The Distortion

“Hey brat, come here for a second.”

I’m about sick of this guy…

Laith wasn’t in the brightest mood. The trip had been longer than expected as he wasn’t used to large cities; he underestimated how vast a capital city could be. He never visited any other town or village beside the town of Barka, not even the capital of the sultanate. Compared to Barka, Shin-Taiyo was an entire country all on its own, which wasn’t completely false considering it was the heart of Yamato.

It also didn’t help that the districts they moved between lay on either ends of the capital. After the war, Shin-Taiyo was divided in two with each half under the reign of one of the warring factions. So, not only did Laith walk a long distance, he had to cross a border—in a manner of speaking—while trying not to look suspicious. No easy task being an outsider with distinct eyes and skin complexion, not to mention a huge tiger by his side. To finally arrive at the designated inn was a bit of a relief.

Laith wasn’t tired per se, but he would rather be getting some rest than having to deal with Haru.

“Everything alright, Haru san?” Laith concealed his irritation behind a polite tone.

“You wouldn’t mind a little practice bout, would you?” Haru asked.

Laith sighed. “You’re still skeptical about my ability to carry out my duty…”

Laith quickly realized what this sudden suggestion was about. It was no secret that the samurais he was allied with didn’t particularly like him or his brother, despite the agreement they reached earlier in the day. But Haru seemed to have a personal beef with Laith, even though they only met today.

“I hope you don’t mind if I test your skills myself.” Haru smirked.

Laith was reluctant to accept the challenge, feeling no obligation to comply and give him the satisfaction. But part of him also wanted nothing more than to prove Haru wrong and end this argument once and for all.

What the hell…I guess it’ll be like my usual workout routine before sleep.

“Fine, let’s settle this.”

Laith sought his brother. Adam fell behind, dragging his feet like a walking corpse. And here Laith thought the trip did a number on him…he wasn’t even sure his brother could successfully cross the small yard preceding the actual inn. Laith recalled a time where Adam was the athletic one who easily toyed with him whenever it boiled down to physicality. How the times had changed…

“Adam, get our stuff inside. I’ll catch up later.”

“Hein…something wrong?” Adam said drowsily.

“Nothing, I just need to take care of some business.” Laith said, cracking his knuckles.

“Godspeed little brother. I’m two steps away from faltering…night.”

Adam picked up their bag in a last-ditch effort and trudged towards the inn as if it was the finish line of an endless marathon. He was running on fumes and a long night of sleep was the perfect remedy.

Laith faced Haru again. The baldheaded man wasn’t alone anymore, a young fellow appeared beside him. Kaito, Akira’s son, decided to show himself with a total of three wooden swords. Kaito tossed one to Laith who caught it with ease.

“What is this about?” Laith asked.

“We’re not going to risk major injuries the night before the battle, isn’t that obvious?” Kaito replied.

Laith gave him a flat stare. “I’m talking about you, what are you doing here?”

“If you thought this will be a one-on-one, think again.” Haru said.

“How is that fair?”

“What if you end up facing more than one man at the rear gate? I hope you won’t complain when that happens, or even worse, run away.” Kaito scowled at him.

Laith couldn’t argue back, he made a good point. There was no guarantee he would bump into just one person when securing the backdoor, so it would be beneficial to get accustomed to a similar scenario. Although, he would have some aid beside him at the time of the raid, a giant tiger who…was already snoring in a secluded corner.

“Alright fine,” Laith scratched his head, “Isn’t Akira san joining you?”

“Do not get cocky brat, you are not worthy of facing Akira sama. I don’t care if you held your own against Genjiro, Tokugawa san and Akira sama are not opponents you can compete with.” Haru said, upset with Laith’s outrageous claim.

Laith threw his hand in the air. “My bad, my bad…alright, just co—”

Before he could even finish, Kaito was already behind him, his wooden blade finding Laith’s left flank instantly. The young samurai simply tapped Laith and didn’t focus on power, which probably wasn’t his forte as a swordsman who was still in development, but he did score a point.

