a child, that meant merely staying alive. Then, as he got older, it was to stand his ground—and to leave without permanent scars and minimal bruising. Eventually, though, past his teenage years and into adulthood, the goal became vastly different.

It was, to put it simply...to not shame him.

“T-that’s enough,” Sensei said, his breathing starting to grow heavy. And though he tired early these days—especially this close to his mid-day nap—Jun had never once seen him break a sweat. The student bowed and thanked his master for the fight before taking his seat beside the orphan.

His fellow student looked half-asleep and was halfway through a yawn before Jun handed over the practice sword—delivering it swiftly into her gut. After the rude awakening, the orphan hopped to her feet and swaggered over into position against Sensei.

“Come on, Girl! Show me what I’ve taught you!”

Jun could sense a problem well before there was one; the intensity in the orphan’s stance went well beyond what was required in a practice duel against their master. Sure enough, she swung her weapon with full force against Sensei’s, the collision causing the teacher’s sword to crack and to be driven down into the mud.

As if that wasn’t shameful enough, the orphan followed the strike with a tackle—slamming her shoulder into Sensei and forcing him to fall flat into the ground.

Jun was on his feet and in the orphan’s face in an instant. His eyes were golden while his hands were makeshift claws. They gripped around the orphan’s throat as rage enveloped the son of a samurai—and not just any. Jun was the only child of Izō Uesugi, the head of his clan.

While the brunet came from a noble heritage, what he intended to do to the orphan was anything but.

“Jun…bring me the katana. My katana,” Sensei ordered as he struggled to his feet. With more than a little reluctance, the obedient student released the orphan before hurrying off to the dojo. During his trip, he thought of several ways to punish his fellow student for shaming Sensei.

Most of them started by getting her naked.

After sliding open the shoji doors to the dojo and bowing with respect, Jun invited himself inside. He approached the shrine at the far end of the training hall where Sensei’s sword rested on its wooden display mount. Falling to his knees in reverence, he clapped his hands and whispered a prayer.

It was short and simple. “May these hands be worthy of your sword, Sensei.”

The obedient student then took the katana in both hands, raising it up before him. Turning his head to make certain he was alone, he unsheathed it—just slightly. Just enough to see it.

彦斎

“Gensai,” Jun said, speaking the name as if it were holy. In his mind it was—even more so because that was all there was inscribed on the side of the blade. There was no family name. There was no ‘Takeda’. Sensei never mentioned his family to his students and Jun never dared to ask.

Because deep down, he already had his answer.

“You gave up your family for my sake. You saved me from that demon...and lifted me from out of that hell. You brought me and the orphan together...and taught us the way of the sword. Everything I am...I owe to you, Gensai.”

Closing his eyes, the son of Izō Uesugi once again renounced his past life and family in favor of his adopted one. Himself, Sensei and the orphan...they were tied together no less permanently than the stars in the sky.

With the renowned katana in hand, Jun hurried back to the practice grounds. He was worried that the orphan had done something even more foolish in his absence, yet it turned out that he should’ve been more concerned over something else, instead.

Sensei told them to kneel upon his return—and they did. With their knees muddied, the students of Gensai Takeda, the most fearsome swordsman of his era, looked up as their teacher raised his sword overhead.

“It is time I choose my successor. The Jigoku Ittō-ryū must not die with me. Such power…is meant to be used. To change and shape Hyuga.”

Jun’s eyes went wide. His heart skipped a beat and his lungs stopped outright. This was the moment he had been waiting for—yet he never dared to entertain it outside his wildest dreams. To carry the future of Sensei’s style of swordsmanship on his shoulders…it was the greatest honor from the man Jun respected most.

Finally, his loyalty and dedication was about to be rewarded. It was all he could do to keep from drooling as Sensei told the orphan to lift her head. Jun licked his lips in anticipation as…as his teacher handed over the katana. To her.

“This is my legacy. Take it, Girl. You are the heir to the Jigoku Ittō-ryū.”

■■■■

Only Sensei possessed the ability to sleep through the sound of clashing metal rods echoing throughout the training hall. Though he was officially meditating, not even the most zen of monks could contemplate in peace while war waged right in front of them.

*baa-Ang* *Baa-ang*

It was a war between two students in the disguise of a practice match. Though there was no such thing as ‘practice’ for Jun, who went all-out with every swing—each more forceful than the last. He wanted to bash the orphan’s skull in and said as much with his golden-eyed glare.

As for the reason why...that much was obvious.

“I’m sorry, alright?!” the orphan yelled during a rare pause in the battle. “How many times do I gotta say it? Sensei’s gone senile—he didn’t mean to make me the heir! You deserve it a hundred times more than I do, Juu-kun!”

Invoking Jun’s nickname did little to cool his wrath; if anything, it stoked the fires burning within him even more. “It’s the greatest honor a swordsman could ever ask for—yet you treat it as a joke! You’re the heir to the Jigoku Ittō-ryū—now act like it!”

The battle waged on and outside the training hall to the front yard and between the many sakura trees Sensei had planted there. This being early in spring, the pink and white blossoms were nearing full bloom—their graceful beauty making for a picturesque backdrop for a swordfight.

Of course, this wasn’t a swordfight and it was anything but pretty.

“Gah! Ah—kuso!” the orphan yelled after Jun stomped on her leading right foot. In truth, she had been on her backfoot throughout the entire fight, focusing on withstanding Jun’s onslaught until he tired.

“Stand and fight me, you coward! How dare you dishonor our style! How dare you disgrace Sensei!” Jun yelled and swung, though the orphan had already darted out of the way. Using their master’s sakura trees for protection, Jun couldn’t get close enough for a lethal strike.

“Why are we doin’ this, Juu-kun? Why are we training so hard?” the orphan asked. It wasn’t the first time she had voiced this question.

“Not this again,” Jun growled, taking a moment to find a way through to reach his opponent. “To master the blade and one’s self is to give up all else. And that includes weakness! Eyah!”

Jun found an opening in the orphan’s guard and lunged. Unfortunately for him, his opponent had a trump card: Sensei’s sword. She unsheathed it and held it out to intercept Jun’s strike. The obedient student who idolized his teacher paused mid-swing.

He wouldn’t dare risk damaging Sensei’s sword.

“I’m tired, Jun,” the orphan said. “I’m tired of watchin’ the world pass me by while I sit atop this damn mountain. I’m tired of being dirt poor—having to hunt and fish for my food while living in this dump! I’m tired of freezing my ass off, too, and I’m tired of having to walk a mile every time I need to take a shit! I’m—umph!”

The orphan went quiet when Jun enveloped his lips over hers. Intimacy was Jun’s go-to answer for whenever his soulmate acted up like this. Whenever the orphan asked too many questions...whenever she threatened to leave him alone, sex was always the solution.

Though this time, it wasn’t. “I’m tired...even of that, Juu-kun.”

The kissing stopped. The son of Izō Uesugi opened his eyes wide, his irises shifting to a golden glow. In the absence of his lover, Jun embraced the Jigoku instead. His words were cold. “Is that so. Draw your weapon, orphan.”

With reluctance—but knowing her partner far too well—the orphan complied, though the iron rod wasn’t the weapon Jun wanted. “This isn’t practice. Wield the sword Sensei gave you!”

The orphan had hardly the time to do just that when Jun struck forth a series of blows. He had his own katana—one of the several dozen spares the two of them had gone through over the years. With ronin and sellswords so abundant in the Clanfields, there was no shortage of cheap steel to be found for those willing to loot corpses.

