AUTHOR'S NOTE: I just want to say that the character "Mark" in this story is actually Mr. Satan. Yes, he really is a whole year younger than Yajirobe. That was his real name given to him by the creator of Dragon Ball, and I wanted that to be clear by this point, although I do allude to it quite a bit from now on.


Appliances have gone berserk. I cannot keep up. Treading on people's toes… It's all their fault, really. Makare is going to kill me (if he finds out), and Elijah watching over my little brother, Mark. Not to mention, someone stole my ball. Well, they should know better. Both of them should. These samurai need me more than I need them. I am no ally to them. They need me.

I make sure no one is around while I do this. If that brute, Naigo finds me, I'm dead. Simple as that. I can't let this go through, however. Without some assurance, without some backup plan, I am a fool. I place another charge on the stalactite to my left. Yeah, I'm the cave I ordered General Blue to kill a handful of monks. I don't know where they went, but the bodies aren't here right now. Lucky for me.

I have coated all of the explosives in a thin veil of dirt to hide them from sight. I'm sure no one will see them. There are twenty-eight in total, and all are in place. If I activate them, they will collapse this cavern, and kill Makare, Naigo, and all their men. Then, I roll over and carefully creep out from behind the rocks. I make sure none of them are looking – and they aren't. There are only a few stragglers off on the other side, and it looks like they are still putting up camp. Good thing I got here before the main bunch did.

I carefully crawl out of the opening, and stumble back onto the trail. Igaron Mountain is a beautiful place, really. I'm sure I'd like it more if my twisted ankle wasn't still hurting like a badger in a beehive.

My understanding with Makare is simple: I give him money, he doesn't destroy my winery. He doesn't kill my brother Mark. He leaves us out of the land squabble. Really, that sounds worse than it is. Without my resources, he couldn't pull of any sort of attack on the Academy anyway, but I'm still worried he will break under the pressure and come after me.

Elijah is more difficult for numerous reasons. One, he's not as bloodthirsty as Makare. I don't think he cares about anything. His parents owned our land before us, so he has always retained an interest in my dealings. Of course, when I found a small orange ball in the house, he was quick to request it, but I never gave it to him. Now it's gone.

The monks are dead. I ordered it. If only they had killed Naigo too, that would have been really special. That crazed monk-samurai-whatever is too unstable for me. If he somehow learned what he said he was going to… well, that's why I'm here. Once he gets out of control, I press my button, give the voice command, and the explosives go off. Ideally, all of them will be in there when it happens, but if not, I have other ways to finish them off. Too bad the Red Ribbon soldiers couldn't stay around. Blue gave me notice that they needed to leave on a separate assignment to find some Dragon Balls. Whatever those are.

As I walk down the mountain, careful not to trip on my bad leg, I look out over Orange Star City. A long, uninterrupted section of smoking grey is manifesting itself over the northern sector. I sigh. I don't know what the good General is up to. At the very least, the commotion is nowhere near my house.

The mayhem and paranoia that accompany the army makes me to be happy that I live in the town center. Wherever the army goes, they will bring some type of drama with them. That can be assured. I know it from personal experience. Last time the Red Ribbon was near my house, and some kids broke onto my property and stole some fruit from my trees.

Snot-nosed little punks.


There was a fire creeping up, ensnaring the paper with its brightness. In no more than a moment, the dead, black piece of paper fell to the ground, and what ash remained of it smoldered over itself. It fell into a pile of likewise ash, but much of what already lay was quite cold.

Click.

The lighter sparked again, sending another burst of flame into a thus un-tampered with piece of paper, and the cycle began anew.

Harotu was sitting inside a building, though to call it that any more would be an overstatement. The windows were shattered, and the door was long missing. Inside, the aisles of food and parcels were thrown about; several rows had collapsed in on themselves, and there was a white dust coating all of it. Harotu was pinned up against the back of a fallen row of canned food, peeling pieces of paper off, and setting them on fire with his own lighter. He bowed his head as a little more of the ceiling caved in above him.

