ALTHOUGH THE STORY OF OJI AND KAWATA HAD ENDED, the complete story of the Kenshi and Mujihina families and their feud still remained unfinished. Four months after the events of the previous anecdote, Oji and Seyun became a couple, much to the chagrin and frustration of Kawata. Their friendship became very messy after a fight broke out between the two, during which Oji sliced Kawata’s face with the Omega Blade. From that point onward, the two of them never spoke to one-another.

Kawata eventually fell in love with another woman named Haru Tsubasa, later Mujihina. Oji and Seyun were married six months after the incident with Kawata. Kawata had two sons, one named Dokusai and one named Cedrick. The latter of those two would become estranged from the Mujihina bloodline after developing a friendship with the son of Oji and Seyun Kenshi, Sofu. While estranged, he eventually took on the surname “Kando” as a pseudonym.

The next generation of the two followed about twenty years later. Sofu and his wife Helen Kenshi, formerly Helen Baines, had a son named Oto. Dokusai would marry a woman named Bacchan in a shotgun marriage, eventually resulting in the birth of their first child, Kunshu. Only eight days later, Kawata would pass away, thus leading to the Alpha Blade being inherited by Dokusai. About three years after Kunshu’s birth, Dokusai and Bacchan had their second and final child, a girl named Hana. Bacchan would die soon after due to complications during Hana’s birth. Regardless, it is the first of these two children, Kunshu, that this portion of the story focuses on as we find ourselves thirty-one years after the close of the Great Trifecta War.

Kunshu, eight years old by this point, was sitting alone in his room, playing with a matchbox, his piercing red eyes glaring intensely at the matchstick and he tried to strike it against the box, but could never manage enough strength. Eventually, with one last strong tug on the comb of the matchbox, the match head erupted into flame. Kunshu’s eyes lit up with a child-like wonder and awe as he gazed into the tiny inferno. A knock came at the door as it slowly began to creak open. The young boy waved the match quickly through the air to put it out before the person at the door could enter.

The person at the door was the blonde haired and blue-eyed Hana, only five years old. All of her life, she’d been raised without a mother, as Dokusai never looked for any further assistance in raising his two children.

“Father wishes to see you in the dojang,” the youngest of the Mujihinas told her brother.

“Alright,” Kunshu answered, putting the matches down. “Thanks, Hana.”

He gave Hana a pat on the head, ruffling her hair slightly before heading out of the room. Hana seemed content with the way things were. As far as she could see, everything was alright.

He went out of the house and out to the dojang, a training facility that Dokusai had commissioned to be constructed on the other side of their yard. Taking a peek inside, he saw his father practicing with the Alpha Blade, swinging the unwieldy behemoth of a weapon like Kunshu often would with a branch. The only difference was the painstaking accuracy of Dokusai’s strikes as he drove the blade through iron plates, standing upright on a set of pedestals. The top part of the plate had been caught on the edge of the blade, with the bottom part remaining upright as it was flung in the direction that the Alpha Blade followed through. Dokusai paused before returning the Alpha Blade to its sheath, the dragon skull clamping down onto the guard.

“Kunshu,” Dokusai called out in a rough baritone, “you may enter my training ground.”

The young boy stepped into the main area of the dojang. Before he could plant his right foot on the floor, Dokusai called out to him again.

“You forgot to bow…” the wielder of the Alpha Blade said to his son in a stern tone.

Kunshu took the cue and moved his foot back outside of the main training ground. He bowed toward the center of the room, displaying an unusually strong composure as he did so. He then began again, starting on his right foot. He had learned to always start on the right foot, at least while he was in the presence of his father. Once he reached a good spot on the mat, he sat down on his shins and placed his hands within his lap.

“What did you need me for, father?” the boy asked shakily.

“Have you finished your sword practice today?” his father responded.

“No, father,” Kunshu answered, a certain shakiness emerging in his voice. “I was in my room-”

“We talked about this,” Dokusai interrupted with a sigh. “You need to be able to defend yourself. You need to be stronger or you will never touch this blade.”

Kunshu’s voice was no longer the only shakiness about him. These harsh words were commonplace in the Mujihina household. Dokusai had trained under the blade of Kawata just as Kunshu was being trained under his own. A Mujihina prioritized mortality over morality, strength over sympathy, and cunning over kindness. In a world where your closest ally could betray you at any moment, it was the belief of the Mujihina family that it is better for you to be the betrayer than the betrayed.

“I understand,” the grandson of Kawata choked out in apology. “I’m sorry for not practicing.”

“I’m just setting you up for your destiny, boy,” Dokusai continued. “Never forget that. The Alpha Blade is your key to glory and domination. With it in tow, you will rule over all of Crenon with an iron fist and any who oppose you will be stabbed in the back.”

“But that’s not fair!” Kunshu interjected. “What about honor? Shouldn’t we fight on even ground?”

“And risk defeat?” his father retorted. “Your foolishness astounds me, Kunshu. I have been in this world far longer than you. I learned what it takes to get what you want in life the hard way, and you will learn soon enough yourself. You cannot win by sticking to the rules of the enemy. You can only be sure of victory by breaking them and following your own code.”

“But father-”

“I have not finished, my son! You are living in an idyllic world. If you can’t stay in reality and understand what I’m trying to say, it will be your downfall. We must correct this immediately.”