And now Jun intended to loot Sensei’s sword off the orphan’s corpse. At least, that was how he fought. Yet as furious as he was, Jun was a proper swordmaster who took pride and satisfaction in a good fight—and there wasn’t one to be had. The orphan couldn’t maintain the Jigoku. Jun could see the will to live fade from her eyes as they dimmed back down to black.

As he towered over his fallen opponent, he wondered what happened to the girl from Genfu he was always chasing. He must’ve been thinking aloud.

“I’m not that stupid little girl anymore,” the orphan replied. “Don’t you see? We’ve been at each other’s throats for years. All that pain and suffering we put ourselves through...all to be stronger than the other—what was it all for? Nothing—that’s what! I don’t wanna race you anymore, Jun. And I don’t wanna chase Sensei’s shadow, either.”

Jun pushed the orphan away with a palm strike to the chest before turning around and shaking his head. In truth, he was terrified. The words his most precious person were saying felt like knives driven into his heart. He couldn’t face her like this.

“Sensei. You know we’d be dead without him—or worse! Don’t you have an ounce of gratitude for the man who saved us? How can you be so selfish?!”

“We’re supposed to be his students, Jun—not his servants!”

“I’m not his—” Jun started, though stopped upon hearing Sensei’s yell from the dojo. Their master had awakened from his meditative slumber and...was in need of someone to prepare hot water for his bath.

The orphan didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Instead, she wiped the mud off her kimono and took out a pouch from behind her obi sash. Jun recognized it—it was Sensei’s, kept in the dojo’s shrine.

“I’m going to the trading post to buy us some rice. Stay here and wash the old man’s back.”

■■■■

“You’re late.”

Jun hopped down from a tree and into the path of a haggard-looking ronin. It was early the next morning when the orphan made it back to dojo from her shopping trip. Aside from being hours late, her kimono was cut up and sprayed with blood. Her usual stride was different—indicating a minor injury to the leg.

As far as how she smelled...

“Come on, Juu-kun. Quit sniffin’ me,” the orphan protested as Jun inspected her as a dog would. Aside from sweat and dried blood, another scent could be found from her lips.

“Saké. Who have you been drinking with?” Jun asked, trying—and failing—to hold back his jealousy. Though the orphan getting intoxicated was nothing new, what was more suspicious was the amount of rice she had brought back with her. She had two large buckets tied to a carrying pole atop her shoulders.

It was a lot more than Sensei’s pouch of coins could purchase. Though before Jun could inquire further, the orphan locked her lips around his. The buckets fell to the ground and the two students shortly followed. Their hands explored each other’s bodies while their tongues wrestled in each other’s mouths.

The familiar warmth of the woman he loved was enough for Jun to halt his suspicions. “You’re even easier when you’re drunk,” he whispered between heated breaths. He gripped his fingers atop the orphan’s shoulders and slid her kimono down, revealing the slim yet remarkably strong arms beneath.

Jun could tell with one glance what the orphan wanted—and even if he couldn’t, the hot dampness that pressed against him from below left little room for doubt. It was all the brown-haired swordsman could do to refrain from tearing his partner’s kimono apart; instead, his deft hands began to strip the orphan as they had done countless times before.

Though as he was removing their sash, he grabbed something heavy and full. No, it wasn’t the orphan’s bosom—it was a pouch of coins twice the size that it had been before. As much as Jun lusted for the woman he had pinned beneath him...he had to know where it came from.

“Don’t worry about it, Juu-kun,” the orphan said between moans. “Turns out it’s easy to make ryō with a good enough swordarm. There’s tons of work out there, too. All I had to do was off a merchant and his guards. Old bastard died in his sleep.”

“What?! What are you saying?” Jun asked, pouncing away from his lover’s embrace. “You’re a swordmaster—and the heir to the Jigoku Ittō-ryū! You dare disgrace yourself by doing mercenary work? Are you nothing but a sellsword?!”

The orphan remained on the ground, looking up into the sky. The sun was rising as the warblers began their chirp. Like them, the disillusioned student wished she could flap her wings and get away from it all.

But she had an anchor tied to her. It took the form of a katana branded with Sensei’s name. “So you’re sayin’ if I get rid of this sword...then I’ll be free to be whatever I want? ‘Cause if that’s the case...you may as well take it from me now.”

“I’ll take it from your corpse, instead!” Jun said before delivering a kick into the orphan’s ribs. He then bent down to pick up the carrying rod and with it, the buckets of rice. “Now get up and stop being stupid. It’s your turn to cook breakfast. Or is doing chores beneath you now?”

It turned out that it wasn’t and that onigiri was on the menu. The orphan wasn’t a great cook but you didn’t have to be to make rice balls. A large, fresh one was presented to Sensei after he took his seat at the head of the table.

With a look of disgust, the old swordmaster picked it up and reluctantly took in a bite. After several chews, he spat it back at the chef. “Rice! Food fit for prey, not predators. I want meat, Girl!”

“They didn’t have any,” the orphan replied. “But if you wanna go off into the woods and hunt us some deer—then go right ahead! Otherwise, eat your rice.”

“Don’t you talk back to me, Girl! I want meat! Meat!” Sensei yelled, tossing the remnants of his onigiri at the orphan. It broke apart in her face. Her eyes then went golden.

Jun intervened between them, acting as a referee between student and master. The orphan gave her companion a glare before shaking her head and walking away from the table.

Once she was gone, Sensei turned to the son of Izō Uesugi. “Jun…”

“I know, Sensei,” Jun said, checking once more to make certain the orphan was gone. Once he was, he folded up the sleeve on his left arm and presented it before his master.

He grimaced as Sensei bit down upon it, sucking out blood as greedily as a babe would its mother’s breast.

■■■■

Jun had something of a sixth sense when it came to the orphan. It was why he feigned sleep after a passionate late-afternoon ‘nap’ with his fellow student. The woman from Genfu was as quiet as a mouse as she slipped back on her clothes and left the dojo.

But Jun was a cat and he wasn’t about to let his prey slip from out of his paws. That and he had a profound curiosity, too—one compounded by jealousy. The scent of other people lingered on the one he loved. Those people would soon pay for trying to take his most precious possession away from him.

And the orphan was going to lead him straight to them.

‘Them’ happened to be a mercenary group encamped an hour’s walk downhill from the dojo. Jun knew them as sellswords from their banners—or the lack thereof. Whereas the Uesugi and Takeda loved their emblems and clan colors, those who worked for either made certain not to be outwardly offensive.

At least visually, anyway. Their smell was another matter. Jun’s sensitive nose worked against him as he lurked over to the camp in the cover of darkness. “That smell—human filth. What can they offer you that I can’t, my love?”

For starters, the orphan was given a hero’s welcome. If there wasn’t a feast prepared before, there was now, as casks of saké were brought out and a skinned deer hung from a tree was cut down and brought to the fire for cooking. Aside from learning why the game around the dojo had been so scarce in recent weeks, Jun discovered his lover had a new nickname.

“Ronin! We were wonderin’ when you were comin’ back. Here—share a bottle of Hokusei Brewing’s finest with me! Got another job offer for you...but let’s fill up our stomachs, first!”

Ronin. That was the name given to samurai without a master. It was the most dishonorable title a swordsman could have, yet the orphan seemed to wear the moniker proudly. Instead of anger or disgrace, however, she appeared quite the opposite. She was smiling and laughing as the other mercs took turns trading jokes.

The whole world, for a moment, went dark for Jun. Crimson-colored lines broke out upon each of their bodies, begging to be cut and sliced a hundred ways. The Jigoku had taken control of the brown-haired samurai. And he had surrendered to it willingly.

“When was...the last time...you smiled, for me?”

