"Show me what you've got."
Max—better known as Maxi—tilted his head slightly, his expression flickering between calm indifference and a cocky edge. He shifted his feet, stance loose, deliberately off-centred—almost careless.
Almost.
His right hand lifted, pointing straight at Mikado. His left stayed tucked behind his back.
"Come."
The single word was enough.
Mikado swallowed hard. His instincts screamed at him to move—to do something—yet his body hesitated. He took a step back without meaning to, breath catching in his throat. His fingers twitched, nerves buzzing beneath his skin.
Max clicked his tongue.
"Not gonna attack?" he said flatly. "Then I'll go first."
The distance vanished.
One moment Maxi was metres away—the next, he was right there. Too close. A breath away.
Mikado flinched, arms snapping up to guard his face—
Too slow.
"Predictable."
Max shifted, twisting his hips as his fist drove into Mikado's stomach. The impact knocked the air clean out of him. Pain exploded through his gut as his feet skidded backwards.
Yoriko gasped, hands flying to her mouth.
Mikado coughed, saliva spilling from his teeth as he struggled to breathe.
Max followed, unhurried. He loomed over him, gaze cold, assessing—unimpressed.
"I thought you said you didn't want other kids to suffer," he said, tilting his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"But right now?"
"You're the only one hurting."
Mikado wiped his lips, huffing as he dug his fingers into his hands.
"Shut up. I will show you that I'm not all talk!"
Mikado leaned forward, lowering his stance before vanishing at the same speed Max used.
The air flew up violently, kicking up dust that travelled towards Max in a flash. Only a blur could be seen.
At that instance, the distance disappeared in a flash, stunning Max and Yoriko.
Max's eyes shot downwards, panic flowing through his muscles as Mikado was already on him.
"Crap, he got me!"
Mikado rotated his hips, shooting an uppercut that sliced through the air, slowing inches short from Max's jaw.
His face shifted from fear into amusement.
Maximillius grinned.
He was still predictable.
Mikado drew centimetres away from connecting to Max, but he barely parried it aside with his left hand, before coming down with a straight right, skimming past Mikado's arm and smashing right into his face—like an axe crashing into wood.
His head snapped back violently, Mikado's vision bursting white—his body slamming into the ground with a hollow thud and a sharp gasp.
Max leaped back as Yoriko ran to Mikado's side, kneeling beside him.
Her attention flickered to Maximillius.
"I-I told you to go easy on him Max!" She snapped, her eyes darkening.
"But what did you do instead…?" Her tone shifted. Dark. Murderous.
"You went all out." She stood up, facing Maximillius as her nails dug into her palms. "I'll have to teach you too then. Maximillius."
Mikado reached out and took hold of Yoriko's fist. "No… go back… I'm the one fighting…"
She glanced down at him, worry etching her features. "But you're—"
He forced himself to his feet, knees trembling, arms sagging from the hits he'd taken. Blood dripped faintly from his lips; he wiped it away with the back of his hand, eyes fierce.
"I'll prove it… don't interfere. I'll show you both how I can achieve my goals… you don't need to doubt me anymore."
His stance lowered again, this time different—like he was holding a sword that wasn't there.
"Come, Seishiro," he muttered, his aura shifting, subtle at first, then roaring around him like a current of energy.
Max swallowed hard, hesitation flickering across his face. To think… he's only seven…
Yoriko's eyes widened. There was something… different. Something undeniable.
His hair shimmered faintly, catching the light in strands of brilliant blue. His eyes glowed, a deeper, more piercing blue than usual. Mikado wasn't just a child. Not anymore.
Max got into a proper stance, feet planted, shoulders coiled like a spring. His eyes sharpened, muscles tensing. He's starting all out now.
The silence was heavy. Like an elephant stood on their shoulders.
"If he won't attack, then I will." Is what they both spoke in their head.
In that very moment, they sprang towards each other at top speed, blurring as the distance closed instantly.
Completely mirroring each other, they both rotated their hips to deliver a powerful straight right. Their fists cut into the air like a knife through butter—but only one can land. Max's fist connected first, driving itself into Mikado's cheek with a smash, jerking his head back violently. Mikado recovered instantly, retaliating with two more strikes that Max narrowly evaded.
