The big Japanese cities like Tokyo and Sapporo never sleep. At the break of dawn, the fall of evening and all the times in-between, there is hardly a place where people cannot be found at work or play.

For this reason, any criminal with half a brain wouldn't choose those places to receive a shipment of highly advanced, and highly illegal, weaponry. Far too much chance of witnesses; especially the kind that wore costumes. That was why this shipment was being delivered in Iiyama City; one of the smaller, less observed towns.

A faint light seeped out from under the garage door of a supplies office building. The door was pushed up by two men clad in black. Swords hung by their sides. They both stepped aside as a van backed in from the road. It was the dead of night, and their employer had purchased this building legally (using fake details, of course) so there was no reason why anyone should be around.

Once the garage was safely shut up, the back doors of the van opened to reveal four more men dressed in the same manner as those greeting them. They also wore swords. Behind them were several wooden crates. The black-clad males moved one of them out and onto the floor. One of the two, who had been waiting for the van, drew his sword, sliced through the lock on the crate and sheathed his weapon in one fluid motion. He lifted the lid and looked down at the rifles stacked within. Picking one up, he looked it over, felt its' weight in his hands and checked the sight.

The van's driver, dressed in ordinary clothes, received a satisfactory nod and got out to help with the unloading. Everyone else had their attention focused on the task at hand, so they did not notice the arm reach out from under the van, and grab the driver's leg. However, they did notice his scream and the dull thud that followed. Drawing their swords, the men ran around to the driver's side of the van; only to find him lying unconscious on the floor.

At the other side, a figure rolled out from under the vehicle and, using the previously unloaded crate as a launching pad, leapt into the air and drove his knee square into the face of one of the swordsmen. The force of the blow sent the man flying off his feet and, with his attacker planting himself on top of him, he landed flat on his back. The back of his head collided with the hard floor and he was knocked out instantly.

It only took one look at the teen, garbed in white and black, for the criminals to know who he was. The man closest to him screamed out a battle cry and ran forward, slicing with his sword.

Bushido quickly drew his own blade and parried the attack, turning with his opponent as he sailed past. At the same time, with his free hand, he pulled the scabbard from his belt and used that to block the sword swing from a second attacker. With a twist of his wrists, he hooked his weapons around his opponents' sword hilts and pulled them down, so that the blades crossed just above the ground. Planting his foot down to keep them pinned, Bushido slammed his elbows into both the men's noses, causing them to stagger back and drop their swords.

Hearing fast-paced footsteps behind him, the young hero struck out with his leg and caught a third fighter straight in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The fourth and fifth came at him together and he moved around, dodging and blocking their attacks. He finally spotted an opening and slashed an adversary's upper arm, drawing blood. As the man was distracted by the pain, Bushido dropped down and swept his legs out from underneath him. The crook fell back and hit his head on the floor as his companion had previously done. Springing back to his feet, Bushido parried a strike from the second of the pair and then clubbed him around the face with his sword hilt. The man was slammed into the wall, and then slumped down to the floor.

One of the two that had received an elbow to the nose had now retrieved his sword, and ran at the teenage warrior with it raised above his head. Bushido gripped his scabbard and threw it like a boomerang. It spun through the air and hit the fighter right between the eyes, causing him to drop like a stone.

Looking around for the last swordsman, Bushido spotted him by the weapons crate – with a rifle already in his hands!

The man fired and, instead of bullets, a continuous laser shot out of the barrel. Bushido hit the floor with a roll, narrowly avoiding the laser which burned a hole in the wall behind him. He came up with his sword in both hands. As his opponent swept the laser towards him, Bushido placed the blade in the way. The deadly beam reflected off of its' shining surface and hit the ceiling. Before the gunman had realized what was happening, Bushido steered the laser so that it cut through a large ceiling fan. The attachment fell and struck his assailant on the head. He dropped his gun, stumbled forward and was knocked into unconsciousness by an uppercut from the young samurai.

Seeing that none of his opponents were getting back up, Bushido exhaled slowly and allowed himself to relax. He examined the blade of his sword. It had a nasty burn mark and some of the metal had melted. He'd have to get to work on fixing that right away. But first, the proper authorities would have to be notified of what had been going on here tonight. The boy found a phone set into the wall and began to dial. He'd be out of there before the police arrived. They'd most likely have a lot of questions that he'd rather not spend the night answering. With the call made, his job was done for the night.

--

Akihiko Hokkaido was sat behind his desk, watching a recording on the small T.V. in the upper corner of the room. It showed a teenager, in a white shirt and black pants, fighting a group of grown men – and winning. In fact, he was making them look like amateurs. Akihiko had to admit that his technique was one to be admired. Unfortunately, it just so happened to be his men that were being made fools out of. The entire event had been captured by a security camera, which had sent the images straight to him.

"Do you see this, Daichi?" He turned around in his chair to face his top chief and personal confidant Daichi Miyagi.

"This," He pointed to the screen. "Has been going on for the past three months."

Daichi just raised his eyebrows in a gesture of acknowledgement. He was already well aware of the situation, and Akihiko knew that. His superior just needed to vent.

"It's getting so that our clients feel it is unsafe to do business with us."

Daichi couldn't really blame them for that. He and Akihiko had nothing to fear. They always made sure to cover their tracks well whenever they made a deal. Also, the men who had been arrested would much rather spend several years in jail, than reveal any information to the police and face the consequences. But their clients couldn't be asked to risk their own enterprises, just on their good word.

He leaned forward slightly in his chair; straight-backed but comfortable. After all, this was, as far as anyone else knew, the office of the honest Head of a museum of history.

"You know, seeing this boy in action; it makes me think that there may be some truth to the rumors we've heard."

Akihiko shot his subordinate a questioning look.

"You really believe in that old story?" He asked.

Daichi responded with a shrug.

"I don't think it really matters what I believe. It's what our fellow businessmen do. And if they think he really is the next Bushido; they're going to be awfully reluctant to risk attracting his attention."

Akihiko gave a small nod. He then picked up a remote control on his desk and switched the T.V. screen off.

"Well, if that's the case, then we're just going to have to remove the risk."

"I'll get right on it." Daichi stood, gave a small bow and left the room.

Akihiko leant back in his chair and rubbed his clean-shaven chin. A real Bushido; a living relic. Maybe after he'd had the boy killed, he could put an exhibit in the museum about the famous line of warriors. It'd make a great attraction for the kids.

--

Wen Ch'ang walked along the simple stone path set in his spacious garden. He liked this place. It wasn't as dear to him as the house he owned back in his home country of China, but it was quiet and allowed him a good view of the mountains.

Coming to the end of the path, he could see his young ward practicing a kata on the neat short grass. The elderly man sat down on a small bench. He wouldn't disturb her. The girl was a creature of habit. She always went through her training routine each morning. Wen had found that, without some form of exercise at least once a day, she would become restless. And that was not a good state for a person with her abilities to be in.

So he sat and waited. When the girl had finished her exercises, she walked over to him and stood before the bench. Her arms were casually by her sides and her face was neutral. Wen gave her a small smile and spoke,

"Pack your things, Jade. We're going to Iiyama City.