It took every ounce of restraint for Jun not to rush in there and tear apart the sellswords limb from limb. He could do it easily, too; they were no more dangerous to him than their cuts of venison were to them. Everything from their lack of physical conditioning to how they slouched around the campfire denoted a lack of training and discipline.

Gensai’s students were leagues beyond these mercenaries. It made sense, then, that they’d have plenty of jobs lined up for the orphan to do.

“All right, Ronin, let’s talk some business,” the leader of the group said, kicking his feet up atop a nearby log. “See, that merchant you...dispatched so well the other night was just a start. We’ve got another passin’ by—and rumor is, he’s packing somethin’ more valuable than stale rice!”

“I may be a ronin, but I’m no bandit,” said the orphan. She kept her eyes focused on the fire. “I want to do more than raid caravans.”

“Right, right! Well, maybe ‘merchant’ ain’t the best way to describe these guys, then. They’re actually suppliers for the Uesugi. See, our group is trying to get in the Takeda’s good graces. The reds have gone under new management lately—word is, groups that distinguish themselves get hired on permanently. We’re talkin’ stipends for years, here! And you know what else?”

The orphan didn’t and shook her head.

“Especially skilled warriors got a chance of gettin’ adopted into a branch family. For folk with no house names like us, it’s a hell of an offer. And a woman with your skills...you keep at it and we may be callin’ you Lady Takeda someday, hahaha!”

“Adopted, huh…”

Jun’s eyes turned gold once more. This time, he embraced the Jigoku on purpose. This talk of family—and of Takeda, too...every word seemed to push the orphan further and further away from him. The now-familiar despair of losing the one he needed most made his heart sink deep beneath his chest.

But it was still beating, and so long as it was, the orphan would be his. He refocused his eyes upon the encampment, visualizing the lines of death and fantasizing about how he would punish them for deceiving the orphan like this. For it was nothing short of trickery that could drive the one he loved against him and Sensei!

“What’s this?” he asked aloud. Jun wasn’t talking to himself—he was staring up into the tree he had braced up against. The lines of death depicted a figure within the branches. A figure that was frightened stiff—especially after Jun jumped up and stared them face-to-face.

“Ah—ng!” the figure said, trying to muffle himself mid-scream. He was more of a teenager than a man and was too scrawny to be a mercenary. He was a shinobi judging by his garb—a ninja, trained in the art of subterfuge.

Sensei had spoken about them before. Though they weren’t the best fighters, their talents outside the battlefield made them invaluable all the same.

“D-don’t kill me, please. I’m not with them,” he whispered as beads of sweat fell down his forehead. Jun gave no reply aside from maintaining his stare, which was wicked enough to get the frightened shinobi to start talking. “My name is Tamaki. M-may I ask yours?”

Jun would never give Tamaki his name. Instead, he started sniffing around him. What he smelled made his eyes open wide. The scent was disturbing, distinctive, and most of all...nostalgic.

“You’re with the Uesugi,” Jun said. The reaction from the ninja all but confirmed it. “What are you doing out this far? And why shouldn’t I slay you here and now?”

“I’m just—I’m just here to scout and observe this group. We found the...the remains of what happened to one of our caravans three nights back. I followed their trail to here. Yet from everything I’ve seen...this group doesn’t have near the numbers needed for what happened. Certainly not enough to kill eight veteran samurai!”

Jun couldn’t help but smirk. What this Tamaki wasn’t factoring in was that one of Sensei’s students were among the sellswords. An idea started forming inside his head. As much as he despised the idea of helping the Uesugi—his old family—he was willing to do whatever it took to save his new one.

“Alright, ninja. Got any ideas on how you want to stop them?”

■■■■

The orphan—or rather, the ronin, as she preferred to be called—took up a position upon a wooded hillside overlooking one the main roads into Hokusei. It being the pitch-black of night, there wasn’t a soul to be seen. But if the mercenary group’s scouting was correct, a caravan would soon pass by delivering high-quality iron alloy to the Uesugi.

None of that meant anything to her. But this job was another chance to put her swordsmanship to use. Getting paid and praised for her efforts was a nice change of pace—considering she never got either at the dojo.

“Wonder what Juu-kun would say if he saw me now,” the orphan thought aloud. Of course, Jun knew exactly what he’d say—or at least what he’d do—but he refrained from moving a muscle from his current position.

He was up in a tree adjacent to the one the orphan was crouched beside. Every bone in his body wanted to swoop down and grab him. He wanted to either take the orphan away or to take her right then and there—he couldn’t make up his mind. Jun would settle for neither, though, as he waited for the rest of the mercenaries to arrive.

When the horse-drawn carriage came down the road, it was unlit by lanterns. There were no accompanying samurai and the driver sat unnerving still at the reins. It was suspicious—yet sellswords weren’t known for their discretion. They ran down the hill all at once, pouncing silently like an owl swooping upon a mouse.

They weren’t going to find anything, Jun knew, as he and Tamaki had already secured the driver, samurai and iron an hour earlier. With that job done, all Jun had left to do was clean up the mercenaries on their way back to camp.

That was the idea, anyway. The plan had taken a swift change when a flaming arrow flew out from the opposite side of the hill. It embedded itself into the carriage—of which the orphan and mercenaries were currently inside. The caravan went up in flames right away. It must’ve been soaked in lamp oil.

Jun felt his heart race out of concern for his lover, who jumped from out of the cart and began wheezing from the smoke. Her kimono was charred and her hair was singed, but she was otherwise unharmed.

“For the Uesugi! Hyaah!”

The samurai that Jun and Tamaki had warned earlier yelled out a war cry in unison, announcing their presence and charging after the group. Though they wouldn’t get the fight they wanted: they were up against sellswords who held no reservations when it came to running from unfavorable odds.

“Retreat! Kuso—it’s a damn trap! Get outta here!”

The mercenaries scattered—which was their last mistake. Jun darted in one after the other, the Jigoku lighting them up through the smoky haze. Limbs fell off like sakura petals in a strong wind as the obedient student of Gensai took vengeance on those who dared to take his orphan away.

The only difficulty Jun faced was in making certain that his kimono didn’t get dirtied by the bloodspray. Fleeing swordsmen were hardly swordsmen at all, it turned out, and not one of them so much as raised their blade against the brown-haired samurai. Though in their defence...it was hard to do so without a swordarm.

“This supposed to be thrilling? To use Sensei’s style on this human filth...what a waste,” Jun said aloud as he flicked his katana clean. Unfortunately, the mercenary leader was quicker on his feet than the others, but—while he managed to escape—many of his cohorts didn’t. Jun counted five corpses by the time he was finished—Ichi, Ni, San, Shi, and Go—while the samurai suffered no casualties of their own.

Though considering they were Uesugi, Jun was tempted to change that. The primary outlet of his frustration was Tamaki, however, who made the mistake of approaching him with open arms.

“You fought tremendously! We managed to—guah!”

Jun raised the ninja by the collar of his shozoku and slammed him against a tree. To say he was upset was putting it mildly.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the fire?! What if...damn it!” Jun growled, bashing the shinobi against the oak once more. The thought of the orphan getting hurt made him furious. “We were supposed to be working together! And what about these samurai, huh? They weren’t part of the plan!”

The group of Uesugi approached Jun with caution. They had their swords out too, though did so out of self-concern more so than with any intention of attacking the swordsman who saved them. It helped that Jun had a particular feature.

“Excuse us...but your hair—it’s brown,” one said, stating the obvious. “Could you be...an Uesugi? Are you from a branch family, perhaps? An illegitimate child from—”

“I’m not part of your family and I never will be,” Jun said, releasing the ninja. Tamaki fell with a hard thud and clutched his throat for breath. Unwilling to turn around and face the samurai out of fear of seeing an uncle, a cousin, or some distant relative, Jun ran off into the night.

