Chapter 2: Chapter 2
(Five Years Ago)
It was a rainy night when Neo and Kojiro first encountered the Xiong family gang. They were under a "borrowed" umbrella liberated from a restaurant's coat rack.
Kojiro was still twelve back then, and Neo was a mere ten.
It was downright pouring, and the gang was making their rounds in raincoats. What they wanted… was the umbrella.
It was a nice umbrella. Neo had liked it, due to the obnoxiously bright color scheme of bright pink and white. It stood out horribly amidst the dreary grey walls of the area between the slums and the middle class district.
Speaking of their traveling plans, they had also been liberating various items across the richer districts. Notepads from hotels, a bit of tea-flavored ice cream (which Kojiro appreciated) and some nice food, along with some cloth from a store that they smuggled out from a store under Kojiro's baggy white shirt.
Many people along the way had made the expressions when people appreciated cute things, which Neo still was.
Still, Neo wanted to be terrifying! An unshakeable, intimidating yet calm presence like Kojiro was when he held anything resembling a sword in his hands.
It was now, under the rain, that he excluded the same pressure. Despite being horribly destitute, despite being a mere child, his presence was undeniable. Clutching a laundry pole in his hands and an umbrella in the other, he was a mystical presence.
"Oy, you randos! Give us that umbrella!"
"And why should we?" Kojiro said calmly, handing the bag in his hands containing the cloth to Neo, who staggered under the weight. Still, she was smiling viciously, in contrast to Kojiro's emotionless face.
"These raincoats are horrible! It's like they're made of paper."
"…And for that reason, you're going to steal our only protection against the rain?"
"We're the mafia! We can do whatever we want within our turf." One of them said in a yellow raincoat.
"I don't think that's how it works…" Another one in a blue raincoat said, scratching his head through his raincoat. The circular sunglasses that they wore as a part of their uniform was dotted with raindrops.
"Whatever. Now give us that umbrella, or we'll shank you." A red sword was flashed, the rain pinging off of the blade and trickling down onto the pavement.
Contrary to the shrinking in fear that they expected, Kojiro instead smiled.
"I haven't had a half-decent fight in a while. This is a welcome opportunity.
Then, he stepped out into the rain, the pouring water instantly soaking him. However, it did not perturb him at all. His eyes were looking straight forward through the endless torrent of rain and at the gangsters, who grinned and charged in carelessly.
One flick of the laundry pole later, and it was already poking somebody's throat. That particular thug choked and recoiled, while the other shouted in rage and swung the sharp blade.
Kojiro met the sword by the tip and then flicked it away with a gentle movement of his wrist, the long drying pole meeting the sword and misdirecting the swing entirely. Kojiro had always tried to explain the intuitiveness of his swordplay, but Neo, being a child, never understood.
It was still so very elegant. It was like water flowing past rock, which was what his Large Rock Style of swordplay was about. A rock was invulnerable to sword strikes, but it had a large mass behind it. Kojiro's sword style involved misdirecting the opponent's strikes until one overextension resulted in a mistake that Kojiro would then lunge forward to attack, like a boulder rolling down a cliff.
At this moment, the off-balance thug was hit on the side of the head by the laundry drying pole. The gangster flared red, shook his head, and then recovered. His fellow gangster in the yellow raincoat also recovered, and together they stood up in loose stances.
"We've got aura, you brat! One cheap shot isn't going to take us out."
"And you're dead for poking me with that stick." The other said, sunglasses now crushed and forgotten on the street.
Kojiro merely looked at them again, sword at the ready.
It was a silent battle, punctuated only by the soft whump of pole on wet cloth. Pieces of yellow and blue cloth were torn apart by the jagged end of the pole, landing on the ground like forgotten petals beaten off the flower by a storm.
Kojiro did not pursue them after they ran, promising vengeance and another fight at one of the local bars. This oddly mundane version of the monohoshizao was quite the makeshift weapon, and even if it was a hint shorter than the original, Kojiro could deal with the handicap.
