Shattered Kingdom, Shattered King
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The funniest thing about karate is how Japanese it is. I'm allowed to say that because I'm Taisuke Ishoyama, and I am both a karateka and Japanese. If you're going to feel any pity for me throughout this short story of mine, drop it right now. This isn't a sob story about how some kid of a billionaire banker will always be internally frustrated, its how I got to where I am. At the top, worshipped by hundreds of thousands.
Karate is Japanese, great, but I mean every aspect. The meticulous criteria for the proper strike, the patience and discipline it taught you, the dedication needed to fully appreciate it. When I said meticulous criteria for a proper strike, I mean my dad wouldn't let me move past body punches until a year or so after I started training so when I was 11.
Where Garr sat, on the throne he created...wearing the crown I stole from him.
It must've been a year or two ago...I lose track of time since I logged into this cursed game...
I had turned eighteen a few days ago, my close friend and fellow pop culture and chess enthusiast Shiki Miyodo started off the day like any other, with a video game reference, this time to Skyrim or something. Anyway, turning eighteen didn't mean much in our society besides being legally allowed to drive... being able to compete with other adults in tournaments.
Karate had two main branches here, JKA (Japanese Karate Association) and JKS/JKF (Japanese Karate Shoto Federation/Japan Karate Federation). JKA was completely traditional, only light hand coverings for sparring and only half and full scores. JKS/JKF was a bit of a mix between sport and traditional, but with much more emphasis on speed, timing, and athleticism. Scoring for JKS/JKF was along the lines of modern sport karate with one, two and three scoring.
Either way, Karate had seen an upsurge in popularity after the 2020 Olympics were held in my home town of Tokyo (Featuring Karate for the first time ever), and both JKA and JKS gained a massive new following. Luckily for me, it was decades established Ishoyama tradition to train in Karate-do (both traditional and sport), and I swept all the newbs who thought they could use a trend to look cooler or get babes.
Of course, there were other kids like me who had years and years of tradition set upon them to train whether we liked it or not. Like Hideyoshi and Masao Kagawa. Kumite or sparring was seen as a clash between two schools or families if they were sending two fighters to spar, and also the battle of overall endurance and skill of any karateka (go figure).
The sport style tournaments I had a lot of fun at, mostly because Shiki's cousin Inori went to most to cheer me on, and I enjoyed seeing her come in from Kyushu. The environment was also a lot calmer, kids from other schools were a lot more mellow and sportsmanlike than at traditional tournaments.
Whooo boy...this fight.
So before my brother died he, of course, was trained by my father and his friends at a dojo not far from our home just as I was. Eshiro and another guy his age named Asuo Omura were the star students of two rival dojos, and my dad was really insisting that my big bro win against him should they ever fight. I mean really insisting. Surprise, surprise, 2018 Closed JKA Shoto Cup came and they went up against each other.
Omura wrecked him, it wasn't even close. He went so far as to get two contact violations just for the hell of it, bruising my brother's eye and cheek. Everyone kind of knew this guy was a bit of a dick, except his instructors who pretended they didn't.
My dad heavily reprimanded Eshiro for his loss, the embarrassment from the contact violations, to the family, our dojo his father trained him at...yadda yadda yadda.
So imagine the pressure placed on me when about three years later in the same tourney, I beat everyone prior to, you guessed it. Omura.
JKA fights were very straight foward. Four corner judges holding red and white flags along with a whistle in their mouths. Then there's the ref who stands next to the two fighters at their lines, and the match begins. Omura had...actually a very calm face, so did I...I think.
Anyway, the fight started.
"Shobu! Hachime! (Ready! Begin!)" The ref shouted.
We started bouncing slightly on our knees, traditional style as always, looking into each other's eyes. It wasn't like sport style kumite where you could get a penalty for doing nothing getting a "passivity" warning from the ref, you could just run the clock as much as you wanted as long as you were patient.
Omura was much better than me at this, I was really antsy.
I mean, could you blame me?
The best karatekas from around the country came here and were amazed that the prodigal son of the great Rinzo Ishoyama had reached the finals of any adult category at only age 18. Everyone was doubting me. Even myself I think. You had...like a hundred different chicks shrieking their heads off calling either my name or Omura's.
Why?
Because it just adds to the enjoyment of my ears that's why.
Oh yeah, don't forget all the trendy idiots who filled up the stands, yelling their heads off too or filming it on their smartphones.
