The town of Shirakawa was quiet this afternoon. Located at the foot of a mountain, it was home to few people, mostly labourers, leading to little interaction with modern society. This didn't mean it was totally cut off from the outside world, new technology still had a place in Shirakawa, just not so prominently. One factor that remains with the town even in the modern day is the presence of a governor who rules over the town solely, with no interruption from the government of Japan. This governor coming from a family who have governed Shirakawa for years.

Said governor, a young man in his late 20's, was currently sat in the courtyard of his home, Naki Palace. Palace is a broad term, given the palace is merely two houses, and a large garden stretching around and between them. He was currently overseeing the punishment of a thief.

Enter Soyama Hakuji.

The thief, currently restrained, not easily to say the least, by multiple grown men, was not even a man himself. At 11 years old, Hakuji cut a striking figure, well-muscled and fit. He had short black hair, and pale blue eyes with unusually coloured pink eyelashes. He was wearing a dirty pair of beige sweatpants with a discarded old t-shirt on the floor. He was covered in bruises and cuts, likely from trying to escape the local police, one particularly nasty gash by his left eye.

The governor continued to watch as Hakuji struggled relentlessly against the police, until he finally deemed it enough.

"This is the third time, Hakuji." He spoke, clear and concise. Disdain and disappointment evident in his tone, directed at the boy. Hakuji's eyes lowered in what could have been mistaken for shame, only to rise defiantly seconds later.

"You don't seem to understand your position, boy. It is our law in Shirakawa to remove the hands of thieves so they cannot steal again. You are no exception to the law." The governor stated.

Hakuji finally spoke. With rash defiance and a bloodied smile on his face.

"Go ahead and cut them off! You cut them off, I'll still have my feet! And I'll pick pockets with those! Either way, you're not getting me next time!"

The words were delivered clearly and with no fear of repercussion. What should have been dismissed as the false bravado of an 11 year old boy was instead noted seriously by the governor.

He sighed, long and hard, thinking of a punishment that wouldn't see a boy live the rest of his life without hands. And he did.

"Three pickpocket lines on both forearms. They will mark you a criminal, Hakuji. The little chances you had are now even fewer, don't waste them anymore".

The words were spoken, the police dragged the boy into the smaller house in the palace grounds. He was placed on his knees on a wooden mat, restrained with rope, and marked with ink. Despite how agonizing such a process should've been, Hakuji didn't make a sound during his marking, instead he looked blank, as if only now understanding what problems his actions may have caused him.

Hakuji's back hit the neighbouring wall as he was thrown out of the governors estate. He got up quickly, walking down the street. It was night by now, the markings had taken some hours to complete. Looking at his arms, he found the skin raw and red from the roughness of the process. He rubbed them slightly, looking forlorn.

"What's father going to say, if he can say anything at all." He thought sadly.

A common misconception in Shirakawa is that Hakuji steals out of greed, that he steals for his own gain. It couldn't be further from the truth. His father is sick, deathly so, and Hakuji is his only son and too young to work. The only option for him is to steal to make ends meet, as well as pay for his father's medicine. He had been stealing for years, becoming so good that the governor had only caught him three times, and even then, he had almost escaped. The beatings he received, and now the tattoos did little to deter him from his main goal.

Hakuji was deep in thought as he turned the corner, now only three turns from his small house, in the much poorer area of town. A foreboding feeling came over him, and nothing could shake it. It was as if the air around him was being compressed, making it hard to breathe. He turned the final corner.

'Riko-baasan?' He thought to himself as the woman herself approached. Riko was a neighbour, she was very kind, sometimes helping to pay for his father's medicine and needs. She looked haggard and distraught. The foreboding feeling intensified tenfold.

"Hakuji! Hakuji! It's your father! He heard you got caught again, he's hung himself! He's dead!"

The words barely registered. Looking over her shoulder he could see the covered body being moved out of his house. How could this have happened? His father was happy, despite the sickness and poverty. Of course, he'd never be happy with the theft, but it was what they had to do to survive. Why would he do it?

Hakuji collapsed, sitting hard on the ground. Riko was still talking his head off, but none of the words got through. His mind was clouded, nothing was alright. What could he do, he was alone now in this world, with nothing. No family, no money, and now no chance at any future because of these cursed tattoos.

A day passed. Hakuji found himself at the cemetery. The poor one of course, with uneven gravestones and uncut grass. He had slept outside the previous night, not daring to enter his home. He couldn't stand the thought of sleeping peacefully in his bed with his father on his mind.

'He deserved more than this' He thought numbly. 'How could it have gone so wrong this fast? It wasn't meant to go like this.'

A letter hung from his hand, opened and creased.

'Dear Hakuji,

Live an honest life. You can still turn over a new leaf. I don't want to live off money that has been stolen from others. I'm sorry for being a nuisance.'

'How could you ever think you were a burden on me?' Tears filled his eyes, but he swiped at them quickly, refusing to let them fall. He turned on his heel, leaving the cemetery. He would mourn elsewhere.

Upon leaving, he was faced with another problem.

Six men, led by one bigger than two of them combined, approached him loudly. The leader was gruff and looked furious. Hakuji recognized him immediately. His name was Kenji, a woodcutter, and coincidentally the man he had stolen from earlier that day.

"Soyama! You little shit!" He screamed, spit flying from his teeth.

'Now? Of all times?'

The group came closer, they were now five meters from Hakuji's prone form.

'My dad never did anything wrong'

Two meters.

'Why did he have to die?'

Hakuji made the first move. His right fist lashed out ruthlessly, straight into Kenji's jaw. It knocked him flat, and he sat stunned for a moment. A mistake he wouldn't be able to remedy as he was struck in the temple by Hakuji's right heel in a spinning kick. He wouldn't get up again. Hakuji was in a state of mental fog. He was furious, all the anger at the unfairness his father and he had been dealt with was surfacing, and not in a controlled manner.

'Why do we live like total shit?'

A second and third rushed the boy. Their assault was blind, not that Hakuji's response was any cleaner. He viciously kicked the second in the chest, sending him back and punched the third twice directly in the face, sending him to the floor clutching a bloody nose.

'I was only trying to help you'

The second was back with a fourth, they attacked with renewed vigour only to be crushed again. Hakuji jumped, landing with a stomp on the second's head, which threw him to the ground. The fourth, in a rare show of initiative amongst these thugs, decided to back off and walk away from the fight.

'Why did you hang yourself?'

The fifth and sixth were attacked first this time. Hakuji sent a brutal flurry of punches at the fifth, blood spurting from his nose, brow and mouth. The sixth used the distraction to try and grab the boy, Hakuji spun, kicking his stomach with a powerful foot, and grabbing his hair, bringing his nose down to Hakuji's knee. An audible crack ran through the air, as the final man hit the ground.

'I would die for you, dad'

The fog over his mind dissipated to the sound of claps.

"Oh man. That's impressive." A voice rang out. It was male, deep and friendly despite the situation. "I got called over here because some kid was about to kill everyone. And I find six adults beaten with bare fists".

The man, now shown to be tall, with medium length brown hair, scruffy stubble, and a friendly grin came closer. He was wearing the typical gi of a martial arts dojo. Hakuji panted in exertion, raising his hands to continue fighting.

He smiled widely. "I'm Keizo. Wanna come to my dojo? I've got no students under me!