The gang members trembled as if cold had pierced their bones. It was not weather that froze them but that boy. The terror Ken inspired cut their breath to pieces. He finally loosened the man's wrist after the threat, then turned and walked away calmly, ignoring them as if they were nothing but passing air.
Akio didn't forget the scene. He hurried to Ken's side, panting more from excitement than from running. He held out his hand like an old friend introducing himself.
"Hello, Yukaji Ken! You just impressed me… you're so strong, and you have the Falken like me!"
Ken's face stiffened. A flash of annoyance crossed his gray eyes, but he didn't change course or speak. He walked as if Akio were only an echo trailing him. Akio didn't give up. He fell into step beside him, voice louder with enthusiasm.
"You know? I always dreamed of being with someone like you! Maybe we could train together, or even—"
Ken stopped abruptly, glanced half over his shoulder, his eyes cold. He took a short drag from his cigarette and said in a low, clipped tone:
"That's enough. Back off."
Akio froze for a moment. The words stalled on his tongue, then he smiled again, scratching the back of his head.
"Heh… I knew you'd be hard to handle."
Ken didn't reply and looked straight ahead. Akio laughed and raised his fist to his chest with childish zeal.
"Well… even if you won't now, I'm sure one day we'll stand side by side. You'll need me, and I'll need you. Promise!"
Two gray eyes turned toward him for only a beat, bored and cold, then Ken snapped:
"You're annoying. Don't you know how to leave people alone?!"
Ken's sharp words hit Akio. His childish smile faltered and he lowered his head, mumbling:
"Ah… sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."
Ken continued walking without pause. After a few steps Akio lifted his head, his sparkle returned, and a small smile crept back. He quickened his pace to follow, as if he'd heard nothing.
In his mind Akio replayed the directions the man had given him: "At the large square by the biggest stone statue…"
He clenched his fist with resolve. "I'll prove myself there… I'll start my journey no matter what."
He called out again from behind Ken: "By the way! Are you entering the annual selection too?!"
No answer came, only the fading curl of Ken's cigarette smoke. Still Akio's stubborn smile didn't waver. He followed, sweat beading on his brow. Ken finally crushed his cigarette underfoot.
After weaving through crowded alleys the road opened into a wide plaza alive with motion. Dozens of youths stood in loose ranks, faces tense and eyes alert, each carrying ambitions heavier than their bodies.
In the center rose a massive stone statue carved as a samurai in crossed iron armor, expression rigid as rock but full of gravitas. At its base a stone plaque read:
"Shogun Shiro's Statue — Symbol of Justice and Courage in Valoria."
Akio stared at the statue, eyes wide with awe, while Ken disappeared into the crowd. Akio stepped closer, the wooden sword at his side catching the sun like a drawn blade.
He stopped before the statue and beamed with fervor.
"This is him… the greatest of our continent. The Shogun I'll walk in the footsteps of!"
The crowd's murmur was cut by the sound of light, fast footsteps. All heads turned up as a youth landed lightly on the roof tiles. His tanned skin gleamed under the sun. His black hair was cropped in a modern bowl cut with a blond streak along one side. A twisted black tattoo like the number three coiled on his neck. His hazel eyes flashed with challenge; dark sunglasses sat half-raised on his nose.
His outfit mixed past and present: a short black kimono embroidered with gold threads over tight combat pants pocketed for gear. A light shoulder guard with yellow trim sat on his left shoulder and a metal chain hung from the katana hilt at his waist. Each jump looked like a wild dance announcing his arrival.
Behind him landed a short teenage girl with purple hair and shining violet eyes, movements nimble like a ninja. Her black outfit favored mobility and a black ninja mask covered her nose and mouth. A cloth tied at her waist and a small combat-ready pack hung on her back.
They dropped before the crowd in a single breath. The thud of their feet sounded like a bell calling something different into being. Silence fell for a moment; all eyes fixed on the newcomers.
Some bystanders clustered, whispering and pointing at the bowl-cut youth. Accusations rose one after another until the plaza felt like an open court:
"He's the pickpocket Mabushi! What's that scoundrel doing here?!"
"You stole my wallet a while back! I'll never forgive you!"
"What nerve!"
The youth flashed a broad grin and lifted his sunglasses to reveal mischievous hazel eyes. He spread his hands like a performer and mocked them:
"Oh… how beloved I am! Even you lot can't forget me."
He chuckled, twirling the chain attached to his katana, and added with taunting playfulness:
"But don't worry… I'm here to play today, not to collect wallets."
The girl landed beside him and stood straight, folding her arms. She shot him an annoyed look, then addressed the crowd sharply:
"Mind your own business. If he came to compete, that's his business, not yours."
A hush passed over the spectators. Some still eyed him with suspicion; others stepped back, intimidated by his audacity and the girl's steady presence.
The crowd split as if compelled to make room. His steps rang heavy, each heel beat like a war drum; he walked with a swagger, head held high, an insolent smile of superiority on his lips. His gaze swept the crowd as if choosing his next prey.
He paused by a man eating roasted potatoes and plucked a single chip between two fingers, putting it into his mouth in full view. He chewed slowly, then grinned wider and said loudly:
"Tasty… maybe I'll take the whole bag later."
A soft laugh followed him as he moved on, leaving the man stunned, unsure whether to shout or swallow his anger before the boy's imposing presence.