Chapter 42: "Childhood Promises and White Suits"
In which we learn that bicycles aren't fast enough to escape drama.
There are meals.
Then there are feasts.
And then there's whatever happens when you eat with the masters of Ryūseikan.
After a morning of training that could best be described as mildly life-threatening, the entire Red Dawn group was more than ready for food. Or maybe a last will and testament. Either worked.
I dragged myself into the courtyard dining area with a groan, my ten-ton weighted training suit making every step feel deeply personal. Behind me, Reina dropped onto a bench, Tōma limped in like a wounded rhinoceros, and Haruki had somehow decided crawling was more efficient despite all four of his limbs still functioning.
Then the smell hit us.
Airi Tendō, wearing an apron with her pale-gold hair tied back, carried out a massive tray with a smile. Master Liang followed close behind her, moving a wok with the effortless precision of someone who apparently considered cooking another branch of martial arts. Dishes sizzled, spices filled the air, and even Kenta—who had spent the last ten minutes threatening to pass out—immediately sat upright.
"Is that… garlic rice?" Ryōhei whispered like he'd just discovered buried treasure.
"No," I said reverently. "That's hope."
The masters were already gathered around a table covered with enough food to feed a small army. Seijūrō delicately poured tea while Genzō attacked a whole roast duck with chopsticks as though it had personally offended him. Prasert simply smiled and offered me a plate containing something suspiciously jiggly.
Airi began placing bowls in front of us—steamed vegetables, grilled meat, thick soups, rice, and dishes packed with enough nutrients to make every aching muscle in my body start celebrating before I'd even swallowed.
"How are we supposed to eat all this?" Hana asked, staring at a rice ball that looked almost as large as her head.
"Follow the masters' example," I muttered, watching Genzō casually crack open a crab shell with his bare fingers. "Actually, maybe don't."
As everyone started eating, it quickly became obvious this wasn't merely lunch. The food itself was part of our training. Every dish was prepared to help recovery, rebuild damaged muscle, and restore energy after Ryūseikan's interpretation of a normal morning. Tōma's muscles finally stopped twitching. Kenta stopped looking like breathing was a full-time occupation. Haruki actually closed his eyes and nearly cried into his soup.
"This is incredible," Reina said between bites. "What is this?"
"Training food," Master Liang replied proudly. "Prepared with Ki and medicinal ingredients. Your bodies cannot grow properly if you spend all day breaking them and refuse to provide what they need afterward."
"You eat like this every day?" Shōgo asked.
"Of course," Seijūrō replied calmly. "Training without proper recovery is merely damaging yourself."
I raised my chopsticks.
"Okay. I'm moving in."
Nobody laughed.
That worried me slightly.
Look, when someone the size of a small truck proudly announces, "I made cookies," you say thank you, take one, and hope whatever higher powers are listening have mercy on you.
Hindsight is wonderful.
Unfortunately, none of us possessed it that afternoon.
Prasert strode into the dojo kitchen looking like an enormous child who had just successfully completed his first art project. Flour covered his arms and face, a pink apron decorated with tiny rabbits strained bravely around his torso, and he carried a tray with the proudest smile I had ever seen.
"Prasert made cookies!"
Everyone stopped.
Airi blinked.
Seijūrō looked at the tray.
Then, without saying a word, he slowly turned around and walked out of the room.
Shōgo watched him leave.
"I don't like that."
"What?"
"The doctor ran."
That should have been enough warning.
It wasn't.
The cookies looked completely harmless.
Golden-brown.
Crispy around the edges.
Chocolate chips.
Perfectly normal.
Which was exactly why they were dangerous.
Being the brave idiot responsible for most of our bad decisions, I took the first bite.
Chewed once.
Twice.
My eyes widened.
Then watered.
"By the Heavens," I coughed. "What did you put in this?!"
"Protein powder!" Prasert announced proudly. "Banana! Beef jerky! Wasabi! More protein! Love!"
The room became silent.
Haruki slowly lowered his cookie.
"…Did you say wasabi?"
"I cannot feel my tongue," Kenta whispered.
Tōma stared blankly into the distance.
"I think my ancestors just told me to stop eating."
One by one, Red Dawn fell.
Reina tried to power through on sheer stubbornness and eventually ended up face-first beside her rice bowl. Hermes started muttering something about culinary liability while typing what looked suspiciously like a final will into his phone.
The only person still happily standing?
Prasert.
He looked at the tray.
"Prasert make more!"
"NO!"
Half the room shouted it simultaneously.
Seijūrō returned several minutes later wearing gloves and a medical mask.
He surveyed the battlefield.
Sighed.
Then started carrying people toward the infirmary.
"You were warned," he said as he lowered Haruki into a recovery bath. "I told Genryūsai we needed to keep Prasert away from unsupervised baking."
Airi attacked the kitchen with cleaning supplies as though containing a hazardous spill.
Tsukiko disposed of the remaining cookies with the grim efficiency of someone destroying dangerous evidence.
No survivors.
By evening, half of Red Dawn was sitting in heated medicinal recovery baths and collectively moaning like wounded sea creatures.
"Next time," Reina groaned, "we let Prasert stick to punching things."
I weakly raised one hand.
"Agreed…but I'm keeping the apron. It was strangely fashionable."
Prasert's head appeared around the doorway.
"Next time, Prasert makes sushi!"
Haruki's eyes widened in genuine terror.
"We're moving."
Nobody disagreed.
Around six that evening, the sun had turned the streets gold as everyone finally left Ryūseikan looking like survivors of a small war.
People separated along the way, some limping, some complaining, some already discussing what fresh torture awaited them tomorrow.
Haruki and I were riding our bicycles home, while Hana sat behind her brother with her arms loosely around his shoulders, looking half asleep.