There were a few other refugees inside, namely the shop owner himself, but they kept to the far wall. Yajirobe was sleeping, covered in debris, in the far corner. Only Harotu seemed to be conscious. He glanced over at his fellow samurai-wannabe, then threw a can of soup at him. Yajirobe grunted awake, and scowled over at him.

"What!"

"They're gone. We can go," Harotu replied.

"Yeah, I'm not going anywhere," Yajirobe said, gruffly. He rolled over, his back facing Harotu, and did not speak again.

"Whatever, man."

Harotu hopped up, pulled his grey hoodie over his face - nestling him into a chelonian state - and ventured out into the streets. Though it was, as previously said, only half past one, the district was silent. There were none out in the open, or those who were lay dead, bleeding long lines into the sewer bars. Harotu had not, at first, deemed the damage to be so severe – he had thought Blue's tantrum was local. But not like this. This was bad. In front of him, as he squinted his eyes of out irritation of the floating dust, Harotu saw, clearly, the gaping maw of destruction lent itself not to a small section of just outside the shop, but perhaps a third of the entire city.

Jagged gash marks had torn through the buildings in diagonally straight lines. Only, it hadn't been from something as non-piercing as bullets, but it was full on artillery that had to have been used. Nothing over two stories was even standing, and that which was, was barely in as good condition as the shop he had just wandered out of. Blue and the army were gone. There was no trace of their uniforms. Harotu had seen the insecurity in Blue's eyes last night. The only reason he would have done this would be to show his soldiers that he was still worthy of being their leader. Or maybe not.

Harotu felt his lighter again while he walked. The dust that littered the air, like some time-encapsulated bit of flower thrown about made him feel cut off from that which was around him. The amount of it was enough to block out the sun, so it was like night while Harotu walked further. And it was barren, the city was. Not a single living person had he come upon. Had he not seen with his waking eyes Yajirobe and the huddled masses of peasant families, he would have thought this place cleanly exterminated.

More dead lay before him, unattended to, like the sultry remains of a popsicle long forgotten. Harotu stopped here, unshouldering his backpack and popping open the zipper before pulling out a hook-shaped object. He ran his nimble fingers over it, feeling the grooved base for the string. Upon finding it, he pulled the lighter out of his pocket. Pushing it up against the string, Harotu clicked it open, sparking up a flame, and igniting the string. But he did not dare let it go just yet. The timer of a regular shell, such as the one he had in his hand, had a duration of over thirty seconds. Simply throwing it away would ruin the whole point of what he was doing. He needed to get his mind off of the death in this city, and there was no better way than to indulge in his pyromania. There was no better way to vent.

There was still time. Long years of messing with fireworks had taught him well.

Having carefully counted down the seconds before the firework went off, Harotu flung it at a broken window. Then, it burst in a brilliant flash of red. It echoed down the streets several times and for a moment he forgot everything. Then the streets once again went silent. No doubt the surviving citizens around would think this as no more than another bomb.

There was, before the debris of Harotu's firework had even touched the ground, a noise of movement to the boy's left, causing him to lose track of the falling remnants. Spinning around, he saw someone pushing their way out of a pile of refuse.

That figure was dazed, sullen-faced, and covered in grime. He stumbled out of the shambling door that had thus prior been his place of refuge. His dirty blonde hair was sticking up in all directions, his white shirt was torn, his elbows were dripping with blood, but there was no mistaking – at least to the ever perceptive Harotu – that this was Brian. He was alive. Why he was here, so far away from where Harotu and Yajirobe had holed up, was not as clear. There were two dead Red Ribbon soldiers at Brian's feet, and they were the only two Harotu had seen killed. It would be too awkward to bring it up, though.

Brian made a calm approach toward Harotu, but quickly abandoned any sort of communication. He would not so much even look at Harotu. Brian did do one thing; he held out his hand, palm up, toward Harotu and spoke a broken, cracked sentence:

"Give me one."