(After all, compared to the fierce strikes of the fifth holy grail war's Saber or the fast paced combat that was fighting against that red archer, these thugs were nothing.)
Kojiro felt the irony of the situation. This time, he was the Poseidon in the fight. The one with overwhelming speed and power compared to the clunky movements of his opponents. Was this what Poseidon had felt when fighting him at first?
The rain had just made the comparison much clearer.
Then again, it wasn't Kojiro's place to wax on poetically. He would leave that to the historians or artists dramatizing his life.
…
The second time Neo and Kojiro met the Xiong gang was in their bar.
He had arrived at the bar, Neo stubbornly following. The moon shone behind them as Kojiro destroyed the flimsy lock with one swing from the laundry pole, pushed open the door, and entered.
"You…." One thug nursing several bruises on his face said.
The fight began quickly. Contrary to the two on one duel that had occurred on the streets, this one devolved into a full-on brawl. Responding to the violence of their fellow gang members, each of them grabbed their weapons and charged recklessly at Kojiro. Thinking that they could subdue this unexpected intruder with numbers alone.
Kojiro was like a shepherd tending to his sheep, with his metal pole as the crook. A wide sweep at face level forced all of the combatants back, and the long length of the pole prevented other weapons from striking at him.
It was like fighting the lahmu in Babylonia once again. Tough enemies were surrounding him from every side, with little technique to speak of but brute strength.
But brute strength and the mentality of a mob was easy to predict. He was no Benkei, performing a heroic last stand on a bridge, but they were still samurai all the same, even if Sasaki was a wandering, masterless variant instead.
The pole twirled and whizzed through the air, hitting the heads and abdomens of the men, creating a tumbling mess of men tripping over each other to get to Kojiro. Neo was peeking in from the door, without a hint of worry for Kojiro's wellbeing.
It was understandable, considering the overwhelming odds that their opponents were facing. Kojiro was a heroic spirit, after all. A heroic spirit in a child's body, but for a heroic spirit that dealt only with the realm of skill and not brute strength, the handicap wasn't as large.
At some point, the gangsters finally gave up, and Neo accepted the position of enforcer for Kojiro, who was already turning to leave.
They had secured a home, shelter, and suitable amounts of power as a high ranking member of the local yakuza. Neo didn't understand Kojiro's Japanese terms, but understood the meaning anyways.
Their motivation to join was simple. The darker side of cities held more skilled combatants than the more lawful side, and Kojiro had no purpose but to fight those who were strong to hone his technique.
Being an enforcer was just a means to the end, and Neo had to explain the benefits that came with such a position to Kojiro via notepad for him to understand.
But now that Kojiro had the position, what was he going to do with it?
He didn't know, and so the next day, the leader of the Xiong clan sent somebody to commission an exceptionally long katana as Kojiro stood on the roof, swinging the now slightly bent laundry pole, and striking at imaginary birds.
Kojiro had already done the same for five years, and would stay like this for many more.
He would wake up early, have some crude tea and breakfast, go practice his sword swings, have some rice as lunch, practice some more, and then have dinner. During the night, he would go fight the disappointing enforcers of other gangs, or answer the challenges of equally disappointing huntsmen hopefuls.
Many viewed him as insane. Some viewed him as a machine. Neo viewed him as merely eccentric.
But Sasaki Kojiro continued to practice. For what was he, but a master of the sword through endless repetition?
(And like a cardboard cutout, that was his only characteristic. He was just an empty shell of a man, filled with the conceptions of others about his previous incarnations, and pursuing a level of skill that only existed in the realm of fiction.)
Kojiro, amidst his reminiscence, smiled sadly as his arms worked through another sword swing aimed at nothing in particular.
This situation sounded familiar. The image of a red haired, yellow eyed youth came to mind, and he wondered…
How was he now?
And what lay at the end of the road of chasing that impossible dream?
…(Present Day)...
It was that time of the week again. Neo conjured up a block of illusionary glass and made it fall on his head to interrupt his sword training, before motioning down the stairs.
