Sentarō was having the time of his life, practicing with his wooden sword as if nothing in the world could disturb him. The market was bustling with merchants calling out their wares, children running between stalls, and the smell of grilled fish and sweet dumplings filling the air.
He swung his sword to the left with youthful energy—
Thud!
His blade smacked against someone's head.
Sentarō froze in horror. The girl he hit collapsed face-first onto the ground.
She was radiant, like the very breath of spring itself. Her long pink hair fell gracefully around her shoulders, complimenting her soft, bright face. But right now, she was down on the dirt because of his careless swing.
Sentarō immediately dropped to his knees, bowing so low that his forehead touched the earth.
"Ahh, I'm really, really sorry! Are you okay?!"
The girl pushed herself up slowly, rubbing her forehead. But instead of scolding him, she also lowered herself onto her knees and bowed.
"I'm so sorry, please forgive me!" she pleaded.
Sentarō blinked. His mouth dropped slightly as shock painted his expression. Wait… why is she apologizing?
Both of them awkwardly scrambled to their feet. Panic jolted through Sentarō, and he bolted to the nearest stall that sold paper bandages. Even though there was no blood, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving that bump untreated. He returned quickly, carefully unwrapping the bandage and pressing it gently onto her forehead. His hands, though trembling, were surprisingly steady.
"There," he said softly, adjusting it with care.
The girl's face flushed pink. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice so gentle and pure it melted into the noise of the market like a bird's song.
Sentarō scratched the back of his head, laughing awkwardly. "No problem, it was my fault anyway, so no worries." But as his eyes caught the faint sadness in her expression, his laughter faded.
He leaned forward. "Ehh… what's your name?"
The girl adjusted her purple kimono, eyes darting shyly before meeting his.
"My name is Asano Yoshiko," she said softly. Her voice was delicate, almost angelic.
Sentarō grinned. "Well, Asano, my name's Sentarō."
"Nice to meet you, Sentarō," she replied, and for the first time her face lit up, her sadness breaking slightly. Her gaze wandered to the wooden sword he carried.
"If I may ask… do you wish to become a samurai?" Her tone carried genuine curiosity, though a hint of unease crept in.
Sentarō puffed his chest out, brimming with energy. "Well, my dream is to become a samurai of the police force!"
Her eyes widened, and for a moment her whole being shone with joy. "Really? You too want to become a samurai?"
Sentarō's face brightened. "Wait—you too? You dream of becoming one too, huh?"
But just as he said that, her joy dissolved into sadness. Her smile faltered, leaving only a hollow expression. Sentarō froze.
"What's wrong? Did I say something bad?" he asked, confused.
"No, you didn't do anything wrong." She forced a smile, but Sentarō could see straight through it. The sadness behind her eyes gnawed at him.
He leaned closer, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Hey, Asano, don't bottle it up. Just tell me what's wrong—maybe I can help."
She hesitated, her lips parting. "Well, the thing is—"
"ASANO! WHERE ARE YOU?!!"
The deep, harsh voice shattered the air, echoing across the market.
Asano's entire body stiffened. Her eyes widened in terror, and her hands instinctively grabbed at her pink hair.
Sentarō whipped his head around just in time to see a tall young man with yellow hair and a blue kimono storm into the scene. His glare locked onto Asano.
"There you are, you little bitch!"
Before Sentarō could even process, the man seized Asano by her long hair and yanked hard. She stumbled forward, tears spilling down her cheeks—but she didn't scream. She only cried silently, her lips trembling.
The sight burned into Sentarō's chest like a hot blade.
He wasn't one to meddle in others' lives, but in this moment, his instincts screamed louder than reason. He had only just met Asano, yet he already felt a bond that chained his heart to hers.
He stepped forward and clamped his hand around the man's forearm. His grip tightened.
"That's a bit harsh, Mister," Sentarō said, voice steady.
The man turned slowly, looking down at Sentarō with disdain. "Huh? Who's this brat?" He yanked his arm, but Sentarō refused to let go. "Let go, kid."
Asano's eyes filled with panic. "Wait, Shino-nii-san! Don't mind him, let's just go home, okay?"
"Shut up, bitch!" Shino barked, and Asano recoiled, covering her mouth with both hands, shivering violently.
