Two Swords (11)
Lone Wolf and Cub

Six year old Kyoshiro Tohdoh did not know the meaning of honor. All he knew was survival.

He wasn't born to a family of any distinction, not even from one with a decent amount of money. In fact, his parents had lived on the edge of poverty and constantly struggled to support themselves. They did their best to love their only son and take care of him, but all he saw was the fear that instilled complete reign in their impoverished lives. They prayed and worked for food on the table and a roof over their heads. Running low on money and desperate for more, his parents turned to being recruited by the yakuza and carrying out illegal activities. This worked for a while, until they owed the yakuza and failed to pay their debt. They were robbed and brutally murdered just a few weeks ago. Their young son managed to flee the destroyed house and took to life on the streets. He never knew the names of his parents. All he knew was the name they had given him.

For the next few weeks, Kyoshiro held his own and fended for himself. He was a tall, lean boy, with stiff black hair, a long, solemn face, calloused hands, and scraped knees. The baby fat in his skin was long gone, replaced by a hard scowl and a frown that told of a forced, accelerated maturity the boy had little choice but to attain as he tried to survive. Kyoshiro relied on the "cute child" act until days without a decent bath persisted, and it became clear to him that he no longer looked "cute" to strangers who pitied him. The only times he could get a shower was when it rained. The boy would grit his teeth, clutch his shivered arms together, and persevere through the fever that followed his cleanliness. Next he turned to pilfering from trash and, if he got lucky, people who managed food stalls. Kyoshiro had gotten quite good at stealing. He could run fast and far, until he lost even the most obstinate vendors who vainly tried to pursue him.

One time he came upon a primary school and tried to blend in, pretending he was a student there and played with some of the children during recess. Sometimes the generous ones shared snacks with him, an act of kindness Kyoshiro took little time to appreciate. This proved to be short-lived when the teachers caught him and chased him out of the premises. He couldn't remember the childrens' names, only the kinds of snacks they gave him. The notion that he had been purely motivated by self-interest, and the base instinct to survive, never crossed his mind. He saw no shame in trying to stay alive, so he moved on.

Kyoshiro returned to searching for what he could find among the things people threw away. He even got away with stealing food from the monks' offering at a Buddhist temple. The boy felt no pious guilt as he did so. All he could think about was how he needed to live. Eventually he came to realize that he couldn't stay in his hometown any longer, since it was practically run by the yakuza. He didn't think it'd be above them to kill him, just as they had killed his mother and father.

Kyoshiro had to travel on foot to the nearest town. The long, arduous journey took a great toll on his young body and made him hungry and exhausted. Immediately he searched for something to eat. The boy kept walking through the streets even as it started to rain and people fled for cover. Booming thunder overheard did not deter him. As usual he had no money, so going into shops was out of the question.

He wandered into a park, which was mostly empty. Its paths were rendered muddy and slippery from the rain. Huddled under a small pavilion was an old white-haired man. Kyoshiro was skeptical of the unusual sight. The old man remained still and unmoving, his legs folded and eyes closed as if he had fallen asleep. What caught the boy's eye was the plastic-wrapped food laid out in front of the man. An opportunity he could not miss. Kyoshiro inched closer to the man, the loud rainfall muting the sound of his footsteps. The man still did not move. Kyoshiro stopped a few inches shy from him, waiting for the old man to make any sudden moves. Biting down on his dry bottom lip, the boy tiptoed even closer and bent down to quietly snatch up the food. Then his hunger gave him away. His stomach growled.

The old man's eyes flew open. He moved so fast that Kyoshiro didn't even have time to gasp. The old man grabbed his arm, and with a deft, expert twist pushed him down onto the wet dirt. His grip hurt like hard steel. Kyoshiro cried out and struggled, but his efforts were futile. He shut his eyes and braced himself for getting beaten, but the old man merely stared down at him with amusement.

"A thief, hmm? By the looks of you, it would be pointless of me to ask where your parents are, because you seem to be all by yourself."

The six year old boy was surprised by his perception. He confirmed the old man's suspicions with a solemn nod.

"What happened to them?"

"...They're dead." Kyoshiro hadn't spoken to anyone in a long time. It showed through his weak and ragged voice.

The old man's face was one of craggy stone. A glimmer of intrigue and curiosity flashed across his dark eyes as he released Kyoshiro. "If you really want some of this food, then you must do something for me."

Kyoshiro felt compelled to ask, "What is it?"

The old man pointed ahead of him. "Sit across from me in the rain and wait until I say you can come back in."

Kyoshiro wanted that food more than anything else right now. He rose to his feet and did as the old man commanded. He stiffly sat down, crossed his legs, and hunched his shoulders. He wondered how long the old man would keep him in the rain. Kyoshiro was desperate, but he wasn't stupid. Maybe it was a cruel trick. The old man would never give out the food, and he was just toying with him. At the same time Kyoshiro was hungry, and his desire to eat compelled him to stay rooted at the spot. The boy kept a stiff upper lip despite the rain that pounded on his skinny body. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. His eyes were fixated at the food in front of the old man, never averting his gaze for even a second. He breathed noisily in and out of his nose, his chest heaving from the cold. Exhaustion crept into him like a parasite that sapped him of his resolve and strength. Kyoshiro schooled his features in the hardest scowl a six year old could muster, even as his teeth hurt from being clenched so tightly together.

Finally the old man beckoned him to come in, and held out an unwrapped onigiri as a reward. A wave of relief rushed over Kyoshiro as he stumbled to his feet. He snatched the food from the old man and wolfed it down. He hadn't tasted anything this fresh and good in days. Bits of rice and dried seaweed clung to his pale, wet face. He only stopped eating when he felt something heavy and warm envelop him. Kyoshiro looked up in surprise to see that the old man had removed his coat to drape it over him. The boy wiped his face, pulled the coat closer to his soaked body and managed a shaky little bow.

"Thank you," he said weakly.

The old man acknowledged his gratitude with an indifferent grunt. Then he asked, "What's your name, boy?"

"Kyoshiro, sir. Kyoshiro Tohdoh."

"I'm Takeda."

The boy wondered why this old man gave him his name, and in turn wanted to know his. It was likely that once the rain lifted, they'd never cross paths again. Kyoshiro saw from Takeda's belongings that he was a man on the move. To where and for what, Kyoshiro couldn't possibly know. It certainly didn't seem like it'd be his place to ask. The boy remained silent. He kept huddling in the coat to keep warm and dry. Together, in silence, they waited for the storm to pass. After what seemed like a stretch of gloomy eternity, sunlight broke through the heavy clouds. Kyoshiro felt the weight of the coat lift as Takeda rose and took it from him. The boy remained huddling, watching the old man leave. Suddenly Takeda stopped in his tracks, turned his head, and said,

"Well? Are you coming or not?"

Kyoshiro lifted his head in surprise. The old man wanted him to follow?

Takeda sensed the boy's hesitation, so he continued, "I see strength in you, boy. A strength I thought was dead and gone in Japan these days. I'd hate to see that being wasted by acts of petty theft. Follow me, and I will teach you ways to grow even stronger from not just the food in your stomach."

Kyoshiro didn't understand much of what Takeda said, but he felt compelled to find out. He willed himself to rise and follow the old man. Anything was better than spending the rest of his life on the streets.

From the sunlight that peeked through the dark grey clouds, Kyoshiro's eyes widened upon seeing the glint of a katana blade.