The Distortion

Daisuke too went to visit a dojo, a dojo unlike the others, be it the teachings or the master. Namely the master. The name alone would elevate anything associated with it. He was a samurai who could not be put in the same tier as the rest of the Yamatojin swordsmen. Everyone realized it, and was content with it.

Daisuke opened the paired portal having a symbolic writing inscribed on it with a moderate push. The place was open for anybody who was willing to embrace the Way of the Sword. Or swords, to be more precise. This was a particular place for the samurais who wished to wield two katanas instead of one, which was explicitly stated since the symbols on the door spelled “Niten Ichi-ryū”.

Daisuke first crossed the calm and soothing garden. You could clearly hear the sound of the swift wind caressing the leaves as they slowly rustled down from the trees, eventually meeting the ground. Very few would believe that such serenity could be achieved with so many people occupying the place. Everyone was in deep meditation and one could easily mistake them for being no longer part of this world, Yet, somehow, they were still very well aware of their surroundings and you wouldn’t dare sneak up on any of them. This was the area where students and teachers alike would sharpen their minds and spirits.

A stark contradiction to the garden where peace and quiet reigned, the actual roofed building was brimming with energy and loud shouting emanated from every individual present. For a man unfamiliar with such practices, it could seem like it was utter chaos and disorder, but for Daisuke, this was a wonderful display of discipline and passion. This was very much the area where one would heighten his body, the realm of physicality. The shouts were not random, not at all. They accompanied each offensive maneuver completed when handling both wooden blades, a long being the Katana, and a companion—shorter—called “Wakizashi”.

Dasiuke sat on his knees, after taking off his shoes, watching young ones flourish, pouring their heart and soul into their practice aspiring to reach greater heights. And there was no greater inspiration than the master of this dojo which could only be referred as a legendary figure. As if his name alone wasn’t enough to shake the heavens and the earth, both his retainers were also well-known throughout Shin-Taiyo and their reputation could only bolster that of their superior’s.

One of them was standing before Tokugawa right now.

“Good day to you, Tokugawa san.” she said with a kind yet firm voice.

“Good day to you Tomoe san, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” he stood up and bowed.

He couldn’t help but compare her to his wife, especially in her younger days; he thought she resembled her a lot. They shared the fair skin and long black hair reaching past her waist, tied at the tips. You could easily get enthralled by her charming features and her graceful green kimono, but Daisuke knew a warrior when he saw one, and it wasn’t because of the long and majestic Naginata she held in her hand. Her eyes, her gait, her tone, everything about her oozed a fearsome fighter, and for those who knew her name—very few Yamatojin didn’t—they had no choice but to hold her in high esteem.

She was Tomoe Gozen, one of the oldest female samurais that history had registered. Before the Distortion, her exploits were depicted through epics, illustrations, books and even in modern media through cinema and video games. People initially struggled with this new reality where individuals from distinct eras had collided in one age, even more so when those people were famous and etched their names in the chronicles of human existence. Not only was the temporal warp inconceivable, coexisting with a figure you once considered a legend was rather unthinkable. However, a combination of contemporaries vouching for their identity and the multiplying similar cases—across the world—made it less unthinkable, even if most of them maintained some measure of mythical presence.

“Follow me please, he’s awaiting you.” she said.

“Right away.”

Daisuke’s steps grew increasingly heavier as he drew closer than ever to meet the legendary Samurai, and being led by Tomoe did not help. The voices of the enthusiastic youth were not as loud as they used to be, at least in his head. He was too concerned with how the meeting would unfold and whether coming here would bear any fruit. It got even worse when he came face to face with the second retainer standing back against the opened door.

His head nearly reached the upper frame, a pretty impressive height considering his young age. A young age that would not—realistically—help you make sense of his body and how it was modeled. He had the typical build of a sumo wrestler with visible layers of fat granting him an almost spherical shape. But Daisuke knew better than to take this boy for an unfortunate case of obesity, for under all that fat were probably muscles strong enough to tear the opponent in half barehanded and without breaking a sweat.

Though he may have been a boy, he was no ordinary boy, he was the golden boy, Kintarō. A legendary hero featured in one of the famous tales of Japanese folklore where he is depicted as a superhuman child raised by a mountain witch or “Yama-uba”, as the tale described her. Except he was no mere legend in this world, he was as real and alive as anybody standing near him.

As was the case with historical figures, mythical figures had popped up after the Distortion, walking side by side with the very same people who used to tell accounts of their legends. That prompted the debate of whether these individuals would still even classify as legendary. Dead people coming back to life was one thing, but having characters created from the fabrics of human imagination coming to life…that was something else entirely.

