Miyamoto opened an eye. "Ah, welcome back."
Genji stepped into the room and carefully closed the door behind him. He could feel his strength slowly returning.
"Take a seat, make yourself at home. I've prepared some breakfast for you." Miyamoto gestured to the steaming bowl in front of him, resting in a wooden tray beside a set of chopsticks. "I was just in the middle of my meditation. Dig in. We can begin once you're done."
The cyborg crossed the room and sat cross-legged in front of the old man. His eyes were closed once again, a peaceful smile playing at his lips. Genji wordlessly picked up the bowl of food and the chopsticks, looking at his face. At that moment, Genji thought Miyamoto didn't seem so old. With a calm smile, his back arched straight and his fingers locked and intertwined in front of him, he seemed more like a statue. One that wouldn't break under rain or wind.
Genji absently raised the noodles to his mouth, which his visor intercepted with a soft thud. His cheeks reddened. Oh, right. Could he had imagined it, or did Miyamoto's smile grow a little wider? Reaching behind his head, he pushed the pistons, releasing it. He pulled it off and set it on the tray, before returning to eating his food.
He took the first bite. His eyes widened. This is delicious, he thought, but what is this?
Pale noodles were submerged into a rich amber broth, on top of which were slices of brown things seasoned with bright green herbs and dark spices. Genji brought the bowl closer to his eyes and poked at the meat slices with his chopsticks. "Chicken?" he whispered to himself.
"Beef," Miyamoto replied, opening an eye. "How are you enjoying the ramen?"
"Ramen," Genji repeated, feeling the word roll off his tongue. It felt… familiar. "It is delicious. It warms me up, from the inside." He picked at the beef and some noodles, and shoved it into his mouth. His cheeks felt to the point of bursting with flavor. Chewing slowly, the cyborg savored the texture, before taking another bite, and another, before long eating as fast as he could. Too soon, his chopsticks found the bottom of the bowl. He returned it onto the tray and leaned back, sighing.
"Quite the voracious appetite."
Genji looked up and saw the old man smiling at him, both eyes open now.
"I have eaten that before, haven't I?" the cyborg asked.
"So you are coming to understand what you may or may have not experienced before?"
Genji sat back up, leaning his arms on his thighs, staring at them intently. "I have for a while now. When I first woke up—everything was a blur, nothing really felt like it… existed. Like I was in a dream, everything around me shrouded in uncertainty and mystery." He touched his prosthetic fingers together, locked them, and brought them apart. "I still feel that way a little, but as the days pass by, some things are starting to get clearer. I cannot be certain if I have done one thing before or the other, but sometimes, I feel like I have. When my body through the motions, there's this odd feeling."
"An odd feeling?" Miyamoto prodded after a moment of silence.
"A feeling of… comfort. A feeling like everything is all right—security… from deliberation."
"Ah…" he closed his eyes.
"Am I making sense?"
"Yes, you are," he replied, "more than you can imagine."
"What is it called then, if I'm not the only one to have felt it?"
Silence. Genji waited patiently for a reply, staring at his teacher's tranquil face. Just when he was about to ask if he had fallen asleep, Miyamoto took a slow, deep breath.
"It's a feeling of belonging, Genji. I feel it when I practice my craft, or when I'm resting in my garden gazing at the trees back in my hometown. I feel it when I watch curtains of rain fall from the heavens, the scent of earth filling my lungs. Yes, I know the feeling well, Genji, for it's a feeling of home."
"Home," the cyborg repeated.
"Yes, a place where you belong, where you don't have to be wanted or loved, but only to feel at peace with yourself."
"Where is home to me, then?" Genji looked at the metal walls of the ship. "Is this my home now?"
"It is wherever you make it, young farmer."
Genji was quiet for a moment. "I don't understand."
"You will, with time." Miyamoto deliberately picked himself up from the ground and patted his robe. "Are you ready to begin?"
With the pressing issue of his immediate hunger dealt with, the cyborg suddenly remembered the tasks set for him, not without a measure of guilt. "The things you told me to get, I haven't managed—"
Miyamoto waved him off. "To gather them? No matter. There isn't a time limit, after all." He smiled toothily. Moving to the back of the room, he opened a drawer from the dingy cupboard in the corner and retrieved two smooth wooden poles identical to one another, slightly curved along its length and ending with a blunted point. "Stand up, Genji."
Genji caught the object tossed over. He held it in his hands, feeling its weight, examining the grain of the polished auburn wood slightly longer than the length of his arm. His eyes widened. "Wakizashi," he breathed. He ran a hand along the wood, reveling at how it felt in his grip.
"I see you recall," Miyamoto said with a smile.
"I… do," replied Genji distractedly, still staring into the wooden sword.
"But do you remember how to use it, young farmer?"
Without warning, the old man closed the distance between them impossibly quick, the wooden sword, where just a moment ago was rested relaxed at his side, suddenly brought above him to strike. Genji could hear it whistling through the air.
