The cell was quiet. The echoes of the crowd's jeers had long since faded, leaving only the soft creak of bamboo bars in the evening wind. Mamoru stood still, his eyes fixed on Gyomei. The blind youth sat in silence, his massive frame hunched forward, head bowed, hands scarred and blood-stained from battles no one else had witnessed.
The memory of his story still hung in the air like smoke. The orphans, the betrayal of the of the child who had wandered to far, the onslaught of Kaido's men, the desperate struggle through the night. And then the cruel twist of dawn. The only child he had managed to protect had turned her back on him, damning him to chains and whispers of murder.
Mamoru's fists clenched at his sides.
This isn't right , it isnt fair.
His thoughts thundered in his head, louder than the cicadas outside.
How could someone who had given everything ,his hands, his blood, his strength to protect children, be the one condemned as a murderer? How could the true criminals, those pirates who laughed as they cut down the helpless, walk free while Gyomei sat here waiting for execution?
Mamoru's brows furrowed, shadows falling over his young face.
"Since when," he whispered to himself, "is protecting the weak… a crime?"
Gyomei turned his head slightly, as though he had heard the words, though Mamoru's voice was barely more than breath. His blind eyes, pale and unfocused, still carried the weight of a mountain.
Mamoru felt something stir in his chest a mixture of anger and disbelief that knotted like fire. He remembered his father's teachings, the simple lessons of right and wrong he had been raised on. His mother's words, urging him to protect those less fortunate, echoed softly in the back of his mind.
The world, he had always believed, was simple. Good was rewarded. Evil was punished. If you stood with righteousness, if you protected the weak, fairness would always prevail. That was the path of a samurai.
But here… here was a man who embodied all those ideals, and yet the world spat on him.
Mamoru bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.
"No…" he muttered, shaking his head slowly. "No, this can't be it. This... this has to be a mistake. There must be some justice sort of justice ,there has to be."
He tried to convince himself, but the image of Gyomei's bowed head cut through his thoughts like a blade.
If it were me in his place, Mamoru thought, would I too be condemned for trying to protect the helpless? Would they call me a murderer just because the story was easier that way? Just because a child had said so , because it was a child would there be no reason to investigate?
The idea sank like a stone in his chest.
He looked at Gyomei again. His broad shoulders shook faintly not from fear, but from the sheer weight of his grief. His silence was louder than any defense he could give,and in that silence, Mamoru heard the cruelty of the world.
This isn't fair.
Those words repeated like a drumbeat.
This isn't fair. This isn't fair. This isn't fair.
Mamoru's knees trembled. His hand went to the hilt of Yoriichi, gripping it tightly, as though holding the blade would anchor him against the storm inside. His mind swirled between denial and anger.
The true culprits were out there. The Beast Pirates, laughing as they slashed through children's bodies, were free, untouched. Yet the one who had fought them until dawn, whose fists had struck them down again and again, was locked away like a beast.
"Why?" Mamoru said suddenly, louder than before. His voice cracked, but his eyes burned as he looked directly at Gyomei. "Why does it have to be like this?"
Gyomei lifted his head, slowly, his empty gaze fixed on the sound of Mamoru's voice. His lips parted, but no words came. Perhaps he too wondered the same. Perhaps he had asked himself this question a thousand times as the hours of his imprisonment dragged on.
Mamoru's vision blurred with tears, but he refused to let them fall. It was tears of compassion and empathy.
The world is fair, he told himself, desperately. It has to be. Otherwise, what's the point of fighting? What's the point of being strong?
He shook his head violently, rejecting the thought.
"No," he said firmly, almost to himself. "There has to be justice. There has to be fairness. You're innocent. You did what was right. The world has to see that. It has to!"
But his words echoed hollow in the empty cell.
Gyomei's silence answered him more clearly than words ever could.
For the first time, Mamoru felt the foundation of his belief begin to crack ,not shattered, not broken, but a fracture that spread slowly across his heart. A fracture born of truth he could not yet accept.
Maybe the world isn't as fair as I thought. Was I the one who wrong for believing such in the first place ?
The thought crept in like poison. He crushed it down immediately, burying it beneath denial.
No , that's cant be true. I just have to fight harder. I just have to prove it. Somewhere out there in the world there is still justice ,its probably just this one incident .
His body trembled with the force of his conviction, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of his heart.
Mamoru stepped closer to the bars, his voice quiet but burning with intensity.
"I believe you, Gyomei," he said. "No matter what anyone else says. I believe you."
Gyomei's expression shifted slightly, a faint tremor passing across his face. His lips pressed together tightly, and for the first time, the tears that had dried on his cheeks were replaced by new ones.
Someone believed him.
And for Mamoru , for the boy who had always clung to the idea of fairness this was his first look at the world without any filter.
The sun dipped fully below the horizon. Darkness settled over the holding cells, broken only by the pale light of the moon. Two boys remained ,one caged, one free. But in that moment, they were bound by the same question. For Mamoru the question was buried under countless self reassurances .
"Why is the world so unfair?"
Mamoru's heart refused to accept the answer.