Kojiro sighed.
"Which one is it this time…"
Neo pointed to the north.
"Those drug addicted members?"
Neo mimed shooting a gun.
"Their champion uses a gun?"
She nodded, and Kojiro sighed.
"For once, this may be a challenge. Let us go."
They walked down to the bar front, Kojiro slowly putting on the purple robes that many said were an abomination to fashion. The purple of the mistralian style robe and the orange and green of Kojiro's features made Kojiro's usually serious expression slightly less intimidating.
Neo held out a hand, and Kojiro shook his head.
"Again, I will not have my aura unlocked. It is a construct given to us by higher beings, but humanity has gotten further without such gifts than with it."
Neo nodded, but there was an understandable nervousness to her glances and nonverbal communication attempts on the way.
Speaking of Neo, Kojiro had never been …the best of influences.
On the streets, he had frequently injured people… more than he would have liked to, and instead of feeling the usual disgust, Neo was… excited. Almost grinning in sadistic glee.
Kojiro supposed it didn't matter that much. In their line of work, the hesitance to kill could prove the end of a career, and even upon his "death" in one of his incarnations, he still felt admiration for Musashi's ingenious plot to use a paddle instead of a sword, distracting him, and blinding him with the sun.
Even if it wasn't a proper duel of the sword, it was still a battle of wits, and that in itself was honorable in its own way.
At least Neo wouldn't try and stab him in the back. After all he was her pseudo-older sibling, and having him alive was more beneficial to her than not. Or maybe in that slightly twisted psyche, a sense of kinship had formed?
Kojiro wouldn't know. He himself was distorted on the topic of human emotions.
On the topic of the job, they were walking north, where the turf fight would begin. To protect the livelihoods of both gangs, they had agreed to host a fight in an abandoned building.
They entered the building, Kojiro taking the sword off his back to fit through the low doorway.
"The Xiong dogs actually showed their face here, huh?"
Kojiro nodded, and cast a glance up and down the enforcer of the other gang. It was a man wearing a black hat and leather jacket, with an old fashioned pistol on his waist and a whip coiled on his belt. Judging by the outfit, he was obviously a rogue huntsman, a student or graduated huntsman that got lured into the more criminal side of the world with promises of money and … other benefits.
"… Shall we begin?" Kojiro said, drawing his sword. Neo retreated back to the doorway, and although she was adept at fighting, she was nowhere near Kojiro's level and was content to watch him battle a huntsman.
"When this rock hits the ground, we fight." The huntsman said, nodding to the lackeys he bought a long. "What's your name, by the way? Mine's Verdant."
"Sasaki Kojiro."
"You Mistralian?"
Kojiro nodded. Mistral, as it turns out, had many cultural similarities with Japan.
"With your orange hair and green eyes, you don't match your name."
"I fail to see how my physical traits impact our duel."
Silence followed that statement, and Verdant continued talking after the combatants had finished analyzing each other.
"Anyways, I'll be make sure to remember your name as I put a bullet through your gut."
The rock was kicked. It arced through the air as Kojiro lowered his stance, holding the monohoshizao next to his face. The huntsman, however, made no move whatsoever. He just smirked as the rock hit the ground.
Then, the gun was drawn. With a sharp crack that echoed throughout the room, a bullet was fired.
Sasaki was too slow to get out of the way of such a shot, and thus, he was shot in the stomach. The piercing pain shot through his body, and-
No. that's not what happened.
The rock was still in the air, and in that moment, Kojiro predicted his opponent's move. His taunt made it obvious where he was aiming, and he had already began to make his sword dip to deflect the bullet.
Now, the rock hit the ground.
The bullet, flying straight at his sternum, was deflected by a flick of the wrist. It hit the fore end of the blade, rattling the thin metal and sending vibrations through Kojiro's body. He was harshly reminded that he wasn't in the vessel of a heroic spirit, but of a normal human.
