His grand escape was purely auspicious, purely chance. Yajirobe had gotten out, he really had, at the last second. The gatekeeper of whom Yajirobe had life by the throat had been warily quiet and slow in letting him out. Thereafter, sneaking amongst rocks and foul things, Yajirobe had stayed away from the light, stayed far out of sight. He had barely crawled out of a filthy crack in the side of the mountain when it had all gone to hell.

He wanted to go get a sword, go get some quiet to formulate an idea to free Brian and kill his inseparable captors – but it was too late. The rock had just blown its top. The sonic force had sent Yajirobe flying, literally, several feet out, leading him to tumble over himself down the side of the now silt-strewn side. Boulders and cobble followed him like loyal dogs. To Yajirobe, they were equally undesirable. He sat up, just in time to duck again as the rocks flew over him. He had no idea what was happening. It was as if the mountain was exploding. But that couldn't be. Mountains don't spontaneously explode.

A dust cloud, thereafter, came up, and it coated itself in the mountainside generously. Yajirobe had taken a last look back to the cave's entrance, but seeing it as completely collapsed into a mighty crater, he let any hope of rescue go.

He hadn't thought it to be like this. Just a few nights ago he had spoken to Brian. He had told that boy to his face that he didn't care. He wouldn't save him. Well, Yajirobe hadn't saved him. He hadn't. But he'd be a bold-face liar to say he didn't feel remorse for it. He was here, out in the wild, after some cataclysmic event he had had no part in.

Everyone was dead. Everyone was gone. He was just here.

Yajirobe made his way down the mountain, finding a deer trail that took him back toward the Academy. His stomach rumbled in exquisite pain, reminding him that salted pork had not yet come. His feet were fatigued and felt like Styrofoam. The momentum the boy had created going downhill had caught up to him, and Yajirobe tripped over himself, falling forward, and landing with a crash into a tree at the bottom.

Getting up, quite annoyed, Yajirobe noticed a flicker of gold stuck in the wood. He stood up and saw it: a katana. Yes, it was his katana! The black hilt, the gold neck, the long, slender blade… it was his, it had to be! Eagerly, he jumped forward, going to pull it off the tree it was tied to, when he spotted a note on the blade's tip. Picking that up, he read:

"To whom it may concern, to my greatest student and rightful samurai, I congratulate you. You have passed the test. You have activated Daniel's mine field with the tools I have helped you achieve. And now that he and Makare are dead, you have passed your final test; and you are a samurai like me. I will reveal it all now. Please come to the Daimyo's chambers in the Academy as soon as you have read this."

Yajirobe pocketed the note. He didn't know about Daniel's minefield. No sir. But that was irregardless of the fact that the sword was here. He ripped the frail ropes from with it, and took it into his hands, feeling it over for familiarity's sake. Alas, it was not familiar. It didn't feel quite right. He froze. This was not his sword.

Yajirobe stole a look at the hilt, and saw in the flowery inscription that it was Brian's name, not his, that had been placed here.

It was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown down his back. His master had been so confident here that one of them would get out. And he had bet it all that it would be Brian. Had his master no faith in him? Had Elijah not watched Yajirobe properly? Not seen how he had done so well since their first mission? Had he not remembered how it was Yajirobe, not Brian, who had dueled his master and injured him?

Yajirobe's fury rose faster than a kangaroo being startled by a tiger snake. Anyway, he took that sword, he did, and started on in a full sprint back to the Academy. He would show Elijah who the best samurai was. He would.

As he ran, Yajirobe came around the bend and stopped (almost as suddenly as he had begun moments ago). For there, standing in front of him was an ostentatious man; Makare, who had half his face burnt black. His sword was already out.

"Clever, clever boy!" he spat, his eyes bugged. "Your hybris knows no bounds! To blow up the mountain… what shame have you? What were you thinking? Everyone is dead now! Everyone but us! What am I to do? There are no samurai left to follow me!"

"I didn't do it…" Yajirobe responded in a startled rasp. He was just as stunned as Makare was.