What's with this kid? How can he keep up with me of all people?! Max screamed internally.
"I won't go down!" Mikado's fist slammed into Max's stomach, shooting him back as he sharply gasped. Mikado took the chance to finish, leaping forward with an overhand right.
"It's over!" Mikado's fist flew down, his muscles tense, adrenaline coursing through his veins. For a moment, he believed he could win this.
Suddenly, Maximillius weaved, effortlessly dodging the attack, taking Mikado's wrist into his grip. "Don't get overconfident, NPC." Max ruthlessly pulled Mikado's wrist towards him, twisting it unnaturally as he kneed him in the solar plexus. Mikado gagged violently, his vision blurring.
Max kneed him once. Then again. And then a third time, each knee crushing deep into his stomach, driving the air out of his lungs, before slamming him into the wall.
Max scoffed. "I admit, you're strong enough to stand against me, but it's not enough to fulfil your dreams." He cracked his neck, stretching his muscles as he glared at Mikado whose back is pressed against the wall—just barely standing on his feet.
Mikado lifted his head, shooting back a glare. His eyes shone brighter, reflecting the determination that burned inside him. "Shut… up… scumbag… I won't let you… speak about me like that again…" He dug his nails into his skin. "You GOT THAT?!" He snapped, gritting his teeth as he began to advance.
Max sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, disappointed. "Jeez… why do you NEVER LEARN?!" He lunged forward, his right fist slamming into Mikado's cheek. Then he delivered and shot an uppercut that snapped Mikado's head back. He continued the combo with a straight right into his jaw, then a left hook, right uppercut, a left body kick, then a quick flurry of jabs and hooks, pummelling Mikado into the wall.
Max pulled his arm back, muscles coiling.
"This ends—"
He swung.
Mikado didn't try to dodge.
He stepped into it.
The punch clipped his cheek, tearing skin—but his hand snapped up, fingers locking around Max's wrist.
For a split second, neither of them moved.
Max's eyes widened.
"—What?"
Mikado turned, sliding one foot under Max's.
Not with strength—but with everything he had left.
He pivoted his hips, dragged Max's arm across his shoulder, and threw himself forward.
The world flipped.
Using the opponent's momentum against themselves, Max hit the ground with a thunderous crash; the air ripped from his lungs.
He didn't scream, yell, or shout.
The sound that escaped him was sharp and involuntary—a violent gasp as his back slammed into the floor, the deck shuddering beneath the impact. His vision swam, stars bursting across his sight as his lungs refused to breathe.
He tried to move.
Nothing happened.
His fingers twitched uselessly, body unresponsive as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling in stunned disbelief. "…Tch. Unbelievable."
Mikado staggered.
The moment Max had hit the ground, whatever was holding Mikado upright vanished. His knees buckled, legs giving out beneath him as he fell forward, barely halting his fall with one hand before collapsing onto his side.
His chest burned. His head rang. Every breath scraped his throat like glass.
Yoriko was there instantly.
"That's enough!"
Her voice cracked through the space like a gunshot.
She rushed to Mikado's side, dropping to her knees and pulling him upright just enough to keep him conscious. One arm wrapped around his shoulders—flinching as his previous wounds stung, the other pressing gently against his back as she checked his breathing.
"Mikado—hey, oi, look at me. Stay with me."
His vision blurred, but he managed to focus on her face, his lips trembling as he tried to speak.
"…Did I… prove it…? That I can… complete my goal…?"
Yoriko's breath hitched.
She pulled him into a tight embrace, one hand cradling the back of his head as she pressed her forehead against his.
"You idiot…" she whispered, voice shaking. "You already did."
Her fingers reached for his face, pinching his cheek as she scolded him. "You did too much! Your wounds from before aren't even fully healed yet!"
Mikado whined. "Ow, ow, you're hurting me!"
Behind them, Max finally sucked in a ragged breath, coughing as his body slowly obeyed him again. He rolled onto his side, one arm clutching his ribs, teeth clenched hard enough to hurt.
He glanced over at Mikado.
Silent.
No smirk.
No taunt.
Just a long, unreadable stare.
"…Seven," he muttered under his breath. He let out a slow breath, half a laugh, half disbelief.