However, when remembering the nature of this lawless existence that obeyed no comprehensible logic, everything could be comprehended.

“Kintarō san.” Tokugawa greeted him by bowing his head.

“Tokugawa,” Kintarō responded…with a shriek.

Despite his appearance, his voice was high-pitched—that of a prepubescent boy—which made for a very strange combination, further enhanced by his bowl haircut and unique outfit. He wore a red belt that opened out at the front into a large embroidered apron with tick tassels at the bottom. Most people found his aesthetic hilarious and downright comical, but anyone who cherished his life had better keep that to himself, even the little kids.

If Daisuke didn’t know any better, he would have thought gravity was multiplied tenfold where he was standing. Alas, it was but the pressure of being in the company of Kintarō and Tomoe who, despite their glaring differences, shared one thing in common: they were formidable fighters Daisuke could never envision himself competing with either of them. They surpassed him in every imaginable aspect and he was by no means considered a weakling. Daisuke earned the respect of many known warriors, but these two present in the room were simply…superior.

Although “superior” wouldn’t do the next comparison justice. Pitting Daisuke against the last remaining person sitting at the table in the middle of the room was rather unfair, and quite frankly pointless. His presence alone was sufficient to know what kind of man he was. There was no need to cross swords to figure out that much.

The man was on the ground, legs crossed, while Tokugawa was standing upright. And yet, it felt like the complete opposite. No, it was much more than that. He had this aura surrounding him that loomed over Daisuke, almost crushing him like a titan standing before a mere mortal. He did not even lift a single finger to assert his supremacy over Daisuke who, despite meeting this giant of a man on a previous occasion, almost collapsed spontaneously on his knees.

It wasn’t necessarily that ominous and chilling fright crippling him down, but rather the sense of being being overwhelmed by a massive presence. An entity larger than human life was pressing against Daisuke’s chest, making it a chore to simple draw breath. Still, he resisted, miraculously keeping his composure and mustering all his resolve to sit—of his own accord, that was important—at the other side, across the table from his host.

“I hope you did not wait very long.” his calm voice was terrifyingly imposing.

“Not at all, Tomoe san was quick to welcome me.” Talking had never been harder for Daisuke.

“It has been a long time since we met.”

“It has been indeed.”

“Much has happened since.”

“Indeed it has, Miyamoto Musashi san.”

The man he was addressing was none other than the “sword saint”, the “undefeated samurai” and the “founder of the two-sword style”. He retained all of the titles he acquired before the Distortion and carried them on even after the mysterious phenomenon. Miyamoto Musashi was, without a modicum of a doubt, a legendary samurai whose name resounded in multiple corners of the world. His legacy inspired countless of fictional works and interpretations, some of which pictured him more like a superhuman than a real samurai.

Ironically, those fictional depictions were closest to the reality of Mihad. The Yamatojin, those fortunate—or unfortunate, depending on the context—enough to have witnessed his skills first hand, were left debating his human nature, fully aware that humans in this world had broken their past limits. Miyamoto Musashi was considered an exception among exceptions, and even trying to compare him to other samurais was a great disservice to him. He was frankly in a league of his own, simply unrivaled under the heavens.

He tied back his dark brown hair in a topknot and wore a trimmed beard. Miyamoto’s clothing was not the ostentatious type one would expect from the kind of man he was, simply putting on an azure kosode and white hakama. He was known to not resemble his peers as he didn’t necessarily abide by their standards, even his natural build went against the common body type of most Yamatojin—being noticeably taller and slightly beefier than average. The usual swords strapped to a samurai’s belt were absent. Then again, Miyamoto was known for beating his opponents with a mere wooden sword. No opponent pushed him far enough to resort to both his katanas…an outlier through and through.

“Although you have requested this meeting Tokugawa san, you never did divulge the matter that shall be discussed. I believe now would be a good time to address it.” It wasn’t an explicit command, but coming from Miyamoto Musashi, it might as well have been.

“I do not wish to waste anymore of your precious time, but I will simply ask that you listen carefully and try to consider my proposition.”

Daisuke hadn’t fully overcome the suffocating pressure exerted by the three people in the room, but he was determined to carry out his request. He already ventured this far, to act like a coward right now would bring him eternal shame.

“As you are well aware, the Fukkatsu festival draws near and while people are getting ready for the festivities, we are preparing ourselves for something else entirely. As you should already know, Nakamura Kensei will host a celebration in his castle that evening and we plan to raid his castle during that occasion.” Daisuke cut to the chase, as per Musashi’s request.

“I assume this is about revenge?” Musashi wasn’t the least bit surprised by Daisuke’s revelation.