"Didn't do it? Didn't do it?" Makare screamed, falling to his knees, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

He sat there, seething and spitting, his hands warbling and clasping against themselves like little serrefines, a word which here means medical forceps. Yajirobe could see how bad Makare's wounds were from this position, and indeed they were haunting. The samurai's face was almost blown away on the left side, his eye bloodshot and dark, and his mouth hanging agape by strings of flesh. Blood, cauterized black, coated his entire face. Then he looked to Yajirobe; and the grip on his sword grew ever tighter.

"Hmph, whatever man," Yajirobe said, trying to sidestep around this hideous wreck.

"Get back here!"

Makare threw himself forward, leaping up and flipping his sword over his head. Coming down, his blade barely glanced Yajirobe's previous position, with the younger samurai dodging in instinct. Grimacing at the katana in his face, Yajirobe drew his own, slicing the opponent away. Makare, staggering backward, screamed again.

The boy would not be able to just walk away from this one. He would have to deal with Makare once and for all. This man would be his ascendant match.

The mountain to their right was boiling in spectacular orange light. The layers of explosives Daniel had planted must have been quite deep, as even now, sporadic blasts were continuing to fire off, flinging more and more rock about. The cave where once Yajirobe had been a prisoner now flowed with fire; for as time wore on, more and more of the rugged land caught up in like-fire.

But Yajirobe held the advantage. He had two good eyes. Now, circling back right, watching his opponent, he faced his back to the burning mountain. In the grim night, the brilliance so oncommon behind, he would blind that man, he would outmaneuver the great swordsman – he knew he could. Makare was now approaching him. It was time to end this.

Yajirobe stayed his feet, allowing Makare to make the first move. He was acutely aware of Makare's skill. It was even greater than that of Naigo – from whom Yajirobe had been handed a terrible defeat only hours ago – that there was no reason to go running into that sword. Oh no, that was not for him.

The man, in his time, had come straight to Yajirobe with a tempest hot in his hand. His technique was fleeting, reckless, but his power was great. The force of his hits pushed Yajirobe back, breaking the boy's guard. He stumbled back into the dirt only to see the wolf on him again, pounding him with slice after slice. Yajirobe did his best to block, but he was cut deep across his collarbone. Gritting his teeth, Yajirobe punched Makare across the face with his knuckled hand wrapped around his sword's hilt. Doing this caused the man to lose a tooth, spluttering backward. Yajirobe cautiously got up and kneeled down for an Iagiri attack. Sheathing his sword, he ran forward, and prepared to unsheathe it again.

Yet this trifled strategy was well-met by his veteran opponent, and Makare balanced on his feet just in time to see it. Jumping into the air, he flipped and parried Yajirobe's sword-thrust upside down. So sudden was this defensive move that Yajirobe's surprise allowed him to drop his sword, and lose it to the night. Makare landed but a foot behind him, swinging as his feet hit the ground. Yajirobe dove out of the way, with lag, but quickly enough.

He was at a huge disadvantage now. Not only had he lost his sword, but Makare had somehow gotten behind him and had the flaring fires to hinder the student's sight. It was threefold as difficult now to see anything, let alone a displaced sword among the ash. Makare drove toward him once more, this time in a charge with his katana point-out. Yajirobe paused. Makare would be trying to scare him with this move. But Yajirobe knew that attacking with a katana's point was not only dangerous to the bearer, but stupid. The brittle blade could snap. He had an idea for how to make that happen.

Twisting around, Yajirobe stood staunch in the ground. Before the man could get to him, he began running forward. Makare saw this at the last second, and stopped. He flipped his blade around, now having drawn Yajirobe too him, and swung it downward from over his head. Yajirobe had bit on this trick; now he paid the price in blood, in a long gash down his chest as Makare got a hit on him.