And then came the brute. He was clearly slower than Kaito, but his strength definitely matched his bullish build. Laith successfully parried Haru’s blow, and that was when he felt the impact. Laith had encountered very few people who challenged his raw power, so he was slightly surprised when the retainer made his right arm shake. He was undoubtedly better versed in combat than his apprentice.

Laith, during this little exercise, felt as though he was facing a wild bear with a wooden stick while a mosquito was buzzing around him. Then again, that comparison would only fit if he were living before the Distortion since right now a bear wouldn’t pose that high of a threat to him. Damned Distortion…messing with one’s phraseology. Laith wasn’t even sure if that was a proper wor—

A smack to the face…this was on track to being a lovely night.

* * *

Watching from a corner in the small courtyard next to a babbling brook was a drunken samurai. He wasn’t particularly interested in the fight, it just happened to be in his field of vision. Plus, it was fairly rowdy so it caught his attention unwillingly—Haru was mainly to blame for that. Akira’s retainer was always loud whenever he engaged in a fight or scuffle. He sounded like he was cheering himself on, which Genjiro found rather silly. To scream or shout whenever executing a move was a common practice in Yamato referred to as “Kiai”, believed to reinforce one’s blow. Genjiro thought it pointless; he did just fine while being a silent fighter.

No, he did more than “just fine”.

Out of the forty-seven participants in the raid—warrior, scholar or animal—many would consider him the third strongest fighter, Daisuke and Akira being the ones superior to him. Obviously, Laith and Yuuna were not being judged fairly since people didn’t have a reliable account of their level of skill. Regardless of where he ranked exactly, Genjiro was one of the major assets whose contribution was greatly valued during this raid.

Most considered him a screw-up in most fields of life, a layabout failing to accomplish some of the most basic tasks. Hell, Genjiro himself recognized his worth in that regard—or lack thereof. However, everyone recognized his skills with the katana. It was the only domain where he felt in control, confident, assertive even. When holding the blade, he no longer felt like a worthless failure that was simply content with drinking and loafing. Genjiro felt truly alive when he swung his katana and that was the only instance others respected and acknowledged him as someone of worth.

Not that he really cared about what others thought of him, he stopped doing that a long time ago. It was easier that way.

The raid meant little to nothing for Genjiro, but as long as it allowed him to point his katana in any direction, he would be satiated. It was a means to express himself, a feeling to appreciate and a moment to live. Combat was a rare instance where he would completely forget about nineteen years of being treated like garbage, nineteen years being looked at as human scum, nineteen years paying for a crime he didn’t commit. Nineteen hollow years followed by a literal blank. Death.

Overcoming his past was more than he could ever hope for; it mattered very little in what manner it happened, dispassionate samurai or otherwise. Although, occasionally, Genjiro did think he would have been better off as a ninja and not a samurai, just a tool to direct and order.

An utter contrast from the ninja that snuck up on him.

“Yo.”

“I’m surprised you were able to sense me. Laith kun was always startled.” Yuuna said, popping up behind him.

“I’ve had a few encounters with ninjas before; I’ve caught on to some of your quirks, unlike large-sword. Plus, your kimono is not suited for stealth.” Genjiro replied, taking a sip from his gourd.

Large-sword…?

She sat next to him, running her hand through the flowing water. “They sure are energetic this late in the night, especially after walking halfway across the capital.” Yuuna commented on the ongoing fight between Laith and the two samurais.

“Large-sword is a monster who doesn’t get tired; he can go on like that forever. Baldie and that shrimp are just nervous, they don’t wanna think about tomorrow.”

That’s a keen observation from a guy like him…

“And you’re not nervous?”

“No. Should I be?”

Yuuna should have expected that kind of response from a man like Genjiro who was hardly a reliable measurement to gauge human emotion. How sad he must be to feel that empty…

“I realize it’s not often you display passion—if ever at all—but I thought this raid would be somewhat personal to you.”