Shino flung her aside like a ragdoll and swung a fist straight into Sentarō's stomach.
"Guhhh!"
The blow knocked the wind out of him. Sentarō crumpled to the dirt, clutching his stomach, face contorted in agony. Shino laughed cruelly.
"Who is my sister to you, huh?" He sneered.
Sentarō's breath came in ragged gasps. "She… is… my… friend."
"Friend? Hah! I get it now." Shino's voice dripped with mockery. He kicked Sentarō hard in the stomach. Sentarō groaned, curling tighter.
"You thought this was your chance to play hero, didn't you? Hahahahaha!"
He grabbed Sentarō by the hair, jerking his head up so their eyes met. "You're a fool. Out of all the people in this district, you chose to help my sister? That's the most suicidal thing you could've done."
Sentarō's lips curled into a pained grin. He spat mud right into Shino's face.
"You're supposed to protect your siblings… not beat them up."
Shino roared in fury, wiping at his eyes. That brief moment gave Sentarō the chance to crawl toward the bench where his wooden sword lay. His hand wrapped around the hilt, his body trembling but defiant.
"Yes!" he muttered through clenched teeth. Though battered, he felt a surge of determination.
But Shino recovered quickly, his rage multiplying tenfold. He lunged forward, seizing Sentarō by the collar.
"I'm gonna kill you, you little asshole!" His fist smashed across Sentarō's face, sending him sprawling again. Shino didn't stop—he kicked and stomped relentlessly.
Asano couldn't bear it anymore.
"Leave Sentarō alone!" she screamed, throwing herself onto Shino's back.
He snarled, grabbing her and slamming her onto the ground. "Seems you couldn't wait your turn. The beatings at home weren't enough, huh? When we get back, we'll double them—"
"SHUT UP, YOU ASSHOLE!!"
Sentarō's roar cut through the chaos. With the last of his strength, he leapt high, wooden sword gripped tightly. He brought it down with every ounce of fury he could muster.
CRACK!
The wooden blade slammed against Shino's skull. His eyes rolled back, body collapsing like a felled tree.
Sentarō stood trembling, blood dripping from his lip, chest heaving. "Anyone who beats their siblings… is worse than scum."
He staggered over to Asano, kneeling beside her.
"Hey, Asano… don't cry. Look, I beat him for you."
But Asano's tears weren't from fear anymore. "Thank you… so much… Sentarō. No one has ever stood up for me before. Everyone ignores me… but you…"
Her words broke into sobs. Sentarō gently wiped her tears with his own shirt.
"No need to thank me. You're my friend. Of course I'll help you."
Her face flushed crimson. For a fleeting moment, she saw him as more than just a friend. But that dream was cut short—
"ASANO!!"
A deep, commanding voice rang out.
Sentarō instinctively stepped in front of her, shielding her with his arm.
From the crowd emerged a tall, muscular man clad in a black-and-white checkered kimono. His hair—pink like Asano's—made the relation undeniable.
Asano's lips trembled. "Father…"
The man's sharp eyes flicked over Sentarō and Asano's battered bodies before settling on Shino, unconscious in the dirt. Without a word, he walked over and hoisted Shino onto his shoulder.
"Asano, let's go." His tone was deep, brooding.
Asano hesitated, casting a pained glance at Sentarō. Then, unable to resist, she darted back to him, tears welling again. She clutched his hands tightly.
"Don't worry, Sentarō… you've given me hope to keep fighting. We'll meet again—and when we do, we'll both be samurais."
She hugged him briefly, her warmth searing into his memory, before running back to her father.
Asano disappeared into the crowd, leaving Sentarō standing alone, his wooden sword trembling in his grip.
From the corner, Ujiyuki finally appeared, sauntering toward him.
"Sorry I'm late, kid."
He stopped mid-step, eyes bulging. "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU?!"
Sentarō barely heard him. His mind replayed the encounter, Asano's tears, and her words.
Ujiyuki sighed, slapping a hand on Sentarō's shoulder. "C'mon, kid. Let's head back."
Sentarō's lips curved into a faint, pained smile. His resolve hardened.
If I want to be a samurai who fights for justice… I have to become stronger.
And so, with bruises on his body but fire in his spirit, Sentarō walked on.