Bankotsu's Tale
All characters, excluding my own, are property of Rumiko Takahashi.
Summary: In the company of the Daimyo, Bankotsu unveils a story he thought he would never have to tell.
PART ONE:
Mother use to tell me that I was named Bankotsu for the way I screamed coming into this world. She said I screamed like a warrior, recklessly daring any one to challenge me.
Even as a child, I was courageous fighting with the children much older than my self, hardly ever crying when I was beaten to a pulp.
Unfortunately, being the first born son in a Samurai family, I was not meant to be a warrior following his own path.
But a slave bending to the will of his master.
My father bought into all the bull. And his father before him too.
Both swearing his allegiance to some moronic Daimyo and often forsaking their families for the good of his Deus.
I hate the Samurai...I hate everything related to them. And I will always hate them. They think they're so great with their codes and loyalty!
I can't stand it! Even as a boy I knew that it was all crap!
My father never really had anything for himself each time he rode off to battle for his lord; some fool who never clouded his own fucking hands! Sure we had a home and all, but not what we deserved!
We did not have the freedom we should have had.
Why risk your life for someone who would not do the same, or serve people who would only take you for granted?
Not only that, my father was such a fraud!
Because even though father lived by the samurai creed out in public, Inside of our home he was craven and an abusive asshole.
He'd beat my mother and younger sister when he was drunk and often did the same to me as well as spluttered insults at me when he saw I was growing up into something more than he was.
As for my mother, she was a kind, good woman...but so daft to everything around her. Always bowing her head and ignoring reality. It was a shame really.
Apparently, even ordinary people buy into the samurai propaganda as well.
So of course, I was forced into training to follow in Pa's footsteps. At that time, I felt I had no choice, everyone seemed to be on my father's side and not my own.
Every day after my classes, Pa kept telling me I was winning high praise from my sensei's and fellow pupils. My physical strength was setting a spirit of awe in those who did not know me he said. I think Pa was doing it as a way of bribery...hoping I'd finally accept my fate if I realized I was seen as a remarkable student.
It was so annoying...to be seen as some physical masterpiece and not for whom I really wanted to be.
You see, I loved to paint...I wanted to be an artist. It was so relaxing and I love to be laid back, with nothing to worry about.
But father only cursed my hopes, especially when he had too much sake, saying I would dishonor him and my family if I chose such a trade.
One night, In a drunken rage he destroyed all my paintings and my utensils, all the while deaf to my pleas. Well, not exactly, when he acknowledged me, it was with his fists.
As I lay crying that night, bruised and bloodied, Mama told me to be strong, that I could paint as a hobby while I served my duty as a Samurai.
No one was on my side. Everyone seemed to me... an enemy.
In time, a rage built up...and I found that unloading it with my strength was the best form of relief.
I began beating anything. Animals, trees, and even people! Whatever I could inflict damage on I beat. I felt so good afterward. Because when I hurt a stray cat, I imagined I was hurting my father and all those who were forcing me into something I despised.
When I did that, I released my anger...and my pain. The anger of being forced to agree to a lifestyle that I did not want. And the pain of being all alone in my thoughts and hopes.
There was a problem though. I hated how my hands felt after ward, I knew there had to be another way to demonstrate my strength. To rid my self of the pain and anger I had in just one blow. But more to the point, I longed to destroy all that I despised, and I knew with just my hands, that task was near to impossible.
So I dreamed of having a weapon that could help me in my chore.
I just didn't know what it could be at the time. Then, after weeks of thinking, I discovered just what I needed.
A weapon no man had ever dreamed of being real or wielded. A weapon only I could wield and know the secrets of.
All characters, excluding my own, are property of Rumiko Takahashi.
Summary: In the company of the Daimyo, Bankotsu unveils a story he thought he would never have to tell.
PART ONE:
Mother use to tell me that I was named Bankotsu for the way I screamed coming into this world. She said I screamed like a warrior, recklessly daring any one to challenge me.
Even as a child, I was courageous fighting with the children much older than my self, hardly ever crying when I was beaten to a pulp.
Unfortunately, being the first born son in a Samurai family, I was not meant to be a warrior following his own path.
But a slave bending to the will of his master.
My father bought into all the bull. And his father before him too.
Both swearing his allegiance to some moronic Daimyo and often forsaking their families for the good of his Deus.
I hate the Samurai...I hate everything related to them. And I will always hate them. They think they're so great with their codes and loyalty!
I can't stand it! Even as a boy I knew that it was all crap!
My father never really had anything for himself each time he rode off to battle for his lord; some fool who never clouded his own fucking hands! Sure we had a home and all, but not what we deserved!
We did not have the freedom we should have had.
Why risk your life for someone who would not do the same, or serve people who would only take you for granted?
Not only that, my father was such a fraud!
Because even though father lived by the samurai creed out in public, Inside of our home he was craven and an abusive asshole.
He'd beat my mother and younger sister when he was drunk and often did the same to me as well as spluttered insults at me when he saw I was growing up into something more than he was.
As for my mother, she was a kind, good woman...but so daft to everything around her. Always bowing her head and ignoring reality. It was a shame really.
Apparently, even ordinary people buy into the samurai propaganda as well.
So of course, I was forced into training to follow in Pa's footsteps. At that time, I felt I had no choice, everyone seemed to be on my father's side and not my own.
Every day after my classes, Pa kept telling me I was winning high praise from my sensei's and fellow pupils. My physical strength was setting a spirit of awe in those who did not know me he said. I think Pa was doing it as a way of bribery...hoping I'd finally accept my fate if I realized I was seen as a remarkable student.
It was so annoying...to be seen as some physical masterpiece and not for whom I really wanted to be.
You see, I loved to paint...I wanted to be an artist. It was so relaxing and I love to be laid back, with nothing to worry about.
But father only cursed my hopes, especially when he had too much sake, saying I would dishonor him and my family if I chose such a trade.
One night, In a drunken rage he destroyed all my paintings and my utensils, all the while deaf to my pleas. Well, not exactly, when he acknowledged me, it was with his fists.
As I lay crying that night, bruised and bloodied, Mama told me to be strong, that I could paint as a hobby while I served my duty as a Samurai.
No one was on my side. Everyone seemed to me... an enemy.
In time, a rage built up...and I found that unloading it with my strength was the best form of relief.
I began beating anything. Animals, trees, and even people! Whatever I could inflict damage on I beat. I felt so good afterward. Because when I hurt a stray cat, I imagined I was hurting my father and all those who were forcing me into something I despised.
When I did that, I released my anger...and my pain. The anger of being forced to agree to a lifestyle that I did not want. And the pain of being all alone in my thoughts and hopes.
There was a problem though. I hated how my hands felt after ward, I knew there had to be another way to demonstrate my strength. To rid my self of the pain and anger I had in just one blow. But more to the point, I longed to destroy all that I despised, and I knew with just my hands, that task was near to impossible.
So I dreamed of having a weapon that could help me in my chore.
I just didn't know what it could be at the time. Then, after weeks of thinking, I discovered just what I needed.
A weapon no man had ever dreamed of being real or wielded. A weapon only I could wield and know the secrets of.