His entire body was numb and his head felt like it was on fire. Yajirobe fell down, to the ground, and could not move. Yajirobe was a coward by nature. He had always been one. Even in the months of training, he had been a coward. Never had he wanted to do any of those courageous things he had done. Never. It was only at night when he fell sore into bed that Yajirobe had shaken and quivered and cried about what he had done. Every night he had fallen asleep promising himself to get the hell out of that Academy. But he had nowhere else to go. His laziness equal to his cowardice had kept him here; in prime position where he should not or could not be.

Makare placed his blade to Yajirobe's neck.

"Get up and kneel."

Yajirobe did so. His mouth was too dry to beg.

"Now… I've got you all. I've killed every one of you," Makare spoke, walking back and forth. "This would have been better had Naigo and my men survived. They were all a colossal waste of money. I should have known."

Yajirobe's voice cracked as he tried to speak, "W-what happened to them anyway?"

Makare stopped short, not facing Yajirobe. He buried his face in his hands. And that's when Yajirobe saw it: his sword was just a foot to his left. He could see it! Yajirobe's heart skipped a beat. He could reach it. And Makare wasn't facing him. The man was too concerned with Yajirobe's question.

Makare began nodding his head, rigorously. Simultaneously, he began waving his sword around to no one and no one in particular. "That's what I like to know about it," he hissed.

He turned to face his quarry, reading a heavy blow to decapitate poor Yajirobe. He found something much different. Yajirobe had thence grabbed his own sword and readied it in time to block. He shattered Makare out of a quasi-drunken stupor and knew it then, for it was his time to take the offensive. Screw it, Yajirobe thought. Defense nearly got him killed last time.

He stepped forward, within a tooth's snare of his foe, and traded blows without end. And the mountain burned and exploded still. Yajirobe cut up and down, left and right, punching through every one of Makare's defenses. Yajirobe now commanded this fight. He hooked his blade around the back of the other samurai's blade, causing it to fly forward. Using that momentum, he propelled his own blade into Makare's chin, ripping it open, giving free-flow to the crimson within. Yajirobe spun around, kicking Makare off, and hunkering down into a charge. He ran forward again, this time brandishing the katana well above his head. As Makare went up to block it, he slid under, pushing his heavy boots into the man's shins, splintering them. He, Makare, fell over, howling in pain. But he fought back Yajirobe even then, and their blades clashed and sparked ever still.

The boy jumped back from a long swipe. He tried approaching again, but the man, like a cornered animal, swung wildly again. Yajirobe parried it, putting all of his strength into it. He would not die! His adrenaline was in control now, not his brain. Yajirobe pushed Makare back, and then flipped his blade. The man was now defenseless. There was no going back. Yajirobe arced the sharp side down on Makare's hand. At that moment, it was severed; Yajirobe had won.

The man squirmed like a worm out of dirt; he screamed like he was being boiled alive. Before Yajirobe could even do a single thing, Makare had, between fearful eyes and splattering blood, crawled forward, getting onto his feet, and began running. He didn't have to think about it. No, Yajirobe just acted on discipline when he ran after the old villain. He jumped to the air, his katana held high and proud, and then brought it to and through Makare's neck as he landed.

It was over.

Yajirobe sheathed his sword, took a few steps forward, then collapsed. He was utterly and absolutely spent. When he came to the ground, Yajirobe's head collided with something small and orange. He could not make it out as his vision became dark, but there was one thing Yajirobe thought before he fell into sleep: he would have a headache in the morning.


It was after four in the afternoon when Yajirobe awoke. He was greeted with several waves of pain, many of which were in places he didn't know could feel pain. With an annoyed grunt, he pried out something from under his ear – his accursed pillow from last night – and saw it to be the small orange ball his master had given Brian. He pocketed that.

Getting up, Yajirobe made sure not to look at Makare's headless corpse. He was never one for bodies, no sir. Now that he had won, however, the only place to go was back to the Academy. Even from here, he could see it. While most of the buildings smote in ruin, he was sure that whoever wrote that note to him was still alive. And by 'whoever', Yajirobe meant the Daimyo Elijah. Heck, they had told him to go to the Daimyo's quarters.