Harotu smirked, and pulled another shell out of his backpack.


It was midday before Yajirobe was conscious. His stomach was grumbling again, putting him in a freshly foul mood as he awoke. Sitting up, he was quickly reminded where he was – the half destroyed grocery store. He was surprised to see Harotu was back, for after his departure prior, Yajirobe was not in the mood to speak with him again. Nevertheless, this being a grocery store meant there were ample amounts of food around. The owners wouldn't mind if Yajirobe took a few things.

Upon seeing Yajirobe moving, Harotu slid off the far table and ran over.

"So yeah, we were thinking it was time to leave now."

"Back to the Academy?" Yajirobe asked.

"Yeah. It's going to take a while, so we better start now."

Yajirobe pocketed a few bags of chips before continuing, "We need breaktist first."

"What's breaktist?"

"Are you serious?" Yajirobe began, winding himself up into kami knows what, "Breaktist is the most important meal of the day. Figures some stupid kid like you wouldn't know a thing about it."

"You mean breakfast…" said Harotu, hiding a laugh.

"That's what I said," Yajirobe mumbled, turning a bit red.

"Alright, we'll get some food first. You have money, right?"

Yajirobe had three zeni to his name. Instinctively, he reached in his pocket, where he always kept them, and found the precious coins to be undisturbed. He looked back and nodded to answer Harotu. He only hoped whatever they were getting to eat wouldn't cost more than that.

They gathered up Brian and walked out. They didn't speak about last night. Harotu wore his hoodie. Brian stumbled along, looking at the ground, and as vacantly as ever. And Yajirobe led them forth, as he ever would.

By the corner of Tanner Street, on the holding property of a relinquished weapons depot now stood a two story hobnob diner. As any sane mind could tell, the owner of this fine establishment was clearly foreign – or at least lost in the past, as the building's bright neon lights (of enthusiastic lunchtime deals of which there were no comparison!), its sparkling pink paint, and its wide-windowed walls which offered many a glimpse inside were not only alien to the normally reserved people of this city, but also positively bizarre. Compared to the drably blue coloured buildings around it, which were as unassuming as they were imposing, it should come as no surprise that the three wandering boys chose this place to eat.

Yajirobe ordered the waitress to give them a booth. He was not sure if Harotu was homeless, like himself, or if he had never been to a restaurant. But Yajirobe made it explicitly clear that he would dine only at a booth. And the waitress happily obliged, and led them further in, to the back of the first floor, and to an otherwise unoccupied area. Yajirobe was already on good terms with her for this.

After they had gotten their menus, and looked over what to get, Yajirobe realized the brevity of his situation. Seeing these prices, there was nothing he could buy with three zeni. He made several quick glances over to the other two to see if they were similarly distressed. Harotu appeared not, but his squinting eyes and slack jaw rarely gave any emotional tell. Brian had not so much as opened his menu; instead he had his head down on the table, eyes closed.

Yajirobe was not a very proud person, nor was he inclined for arrogance. Still, asking either of them for money to eat was out of the question. He looked back down at the menu. He was starving. It wouldn't be right to go hungry. His ears were getting hot, and his neck began to sweat. There was simply no way of getting around it. He would have to ask one of them.

The waitress returned at that most inopportune moment, and Yajirobe was cut off from making the embarrassing request. She smiled at them with that I'm-so-happy-even-I-can't-believe-it type of look before asking their orders. Harotu's was simply staggering. He named plate after plate of food, and by the end of it, Yajirobe was sure he'd spent over fifty zeni. No way he had that much. Well two could play at that game. Yajirobe ordered a full ham, honey glazed, and figured if Harotu could do overspend, so could he. This was assuming they were going to pay at all. Brian shook his head solemnly when the waitress asked him for anything. Then, she left, with that same sickly smile upon her face.

"Do you actually have that kind of money?" Yajirobe grunted out to Harotu as soon as she was gone. His voice was a little too curious.

"Of course not, but I'm hungry. Why? Do you?"