Though he wouldn’t leave empty-handed.

■■■■

“Interesting haircut you got there, orphan,” Jun said with a grin while his teeth grated over the stem of his tobacco pipe.

It was early afternoon the next day before the orphan had sufficiently licked their wounds from the failed caravan robbery that cost five of her companions their lives. Though few would mourn a mercenary, the orphan seemed to be bothered by the whole affair. Of course, she wouldn’t mention anything about it to Jun.

“What are cookin’, Juu-kun? You hunt down a deer?” the orphan asked, gesturing to the large pot the brown-haired samurai was stirring. As far as a reply, Jun bent over and blew a mouthful of smoke into her face.

“More like a pig. Go ahead—have some,” Jun said, pouring out a ladle of the stew into a wooden bowl.

The orphan accepted it gladly, hungry but even more relieved that Jun was in a merciful mood. Her usually possessive and distrusting lover didn’t seem to question at all where she had been or why her hair was cut short on one side.

She slurped up the stew before quickly downing it and asking for another.

“This stuff is great! Puts my rice balls to shame! Bit different than the pork we usually get for our sukiyaki, though,” the orphan said, eager to down another portion. With her spirits lifted, she didn’t even mind it when Sensei took a seat beside her.

Their master enjoyed it so much that he asked for seconds after giving his praise. The orphan nearly choked on her spoon; Sensei never complimented either of them on their cooking—or anything, really—so this stew must’ve been especially good. Of course, the remark from Sensei certainly wasn’t.

“Now this is a proper meal fit for predators! You’d do well to take notice, Girl!”

The orphan held her tongue. After finishing her third bowl and letting out a loud burp, she wiped her mouth clean and said what she had prepared to say. “I...I think I’m gonna be gone for awhile. I want to do some meditations up on the mountain top—for isolation, I mean. I’ll probably be gone for a week.”

If Sensei had even heard her, he made no sign of it. He was too busy engorging himself on the stew. It was Jun that the orphan most feared and it was his eyes that she wouldn’t dare look into.

“A week, huh? Have fun.”

Jun’s apathetic response was far from the passionate outburst the orphan expected. In some ways, she was disappointed, but in many more she was immensely relieved. Though the orphan was no fool: she had a hint of suspicion too, that something wasn’t quite right.

“What, that’s it? You’re not going to try and stop me?”

Jun took in another puff of his pipe before bringing the ladle to his lips and sipping the stew. “Why would I? Do you take me as some sort of overprotective lunatic?”

The orphan could do nothing but stare. Jun met her eyes and the two began a staring contest. It was like a game of Mirrors—though the orphan would be the first to turn away.

After she did, Jun put on a devilish grin.

■■■■

“Ah, the Cherry Blossom Festival never fails to bring in an odd batch o’ travelers this time o’ year. Soon as the ice melts, I get folks from all over crossin’ through to Hoku for the sakura viewings. And in case you’re lookin’ to wet your whistle, the brewery has a new plum wine out this year and I hear it’s…”

The ferryman had a gift for gabbing and did so from the moment Jun took a seat at the back of his vessel. Traveling across the nearby lake to get to Hokusei saved time and energy; Jun needed plenty of both if he was to put a stop to the mercenary company for good.

The brown-haired samurai recalled his conversation with Tamaki from earlier. Apparently, the Uesugi were vying for a temporary truce with the Takeda to buy time to restore their supplies and numbers after their recent losses. It was a popular plan with the common people: enough so for otherwise neutral parties to side with the white-bannered clansmen.

The Takeda wanted to push their advantage, however, and so—according to the shinobi—they hired out the orphan’s mercenary group for a special job. It was a high-profile one, too, that even the ferryman knew about.

“...more a fan o’ their pickled plums, to be honest. Say, you’re not much of a talker, huh? Had a quiet group o’ samurai not so different board right before you. Uesugi by their kimonos, but...smelled more like sellswords to me. Well, what do I know? Anyhow, I ain’t much one for politics, but I reckon they were headed into Hoku for the peace talks. If it passes...well, we’ll all be drunk on plum wine before the day is done! Good timin’, too: my wife just gave birth to our son. What a blessin’ it would be to raise ‘em in an era of peace in the Clanfields!”

Jun let out a snort upon hearing that. As far as what the sellswords were doing dressed up as Uesugi samurai, their job was to sabotage the peace talks just as they began. They’d kill a few Takeda and the war would spark anew, Tamaki said, which was as clever a ploy as any Jun had heard.

Though clever ploys didn’t suit him, the swordmaster found himself in one of his own: he was carrying a year-old sakura sapling. It was one of Sensei’s which he had uprooted with his permission.

As far as why he was lugging around a small tree, Jun intended to use it as his ticket to get inside the ceremony.

Each year during the Cherry Blossom Festival, there was a ceremonial planting of new sakura trees from all across the North. It was supposed to be a unifying gesture—which was usually only ever symbolic—though with the peace talks, this year’s held much more significance.

It would also get Jun in close enough to kill the remaining sellswords. He tipped his conical farmer’s hat to the ferryman after reaching the other side of the lake and embarked. True to the ferryman’s words, he could hear the cries of a newborn from out of a nearby shed.

“To be raised in an era of peace...you sure choose the wrong part of Hyuga to be born in,” Jun thought as he made his way to Hokusei’s main gate. This was the city he was born in and yet it was as foreign to him as snow on a summer’s day. He had rarely made visits here and only ever on errands for Sensei.

“And you were always here with me,” Jun said to the orphan who wasn’t at his side. Unlike himself, his fellow student seemed to thrive in crowded places such as these. And it was crowded. Girls in kimonos colored every shade of pink chatted amongst themselves while merchants hawked their wares.

Street performers danced about while musicians played in a dueling symphony to earn the coin of passersby. The sheer amount of noise and movement overwhelmed Jun, whose senses weren’t designed for this level of stimulation.

It also didn’t help that he had next to no sense of direction here. Jun pushed through the waves of people while wielding his potted sapling like a club. Even then, the going was a slog: no matter how many festival-goers he scared away, there were always others to take their place.

“Get away from me! You filth—I could cut you all down where you stand!” he yelled out in frustration. Though even his most direct threats fell on deaf’s ears as those around here were too busy sipping on plum wine and snacking on taiyaki shaped like cherry blossoms to notice.

Running short on time and even shorter on patience, Jun began moving. He needed to find the gardens where the peace talks were to take place—but right now, he’d settle for anywhere where he could hear himself think. That meant escaping Hokusei’s main streets and avoiding its marketplaces.

“This is...the temple district?” Jun asked aloud. There was no one here to answer him: the Cherry Blossom Festival was one of the few celebrations that had no religious component to it. Even the monks were off during this period to enjoy the festivities.

Jun’s feet took him inside a particular shrine: an old and familiar one. The Wolf Temple was made entirely of wood and was originally used as a watchtower back when Hokusei was a frontier town and Hyugans had to fear for their lives from the large, dark-brown creatures that lurked in the night.

He was referring to bears and Kondos, too. Both once ruled this region before the people later known as Hyugans arrived from a distant land, many centuries ago. Now, in the North at least, both its original occupants were nearly extinct. That was the extent of the history lesson Jun learned in his youth about the time before the clan wars.

“A moment of meditation would do me some good,” Jun decided, sitting in a seiza behind a column in an unlit corner of the temple. He let out a sneeze; dust was everywhere in this poorly-maintained part of the shrine. The samurai likened it to the orphan’s half of the dojo which often went unkempt for weeks on end.