“It is.” Daisuke confirmed.

“Do you realize how dangerous your claim is? What do you expect by telling me this?”

“That you join our cause.”

“That is not amusing Tokugawa san, not in the slightest.”

“It is not, and you are correct in assuming I’m not here to ask for your help. Apologies for my tasteless joke.” It was worth a try, Daisuke thought to himself. “I am here to ask that you put an end to this war.”

“I beg your forgiveness, but I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at.” Musashi frowned.

“Our raid, whether you think it’s justified or not, will surely result in the war resuming once more, that is why I am asking you to intervene and stop the hostilities.”

An odd request. It was already odd enough that he divulged his secret with no guarantees, but to ask of them to clean up after him was fairly presumptuous from a man like himself.

“You came to the wrong place, Tokugawa. Have you forgotten that we have stayed neutral during this conflict?” Kintarō asked pointedly.

“I have not forgotten. I am not asking you to join any side, I am asking you to stop both sides and get them to rally behind you.” Daisuke explained.

“So first, you jest about us joining your comp then you want us to clean up the mess you will blatantly create? I think we need to reevaluate our assessment of you.” it was Tomoe’s turn to join the conversation.

“I am not a perfect man, I recognize my flaws.” Daisuke admitted.

“I still don’t understand how you are still willing to go that far knowing the consequences of your actions.” Miyamoto said.

“This armistice is frail and is leading nowhere, we both know that. Sooner or later, the fighting will resume, Kensei made sure of that when he killed Shinji. And now everyone is simply waiting for the trigger to be pulled again, I just happen to be the one who will pull that trigger.”

“You do realize there is no recovering from that.” Tomoe warned him.

“I admit I’m about to commit an unforgivable act but I assure you, Tomoe san, I will get my due punishment, alongside my associates. I still maintain a shred of honor, unlike my enemy.”

“What makes you think we won’t stop you from executing your plan? You are right here at our mercy.” Kintarō took the warning a step further.

It felt somewhat strange to be threatened by a kid, but Daisuke had to remind himself that he was no ordinary kid.

“You said it yourself, Kintarō san, you didn’t take any part of this conflict. If you stop me now, you’d be taking sides.”

“No, we will be stopping you from ruining a merry celebration that people had been looking forward to. They wish to forget about the past year of bloodshed by enjoying their time during the festival, and you plan to turn that into a nightmare.” Tomoe said, steadily raising her voice.

“And I would not be here if I was not conscious of it. I am humbly asking you to end that nightmare.” Daisuke replied, not flinching against Tomoe’s aggressive stance.

“How much more self-centered can you be, Tokugawa san? You seek to satiate a selfish desire and ask other people to deal with the bloody aftermath. Surely you can see the arrogance in you claims, so why would you presume that we will offer our help?”

“Because I believe you would do the same in my shoes. Tell me, Tomoe san, and you too Kintaro san,” Daisuke addressed them, determination in his eyes, “How would you react if someone murdered Miyamoto san, however unlikely that is?”

Daisuke himself was surprised by how well he stood up to those two, when a few moments ago he was barely holding himself together. It was then that he discovered how willing he was to set matters straight, to avenge his fallen lord and not compromise the entire land in the process.

“I will rip him to shreds.” Kintaro answered without hesitation.

Tomoe sighed. “Do you really believe I would react the same way as a hot-tempered boy?”

She was one of two people who could get away with calling Kintaro a boy.

“I do not, I am simply asking you to consider my perspective and understand why it is that I am doing what I am doing.”

“From what I could tell your perspective is short-sighted and will lead to the fall of this coun—”

“That is enough, Tomoe san, Kintaro kun.”

The room fell still. He didn’t shout, nor did he scream. In fact, he didn’t even raise his voice. Miyamoto wasn’t necessarily a commanding person and his subordinates never saw him as an intimidating figure, or even his enemies for that matter. But when he talked, or moved, everyone made way. He didn’t instill fear, he commanded respect.

“I appreciate your concern, especially you Tomoe san, but allow me to speak to Tokugawa san if you don’t mind.” Miyamoto smiled at her.

“Of course not.” She bowed.

Miyamoto turned to face Tokugawa. “Why me, Tokugawa san? You are asking me to rally people behind me and become a leader when you have many capable allies on your side who could take on the mantle of leadership. Yet you came here, why is that?” Miyamoto asked, intrigued by Daisuke’s decision.

“It is true that you have never been known for being a leader, you simply run your own dojo, teach a particular sword style and write some books. You also chose not to fight during this war, despite many people seeking your aid. Some even tried to force you but you stood your ground.