Yajirobe slit his teeth, "No way, man."

Harotu nodded, "Then we'll bail after. No big deal."

Yajirobe turned to respond to the boy next to him, when he caught a look at a photo hanging from the wall. This diner had many like it; most were in black and white, but this one was different. It was in color, but more importantly Yajirobe knew the man. He had seen him before. The curly red hair and devilish grin were unmistakable. He was shirtless, and posing for the picture, showing off his sharp muscles. His hands were covered in boxing gloves. He knew this man from somewhere.

Yajirobe had forgotten what he and Harotu were discussing.

Within minutes, Yajirobe snapped out of his pondering. Several employees had to be called to carry all of the food the two boys had ordered. And whilst gormandizing all of it with little reprieve, Yajirobe saw his waiter come to check on them.

"Is everything going all right?" she asked.

Yajirobe dropped his fork and pointed a fat finger to the picture to his right, "Who is he?"

She fluttered for a moment, "Uh, oh that's Daniel Parroda. He's the regional lightweight boxing champion."

Yajirobe breathed in sharply. He remembered. This was the man Yajirobe had encountered in the street. He was the man who had given Yajirobe the flyer for the Samurai school. He was the very same man who Yajirobe had made trip and cry. And even his last name was vaguely familiar.

"Daniel Parroda. That names familiar."

Harotu shook his head, "Never heard of him."

"We took that fruit from his yard when we stole the hat," Brian replied, muffled by his arms over his face, "My mother knew him too; she used to take me to his house for dinner."

Yajirobe could not grasp why this man, this champion boxer had been out throwing papers around to people in the streets. And Brian knew this man already. There was something wrong here, but there wasn't time to deal with it.

The waitress returned and asked for the bill, swiftly returning the anxiety and embarrassment to both Yajirobe and Harotu. They didn't have the money to pay. However, just as they were stuttering out explanations, Brian raised his hand. In it, he held a single bill: for one hundred zeni. And the waitress took it, and there was nothing said.

Yajirobe couldn't so much as look at Brian. Why did he have to go and do that to Yajirobe? Brian could have told them he was paying, not just come up with it at the last moment, when the other two had not the money in the first place. However, Brian was now sitting up, and looking about. His eyes were trained on something, and for a few seconds he stared at it, unblinking. And then what color remained in his face, drained instantly.

"There are some guys watching us," he whispered in a hoarse voice.

"What?" Haruto responded too quickly.

"To the left," Brian nodded.

They all looked, and saw them. Where prior this area of the diner had been utterly vacant save for their presence, several others had slid in and taken seats near them. Clearly, this was the first moment Yajirobe had noticed.

The two watching were men of scant age with swarthy, sneering faces. They left their eyes bare to watch the boys, even as the students stared back. They did not seem to ever look away. Coupled with their collective filth, and dark clothing, these two held an ominous presence.

"Let's get out of here," Yajirobe said.

"What, do you think they're dangerous?" Harotu asked again.

"Of course they are," Brian wheezed, "They're probably soldiers."

"They don't look like soldiers-"

"Shut up Harotu!" Brian whispered, even more agitated now, "We have to go!"

Yajirobe placed his eyes firmly on these two men. They had clearly been watching him for a reason, and even now they were staring with empty, vapid eyes.

"Then I'm going first. Just wait a few seconds before following," he said with all the authority he could muster.

Then, Yajirobe inched himself out of the booth. He was careful to not look again at the men, instead focusing his eyes on the less-conspicuous waitress standing to their left. Neither moved as he did so, which made Yajirobe sigh in relief.

Harotu stayed put for a few seconds after Yajirobe had left, fumbling with the packages in his bag. He did not attempt speaking to Brian again, and there was no need. The dull, lightless look in Brian's face was no more enticing toward conversation than a rugby tournament to ballerina.

After waiting the specified time, Harotu quickly slouched his way out.