One thought of the orphan grew to a dozen and then hundreds more. At least back at the dojo, Jun had Sensei to take care of and take his mind off his loneliness. But here, alone in this forsaken city and unsure of everything—the orphan’s well-being, most of all—Jun found himself facing an immense dread.

A dread that would soon grow in leaps and bounds.

*schisk*

The shoji doors to the temple slid open before a group of visitors made their way inside. Jun glanced from behind the column and held in a gasp at what he saw. These were Uesugi, wearing white kimonos with matching emblems of two swallows kissing. They weren’t the group of sellswords masquerading as clansmen, either.

These were the real deal. Jun knew as much at a glance, but it wasn’t until he heard his mother’s voice that all uncertainty curled up and died. It was fitting imagery, too, as that was exactly what the brown-haired samurai wanted to do right now. Though he wasn’t a samurai right now—in his mother’s presence, he was merely a boy.

“Well?! Where is he? Where’s this sellsword I’ve taken time out of my rigorous schedule to meet?” Jun’s mother yelled, pacing about the shrine. “It’s distasteful enough that I’ll have to share tea with Ichiro! He makes it far too sweet!”

Before long, a haggard man in a white kimono was brought inside. Though he was wearing the Uesugi robes, he was pushed to the ground and made to grovel low in front of the clan’s matriarch. When he lifted his head up from the tatami, Jun recognized him as the leader of the mercenary company.

“La-Lady Uesugi, all my men are in place. I’m glad you accepted my offer. As to the matter of my payment, I can—”

“I have to say,” Lady Uesugi started, pulling out a fan from her kimono and expanding it, “I was quite surprised when we first got your message. I thought even sellswords had some semblance of honor among their own. Yet your presence here proves me wrong.

“You tell us,” the lady continued, “that the Takeda have employed your group to sabotage the talks and put false blame upon our clan. A plot very much in keeping with how devious that Ichiro can be. If I understand you correctly, you’ve come to us with a counter-offer: you intend to sacrifice your fellow...comrades...so that we may use the Takeda’s plan against them.”

The leader of the sellswords nodded, confirming the plan. He went into detail about where his company was currently lying in wait for his signal to move. When Jun realized the bastard was trying to get the orphan killed, the Jigoku took over. Yet even in its familiar embrace, Jun couldn’t fully escape the presence of the woman who birthed him.

“We’ll have archers in Takeda uniforms lined up on the walls. They’ll dispose of your mercs—or should I say...innocent Uesugi bystanders there for the flower viewing? Fufufu!”

“But...but Lady Uesugi!” one of the samurai said, bowing deeply. “Deceit is not our way! We should think twice before resorting to Takeda tricks!”

Jun’s mother rolled her eyes while fanning herself. “We cannot allow Ichiro to gain further control of the city. If that requires the sacrifice of a few sellswords to do so—than that is a price I’ll gladly pay!”

The mercenary leader let out a gulp. A bead of sweat fell from his balding scalp into his mustache. “Forgive me my lady, but one of my men...well, she’s actually a woman and...a very dangerous one at that. You should take extreme caution in how you—”

“Bah! You mercs are all the same,” Lady Uesugi replied, putting away her fan. Just as she did so, her eyes peered off into Jun’s direction. After what he said next, there was little doubt as to who she saw.

“Jun? Is that you?”

Hearing his name voiced by that woman was like a stab through the gut. The Jigoku fled from him and in its absence was a sheer terror that Jun hadn’t felt since he was a young boy. A boy tortured and terrified on a nightly basis at his family’s estate.

Jun covered his mouth as his throat gurgled up bile from his latest meal. Enveloped in a complete and total panic, the man who was perhaps the greatest swordsman of this era fled. He darted out from the shrine like lightning, bursting through and running over an obese man with brown hair at the Wolf Temple’s front entrance.

He continued running as fast as his legs could carry him as if each stride pushed the memories of his childhood away. He had convinced himself for so many years that his life hadn’t started until the orphan was in it.

When Sensei united him with the one who would be his most precious, that was when his life began. And the most precious memory of those days would always be the promise the cute girl from Genfu had made him as they stared up into the starry sky.

Jun had asked the orphan to be his forever. It was a selfish, childish thing to ask...yet their response was as clear in his mind now as it had been during their first winter together.

“I promise. I’ll be yours forever, Juu-kun.”

So deep in thoughts of the past, Jun had lost track of the present: including where he was going. He knocked over a priest and nearly trampled over a shrine maiden before he realized he ought to slow down. He wasn’t able to do so in time, however, before a group of children made their way into his path.

“Get the hell outta my—ah!” Jun yelled, before collapsing into a pile of mud. The sapling he was carrying flew from his grasp while his ankles burned as if they were broken. In truth, they were just painfully bent; the mud had glued his sandals in place.

After trying and failing to pull his feet free from the muck, he realized it wasn’t made of dirt at all. It was clay—or rather, the street itself had turned into a thick sludge. It didn’t make any sense...but then again, magic didn’t have to.

“I’m sorry, Mister Samurai,” said a boy barely in his teenage years. He looked utterly ridiculous wearing priestly robes that were two sizes too big on him, yet he seemed to be the leader of this band of children. He held out a slip of paper and clapped it within his hands. The clay began to release it’s grasp beneath Jun.

“What the hell was that?!” Jun asked, shaking off the remnants of the street from his toes. “No—it doesn’t matter. I have to find the orphan.”

Upon saying ‘orphan’, every pair of eyes on the group of kids began to light up. They were orphans themselves, they exclaimed, and their older brother was leading them around on a tour of the temples. Some admitted that it was as boring as it sounded, earning them a quick reprimand from their tour guide.

“Um, mister, you dropped your tree,” one of the girls said, heaving the potted sapling over her head and offering it to the samurai. Jun took it and mumbled his thanks. He was about to make his exit when the boy dressed up like a Shinto priest stopped him.

“Say, that’s a cherry blossom isn’t it? Are you here for the planting ceremony? I can escort you to the inner gardens if you wish.”

Jun was about to refuse when the kids began jumping for joy. Apparently, planting a tree was more fun than visiting shrines. Unable to find a proper excuse, the brown-haired samurai reluctantly took the boyish priest up on his offer.

The boy’s name was ‘Kiyo-kun’ according to the children that followed him. He was their adopted older brother, more or less.

The two had a conversation en route to the inner gardens, which was far more secure than Jun had expected. The guards at one of the entrances scrutinized him intensely, but became friendly upon the sight of Kiyo-kun at his side. When Jun asked about it, his new companion blushed.

“Well...I suppose it helps when your father is the mayor, doesn’t it? Though that isn’t technically his title, of course, he’s done far more for Hokusei and its people than the Uesugi ever have!” the priest exclaimed. “And now he’s going to bring peace to the entire region. It won’t be easy, but...if anyone can do it, it’s Ichi-sama!”

Shouts of ‘Ichi-sama’ echoed from the group of children, all of whom thought very kindly of the Takeda lord. Jun still had his concerns, however. “This Ichiro Takeda...are you certain he’ll be safe? This may turn out to be a more dangerous affair than he thinks.”

The priestly boy beamed with confidence. “Ichi-sama’s swordsmanship is without equal! He’s bested every swordsman who’s challenged him. They say he’s got the quickest sword draw Hyuga has ever known!”

“Is that so?” Jun asked, his curiosity starting to pique. “I’d like to meet your father in person, then.”

Kiyo-kun was quick to apologize. “Gomenasai, but that’s impossible. He’s currently in the middle of peace talks at the moment.”

“They’ve already started?! Where are they taking place?!” Jun yelled. After Kiyo-kun gave him the location, the samurai shoved the tree into his grasp and ran off without saying so much as a goodbye.

