The wooden sword swung with full force, striking just under the ribs of the boy with short crimson hair. Kenji winced but held his ground. He kept his stance, moving exactly as he had been taught, and brought his sword down in retaliation.
He was too slow.
His opponent thrust forward, the wooden blade slamming into Kenji's chest. The impact sent him flying backward. He hit the ground hard, the air knocked from his lungs.
"Kenji, that's your one hundred and twenty-eighth loss," his opponent said, looking down at him.
The group of spectators cheered for him.
Kenji gritted his teeth.
The boy towering over him was Lolan, fat, smug, and grinning like he had won something meaningful. He planted his foot beside Kenji's fallen sword.
"See? You dumbass," Lolan sneered. "You can't beat any of us without Hashi. Loser."
This match had been Kenji's idea. He had challenged Lolan after weeks of being cornered, mocked, and shoved around by him and his friends. Now they stood in a loose circle around Kenji, smirks carved into their faces.
"You remember our deal, right, Kenji?" Lolan asked.
"Yeah," Kenji replied flatly.
"Good. Get ready."
Lolan shot a glance at his group.
The spectators moved in, fists clenched. Kenji didn't just lie there and take it. He fought back, blocking, dodging refusing to stay down. It didn't matter. They were too many, numbers and might are greater than a single individual's powerless resilence.
Eight minutes later, Kenji lay flat on his back, arms and legs spread wide, staring up at the sky. Dusk bled into darkness above him, painting the clouds in fading reds and purples.
His nose was broken again, blood trickling down his face. Bruises bloomed across his skin. His fists were raw and split.
The pain in his body was familiar. The pain in his chest was different.
To Kenji, this was routine.
He pushed himself up with a quiet grunt, retrieved his sword, and began walking toward the village. No one spared him a glance as he passed through. They were used to this sight. Some days he looked worse.
His home sat at the northern edge of the village, perched near a steep drop. Kenji reached the door, paused, and took a breath before opening it.
Darkness greeted him, the last light of the sun slipping away.
No one's home. Good. Especially that old man. He thought.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"The little cat decided to come home at last."
Kenji froze.
Before he could react, something gripped his shoulder. A figure stepped out of the shadows, darkness sliding off him like water.
An old man stood there, fox-sharp eyes gleaming. His face was deeply lined, long gray hair falling to his hips. A thin goatee framed a knowing grin.
"Old man," Kenji muttered, irritation creeping into his voice, "isn't it past your bedtime? Don't you get tired?"
"Oh? I just woke up, thank you for your concern" the elder replied calmly. "Besides me, don't you look roughed up. Been playing with the others again, little cat?"
"Ray," Kenji snapped, "you want to go too? I don't mind beating up an annoying old bastard."
Ray chuckled, his grin widening.
"Ho. Foolish cat. So young, yet so feisty," he said lightly. "I wouldn't mind teaching you another lesson."
There was warmth in his voice.
There was something darker underneath it.
They stared at each other in silence, the empty house swallowing the sound. Kenji clenched his fist. Ray shifted his weight.
The door suddenly creaked open.