It was a short trek back to the smoldering gates. The carapace, now destroyed, looked unnatural and alien. It was a sad state of affairs this place was in. Yajirobe limped through, searching for signs of life. As my scholars remember, Yajirobe was not conscious when the Daimyo had been so badly wounded. He had no memory of it. It was by luck, then, that Yajirobe had gone into the one building left untouched. This was, by coincidence, the master's chambers. He had paused as soon as he came to the hallway, which was filled with doors, when he heard talking. It was not a man talking.

Still numb in his fingers, Yajirobe had trouble drawing his sword properly before entering. That was okay; it really was. Inside was no last soldier of Makare, no last assassin come to rid the world of Yajirobe (HFIL forbid). Yet, the figure was equally hated. He was perhaps Yajirobe's third least favorite person in the whole Dragon World.

Mark was sitting on a small stool perpendicular to a bedside. There, next to him was the instigator himself; Elijah.

"You?" Yajirobe said, completely dumbfounded.

Mark looked back, nodding, before giving Yajirobe the shoulder again. "He's here, sir."

There was a cough and a click.

"Well, hurry up and get over here," Mark said.

Yajirobe sheathed his sword (oh how he would have liked to use it to make Mark leave) before approaching. He saw there where his master lay. The man's eyes gleaned with a light when Yajirobe came into view, but that quickly faded into two dark pools of emotionless-stare. Yajirobe kneeled at the edge of the bed and placed his katana on the sheets. He had an extremely serious face on his face. Or so I'm told.

Yajirobe began. "Those guys are dead. I made sure of it." Elijah nodded. He closed his eyes, and the three sat in silence for kami knows how many seconds before Yajirobe burst out in speech again. "Well, is that it? I just beat them all. The least you could do is congratulate me!"

Still with his eyes closed, Elijah opened his lips, "I am glad you won, Yajirobe. And I am saddened that you are the only survivor."

Yeah, it was Brian's sword, Yajirobe thought. He knew Elijah had expected Brian to survive and Yajirobe to die. For all his indecency, Makare hadn't been wrong about Elijah.

"So, then that's it? Are you going to continue the class?" Yajirobe asked him.

"No, no. That was your final test… and besides I don't have many resources left. You saw how Makare destroyed the school and killed all my servants… "

Yajirobe looked disgruntled. "So?"

His Daimyo was weak, causing him to speak very slowly, "The time of the samurai is over. With what Naigo has unleashed, I fear his type will become the norm, and we will be obsolete."

"So what am I supposed to do now?"

"Do what you like," the tired man crackled.

"And what are you gonna do, master?"

"I don't know, maybe recover from my wounds. Maybe visit my friend the Ox King." He seemed very uninterested.

Yajirobe couldn't believe it. This didn't make sense. He had expected more, more to be gained, more to be taught. "I've barely learned anything."

The Daimyo contained a chuckle painfully, while Mark helped hold down the bandages, "Ya-yajirobe, you just killed the two most powerful Samurai in the world."

"I thought you were the strongest."

"M-maybe so… but… I'm in no… position to fight you… if you want to kill me, that is."

Yajirobe shook his head, "Hmph, that's it. I'm outta here. If you can't teach me anything else, I'll just go find food somewhere else. That crazy samurai that could shoot fire out of his hands probably blew up the kitchens too."

"That he did."

"No use stickin' around then. You guys can, uh, clean this up, right?" Yajirobe stammered with his face going red. He did not wait for a response, "Great!" He went to leave, but Yajirobe remembered something. He took the small ball out of his hand and tossed it on the bed. "There, I found that at the bottom of the mountain."

The Daimyo nodded upon seeing it, "Thank you, Yajirobe, for returning my possession."

"Oh yeah, do I get to keep my katana now?" Yajirobe breathed, pointing to Brian's sword.

The Daimyo sighed long, closing his eyes and falling to his soft, soft pillows, "Yes, take it. Take it for him. And Yajirobe… remember what we've done here, and why we've done it. Don't ever forget that you're a samurai by heart… N-now Mark, please fetch my water. If I'm going to go see my friend the Ox King, I'm going to need a lot of water."


