A sword. A long, sharp, gracefully curved piece of metal attached to a handle wrapped up in leather. The handle is covered with dark spots of red at times, but the blade. The blade is always kept spotless. After all, it's a sword. A real one. A delicate and elegant beast-- not like the pathetic wooden one he owns. If he even breathes on it the wrong way, he is sure to get a fresh bruise on his arm, or perhaps something worse than that. Yet, it's always so tempting. He wants to run his hand along the blade that he's sure has beheaded many. He wants to feel the harsh leather of the handle in his hands. He wants to raise the sword high above his head and--
A strong hand is placed on his head and he gulps. The silent warning evolves into words, his own name tensing every muscle in his body. "Nobunaga."
"Yes, father." He answers, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Aren't you supposed to be out training... or weren't my new instructions clear enough?" The last statement is said with a low growl, yet there's less hostility in his voice than he expects.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll be heading out right away."
The hand is removed from his head. He's sure it'll come back down with enough force to-- A light squeeze on his shoulder and the hand stays. Seconds feel like hours and nothing happens. His throat starts drying up. A sigh from behind and he dares to tilt his head back.
"You're not experienced enough to hold that sword. Train hard enough and I'll one day pass down our forefather's legacy onto you." The same old thing repeated so many times, he's surprised he didn't see it coming.
"Any other would do for now. I just... want to use a real one for once. I'm sick of--" A harsh noise and a stinging in his cheek. Jaw tightened, the wince stays locked in his throat.
"You're not worthy of one yet. And with the behavior you've been displaying, you never will be." He spits out, his words more venomous than his actions. "You should be grateful I'm even wasting my time on you."
A metallic taste spreads in his mouth. Tears dried up years ago, he only manages an apology. "Sorry, sir."
"You better be." The man steps forward. A blur of grey and, without a sound, the blade is now inside his scabbard. "I may come home late today."
"Understood, sir."
The harsh air of Meteor City slaps him across his face as he steps outside. His training ground is a bit far away from the house, but going there everyday is always worth the effort-- due to the space, the lack of mafia, and no ordinary people hanging around either-- just to name a few things.
Looking up at the sky, he realises he is pretty late. "Damn, I'm gonna have to weave through the market." It's a short cut which he usually avoids due to the heavy crowds and frequent fights. He has only been given a week to achieve his current goal though, so he supposes it's worth it.
A stretch and he pats his pockets. One. Two. Three coins. Maybe he can even buy something. His wooden sword secured in his belt, he rushes off. From the group of cracked concrete buildings forming the residential area-- tall enough to block out most of the sunlight-- it doesn't take too long to reach the market. Loud conversations dissolved into one demonic noise, the market is as annoying as ever. At the very least, there are not too many mafia dogs around.
The coins jingle in his pockets as he blends into the crowd, internally debating over how he can spend his money.
Something solid collides into him. Looking up from the ground, it's a stocky ratty-looking man. "Hey! Watch it!" The man yells, grabbing him up by the collar.
"But--"
"Yeah?" He brings his face close enough for him to be able to smell the last drags of his cigarette.
The man is thrice as big as him, and with the attitude he holds, he's probably affiliated with the mafia. Pushing his pride deeper into his chest, he tries his best to sound apologetic. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For... bumping into you. I should have seen where--"
The man's hold abruptly loosens, sending him back to the ground. "A measly apology isn't going to do much good." Puffing out his chest, he snarls. "Look here, boy. Do you see me wearing a dusty shirt and shorts like you. No. Unlike you, I'm clothed in--"
A voice from the back guffaws. "You've got guts bullying my friend, I'll give you that. But can you back it up?"
The man whips around, his expressions twisting into a scowl. "Do you even know who you're talking to?"
"Yeah. A little coward trying to assert dominance on someone not even his size because he can't even look someone half his age straight in the eyes." He sniggers.
"That's it!"
"You stole the words right outta my mouth." The boy charges froward, one arm pulled back. A crunch. A yelp. A thud. The man is on his knees, screaming threats at the top of his lungs. "Come on! Don't make it this easy!" Another crunch. Another yelp. Another--
"Hey!" Nobunaga rushes forward, getting in between the two. "Uvo! Calm down! You don't want to make an enemy of the mafia!"
"The mafia? What makes you think a weakling like him is mafia?"
"He could be!" He presses on. "You should try to be on the safe side."
Uvo pats his back, laughing. "Oh, come on now! What's the fun in that? The people here don't care anyway. You see anyone looking at us?"
Nobunaga looks around to confirm. Despite the many people passing by them, not a single one pays any attention to them, all simply going around them. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he examines the strangers' faces. They are pale and cold, a strange mixed look stuck on their faces. Most walk as quickly as possible without a sound, not interested in causing any trouble. Others stop and make sounds only to bargain for something from the stalls. He spots a few groups of mafia thugs scattered around, the source of the noise-- the only uncaring people here. A boy with dirty-blond hair and lightning speed snatches a nearly mouldy loaf of bread from one of the stalls. The shopkeeper-- a woman bound to be in her 60s-- does not even spare him a look.
He rarely goes to the market to begin with and when he does, he always has a clear goal in his mind, which he follows to the letter, minding his own business. Something twists in his heart. Despite how strict his father is, apart from the mafia, they're definitely one of the lucky ones. It's strange to see people be so used to the despair, while he--
"Nobunaga!" Uvo raises an eyebrow at his friend's frown.
He snaps himself out of his trance. "Yeah?"
"You alright?"