Reflexively, Genji laid the flat of the blade against his hand, the other still clutching the hilt, angled towards deflecting the blow, moving a leg behind him in one swift compound movement.
The blow never came. Miyamoto swiftly transitioned the feint into a low horizontal slash aimed at the cyborg's middle section, which Genji narrowly dodged by shifting his weight onto the leg he moved. Keeping himself low, he channeled his momentum into a pirouette, sweeping his blade across in a counter-attack aimed at Miyamoto's shins.
Genji had never felt so alive. Every part of his being was electric, his body moving fast and sure, his mind acting on its own. The thrill swallowed Genji, and he wore it in the motion of storming wood.
Before realizing what he was about to do, and hesitating.
His blade found only air as Miyamoto jumped. Genji quickly glanced up to access his next move, only to find the sole of a bare foot occupying most of his vision, before being flung backwards at the force of the impact. The sword fell out of his hand.
Lying on the floor, Genji was surprised to find that he felt no pain at all. His metal body absorbed the impact of the kick and the fall to its entirety, leaving him only with a slight feeling of being winded and stunned.
Miyamoto came into view. "I would offer you a hand in getting up, but I fear my back can only take so much."
"Were you trying to kill me?!" Genji almost screamed, pushing himself off the ground. "You almost split my head open! Maybe a little warning next time?"
"With this?" He absently tapped the sword on the floor. "If something were to have broken, it would be anything but that head of yours. I doubt even a real, sharpened one would have left a mark. The same way I doubt that an attack done any other way would have had as much of an impact than if I did it as so. Your body naturally reacted to the immediate threat posed to you, being me, and in doing so allowed me to better understand your prowess in combat."
"Being?"
He smiled. "It exists."
They shared a moment of silence, and another moment of Genji wondering what was going on in the old man's head.
"But I've gathered that much on our very first meeting, do you remember? It was when I—"
"—hurled a blade at my face?" Genji interrupted drily, "I barely recall."
"Ah, so you do!" said Miyamoto, either choosing to ignore the sarcasm or missing it entirely. "Yes… but our little session today told us what it is. Imagine a cat in a box. You know that a cat is in there, you have no doubt. But what is it? Its color, its shape? Is it a fat white shorthair, striped in black? Or an elegant, dark-faced Siamese?" He began pacing around the cyborg, who in turn was watching him carefully, wary of another surprise attack. "Tell me, Genji, how would you find out what exactly it is?"
"I would open the box," he answered.
"Precisely!" Miyamoto had a pleased expression on his face, like a teacher who successfully taught a student the solution to a particularly difficult problem. "Which is exactly what we did today."
"And what did you find? In the box?"
"What, the cat?"
"What cat?"
"As I asked."
Genji paused. "Why are we talking about a cat now?"
"To help you understand the point of our practice today."
"Which is…"
"A story about a cat. In a box."
Genji waved him off. "No, the cat doesn't matter anymore—"
"It doesn't?"
"No. Whether it exists or not—"
"Ah, so you would like to discuss whether it actually is in the box or not? An interesting subject, that one. Let's say you cannot know for certain unless you open the box, and if we can assume that it not existing is truly in the state of it being dead—"
"What?!"
"Was that not what you wanted to talk about?"
Genji was bewildered, and very confused. "No!"
"Well, I supposed we can another day…"
A moment of silence passed.
"So," Miyamoto started, smiling, "what would you like to talk about?"
"You have forgotten what we were first talking about," the cyborg stated.
"Haven't the slightest clue," Miyamoto confirmed, still smiling.
"Something about what you have found out?" Genji tried, "when you were fighting me?"
"Ah yes, I remember now." He raised his eyes. "Genji, what do you know about the way of the ninja?"
"Nin-ja?" The word felt familiar on Genji's lips, and he racked his memory to recall why that is. He felt like he was trying to tune a broken radio as his head started to hurt. "Ninja…" he repeated. Something was coming to him. In his mind's eye, he could see a figure obscured in darkness, melded into the shadows. It wasn't uncertainty that shrouded him, however. That was just how the figure was, to his essence. "Darkness?" Genji tried.
"Very good," Miyamoto praised. "Ninja lurk in the shadows, silent, patient, and frightening deadly. Like an owl hidden in branches, the mouse would never know of its inevitable death, even as it occurs. Yes, I have no doubt. You were trained to the way of the ninja, young farmer."
"How can you tell?"
"You can tell a lot about a person by the way they carry themselves in a fight." Pacing back to his mat, he sat back down and gestured for the cyborg to do the same. "Your movements were lithe, smooth and done with flow. Transitioning, waiting, then attacking. You dodged when you could have parried, and you chose to strike as you tried to hide the motion with your pivoting body. I'm very familiar with the style, Genji, for it is the same which I practice." He raised a finger. "The style of water. You kept yourself low, close to the ground, versatile. Ready to spring with any intention."