“If you’re talking about the dead Daimyo, I only met the man once or twice, without even speaking to him. Hard for me to care about someone I don’t know.” He replied bluntly.

“Then why are you doing this? Are you truly willing to put your life on the line without being…um…emotionally invested?” Yuuna realized it was fairly ironic coming from her, but hers was a case common to all her colleagues.

“It’s a chance for me to swing my katana. Besides, sensei asked me to join him and I can’t refuse him. I would gladly lay down my life for him.” Genjiro took another sip from his jug.

Yuuna smiled. “It’s nice to know that you do care about someone at least.”

Genjiro didn’t respond. It was very hard for him to care about anyone or anything, but his sensei was one of the few he did care about, deeply. Daisuke was the man who took him under his wing and practically raised him as the father he never had. Amidst all the glares, insults and mockeries thrown his way, his sensei was the one man who looked past his flaws and treated him with dignity and respect. A man, who not only was considerate of his unique circumstances, but also helped him overcome them. Daisuke didn’t just pity him, he believed in him and his potential, as a Samurai and as a human.

Daisuke would not give up before completely freeing Genjiro from the looming shadow of his past life. Genjiro may have been satisfied with growing as a weapon, but not Daisuke; that wasn’t enough to him. He constantly sought to help Genjiro grow as a person, which was at the core of what it meant to be human. And that was exactly how Daisuke always perceived his student, a regular normal human.

Everyone saw his odd and unique demeanor at the forefront; his uncommon and impressive height did him no favor either and set him aside from most of his peers. Genjiro was an outlier amongst his people, even a couple of foreigners who just set foot in Yamato a couple of days ago could tell. But not to his sensei…or Yuuna for that matter.

When Genjiro suggested they drink a few cups of sake together the night before, he simply thought of it as a one-time chance to enjoy the company of a beautiful lady. However, the occasion turned out to be much more pleasant. He met someone else who didn’t judge him for the way he conducted himself, someone who didn’t give him that recognizable frown that everyone else gave him, someone who was willing to give him a chance.

She didn’t know the first thing about him when she accepted his direct—borderline crude—offer, but she knew better than to prematurely criticize anyone. Being judged as despicable just because she was a ninja was unfair and baseless slander; she would know better than to do the same to others. Her experience had taught her that everyone fought their battles to be where they were, and some battles were uglier than others.

Even though she was practically a stranger to him, he felt that he shared with her more than most people he was acquainted with. He wouldn’t be talking to her right now if he didn’t, he wouldn’t open up to anybody and somehow, she wasn’t anybody. Hell, he never offered anyone to drink from his personal gourd, and never expected anyone to accept—they would most likely be disgusted. But he did offer her, and she did accept.

“Well, looks like you’re right. He does not get tired.” Yuuna said after taking a sip.

“Told you…that large-sword is a monster.”

“Though a little tactless, ‘monster’ is a fitting description for someone who withstood a hundred of my blows without falling…” Yuuna was slightly disheartened by the memory, a memory that was rekindled by a similar scene.

The fight they had been watching had come to a strange end. Laith hadn’t landed a single hit, and yet still came out on top. His two opponents totally overwhelmed him; Haru required his full attention while Kaito freely dealt damage. What they didn’t account for was how stupidly stubborn their opponent was. He suffered blow after blow, but Laith simply wouldn’t fall, he endured it all.

They ran out of breath before they could bring him to his knees or admit defeat. In Laith’s terms, he “out-tanked” them. His opponents objected and considered it their victory. They claimed if they were using real swords, he would have been long dead.

Little did they know…

“Well, I can finally get some sleep now that those clowns are done.” Genjiro said, standing up.

She did the same, handing him back his gourd. “I guess it’s good night then.”

“I guess so…good night.” He walked away.

“Genjiro.”

He stopped.

“If you need anything, I’m right here.”

“Hai hai…” he replied in his usual sleepy voice.