"Yeah, I was just--"
Uvo cups Nobu's cheek. "I mean this. There's blood on you." Scowling, he leans closer. "Don't tell me... he actually managed to hit you?! Why the hell were you trying to stop me from beating the crap outta him then?! That's it! I'm killing him!"
Nobu's face turns pale. "No no no! I told you we can't have any trouble with the mafia." He grabs Uvo's arm and tries to pull him back, as he advances towards the hunched figure on the ground. "Besides, he didn't do it. Promise! Trust me! UVO!"
The boy finally stops. Turning around, he gently removes Nobu's hand from his arm, and starts cracking his knuckles. "You tell me who did that now."
"I just accidentally bit my cheek while eating--"
With the looks Uvo throws at him, he finally relents. "It was... him."
His temper suddenly cools down. A strange feeling of hopelessness taking over him-- he hates it when this happens. He tried to take him on a few months ago, for Nobu's sake. Needless to say, he was lucky to even get out of it alive. "What for, this time?"
Nobunaga shifts his feet, his eyes examining his shoes. "I asked him for a sword. He said I wasn't worthy of one and well... hit me."
Uvo clenches his fists. "Don't listen to a damn thing he says. In my eyes, you're worth every damn thing in this world!"
Nobu blushes, a smile spreading on his face before it turns into a laugh.
"Hey hey! Come on now! I wasn't lying!" A hint of red colors his cheeks as well.
Nobunaga simply keeps laughing, doubling over. Being around with him always ends up like this... and he loves it.
"Anyway anyway!" Uvo declares, ready to change the subject. "I'm going off to meet him. You coming?"
The light of excitement shines in his eyes, before dying back down. "Sorry. I have to go train. Or I'll only get in trouble. I'm seriously late already. Some other time, okay?"
"Huh?! Come on! You say this every single day! You've never been there once! Today, you're definitely going!" He grins.
Dread paints his face as he explains. "If I don't work hard, I'll never be worthy enough. I need to train more. If he finds out I skipped training, you- you don't understand what'll happen!"
Uvo scrunches his nose. "Sorry to push ya. I... get it. It's fine. I'll keep ya updated, 'kay?"
Nobu nods and without a single word more, the two part. The coins jingle in his pockets as he makes his way out of the market.
Hours later, a little before twilight, with bandages covering the mess on his hands, he returns home. Inside, it's dark and quiet.
"I may come home late today." His father's words repeat in his head.
He puts his wooden sword against his closet and heads to the bathroom. A warm bath later, he prepares dinner, sets it out on the table, and waits. And waits. And waits.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. His annoyance makes him nearly destroy the clock. The food is cold. The hour hand is near nine. He's late. Too late.
His stomach loudly grumbles for the hundredth time. Sighing, he gives in to its pleads and picks up the spoon.
Halfway through eating, a knock at the front door interrupts his meal.
"Coming, father!" He quickly stands up and runs to the door. Opening it, knocks the air out of him.
"Close the damn door already!" His father mutters as he staggers inside, his hand pressing on the mess of blood on his chest. Various smaller cuts adorn his body, from which blood leaks. He looks tired, battered and bruised. But worst of all... Nobu's anxious eyes drift to his empty scabbard... His sword is nowhere to be seen. Mumbling incoherent words, he stumbles into the bathroom and locks himself in.
Nobu, too scared to ask any questions, returns to the table. A few spoonfuls of his meal in, and a loud crash followed by a bang. An unfamiliar voice yelling his father's name. A crashing noise from the bathroom.
Holding in his fears, he decides to check. A few steps and he's in front of the wide open bathroom door. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. A scream. His own.
Piercing brown eyes turn his way. Long white hair frame the face that softens as it examines his state. "How are you related to him?" His voice is soft, yet holds enough authority to make Nobu give up his plans of escape.
"He's my... father."
"Your father, you say?" A hint of disdain creeps into his voice. "You don't look a lot like him."
"He always says..." A look at the lifeless body before him. "...used to say that I look a lot like my mother."
"Oh." His face hardens. "Do you know what your father used to do? How he got enough money to raise you in a state unlike that of the common people of our city?"
"He used to kill bad guys." He replies proudly despite the situation at hand.
"Well then, tell me." He crouches down to his level. "What is a bad guy?"
"Someone... who hurts people who have done nothing wrong?"
"Do you think there's anyone in this world, other than a child, who has done nothing wrong in their life? When you really think about it, doesn't that make everyone a bad guy?"
Nobu nods hesitantly. "Then... what is a bad guy?"
The man shrugs. "The definition is arbitrary. You choose your own enemies."
"What is... your definition?"
"Someone that hurts the other without a valid reason, as simple as that."
Nobu pauses for a moment and then smiles. "That's a good definition..."
"Then tell me, if someone accidentally hurts the other, is it okay for the victim to hurt them back?"
Nobu shakes his head. "No. It's not their fault."
A pat on his head. "I'm glad you take after your mother." Standing up, he places the sword in his hand on the floor. "Take it and fight with it. Give it a master it can be proud of."
Nobu gulps, noticing the weapon for the first time. It's his father's. "But--"
"You're more worthy of this sword than he ever could have been."
So many years of yearning to get a hold of the blade and yet, as he gets closer, something twists in his guts. Moments before touching the hilt, he stands back up.
"I want my own sword." He declares, turning to look the man in the eye.
"Very well." He smiles. "Come along-- oh what's your name?"
"Nobunaga."
"Alright, Nobu. From now on, I'll be your guardian. Sounds good?"
"Huh?" He takes a step back.
"Who else do you think is going to take care of you? You interest me anyway, so I might as well--"
The boy nods, eyes filled with curiousity and hope.
[A/N: This used to be the first chapter before I switched it with the layout.]