The archers were already in place.

■■■■

The unending thump of a nearby sōzu—a bamboo device made to scare off deer—was slowly driving the orphan insane. Her nerves didn’t come from fear but from an eagerness to get the job over with. Killing a half-dozen Takeda samurai wasn’t a problem. Standing in place for an hour-and-a-half, was.

“Boss is ‘sposed to be back by now. Wonder what’s keepin’ him?” one of the mercs asked aloud. There were four of them in total—five if you included the orphan. The orphan herself wasn’t quite sure who she countered herself among these days, yet all she knew for certain was that these sellswords treated her kinder than Sensei ever had.

That—and a heavy pouchful of ryō—was why she was out here loitering while dressed as an Uesugi with a faceful of makeup on. Apparently, her skin was too tan and her features were too Southern to pass for a proper Uesugi.

“I’m just glad Jun can’t see me like this. He’d never let me live it down...in more sense than one,” the orphan thought. It was the last thought she’d have before a horn sounded off in the distance. That was the signal announcing Lady Uesugi and her entourage had arrived.

Which meant it was time for the mercenary company to begin their attack.

“Forget the boss! It’s time to move out,” the orphan commanded. She and the mercenaries took turns moving on ahead—so as not to arouse suspicion from the security detail—with herself taking up the rear. She slowly made her approach to the teahouse where the heirs of the Uesugi and Takeda were sharing a cup of matcha while watching the cherry blossoms bloom.

The orphan didn’t have Jun’s nose nor his inhuman sense of smell, yet a waft of blood seemed to float within the breeze. It was an unnerving scent when paired with the sight of hundreds of sakura petals dancing in the wind. Yet, determined to focus on the task at hand, the orphan shook off all uncertainty and followed the sounds of a man laughing and a woman giggling.

It led her to a tiny yet elegantly designed teahouse that sat at the center of a pond. There were groups of samurai in red and white on either side of the water, split in half as expected of the two clans that so distrusted each other. Rightfully so, the orphan supposed, considering what the mercenary group was there to do.

Though speaking of mercenaries...the orphan couldn’t find them anywhere. Her concern only grew as moments passed and more of the samurai took note of her presence. Though they were being sly about it, the white-knuckled grips on their sword handles told the orphan all she needed to know.

“Someone tipped them off,” the self-proclaimed ronin thought to herself. “I don’t know where the others are, but...I’m not the sort to quit a job halfway through!”

The orphan didn’t make it ten steps before the Takeda lord took a moment away from sipping his tea to gesture over at her. “One of yours, Kiku-chan? Hm...a female samurai? And her aura...if I’m honest, her presence makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I didn’t think the Uesugi had such a formidable swordsman.”

Lady Uesugi scoffed before raising her fan. She looked around and waited before growing frustrated and raising her hand even higher. This sellsword was supposed to be riddled with arrows by now, yet she approached their teahouse unscathed. A bead of sweat fell from the lady’s brow and ruined her makeup.

“Chikusho! Guards—anyone! This is an imposter! Kill her at once!”

The sound of swords being drawn filled the silence that followed. The orphan kept her sword sheathed and her head low—though to say she wasn’t prepared for battle was a fatal mistake. Her legs were out and coiled in the stance Sensei taught her; though she despised her master and everything he had done to her…

...when it came down to it, the old man’s techniques were good.

As the group found their bravado and charged at her with their swords raised overhead, the orphan closed MC_hisher eyes. She embraced the Jigoku and took in one deep, final breath.

She then performed the Strike of Non-Action: the Jigoku Ittō-ryū’s quickdraw technique. In a flash—in the blink of an eye—the katana that her Sensei had given her flew from its sheath and into her surrounding attackers. It was over as soon as it began; nothing but a streak of blood across the nearby cherry blossoms betrayed the swordmaster’s strike.

That, and the screaming samurai who fell before her, clutching their stomachs as their innards escaped them.

The first to act upon this onslaught was the Takeda lord himself, who stood at the front entrance of the teahouse with his feet positioned for battle. He held out his hand and ordered his retainers to move back—saving their lives. He then addressed the assassin with a voice lacking any of its prior humor.

“I know that style of yours. Tell me! Tell me who trained you!”

The orphan raised their head and stared into Ichiro Takeda’s eyes. The golden glow from her own was answer enough. Realizing the danger she was in, the would-be sellsword ran.

The Takeda and half the city of Hokusei would give chase.

■■■■

“And here I thought you hated that one,” Jun grinned, observing the fight from afar. The brown-haired samurai had taken on more of an auburn shade as of late: his hair, face and kimono was dyed in the blood of his enemies. Of which, there was only one remaining.

The leader of the mercenary band who sold out his own men crept away from the gardens as soon as the fighting started. He would pass by several of the ones he betrayed, cut to shreds and left to seep their blood beneath the cherry blossoms.

As if that sight wasn’t frightening enough, he clambered up a retaining wall only to see a flock of crows waiting for him. After shooing them away, he saw the remains of the archers that were supposed to finish the deed.

“Ah!” he yelled as he slipped on a pool of blood and fell off the other side of the wall. He rolled down the slope of rocks before slamming down into the street. He got up just in time to see a ghostly figure approach him: a samurai drenched in blood, with their katana unsheathed and a trail of drool falling from their lips.

“I wonder,” Jun said as he licked the blood from his katana, “if you taste as well as your underlings do!”

The mercenary screamed as he ran, running through the crowded streets of Hokusei like a rat on a sinking ship. He bumped into and stumbled over all manner of food stands and festival-goers in a desperate attempt to escape his pursuer.

Jun had taken the high road, leaping across buildings and jumping down right in front of his prey. He was of course only toying with him; if he had wanted him to die quickly, the sellsword would already be dead.

“For betraying the orphan’s trust...your death will be slow!”

The chase continued out of the city and beyond the front gates where the sellsword had pleaded with the guards for aid. They thought he was insane—or inexplicably drunk on plum wine—and tossed him away.

A more fitting way to put it was that they ‘threw him to the wolves’.

*AwoOooOOOooo*

Jun let out a wolf’s howl—a near perfect replication of the real thing. It always scared the orphan when he did it, so—as you can imagine—it had become quite a talent of his over their years growing up together.

It scurried the sellsword forward like a rabbit that was missing one of its hind legs. The idea of wearing this one’s ‘paw’ to bring about good fortune was starting to grow more appealing to Jun, who picked up his pace until the two arrived at the lake outside the city.

The ferryman was on his boat fishing while beside him, his wife nursed their newborn son. The vessel was anchored to the shore—or at least it was until the crazed sellsword slashed the rope with a swing of his stolen katana. It took several swings, actually, each more desperate than the last as Jun drew closer.

“What are, mad?! Leave us be!” the ferryman yelled.

When the mercenary stepped foot into his boat, the man who lived by the lake and liked to talk too much became brave. Every good man did when their family was in danger. Unfortunately, while he was able to tackle the mercenary and disarm him of his katana, he didn’t expect his assailant to be carrying a sidearm.

And he certainly didn’t expect to die by a knife wedged between his ribs. But he perished all the same while his wife screamed and their son cried. The mercenary regathered his wits and jumped onto the boat, of which had drifted a couple feet off-shore. As if a bit of water could save him from the wolf.

Jun looked down upon the ferryman to watch the last of his breath leave him. He looked as pathetic as his death had been senseless; the samurai shook his head in disgust. He wasn’t the sort to get sentimental or shed tears, though—that was much more of the orphan’s area of expertise.

