Sentarō had always believed that his determination would carry him to his dream. Yet, as he stood frozen under the weight of Ujiyuki's killer stare, a chilling truth dawned on him—sometimes, determination could just as easily lead to his end.
The silence in the room was suffocating, broken only by the distant chorus of crickets, frogs, and flies outside in the late-night air. Ujiyuki's footsteps echoed against the tatami as he closed in on the boy, his eyes burning with irritation.
Sentarō, frail and weakened from his injuries, could do nothing but brace himself.
"It seems I've entertained too much of your crap, you damn kid," Ujiyuki growled, raising his fist, ready to strike.
The blow came as swift as lightning, and Sentarō's heart stopped—this might be the end. But in the next instant, Ujiyuki's fist froze mid-swing, his body swaying before collapsing face-first onto the tatami.
He was fast asleep.
Sentarō blinked in disbelief, his chest heaving as relief washed over him.
"H-He actually fell asleep!" he whispered, quickly covering his mouth so as not to wake the man.
Cautiously, he leaned closer, confirming Ujiyuki's slumber. Once certain, he slipped out of his futon with painstaking care. Only then did he notice the interior of the house for the first time, curiosity tugging at him until he decided to explore.
The house was not large, yet it contained an unusual number of rooms. The first one Sentarō entered was dimly lit by the candle he carried. His eyes widened.
Two samurai armors stood on opposite sides of the room, their brilliant red and deep blue lacquer gleaming even in the weak light.
"Wow… super cool," Sentarō whispered, his face lighting up like a child at a festival.
The urge to touch them gnawed at him, but the candle would not last long, and he forced himself onward.
The next room left him speechless.
Inside was an arsenal—rows of weapons, enough to equip an army of sixty men. Spears, naginata, bows, and blades filled the racks.
"Oh my goodness, this is so cool!" Sentarō exclaimed under his breath, more delighted than he had ever been.
But one weapon stood out to him: a katana. Its black sheath was trimmed with crimson highlights, the hilt wrapped in black with three delicate red flowers engraved upon it. Sentarō's hand trembled as he lifted it, marveling at its weight and beauty.
"Being a samurai must be an epic experience…" he murmured, eyes glowing with awe.
His excitement was abruptly shattered.
A firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Hey, kid," a gravelly voice slurred, "you think the life of a samurai is epic, huh?"
Sentarō spun around in terror. Ujiyuki stood there, dreary-eyed, rubbing his temple as though nursing a headache.
"M-Mr. Ujiyuki? I thought you were drunk and asleep!" Sentarō stammered.
"Huh? Oh, right. I'm really good at coming to my senses after a cup of sake," Ujiyuki boasted with a crooked grin. "All I need is a nap and some time."
His smile vanished in an instant.
"But forget about that—what the hell do you think you're doing here?" His face twisted in anger.
Remembering the earlier near-beating, Sentarō dropped to his knees, forehead nearly touching the floor.
"I'm really sorry for my behavior, sir!" he pleaded, his voice trembling.
Though genuine, the apology was fueled more by fear than remorse. Ujiyuki, seasoned in reading men's hearts, recognized it instantly. A flicker of guilt crossed his face as he recalled his drunken rage.
Without another word, he took the candle from Sentarō's hand.
"Follow me, kid."
Confused but silent, Sentarō obeyed. They passed several doors until they reached one unlike the others—a sliding door of pure white, adorned with black floral designs and red accents.
Inside was a study filled with books, scrolls, and painted walls depicting fierce samurai in battle. The brushwork was so lifelike it seemed the warriors might leap from the parchment.
Ujiyuki moved straight to the bookshelves, rummaging through old tomes until at last he pulled out a weathered orange-bound book.
"Alright, found it. Hey kid, come here."
Sentarō approached cautiously, still unsettled.
The old man pressed the book into his hands, grinning faintly.
"What's this? And why give it to me?" Sentarō asked, opening the cover.
Inside were diagrams, notes, and detailed teachings of swordsmanship.
"Like I said, I don't want to train you. So, you're gonna train yourself. I'll just supervise. Heh."
At first, Sentarō's eyes were wide with confusion, but as he flipped through the pages, realization bloomed into joy.
"This book… it's a complete study of my one-sword style…"
"Exactly," Ujiyuki replied, cutting him off with a wave.
Overcome, Sentarō dropped to his knees again, this time not out of fear but gratitude. Tears welled in his eyes.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Ujiyuki!"
"Whoa, calm down, kid. You're still recovering," Ujiyuki said, his voice softening as he noticed the boy wince in pain.
"This means so much to me…" Sentarō's voice cracked, but his resolve was firm.
For the first time, he felt he was truly taking a step toward becoming a samurai—a warrior of justice.
"With the contents of this book, I can become strong… I can achieve my goals."
Ujiyuki raised a brow at that, curiosity stirring within him.
"Kid… why are you so eager to become a samurai? You know the path is dangerous. Why chase it?"
Sentarō paused. He thought of Gin and Akimichi, who had asked the same question. Slowly, he stood straight despite his injuries, meeting Ujiyuki's gaze with rare seriousness.
"To be honest… I've always wanted to be a samurai for one reason—"
A short pause, heavy with tension.
"Justice."
The answer was simple, yet it pierced Ujiyuki's heart. For a moment, the old samurai's face softened into a smile.
"Heh… you're alright, kid."