At time, the host of three boys tarried onward through the twisted remnants of the city, and for a while they felt not the cunning eyes of their previous pursuers; but yet, they were not alone. On the forbearing of a particular sidewalk, which lay itself in urbicolous disarray, there appeared the shadow of a figure behind them. It was only for a moment, and then it disappeared again. The three could only glimpse at him, barely seeing flashes of flesh between buildings. What they could tell was it was only one tracker this time; much quicker; much louder. And Yajirobe became annoyed at himself for not bringing any defenses with him. The bokkens, their only weapons, had been carelessly left in their dormitory. Were this pursuer filled with evil intent, they had little stopping power against him.

Reconnoiters were not often forgotten or diminished. To Yajirobe, this other being had now become more than a simple bother, and he detested the unwanted attention. Brian walked but did not talk, and Harotu was silent as well. It was time again to show these two his abilities. How they would be shown, he already knew.

Around the second sharp corner from Pallard Street, Yajirobe grabbed the two boys by their shirts, and thrust them in front of him, pointing and whispering them into the open door of a disheveled room. Neither questioned, and both obeyed. He followed them in immediately, darting his eyes around for anything he could grab.

And then, like slime oozes out of dark places, the figure they had caught trailing them came into view. Yajirobe noticed immediately who it was – the wily-faced rascal, that voracious boy at the old winery. Mark. He looked no older than Brian, but perhaps a year younger than Yajirobe. He was small, but stout, his wide shoulders and broad chin already forming into shapes well beyond the maturity of the present company. He walked with an impish sense of bravado, as if his mind held more confidence than his body could realize. And he had a bold and disastrous look upon his face; one that could only mean he was spoiling for a part in this.

Yajirobe threw himself back to the street, bolting at Mark. He had no weapon, but he was bigger. In Yajirobe's experience, that meant fists would do. The boy had paused a moment, as not seeing the three off in the distance had given him directional vertigo. He did not even see a blundering samurai-wannabe approach him, with fists swinging.

Mark was knocked onto the ground in an instant, and so sudden was his shock, so paralyzing his fear, he could not move. But there was no mercy. Not only was this for the tortuous company he had forced Yajirobe to endure today, but for when they had gone to his home and he had insisted to tag along for no reason other than mentally pain them. Yajirobe felt no love lost as he stood over the swiftly bruising boy. Despite his master holding the utmost respect for this little fiend, that respect had not bled over to his students.

Harotu wandered out slowly, "Isn't that the kid who was following us around before? And he's doing it again…" he said in disbelief, "I thought he was one of those soldiers coming to kill us."

"He's not that important," Yajirobe huffed, still throwing punches on the defenseless kid.

"Well, what are we doing with him?"

"Get one of your firecrackers out, and we'll set it off on him or something."

"Whoa, Yajirobe. That's dangerous."

"So what?" he responded fiercely.

"So… we shouldn't do that. He could catch on fire."

Yajirobe turned away from Harotu, even as he knew those words were truth.

The boy below them stirred out of his catatonic state with immediate lividity, "Hey, why'd you do that?" He pushed himself away from Yajirobe, wiping the blood with it.

"Because you were following me."

"Following you? You must think you're pretty special, then. I was just walking home."

"Oh yeah, and what were you doing out here anyway? We know you live outside of the city."

Mark smiled with a brutish grin, "I was just coming back from Karate practice. My brother was teaching today."

"Going all the way back to that winery? That's pretty far for someone as stupid as you."

"No, I was going back to our house in the city! My brother's pretty rich, so he has his own house here. I stay here on weekends while training for my Karate. My brother teaches me pretty good."

"Whatever."

Mark rubbed his swollen cheek. Then, he turned his eyes once again to the study bloke in front of him, "Come here. I'm gonna punch you in the face. Nobody hits me and gets away with it."

Yajirobe was genuinely taken aback, "Yeah, fight you. Listen kid, I could knock you out in one punch."

"Then do it!"

Yajirobe's blood boiled over. This little prat. This little, stinking prat. He would pay for those words.