“Why?”

Dokusai did not bother giving Kunshu an answer. He grabbed an old shortsword from a rack on the wall and tossed it toward Kunshu, the blade rattling against its sheath as it landed to the young boy’s right side. Kunshu flinched at the sound and the violence of Dokusai tossing the sword to him.

“Grab your blade,” he demanded as he approached his only son.

“No, please-”

“Pick up a weapon and fight me. We will not end this sparring match until somebody bleeds.”

“But Father, I don’t want-”

Dokusai slapped Kunshu across the face with all of the force he could muster. Your typical eight-year-old would not have been able to come back from such a strike so easily, yet Kunshu had been training under this man for five years now. He had a very strong idea of how much pain he could take before he would be injured, and this slap did not quite pass that threshold. Kunshu held his reddened cheek, holding back tears as the stinging began to slowly dissipate. With his left hand, he reached for the shortsword, unsheathing it as he slowly regained his composure. The young boy closed his eyes and charged forward, letting out a battle cry that seemed stuck in a limbo between pain and anger.

❒︎❒︎❒︎❒︎❒︎❒︎❒︎

Sixteen years have passed since then and the scar from the cut on Kunshu’s shoulder has become a reminder of his past. He stood at the counter, arm laid on the table, as he gazed out into the window of the grocer he worked at. He endured that type of training from Hana’s birth to the day he turned nineteen and moved out into a dingy apartment a few cities away. He had rarely ever spoken with his father since then, but stayed in close contact with Hana.

“Hey,” a customer beckoned, interrupting Kunshu’s brief contemplation, “can you get this beer for me?”

The man gestured to a bottle of Fog in a Bottle on a display case behind Kunshu.

“First of all,” Kunshu retorted dryly, “that’s vodka, not beer. Second, why can’t you get it yourself?”

“It’s behind the counter…?” the man asked, confused by Kunshu’s attitude. “Don’t you work here?”

“Wow, look at our little genius,” he responded sarcastically. “No, I go around wearing this uniform for the fun of it.”

“Look dude,” the customer said as he let out an annoyed sigh, “I don’t want to climb behind that counter-”

Before the man could continue that thought, Kunshu had already come out from behind the counter and bowled the customer over with his shoulder, standing upright with his hands in his pockets. He turned to the right, leaving the store without clocking out.

“I’m done with this gig,” he muttered to himself. “I’m done with these people’s screeching about this and that. I’m better than this.”

Sure enough, Kunshu would never return to that workplace.

After half an hour of driving, Kunshu arrived at his apartment. He unlocked the door and was greeted by its usual messiness and clutter. Ramen packets littered the floor and a mountain of dishes had accumulated in the sink. He tosses his keys to the side of the room before dousing the candle that stayed lit beside his bed. He rarely ever used the electricity in his house, instead opting for candles when the rare visitor was not staying over.

He flopped face first onto his disheveled bed, the bed recoiling with a slight bounce as he flopped down. Kunshu turned onto his back and heaved a sigh, putting his arms behind his head. Just as he had gotten ready to go to sleep, a knock came at his door.

“Fuck off!” Kunshu yelled toward the door. “I’m not getting you your beer-”

Before he could finish what he was saying, a blonde-haired woman entered his flat, carrying a bag of food with her. Kunshu had entirely forgotten that today was a Sunday. Hana was here for their weekly dinner together.

“Rough day, Shu?” Hana responded in a warm soprano, surprising given the outburst on Kunshu’s part.

Hana had always been known as a nearly therapeutic figure. Kunshu could never bring himself to hate her and she couldn’t bring herself to hate anybody. Of course, Hana did not end up going through a lot of the same training that Kunshu had undergone, with Dokusai treating her more as a liability than the pupil he saw Kunshu as.

“Sorry, sis,” Kunshu said to her, his voice now far more sympathetic. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“It’s okay,” she interjected with her trademark cheery tone. “Don’t worry about it. Have you eaten today?”

“No, not yet,” he answered with something between a sigh and a groan, scratching the back of his head as he spoke. “I was just going to sleep and maybe the hunger would go away…”

“Are you kidding me?” Hana cried out in concern. “No wonder you’re always so grumpy; you keep going to work on an empty stomach!”

“Sorry,” Kunshu half-heartedly reassured her. “I’m trying to take better care of myself.”

“Not hard enough, apparently!” his sister added as she took out a vacuum flask and began pouring coffee into their cups. Kunshu liked his coffee black, so she made sure to bring creamer and sugar for herself and add them once she reached his house. After he took a few sips, Kunshu broke the silence.

“So, how’s what’s-his-name doing?”

“Oto?” Hana replied. “He’s alright, but he was kinda scared that you would actually beat in his head with a spoon.”

“Yeah, sorry about that…” Kunshu chuckled, his voice seeming to gain more life as they spoke. “I just don’t think that he’s good enough for you.”

“Right,” Hana added, effectively ignoring what Kunshu said. “Anyway, I have something to tell you.”

“Did you finally ditch him and pick up a different stray dog?”

“Oto is not a dog!” Hana protested, almost annoyed by Kunshu’s constant mockery of her boyfriend. “No, it’s about Father. He’s fallen ill.”