Yajirobe had nowhere to go. At first, he'd gone back to the city, back to his old life, and back to the old meat shop where three zeni (his only money) couldn't buy a thing. It was a heavy blow to him when he had returned to that all-important butchery, and found it to be boarded up. Yajirobe learned thereafter that the old butcher had been killed months ago by General Blue, when the good General had destroyed half the city. Nevertheless, the samurai broke in through the locked door with his katana, and found the meat molded, abandoned; wasted away. It was a terrible, terrible loss.

After that, Yajirobe had felt truly lost. He left Orange Star City and went south. The aimless journey yielded a simple lifestyle. He would hunt for fish and pigs and jackalopes when he felt hungry, and rarely met a fellow human being. He liked not having to socialize or talk to them. At the same time, though, it felt more eerie every day to go so far south. By a few months' time, he even past the great South City, where Naigo had come from. Still, without seeing any more samurai, he was happy. Maybe they'd been wiped out in the last war.

The next few years were as noteworthy as Jason Cropper's music career. That was okay - Yajirobe was not one for a sybarite life. Between feasting on wild animals and relaxing on the prairies of the southwest, Yajirobe was able to hone his sword-skills on not only trees but the occasional bear or wolf. It was his greatest joy to fight and kill these wild beasts and then eat them. Though he rarely tried too hard, for it was in his nature to not try too hard, Yajirobe gained a substantial amount of power from this. In fact, it should not have been too radical to call him the strongest of all humankind.

It was in the age seven hundred fifty-three that Yajirobe found in a small pond an orange ball not unlike that of his fallen master's. This one, however, had but one star on it. Twas a terrible thing, finding that ball. The thing brought him nothing but misfortune, for soon after, he became acquainted with that monkey boy Goku, and got sucked up in the great Piccolo debacle.

However, for all the variance and ultimate unknown that came from those quests (of which are surely well known enough for me to not have to describe them), Yajirobe did eventually find himself in a predicament. He was up on the old cat's tower (Korin, to be specific), which he had stayed at ever since the defeat of Piccolo. Three other warriors were now here training under the great Master Korin, but Yajirobe was not. He was more along for the ride than anything else.

It was a sunny day, and Yajirobe was taking in the warm rays when the old cat came to annoy him again.

"Hey Yajirobe, shouldn't ya be training with the others? The tournament's only three years away, you know," Korin beamed. Well maybe he did, I don't know. He never opens his eyes so it's hard to tell.

Yajirobe snorted himself awake, "Huh? What tournament?"

"Ya know! The World Martial Arts Tournament! Where all the greatest fighters in the world get together to beat each other senseless. It's very popular."

Yajirobe shook his head.

"Aw c'mon Yajirobe. Don't tell me you're going to let those four (Tien, Yamcha, Krillin, the clown) get stronger than you… "

"Hmph."

Korin would not give up. "All right, tough guy. Heh, I can sense your power, and just between you and me, I know you're the strongest out of all us here."

Yajirobe opened an eye, "You're lying."

"Oh am I now? Fine, you're not the strongest. Or you won't be sitting there like that. Just think, Yajirobe, that if ya entered the tournament, you could win. You could get all that prize money! 500,000 zeni!"

Whoa now. That was a lot of money. With that kind of money, he could buy all the food he wanted. He was the strongest, the cat had said, so it had to be true. Sure it was a disheartening aphorism for the others, but it was positively profound to Yajirobe. He was the strongest in the world. Out of everyone, he had the most skill. He liked that. He didn't like so much that he would still have to train some more (when he just wanted some sun).

Maybe if Yajirobe gave everybody some food they would agree not to train and he wouldn't either. That way none of them would ever surpass him and he wouldn't have to train. No, that was unrealistic. At this pace, he could still do minimal training and beat anyone. He would win this tournament.

Yajirobe nodded to Korin, whose lips pursed into a devious smile.

"All right, whatever, I'll enter. Now let me get some sleep, stupid cat."


Today was May 10th in the age seven hundred fifty-three.