Genji relaxed, confident that even Miyamoto wouldn't be able to launch an attack sitting down. "All that, in a single moment?"
"You would be surprised to see how much you can learn from information that's given to you, regardless of how long it takes for it to get to you." His eyes twinkled. "It was also very easy to tell that you are severely out of practice. Your body knows the movements, but your mind has forgotten the techniques. It is as though you were wearing a full suit of armor weighing you down, making you clumsy." He chuckled at his own joke.
Genji sat in silence, preoccupied with his thoughts. Trained to fight? For what? Even if a certain scientist had told him that he never participated in any public violence, why else would he know how to fight, if not for that purpose?
"What do you know of honor, Genji?" His voice was softer now.
The cyborg grit his teeth as his head immediately started to hurt. He fought it down. It seemed like it got easier with every passing one, but each was still as unwelcoming as the last.
"Honor," he continued, "is everything about you. It is your pride, your dignity, and your soul. It represents your purpose which encompasses your life, and it is a treasure which no one can touch except for you, one that no one can ever take from you, but something you can cast away on your own. It shatters as soon as you let it go, and it is very hard to get back."
"I don't understand," muttered the cyborg, rubbing his head.
"Nor do I expect you to. But you will, with time. Tell me, what is your purpose?"
Genji paused. The pain was almost gone. "I want to learn what it means to protect people close to me."
"A good purpose. Hold onto it, my young farmer. Remember it. Hold your head up high, move steadily, and do not hesitate. Your past matters little. There is only now, and the future; forward."
There's a reason why you are alive with us right now, and the only way left to go is forward. The cyborg raised his eyes, his heart feeling a little lighter.
Miyamoto cleared his throat. "With that said, it would be preferable if you also do not hesitate in our following practice sessions."
Genji winced. "You noticed."
"Of course I did. It would help with your training if you don't, as well as showing me honor in not pulling your punches."
"I was afraid of hurting you."
"Please, I'm not decrepit yet. And in your current state, you wouldn't have." He smiled. "No more hesitation."
"No more hesitation," Genji promised after a pause.
"Good! Now, I believe there is somewhere you need to be?" Miyamoto said, consulting a digital watch on his wrist, "very soon?"
Genji sprang to his feet. "How long?"
"Two minutes," he replied matter-of-factly. "Till next time, Genji."
Genji bowed hastily and strode towards the door. When he reached the door-knob, he paused. "Sensei?"
"Yes?"
"Why were we practicing with wooden swords? Steel would not hurt me, right?"
The old man laughed. "It's not for your safety, it's for mine."
Genji turned some heads when he burst through the hall doors. The attention given to him was in the extremes; some eyes darted away quickly, others lingered. The recruits returned to their talking as the cyborg heaved a sigh of relief when he read the large, analog clock above the stage. He still had more than a minute to spare.
Moving to the nearest corner, Genji tried to act as normally as he could to not attract any attention. It wasn't any good; he could still feel people looking at him, and he didn't know quite where to put his hands. Glowing didn't really help either. Just as he resolved to fold his hands behind him and stare at the clock, he saw someone approaching him at the corner of his vision.
"Hey there," the recruit said with a smile when he got within earshot, "remember me?"
Despite there being just a wall behind him, Genji checked anyway. "Greetings. You are…" He stopped himself, registering the face before him, this time not contorted in pain. "…the man I caused to fall two meters to the ground this morning."
"Three," he corrected. "That's how far it felt like, anyway," he laughed.
"I—"
"Hey," he interrupted, "you already apologized once, and I know how hard it can be to find the words to apologize with sometimes, so I appreciate the effort."
The cyborg paused, stunned. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it." He held out a hand. "Will Pyre."
Genji looked at his hand, then reached for it and shook it. "Genji. Shimada."
"Let's do our best, Genji."
The cyborg smiled a smile no one could see.
The room fell into sudden silence as Lieutenant Sobel entered through the doors. "Line up," he barked.
The men complied.
"Follow me," he continued, turning his back and striding out.
No one uttered a sound as they followed the lieutenant through the labyrinth of halls. The silence was further exacerbated when the sound of footsteps ceased as the men waited for the heavy blast doors to slowly yawn open, before being filled with the sound of seagulls, shouting fishermen, and crashing waves.
The lieutenant led them into a large white tent constructed by the coast, right next to the ship. Inside, they saw Jack Morrison standing on a raised platform at the front, studying a clipboard.
There was a machine Genji had never seen before directly in front of him at the foot of the platform, with pipes and gauges covering most of its surface. It wasn't particularly large, just coming up to the waist and only slightly wider. He raised his eyes when he saw the lieutenant enter, who he dismissed with a nod after being given a quick salute.
The men filed themselves in the front, standing as still as towers, and waited.
Jack put away the clipboard. "It's time for your next test, with a small change in scenery this time around."