“Your strength, alongside your retainers’, definitely played an important part in that. I can tell—now that I’m here—that you definitely have the ability to hold your own no matter who you are against. That is undeniably a necessary asset if you are to lead this country, strength and might are essential.”

“I can’t just rely on strength alone, Tokugawa san. One could argue that experience is valuable when it comes to ruling, an asset that allowed Oda Nobunaga san to lead this country once again despite the vastly different circumstances. I’m afraid I lack that asset.” Humility was another trait Musashi benefitted from.

“Unfortunately, I don’t happen to share your opinion on this matter. This is a new world and we are but babies learning to walk again, despite our past lives and experiences. This is a different time and I believe different measures are to be considered.”

“I think the rest of the world disagrees with your vision. Most current leaders had already been rulers in their previous lives, surely you cannot overlook that truth.”

“That truth stands, but some of those leaders—as is the case for Kintaro san—had no idea who they were when they first came to in this world. No offense Kintaro san.” he said as he respectfully faced the giant boy—he still wouldn’t dare to incur the boy’s wrath.

A short silence followed Daisuke’s argument. He continued shortly after.

“But that is not all, your neutral stance is, in my humble opinion, key to regaining a lasting peace. It does not matter who wins this war, be it my side or the opposite, the animosity will persist and we cannot afford such vulnerable balance.

“This is a scary world, we are surrounded by powerful nations, terrifying monsters and lots of unanswered questions. That is why you, who have very few enemies, if any at all, are the perfect candidate. You earned everyone’s respect with no grudges held against you and I would say that is—however simple—a solid foundation for a potential rule.” Daisuke’s words resonated strongly with everyone in the room.

Miyamoto cracked a smile before he responded. “I am truly flattered that you think so highly of me, but flattery alone will not be enough to convince me of carrying this heavy a burden.”

“This is not flattery, I am simply putting my trust in a capable man fit to carry that heavy burden. That is why I chose you over my own allies.”

“You do not know me.”

“Please Miyamoto san, the whole country knows who you are.”

Miyamoto smiled. “True. But what if you didn’t truly know me? What if I end up divulging your secret to your enemy for example?”

“Then I would have misjudged one of the greatest men our country had given birth to, and I refuse to believe that.”

Daisuke was no longer pressured by anyone in the room. He just dared Miyamoto Musashi to ruin his own legacy that everyone acknowledged, leaving the “Sword Saint” with no choice but to live up to the standard that everyone held him to. Luckily, that was the real him.

“Do not fret, your secret is safe. However, I cannot offer you an answer right now. I do not wish to make promises I will not uphold.”

“Nor am I asking you to do so, I simply want you to consider my proposal.”

“And I will, I can promise you that much. You asked me to listen carefully and I believe I did.”

“And for that, I am grateful.”

Tokugawa let out a sigh of relief, despite the conversation not coming to a clear conclusion. This seemed like a daunting task, not to mention almost suicidal—a couple of threats were thrown his way after all. But ultimately, this was a success, however minor. He considered it a small ray of hope that would eventually become the sun to shine across the entire country once again.

“Now that we got the main topic out of the way, I suppose a cup of tea is necessary. Wouldn’t you agree, Tokugawa san?” Miyamoto still wore the same smile on his face.

“Thank you, Miyamoto san, but I am afraid it is time that I take my leave.”

“Ah, so soon? You don’t visit us very often, I should at least make it a memorable visit when you do.”

“Believe me, meeting the Sword Saint and his honorable retainers is memorable enough for me.” Daisuke stood up. “Thank you for accepting me inside your dojo again, it has been a pleasure and an honor to meet all of you.” he bowed to each person facing him separately.

“I’m sure I can speak for all of us when I say we were also glad to have you among us today. And Daisuke,” the legendary samurai paused shortly, “just Musashi is fine.”

Miyamoto and his retainers, in return, bowed to him as well.

“I appreciate that greatly, Musashi san.”

“I wish you safety and good fortune in the days to come.” Miyamoto concluded.

Both men knew that last phrase was stated purely out of courtesy, for one certain bleak outcome was inevitable no matter how the raid would play out. At the end of the meeting, Musashi, Tomoe and Kintarō were fascinated by the fact that even though Daisuke was walking a path fueled mainly by revenge—dubbed by many a selfish motivation—he still very much worried for the good of the entire country.

Him showing up that day, confronting them with such bold claims, was proof that Daisuke was willing to go a great distance in order to ensure that a bright future would be secured. And Miyamoto Musashi could not afford to disrespect such resolve by denying him without considering some options. At the time, he could not fully decide whether he would accept Daisuke’s offer or not, but he had something in mind.