For once, everything was peaceful.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
Which, naturally, meant something bad was about to happen.
We entered the neighborhood and passed the park.
Then I saw him.
A young man stood beneath the flickering light of a streetlamp, perfectly still. He wore a spotless white suit, polished shoes, glasses, and an expensive-looking cravat. His dark hair was slightly disordered, contrasting strangely with everything else about his carefully controlled appearance.
White suit.
Glasses.
Something Hermes had told me that morning immediately returned to mind.
Then the stranger turned toward us.
And smiled.
"Haruki."
Haruki hit the brakes so hard his rear tire nearly lifted from the pavement.
His face drained of color.
"Reiji?!"
I looked from Haruki to the stranger.
So this was Reiji Takamura.
And unless the white suit was one incredible coincidence…
this was also Zeus.
Reiji, as it turned out, was Haruki's childhood friend.
"When we were six," Reiji said, "we saw her."
I glanced between them.
"Her who?"
"Airi Tendō."
Apparently, six-year-old Haruki and Reiji had once seen a much younger Airi deal with several older boys who had been causing trouble. She had moved with such effortless skill that both children had immediately decided she was the strongest person they had ever seen.
That day, they made a promise.
They would become martial artists.
They would train.
And someday, when they met again, both of them would be strong.
Except Haruki moved away.
Reiji kept training.
And Haruki…
well.
Haruki became Haruki.
"I trained every day," Reiji said, his voice quiet. "I thought that when we met again, you would be standing beside me as an equal."
Haruki lowered his gaze.
Reiji's expression hardened.
"But look at you."
He paused.
"Weak."
Haruki flinched.
"A disappointment."
Harsh.
Even by rival standards.
Reiji didn't fight us.
Not tonight.
Instead, he adjusted one cuff and looked toward Haruki with the same cold disappointment.
"You're training at Ryūseikan now."
Haruki looked up.
Reiji's smile returned slightly.
"Perhaps they can fix you."
There was nothing friendly in the words.
"Perhaps our promise can finally mean something again."
Then he turned away.
I watched that white suit disappear down the street.
No dramatic attack.
No challenge.
Just enough emotional damage to last Haruki until tomorrow.
The ride home was much quieter.
Hana was no longer sleepy.
Haruki looked like someone had dropped an emotional anvil directly onto his chest.
"You okay?" I finally asked.
He gave a weak laugh.
"I think I just got called useless in three different ways."
"Well, look at the bright side."
Haruki glanced at me.
"You're training at Ryūseikan now."
"That was literally the only nice thing he said."
"Exactly. We're working with limited material here."
That managed to get a small smile from him.
Good enough.
For now.
Reiji
A sleek black car moved quietly through the evening streets.
In the back seat, Reiji Takamura sat alone behind tinted windows, surrounded by polished leather and absolute silence.
His white suit remained immaculate.
His hands rested neatly in his lap.
But his eyes reflected something much less controlled.
They were looking backward.
Two Short Kids and One Big Promise
Once, Reiji Takamura had been the shortest boy in his class.
Except for Haruki.
That alone might have been enough to make them friends.
That, and Airi.
Even as a child, Airi Tendō had possessed the kind of martial-arts ability that made two six-year-old boys immediately decide normal childhood ambitions were insufficient.
Reiji had never considered himself weak, though.
He was clever.
Competitive.
Always looking for an advantage.
Once, he had gotten a cheap cat badge from a vending machine and handed it to Haruki as though it were a thoughtful gift.
According to Reiji, Haruki desperately wanted it.
According to reality, Haruki was simply too polite to refuse.
Then came the Yin-Yang badge.
The rare prize.
Haruki got it first.
Airi liked it.
Reiji wanted it.
Haruki refused to trade.
So Reiji challenged him.
A noble contest of childhood martial arts.
Which, in reality, amounted to two six-year-olds badly imitating punches and kicks they had seen adults perform.
Reiji lost.
Then Haruki moved away.
That should have been the end of it.
It wasn't.
Years later, Reiji could still remember standing in front of that same vending machine.
Again.
And again.
Feeding coins into it until eventually the Yin-Yang badge fell into his hand.
He remembered staring at it.
And feeling nothing.
Because he had finally understood.
He had never wanted the badge.
He wanted the victory.
The one Haruki had taken from him.
The one he could never reclaim after Haruki disappeared.
So Reiji stopped chasing friendship.
Stopped caring about fairness.
He chased strength.
He chased victories.
He chased the feeling of never losing again.
Years later, Reiji witnessed a martial artist named Shūzen Kurogiri defeat two armed men with almost effortless precision.
No hesitation.
No wasted motion.
Just overwhelming skill wrapped in perfect calm.
Kurogiri was one of the masters associated with the Black Heaven Society, the organization that stood opposite Ryūseikan in nearly every principle that mattered.
For Reiji, none of that mattered.
He had seen power.
Real power.
And he wanted it.
Right and wrong became secondary.
Victory came first.
Reiji sought Kurogiri out and asked to become his student.
The older martial artist saw the obsession buried beneath the boy's controlled exterior.
And accepted him.
Back in the present, Reiji leaned against the seat and looked down at the small Yin-Yang badge he now wore as a custom lapel pin.
"Still weak, Haruki," he whispered.
His thumb passed over the symbol.
"Still disappointing."
Then he remembered Ryūseikan.
A faint smile appeared.
"But perhaps they'll change you."
The car turned onto another road as lights moved across the tinted windows.
"Maybe you'll finally become strong enough…"
His fingers closed around the badge.
"…for me to defeat."
The city continued around him.
But somewhere inside that quiet car, a childhood rivalry had begun burning again.
And tomorrow?
Someone was going to get hurt.