And the biggest pressure of all. Everyone knew it, from the trendy idiots to the guys who've been upholding almost a century long tradition. My brother's memory was in jeopardy, right there on the mat.
Anyway, I could describe every detail of Omura's face to you. The furrowed brow, beady eyes, small nose. The guy looked like he wasn't even fighting me, just training like any other day at the dojo. His eyes, I couldn't look away from them. If I did, I'd lose.
The strike. The first strike, it had to come from me, Omura had his counter already stacked for ages prior, everyone knew I was coming for him. But then, the most insane moment of my life happened. I was so delirious from the adrenaline overload that my front kick from my back leg hit him square in the mouth. Omura had seen me move and rushed straight into a body punch expecting to perfectly score on me if I went for the all popular reverse head punch, but my kick was a) unexpected b) fast as lightning) and c) not the strike Omura had countered properly for.
So after my foot bounced off his head, many things happened. The crowd went even wilder, three corner judges blew their whistles and raised a white flag to show that I had gotten a full score, and Omura stumbled with a busted lip. I kiyai-ed louder than I ever have, strong enough to yell above the modicum of noise around me.
"Yaumei! (Stop!)" The referee said.
The referee instantly called for time, checked Omura's lip and the all awaited call came. He decided that because Omura hadn't properly prepared for it and that he wasn't in the proper distance for me to have full control over my strike, he gave me the Ippon score. I lead the fight 1-0 against a fighter six years older than me, and considered the best traditional fighter in the whole nation. With nothing but eight years of training, and pure adrenaline and natural talent.
"Shiro! Jodan mae geri! Ippon! (White! Face level front snap kick! Full score!)" The ref raised his hand in my direction and I bowed to accept the score.
If I wasn't in a fight for my families honor and my brother's memory, I would've smiled.
The fight continued. "Hachime!" He called again.
Omura now was the one who had to come back, and I was running scared. I wouldn't be surprised if you could see it on my face. Omura went for the face punch, and I dodged, moving away.
I think that was the fastest strike I ever had to avoid. And the next one was even faster, he jabbed so quickly into my nose that if he hadn't decided to control it, he'd have knocked me out.
"Yaumei!"
Red flags rose upwards into the air from corner judges followed by whistle blows.
"Aka! Kizami Zuki! Ippon! (Red! Jab punch! Full score!)" The ref raised a hand in Omura's direction and he bowed to accept it, "Hachime!"
Omura was calmer now that we were even, and I was too. However, the memory of my dad slapping Eshiro for his loss was too painful...and it was all Omura's fault.
If my fist hadn't been covered by my white coverings I'd have knocked the poor guy out. We both went into strike at the exact same time, but mine was faster so I cracked him right in the jaw. White flags went up again followed by whistles, and the crowd went wilder.
The ref raised his arm in my direction, "Yaumei!" He shouted.
Omura had stumbled forward again, if he was the tiniest bit weaker I think I would've laid him out. The ref checked to make sure Omura was fine, and he turned to me and penalized me, "Code violation for excess contact! Penalty!"
"Hachime!"
Omura was pissy now, that hit was way out of line I'd admit. But then I blocked his all too fast reverse punch and went in for a reverse body punch. I hit that man as hard as I damn could in the chest, summoning everything I had at that one point.
White flags flew up, "Yaumei!"
"Shiro! Chudan zuki! Wazari! (White! Body punch! Half point!)" He threw a hand sideways towards me to indicate I got the score and I bowed again, "Yaumei!"
Omura knew that the clock was running out and that he'd have to get an Ippon to get ahead. I knew it too, so I did the natural thing and counter. The fastest round kick I'd seen flew towards my body and I swept it out of the air, following right up with a counter jab to Omura's face.
"Yaumei!" White flags flew up at half level again.
We returned to our lines and the ref threw a hand towards me at mid level, "Shiro! Kizami zuki! Wazari!" He raised his hand in an Ippon, "Ippon!"
Omura was pissed the hell off, I could see it in his eyes.
"Hachime!"
He grabbed my left arm to prevent a block and went in for a reverse punch as quick as he could. But strangely, it was slow enough for me to dodge. As we were temporarily tied up together, that's when it hit me. My punch was so strong it disoriented him and he was recovering slowly.
I tripped Omura's leg before he could do the same to me and when he landed on the mat I went in for a controlled punch on his nose followed by my necessary kiyai for the full score.