The deflection wasn't enough, and the bullet had grazed his leg. Still, not letting the weakness show, Kojiro took a step forward, and-
In the next second, the gun was cocked and another bullet was fired, Kojiro advanced a step, and accompanied his advance with a sword strike, hitting the bullet towards the ground. The deflected projectile barely missed Kojiro's foot.
His opponent was no god, but a bullet was as swift as one.
The huntsman, Verdant, had stopped the volley prematurely, and reached for his whip. Only the ninja in feudal Japan used anything like whips, and Sasaki never exactly encountered many of them (due to a lack of assassination attempts on an obviously destitute samurai with no political ties), but they were difficult opponents from what he had heard.
The whip uncoiled and whipped towards his torso, and Kojiro sidestepped the weapon, and even if he evaded the initial attack, the whip was coiling around him.
Which was why, now, with his guard wide open, Kojiro chose to attack.
"Hiken."
Sensing the change in Kojiro's demeanor, two shots were immediately fired in rapid succession. The whip was abandoned, but Kojiro had to abandon the beginning of his setup to dodge.
"Very clever." Verdant said, holding his smoking gun and grinning widely at Kojiro. "You're much better than the rabble that usually challenge our gang. Are you huntsman trained?"
"Self trained." Kojiro replied, keeping an eye on Verdant's gun.
"Also, the fuck kind of color is Kojiro?"
His finger twitched, and Kojiro immediately activated fade out, and settled into his stance.
The pop of the gun did not matter. The smoke that followed did not matter. The only thing in Kojiro's world was the bullet and his sword.
"Hiken." He muttered, furthering the amount that he sank into his trance.
He thrust his sword forward, forming a spiral in the air as the tip of the sword met the bullet. He felt a mild sense of disappointment as he didn't feel like he was performing three actions as once, but his strike hit the mark.
"Tsubame Gaeshi."
The world sped up again, and the bullet was deflected straight back at Verdant, though with less velocity due to the sword that had cut a groove into the bullet.
The bullet hit Verdant, ripping through his leather jacket and making him flare green with aura.
Said combatant looked at Kojiro with a look of uncharacteristic fury, and then charged forward, a dirk now in his hands after being drawn from his leather boots.
This situation was child's play for Kojiro, who immediately knocked the dirk out of Verdant's hands, and with another strike, forcing him against the wall. Verdant fired his last bullet as he fell backwards, and it hit Kojiro straight in the arm. The knockback from the bullet made him stumble backwards, and with this opportunity, Verdant leapt forward as Kojiro regained his footing. His gun was pressed against Kojiro's chest and Kojiro's katana was on his throat.
"Now, I still have aura and you're already bleeding." Verdant sneered, green eyes staring into Kojiro's own green eyes. "And even though we look like we're in a stalemate, I have a gun and you have a sword. Which do you think kills faster?"
His eyes glowed etherally, and Verdant's grin widened.
Kojiro, however, just pressed his katana into the back of Verdant's neck. He flared green, and with a final particle effect, the signature noise of aura breaking sounded. Kojiro then followed up with a slash straight across his chest, and Verdant wheezed as he collapsed onto the ground.
"But-my semblance- you should have unconditionally accepted my lie! My semblance guarantees that!"
"On the battlefield, there is only one truth, and that is what you see by your own eyes. It was bold of you to assume that I was listening there. And your gun only has room for six bullets, and none for a seventh."
Their rival gang begrudgingly accepted defeat, and Kojiro walked back to the bar with Neo and the negotiator their leader, Old Man Xiong, had sent along with them. Said negotiator was chattering amicably about how their deal would secure them more territory, and how Kojiro was at the forefront of securing this benefit.
Kojiro, however, was looking back at his attempt at the Tsubame Gaeshi. He had succeeded with cutting the bullet in the end, but it wasn't what he wanted.
Neo had to accept their bonus pay for them as Kojiro immediately went onto the roof and thought about the fight.
He looked down at his calloused hands, and wondered.
"What was I missing?"
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