As he approached, he saw an old lady with a star-shaped earring and several bracelets.
"Sit down, young man."
Mikael obeyed and sat in front of her. She extended her hand and said:
"Give me your dominant hand, and I will tell you what awaits."
He extended his right hand. The lady held it with both hands. The touch felt like soft cotton brushing against his skin. She began whispering inaudible words — to Mikael, it looked as if she were just moving her lips.
"I see that you have good friends… Your life has had many hardships, pains that have marked your soul, yet you continue to fight without looking back."
The boy was surprised by the old lady's words and asked:
"But how do I know if life is worth living?"
His eyes showed coldness.
"Young one, I see that your path is full of challenges… many moments of sadness, but also moments of happiness. Yet, there is something very dark. I am trying to see, but…"
"But what…"
His chest tightened again, cutting off his voice. His body became rigid like stone.
The place fell into complete silence. Mikael began to feel uneasy. The air in the room seemed to grow denser and colder. Anxious, he tapped his foot on the floor, restless, watching the lady.
She began to sweat. Her breathing became heavy. In her vision, a thick fog surrounded her — and in the midst of it, an armor walked slowly. The shaman stared at it — and the armor returned her gaze. In the blink of an eye, it was right in front of her.
It was no ordinary armor. Its shape seemed made to kill: sharp pauldrons, gloves with spikes on the knuckles, a black surface with red details. The most disturbing thing was the complete absence of a face — no features, no sign of being a closed suit.
"What are you…?"
Suddenly, the armor's eyes glowed white.
"Old lady… don't you think you're being too arrogant? This could cost you your life."
A smile spread from cheek to cheek. Despite the darkness of the metal, that distorted glow seemed to crush the soul of anyone who looked at it.
Mikael noticed that the lady began breathing with difficulty, sweating heavily. He felt a pressure in his head, as if someone were squeezing his brain.
"Tell me… what are you…"
The shaman's phrase was interrupted as the armor grabbed her head and lifted it.
"I think… it's over."
The lady awoke from the trance with a small nosebleed. The pressure in Mikael's chest instantly vanished. Returning to reality, he realized the situation.
"Are you okay?"
"If I were you, I'd worry more about yourself."
The response hit the boy like a knife. He felt slightly irritated by her tone — he thought she was just pretending. Mikael stood up.
"If that's all, I'll be going."
"Wait, boy! There's something dark around you… Take this before you leave."
She handed him a small piece of paper with strange symbols. To Mikael, they looked like mere scribbles. Not wanting to seem rude, he accepted it and attached it to the corner of his backpack like a keychain.
"Thank you for your time, ma'am. I'm leaving."
The young man left the tent, shaking his head.
'That old lady must be senile. Hope she didn't put a curse on me.'
He headed to school, his hands sweating from anxiety. The day didn't feel right — he had suffered many nightmares before this one, which had begun about a week ago. To Mikael, it was just his body growing and his mind catching up, bringing childhood fears to overcome.
Upon arrival, he went straight to the kendo club. The room was still empty. He approached the wall and picked up a sword leaning there. Just as he was about to turn, he felt a light touch on his back.
Mikael spun around at a frightening speed. He saw Hiroshi — a tall, sturdy man responsible for teaching kendo at the school. Mikael exhaled, feeling the weight lift from his shoulders. His expression changed completely. The instructor noticed the difference and asked:
"Did something happen? Or are you just afraid to train?"
Hiroshi's voice carried a mix of concern and lightness. Mikael, noticing the tone, closed his eyes, smiled slightly, and shook his head, indicating that he was fine. Hiroshi relaxed and returned the smile.
Soon, about two dozen students appeared at the training room door.
"MASTER!!!"
The greeting echoed in unison, like an army preparing for battle. Hiroshi was not surprised — it was routine.
"ARE YOU READY?!"
"YES!!!"
The collective response came like thunder.
"Grab your swords and begin. NOW!"
The sound of wooden swords echoed through the dojo. The students started basic exercises: vertical cuts, horizontal cuts, breathing. Mikael joined them. His posture was good but far from perfect — clean but slow strikes; irregular breathing; wavering focus. Still, there was something in his eyes: the will to improve.
Time passed, and by nine in the morning, training ended. One by one, the students left. Mikael, however, stayed. He liked to train beyond the necessary — which earned him respect.
'That should be enough… it's almost nine thirty.'
He put away the sword, but a noise from the back of the room made him stop. The storage door opened on its own. A chill ran through his body. Tiny particles in the air — the same he had seen before — seemed to dance around him. His heart raced, and his body reacted as if pushed backward.
Since he was little, Mikael had a strong intuition — and now it screamed for him not to approach.
As he took the first step toward the storage room, the main dojo door slammed open. He turned, startled. A tall, blond young man, wearing a sword-shaped earring and several rings, entered with a confident expression — almost like a punk.
Without warning, the blond ran to Mikael and grabbed him in a headlock. The boy hit his friend's arm three times, and the blond let go.
"Cough, cough… are you crazy, Kenta?"
Mikael rubbed his neck, trying to catch his breath. Kenta draped his right arm over his shoulder and said:
"What's up? Why are you still training at this hour? Let's do something!"
Kenta had been Mikael's friend since he arrived in Japan. Despite his provocative demeanor, he was kind and fun. The more aggressive jokes had started in the second year of high school — in a way, they were his way of showing concern.
"Do what? Let's play some soccer, what do you think?"
"Cool. That works."
The two left the room and walked down the school corridor. It was wide, clean, organized — very different from Brazilian public schools. At the end of the hallway, a young girl with short dark hair approached with firm steps. As soon as she reached them, she punched Kenta in the stomach.
"OW!"
Kenta bent over, holding his stomach. The girl grabbed his ear and shouted:
"Where have you been, you incompetent?!"
"What are you talking about, pothead?"
The girl got even angrier. Mikael watched the scene normally — after all, they were siblings. The girl's name was Nari, and they had been fighting since the first year.
"Nari, aren't you going too far with him?"
Mikael asked, disguising concern with a smile.
"Mikael? I didn't even see you there. Are you a ghost?"
The young man chuckled lightly.
"I know it's fun, but can you let go of my damn ear? It hurts!"
"Oh, right, there you are."
Nari released her brother.
"I'm going to class. And you two, don't just stand there."
She cast a threatening look — like a lion staring at a rabbit — then turned and walked away.
'"Don't just stand there," huh…'
Kenta muttered for a few seconds, then looked at Mikael. The atmosphere was awkward for a moment, but soon broke with the blond's charming smile.
"Let's go play soccer!!!"
The exaggerated gesture — Kenta pointing forward like a scout on a heroic mission — made Mikael laugh. He followed him to the school field.
The game started lively. Mikael showed better ball control, but Kenta's strength was insane. When the ball fell to his feet, the end of the match was decided. He kicked from midfield — and the ball went straight into the corner.
Excited by the goal, Kenta took off his shirt, showing his sweaty, muscular body. Mikael's eyes widened when he saw something on his friend's left chest: a large tattoo of a coiled dragon.
"Dude… I can't believe you got a tattoo."
"Can you see it?" Kenta asked, surprised.
"Of course! Look at the size of it. If you wanted to hide it, you could've done a small one."
Kenta fell silent for a moment. His expression changed.
"Shit…"