You know the drill, white flags high in the air, whistles, crowd, "Ippon!"
From then onwards, Omura fought with what I could only assume was a disoriented state because he was fighting much slower than he was prior to my strike. Since I was already ahead by two full scores, and Omura was slower, I just chilled for the whole fight, not even bothering to counter and instead moving away from the attacks I knew were coming.
Time ran out and the ref brought us to our lines with a "Yaumei!" He raised a hand in my direction, "Hach! (Winner!)" and we bowed.
Omura crushed my hand when we shook, and I couldn't really blame him. I had cheated basically.
They handed me the cup and everyone applauded.
Except for my father.
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"Say what you will about your brother, he still refused to fight like that. You're a disgrace to this family Taisuke."
I frowned in the gardens of our estate, still holding my trophy and in my karate-gi and black belt, "Father I'm the first 18 year old ever to win the finals! Why would you-"
"Silence!" He snapped, "Never insult our name and stoop to their level by acting like an Omura. Your brother might've lost, but he was more honorable. You will never be like him. And you have failed to restore our name on the mat."
He walked away, leaving me to sit by myself in the gardens.
My butler appeared, "Miss Asuna to see you sir."
"Thanks Yozo."
She walked up to me and hugged me. "Aw Tai, what an amazing job!"
"Thanks, my uh...my dad doesn't seem to think so."
"So?" She looked at me, "You won."
I sat down on the bench with her, "He's right. Hard as I might try, I'll never be as good as Eshiro. As funny or nice or whatever." I looked at her, "I had my chance to prove that I by winning fair and square tonight on the mat. But I didn't."
"What're you talking about you beat him 4-2?!"
Asuna saw me sigh at my own trophy, "Omura was slower after I hit him in the face really hard. By very little though, but only my father and I caught it. In a fight like that, even if you're a tiny bit slower it matters."
"But you still fought great." Asuna put a hand on my shoulder, and turned my face to hers, "Hey, you won. And I think Eshiro would be proud."
She pecked me on the cheek and rested her head on my shoulder where her hand was.
I wonder...if that was the last time she truly wanted to be close to me.
I threw away my trophy that night, I sure as hell didn't deserve it. I hit up my bro Shiki who trained with Omura, but he said he didn't want it. I mean, I got contact violations to win, who does that and gets away with it?
I know Eshiro would've taken his loss rather than cheat. Be that as it may, no one saw me as myself at the dojo, or at school, or at home. Just as a smaller more disappointing version of Eshiro, the golden son.
My biggest frustration with everything was that everyone saw Eshiro as amazing because he acted under a mask. Being smart, athletic and kinder than anyone wasn't who he was trying to be, its who he was. And yet, everyone expects me to live up to that pretending to be someone else like they thought he did.
Screw them.
Between serving their assumptions and honoring my brother the choice was obvious. Because I missed him more than anything in the whole wide world.
And that anger at never being able to pass expectations based on a stupid lie, is what I funneled into Garr's face through my strikes.
...
Garr's throne was comfortable. But I hated it. I hated Garr sure, but again, I was insulting my brother's memory. I had insulted Asuna, and most of all, the people I meant to serve.
At my coronation, hundreds bowed. I looked over to Oran and Wick, the men I wanted to be my most loyal lieutenants.
I knew they didn't trust me. Or like me. And neither did anyone, not even myself.
My spear was placed across my knees, and slowly I smirked.
I didn't care I couldn't convince Asuna to be at my side as I ruled Aincrad. I had done it all for her after all. But she did the most rational thing and knew I was wrong for usurping the crown.
She didn't have the gall to tell me I was wrong.
And neither did anyone.
Because they were all afraid.
...
There's a small bit of beach where I practice my Karate forms and technique. It would make me happy if Asuna and I built a house together there and lived there. But I knew that she wouldn't accept.
Just the other day I asked Wick if he wanted to learn another form from me on the beach like old times. Without hesitation, he said yes, and I asked why.
He said, "I have to. You're my king right?"
Do I want to be king? No. I just wanted Asuna. And I had failed miserably at that. I won't give Garr the satisfaction of taking back his throne. Because I don't care about the throne.
I'll leave it with an apology letter and a bow. That's my brother would've done. That's what I should do.
No one needs me to sit where I am, and I don't either.
If Garr wants me dead rather than letting me walk off humbly and honorably, then so be it. I know what's right. I simply refuse to admit it.