"Hey kid. Mind leaving us your name?" the hotelkeeper asked to the silent figure.
'I am the Wanderer, nothing more, nothing less.' The boy thought. The occupants of the now demolished dining room stared as the boy turned and limped out into the pouring rain.
A week later, a family stopped by the same hotel. They checked into a room then attended dinner in the sitting area.
"Whatcha selling, sir?" the waiter asked, serving the young man a pot of tea.
"Kitchen knives and reverse cut knives. I made them myself." The man replied.
"Ah, so you're the ancestor of the famous sword smith of the Bakumatsu era. It's a pleasure to meet cha." The waiter said, bowing. The man reddened in embarrassment.
"It's a family tradition. All the men in our family learn to make knives when we're ready to uphold the family shop. My father taught me, his father taught him and so on for fourteen generations. Soon I shall teach my son, Iori the craft and he will continue the tradition."
"I was wondering, why we are all dining in this room?" the woman asked, a four-year-old perched on her knee.
"There was a brawl last week, and it really made a mess. The other staff says that a kid stopped the fighting with one sword blow."
"Oh my! Did anyone get hurt?" the woman asked.
"A good number of bruises, but amazingly, no casualties." The waiter lowered his voice "Rumors say that the kid sliced someone in half, then after the fighting stopped that person was put together again, and it turns out, he wasn't even harmed! Not a scratch! The kid was a stranger, only here for a meal, and he freaked out the worst brawler in the century. Strange thing is he didn't say a word. Just smiled the whole time. Really scary…the staff said he talked in people's minds."
"You said not a scratch? That's the reverse cut, no doubt in my mind. May I demonstrate on some vegetables?"
The waiter and the owner of the hotel came back, lugging a giant parsnip. The man removed what looked like a regular kitchen knife out of a case, sliced the parsnip in half, and then put it together again.
"Amazing. Just amazing." The crowd murmured. They began jostling, cash stuffed in their hands, begging to buy a knife. The knife smith sold knives until only his display set was left.
"Whoa, you're good. Well you what, I'll let you all stay here, free of charge for as long as you're in town." The owner said.
"Thank you for your hospitality, sir." The knife smith replied. The little boy hopped into his father's lap.
"Tank u!" Iori said, laughing.
'Maybe I'll meet this mystery boy.' The knife smith thought privately as he settled down for dessert.
Four days passed before the silent boy was seen in public again. He was limping heavily, his clothing soaked from the recent rain. Hunger gnawed at his stomach as he came across a house with a shop attached. The boy found a tree close to the house and curled up in the branches, shivering. An hour later, he woke to a voice shouting at him through the sheeting rain.
"Hey kid! Get down from there!" a young man in an apron was standing at the foot of the tree. He saw the human figure plainly, lying in the upper branches, staring down at him, smiling.
"It's not safe to be in a tree during an electrical storm! Come down before you get fried!"
The figure finally stirred, crawling down the opposite side of the trunk to sit in the mud. He looked as if he was someone's chore boy, his clothes torn at the sleeves and collar. Shivering, the boy struggled to his feet and began to limp away…
"Wait, please. Come inside and warm up. You look to have a bad chill." The man yelled as a bolt of white lightning lit up the sky.
'W…why?' the man heard the boy's voice in his mind, a small, timid voice. He ignored the idea of this boy talking in his head.
"You're hungry, aren't you? Come in." The figure followed the man inside halfway before he sat in the mud a second time; his hands clamped around one foot. As the man kneeled to examine the boy's foot, a bolt of lightning lit the sky again. Bloodsuckers feasted on raw, ragged bloody flesh, bloated but firmly attached. Strangely, the boy was still smiling. The man helped the boy stand and get inside.
The boy sat in a spare room, wrapped in blankets while the man's wife removed the bloodsuckers off his feet.
"How did this happen, child? Do you have shoes?" the boy shook his head no, still smiling. The four-year-old sat next to the boy, handing him toys.
'No, I have no shoes.' The woman looked up at the boy.
"You're…telepathic?" she asked, washing the infected cuts with a soft cloth. The boy bowed his head as if ashamed, nodding.
'Nobody thinks of telepaths as people anymore.' He thought.
"What is your name?" the woman asked.
'…Seta. Just Seta.' He thought.
"Ah, I'm Carina, and my son Iori." Iori laughed, banging two wooden blocks together. "Iori is only four but he's a real chatterbox…when he wants to." Carina explained. She noticed Seta's eyes were duller then when she had seen them a few hours ago. "How come you can't talk?"
'…I don't know. I'm used to it by now. Everyone thinks I'm a bad thing and shoos me away …just like at the …other place…the bad place.' Seta looked miserable, his words weren't stringing together.
"Bah pace? Wah bah pace?" Iori asked, looking at the stranger.
'I…don't…want…to…talk…bout…it…' Seta's small form slumped into Carina's shoulder, unconscious. Carina's surprise was replaced by fear as she felt the boy's forehead; he was burning hot to the touch; the chill replaced by a vicious fever. The boy's skin was sticky with sweat, the color of curdled cream.
"Mama? Wat's wong? Wha wong wi sita?" Iori asked, his eyes reflecting worry.
"Iori…go get your father. Quickly, Iori!" Carina whispered, fearful of the next couple of hours…
The boy lay on a soft bed, a soaked towel covering his eyes and forehead. His temperature had dropped out of the danger zone but he seemed too weak to move. Carina had bandaged his feet and now watched over him, a book held up to her eyes. Seta had slept for two days already, his color and temperature going slowly back to normal. He slept quietly now, stirring from dreams. When Carina had put him to bed, she noticed half healed bruises and scars on his arms and back. 'This boy must have had a hard life, look at these scars.' She thought, guessing the wounds were from sleeping in trees.
Seta woke at that moment, sweating profusely.
"Good, you're finally awake. How do you feel, Seta?"
'Miss Carina? I...I'm fine, I think. Ah, my name isn't Seta, its…Sojiro…Sojiro Seta.'
The boy watched Carina wipe her eyes…she had been crying…but why?
"I'm glad you remember your name, Sojiro. Do you have any family…friends?" The boy shook his head.
'No, no one. My master disappeared in a battle. His servant took care of me. I was my master's right hand man. I remember he wanted to take over Japan…'
"That's an interesting story. Would you like to stay here? It's no problem for us. You can have this spare room if you like."
'…ok.'