Instead, Jun’s eyes went gold as he allowed the Jigoku to embrace him. It’s familiar power flowed from his wrist out to every inch of his body, consuming him in an empty warmth.

“You! You’re just like the ronin, aren’t you?!” the mercenary yelled. He then took a position behind the ferryman’s wife, placing his knife up against her neck. “You yellow-eyed demons! Don’t you take another step forward, you monster! Or I’ll kill her, too!”

The woman was sobbing uncontrollably while the newborn at her breast did likewise. It was a dramatic scene—or at least, it certainly wasn’t a comedic one. Yet Jun began to laugh maniacally all the same.

“The difference between me and your...ronin,” he said, taking a step forward onto the pier, “is that I see this world for what it really is. And I see you for what you truly are: human filth!”

Jun ran forward, leaping into the boat and allowing the Jigoku to handle the rest. It lunged its wielder forward, finding the proper arc for the fatal strike. That strike would come—however, when its target pushed the woman in its path at the last second, there was nothing Jun could do.

“No. That sort of thinking is for the weak,” Jun said to himself as his thoughts returned and as he watched his katana take two lives with a single stab. It had gone through the mother to reach the sellsword behind her. The blade went in deep—deep enough for it to drive itself into his opponent’s heart, causing him to gasp, stagger back and fall into the water with a loud splash.

As drops of water shot out from below, Jun slowly withdrew his katana from the mother’s stomach. Somehow, she managed to keep her newborn held up in her arms even as the rest of her collapsed. She let out a pathetic groan just like her husband had.

“What is it, woman? You want to curse me with your dying breath?” the samurai asked. Though most would be devastated in his position, Jun felt little remorse. From a very early age and courtesy of his father, the brown-haired boy came to learn that this world was hell and that living itself was its greatest suffering.

To spare someone from all that misery with the single stroke of a sword—was that not the greatest gift?

“Onegai...please, save him,” the mother said, using the last bit of her strength to raise her child and offer it to Jun. Again, it was pathetic—enough to make the samurai’s gut wrench. But that wasn’t the only organ that did. “Save my...little one…”

She slumped over as the last of her life left her eyes. The newborn was lowered to the ship’s hull, yelling and fumbling around a growing pool of his mother’s blood. Jun lowered himself too, sitting back and staring up into the darkening sky as the ferry drifted on the water.

Soon, a cold rain began drizzling down from above. He didn’t blink even as drops fell into his eyes; the final words from the ferryman’s wife had put him in a daze. They dug up memories the son of Izō Uesugi thought were long since buried.

“Little One, Little One,” he repeated as his gaze fell upon the newborn screaming for his mother’s warmth. “Oh, Little One. What a shame it is, to be born into this forsaken world. That’s a lesson we all learn. In your case...your lesson came early, didn’t it? Shall I end your suffering?”

The baby cried even more in response, flailing its arms until it hooked free a pouch from his mother’s hip. Curious, Jun grabbed it and took a peek inside. His eyes lit up at what he found.

“Alright, woman. I suppose this will make for a fair payment.”

■■■■

The rain picked up that night, and by the time the orphan wondered her way back to the dojo, it was pouring. She was a mess in more ways than one and exhausted from being chased down alleys and across ravines. The Takeda lord had spared no expense to find her.

Had the orphan not known these hills like the knuckles on the back of her hand, she never would’ve escaped. She didn’t know how Jun would react to seeing her like this...or what lie she’d tell him once he did. The orphan just knew that—after that horrendous botch of a job—she needed some peace and quiet. Some familiarity, too.

What greeted her at the entrance of the dojo...was none of those things.

“How’d your meditation go?” Jun asked. He was calm—ridiculously so as he cradled a crying baby in his arms. The contrast was crazy enough for the orphan to disbelieve her eyes; yet no matter how many times she blinked, reality didn’t change.

“What...what is that thing? Jun! Did you steal someone’s baby?!”

“It’s mother was killed. Some mercenary stuck a sword through her gut. Poor thing was all alone,” Jun said, rocking the newborn in his arms as if it was his own. For the orphan, the idea of Jun being a father at all...was one she only entertained in her greatest nightmares. Everything about this was wrong.

“No...no, this isn’t happening. You can’t take care of a kid, Jun! Even you should know that!”

“Would you rather he grow up as an orphan? How’d that work for you?” Jun teased before turning his attention to the infant. It looked up at him with eyes more innocent and filled with wonder than anything else in the world. “We’ll need to buy a cow in order to feed you, won’t we? Not gonna be cheap...but your okaasan has plenty of coin to spare, doesn’t she?”

The orphan didn’t reply. Instead, she lowered her head before shaking it. Soon, the rest of her shook as well. She was trying so hard to keep her anger bundled inside, but when Jun asked her to give it a name...she couldn’t hold back any longer.

She embraced the Jigoku.

“I know...I know what this is, Jun. You’re trying to guilt me into staying, aren’t you?” she asked, each word filled with raw emotion. “I knew you were up to something...but this?!”

Jun began to chuckle as he laid the baby down on the table beside him. “Accusing me of keeping secrets...that’s real rich coming from you, orphan. Or should I say...ronin?”  Jun’s own eyes went golden as he walked forth down the front steps of the dojo. “A samurai without a master! That’s what your friends call you!”

The orphan took a step back and into the ready position. The one Sensei had taught her. “How long have you known? No...I don’t care! Call them whatever you want—they respect me! They say I’m the greatest swordsman they’ve ever known...and they treat me like it, too!”

“Oh, I’m sure they said a lot of things. But they’re not talking much anymore.”

The woman from Genfu didn’t know what her fellow student was talking about. But what she did know...was that she wasn’t a student any longer. She plunged Sensei’s sword into the mud, sheathe and all. She then made sure her voice didn’t waver.

“I’m leaving, Jun. I’m leaving it all behind.”

The orphan turned around. She couldn’t bear to see his face. The brown-haired boy she had grown up with...the only one she had to confide in, to play with, to fight and to love...she was going to walk away from the one person in this world who knew her better than anyone ever would.

It wasn’t going to be easy.

“Pick...up...your...sword. DO IT!” Jun yelled, his voice more akin to a beast than a man. But the orphan—the ronin—had braced herself for this and shook her head. She had already said all the words left to say.

With what little the brown haired samurai had left of his humanity, while trembling with fury and fear, Jun picked up a nearby sack and tossed it over. “Before you...head out, take this.”

The sack fell beside the ronin and rolled a couple feet past her. Whatever was inside it was round. Though every sense she had told her not to look inside, the ronin felt compelled to comply with Jun’s last request. She owed him that much, at least.

But when she picked it up and took a peek inside, when she was met face-to-face with the decapitated head of the mercenary leader, she couldn’t help but let out a sigh. She really should’ve known better.

“Your family is here! You belong to me!”

Jun ran forth with his sword unsheathed. He wasn’t going to allow the ronin to leave him. To lose his most precious possession was worse than death, and so he charged at the ronin without restraint. His beloved opponent would either draw her sword...or die in a single strike.

*CLANG*

The ronin chose the former. The two exchanged blows while the clouds above them continued to pour down. A wicked wind picked up, too, seen through the blossoms that danced violently across the air. Their fight was no less brutal as the two students of the Jigoku Ittō-ryū engaged in their most intense battle yet.

But fatigue—and something else—kept the ronin on her back foot. Jun could sense it as well: his fellow student’s habit of overthinking was rearing its head in their battle. He took it as a personal insult each time his opponent didn’t go for a lethal blow.

“Come on, ronin! I know you’re stronger than this!”

His opponent spat out a wad of blood in reply. There was a reason the ronin was holding back—and if there was ever a time to voice it, it was now.

“Jun...those sellswords, they respected me! They accepted me as one of their own! You could’ve joined us! I was gonna ask you but...I was afraid of what you’d do. Turns out I had every right to be concerned,” the ronin said, shaking her head. Water began to well up in her eyes. “Come with me, Juu-kun! We can leave this place together. We can find other groups. With our skills, we’d find work all over Hyuga! We’d make more money than—”

The orphan’s proposal was answered with a kick to the gut. The would-be-ronin reeled backwards, tripping over the pot of stew beside the campfire. The remains of that meal soiled her kimono.

“You’ve never understood what we truly are,” Jun said, looking down at his opponent. “We’re predators: not prey. Quit pretending to be one of them!”

The ronin didn’t know who Jun was referring to by ‘them’. At least, not until she began rubbing off the leftovers scattered across her robes. She recalled the night Jun had cooked this meal: it was the same night as the failed caravan ambush that claimed five of the mercenaries’ lives.

They never did find the bodies.

“These bones...these aren’t from a pig, Jun!” the ronin yelled out in horror as she discovered femurs, mandibles and clavicles among the contents of the stew. They didn’t belong to any animal she knew of, and yet—even still, she refused to believe it. She refused up until the very moment Jun forced her to face the truth.

“You enjoyed how they tasted, didn’t you?”

Lightning struck down as the realization hit the orphan. Vomit ejected from out of her mouth as the ronin recalled the taste. It wasn’t that it was particularly tasty—but that it was nostalgic. She now knew what it had reminded her of: the orphans in Genfu.

Those girls...those innocent children...she couldn’t bring herself to accept it. It was too terrible and too wicked. She would rather lose herself than recall those unthinkable horrors, and so…

<The orphan forgot herself.>

Jun’s grin only grew as his opponent fully gave herself over to the Jigoku. To become the ultimate swordsman was to be nothing but the wielder of the sword. This was the thinking behind the Strike of Non-Thought: the most deadly and dangerous technique Sensei had taught them.

“Ergh!” the brown-haired student groaned as his own katana was shoved back into his chest. It was only the flat-end of the blade but even still, the force of the orphan’s slashes were enough to cut him cleanly in two. It was ironic, but the only chance Jun had to survive this onslaught was to kill everything he was.

Jun did just that, forgetting himself as well.

The battle between the two wielders sent sparks flying across the otherwise dark and stormy night. The intensity of their exchange was mirrored by the whipping blossoms that swirled around them. Cries from the newborn rang out into the distance as the battle between Sensei’s students moved away from the dojo.

The fight had taken them down to the pond where the two would often fish for loaches in the summer. Though neither the future nor the past was of consequence any longer. The two wielders fought and lived in the moment, accepting that it was likely their last.

Both were knee-deep in water, now, their bodies hurling through the overflowed pond without restraint. Here, where every movement required much more energy than the last, the brown-haired wielder held the advantage. He pressed it mercilessly until the red line across ‘Ichi’ was exposed and begging to be cut.

It was at this moment, however, that a slight pain pulsed from out of the brown-haired wielder’s right pinky. It was a negligible ache, and yet...to feel anything at all ought to have been impossible while using the Strike of Non-Thought. The sensation was enough to draw the wielder out of their dissociative trance.

Jun became himself once more and—in doing so—he halted his blade mid-strike. The woman before him was far more than a number. She was his greatest possession—the one who had promised to be his forever on the night of their first winter together.

So many years ago, the two had wrapped their fingers together to seal their fate. They were to be with each other forever and ever. It was all Jun ever wanted, and yet...it was all about to come undone.

It wasn’t a fatal slash but a swift kick from the ronin that would prove just as lethal. Jun was pushed out into the center of the pond where the water was at its deepest. Fallen tree branches and lengthy strings of kelp made for a great home for fishes but an even better trap for Jun’s legs.

Snared, the brown-haired swordsman flailed against his unseen enemy. Unable to swim, desperation took hold as he flung out his arms and shoulders every which way in a vain attempt to keep his head above water.

With what precious little breath he had left, he yelled out to the ronin as they looked on from the shallow end of the pond.

“You!” Jun shouted, water flooding into his mouth. “You promised me! To be mine forever! Orphan, I—”

That was all Jun could say before his lips and nose went underwater. His eyes did, too, but not before taking in one final sight just as the dark abyss consumed him.

It was the sight of the orphan walking away.

■■■■

When Jun woke up, he was bent over and retching out water. He was freezing cold, his eyes stung and every part of him ached—his heart most of all. For while he had been out of consciousness for some time, the sight of his beloved leaving him remained fresh in his mind.

“Orphan? Orphan?!” he coughed out a cry. Even as weak as he sounded, his voice seemed to echo through the air. The rain had since halted and the wind died, leaving nothing but an eerie silence to welcome Jun as he staggered back up to the dojo.

At least the baby wasn’t crying.

An immense relief came upon Jun as he spotted the campfire in the dojo’s front yard. It was lit—albeit barely—and had the unmistakable figure of Sensei hunched over beside it. It was an odd posture for a man so dedicated to correct poise even in his old age, yet Jun paid it no mind.

“Sensei!” he shouted, rushing over and nearly losing his footing while doing so. The yard was muddy from the recent rains, and—combined with the battle between himself and the orphan—it looked as if an earthquake had ravaged the clearing.

Landscaping matters aside, Jun ran forth eager to tell Sensei all that had happened. If anyone knew how to find the orphan and return her back home where she belonged, it was the man who raised them. That was his thinking at least, until he neared closer and saw the pool of blood beneath him.

In an instant, all of Jun’s relief turned to fear. In another, it became complete and total agony.

“Sensei! SENSEI!”

Jun collapsed to his knees, using what little strength he had left to embrace the closest thing to a father he ever had. Through his tears, he mourned the loss of the one whose respect mattered to him more than life itself: the one and only man he would ever call his master.

Stabbed through the back, the greatest swordsman of the Golden Era was now no more than a wrinkled corpse. Though his wasn’t the only carcass festering beside the fire. For beneath his master’s body were the half-eaten remains of...of...

It was too terrible to put into words. Suffice it to say, Jun now knew why the baby wasn’t crying any longer.

■■■■

“Five years,” Jun said, overlooking the view of the Clanfields atop a cliff near the dojo. It was the same spot where ‘Tree-san’, an apple tree, once stood years ago. It had fallen over while Jun and the orphan were trying to fetch an apple for their teacher.

Even if it was terrifying at the time, it was a good memory. Unlike this one.

“Five years, Sensei,” Jun repeated, patting down the last of the dirt with his shovel. He overlooked the grave with a sigh before wiping the sweat from his brow. “I will remain here and watch over your dojo—our home—for five years. I will continue to train and dedicate myself to your teachings until then.

“And after that time has passed,” Jun continued, “if the orphan has yet to return...if I find that your chosen heir is unworthy...then I will hunt her down like the prey she’s become.”

The promise was given and then accepted by a gust of wind that made the samurai’s brown curls dance across his face. No—that wasn’t quite true. As Jun took his first step away from the grave and back down the mountain, he could call himself a samurai no longer.

He was a ronin. He had no master and no family...and yet, he did have a path to follow. A path that took him back to the dojo: to the future he was determined to grow and make flourish.

Jun grabbed the pouch at his hip and squeezed to get a feel for the contents inside. It wasn’t gold but something far more valuable: it was what the infant’s mother carried on her when she died. Though she, her husband and child were taken by the horrors of this world…

...something good would sprout from it all in the end. Jun took out a handful of apple seeds and smiled.

“When you come back, orphan, I’ll have an entire orchard waiting for you.”