"…You're a pain."
Yoriko shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
"Don't you dare try that again," she snapped. "If you do, I'll be your opponent."
Max swallowed hard. He didn't argue further.
He pushed himself up onto one knee, still wincing, eyes never leaving Mikado.
"…Alright," he said quietly. "…I won't."
The halls fell silent.
Mikado lay there, bruised and shaking. Held upright by Yoriko's arms… and yet, no one could look at him and call him weak again
Cheers erupted from the decks nearby, loud and jubilant. Soldiers ran past, clapping each other on the back and shouting. The behemoth had finally fallen, its massive body smoking and broken in the distance. The fleet would temporarily touch down to collect parts—valuable materials to be sold or forged into weapons and rings.
Yoriko glanced around, ensuring no one else was close. Satisfied, she gently helped Mikado to his feet, keeping his weight balanced.
"C'mon, let's get you patched up," she said softly.
They made their way to the infirmary, Mikado's body still stiff and sore from the sparring. The nurse looked up as they entered.
"What happened this time?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
"Little… bickering," Yoriko replied, her tone light but slightly exasperated. "Don't worry, he'll survive."
Mikado winced as he lowered himself onto a bed, the faint aches in his shoulder and back reminding him that his bullet wounds from three weeks ago had never fully healed. The nurse cleaned and bandaged his cuts and bruises, gently checking his old injuries.
"Better?" Yoriko asked, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face.
Mikado nodded weakly. "Thanks… for everything."
She smiled, sitting beside him. "You don't have to thank me, Mikado. You did most of the work yourself."
A few days later, Mikado was allowed to walk again. His shoulder was still restricted, and bending his back too much was off-limits. He leaned slightly on Yoriko as they moved through the corridors of the zeppelin.
"Hey, little man," a deep voice called out. Mikado turned to see a towering figure approaching in clad armour—a man with pale skin, long blonde hair, and eyes that seemed to pierce right through him through the helmet he wore.
"Gan," Yoriko said, gesturing toward him. "This is… Gan."
"Yeah, I know, I talked to him a few weeks ago." Mikado replied.
Gan smirked under the helmet covering half of his face, "Hey, at least you remember me! And I don't think I've properly introduced myself. My full name's Gan Kurikawa."
Mikado stared up at him, eyes wide. He didn't ask why Gan was nearly eight and a half feet tall or why he didn't quite seem… fully human. Somehow, it didn't feel strange. He simply nodded.
Mikado then asked a question, "What about your friend? The one you called brother? Whats his full name?"
Gan chuckled. "He's too much of a chud to be my biological brother. His name's Mizuki Tenma. He's my best pal!"
Mikado tilted his head. "As in, the Tenma who the soldiers whispered about and used that light attack on that monster?"
Gan grinned. "Hell yeah! That's him. If you didn't know, he's one of the strongest on the whole fleet!" He chuckled. "It's unfortunate how he's not that bright."
Yoriko stared blankly. "As if you're any smarter than him." She replied in a mocking tone.
Gan frowned. "I'm smarter than you think Ms Reyzia."
Yoriko rolled her eyes. "Sure. And don't call me Ms. I'm not that old, I'm nine in a few weeks."
Gan ignored her and cleared his throat. "Anyways, Yoriko told me about that lil scruff you had with Maxiboy. I came here to see for myself. Sounds like you're decently strong—"
Yoriko stood in front of them, her arm shielding Mikado. "Hold it! You're not going to make him prove it, are you now?" She snapped.
Gan flinched slightly, taken aback from the sudden confrontation. "W-what? No, um, I… well, yes that's what I came here for." He replied, scratching his cheek.
Yoriko scoffed. "Nope, not letting you."
Gan insisted further. "But—"
"No buts! He's still needs time to heal!" Yoriko shouted back, crossing her arms—cheeks puffed in defiance.
She began to ramble on about how he needs rest, time and healing to recover from his wounds. Her eyes were closed as she yapped on.
In that timeframe, Mikado and Gan had silently snuck away from Yoriko, bolting when they got far.
As they ran, they passed Maximillius, who avoided eye contact with Mikado, arms crossed and slightly flushed. Mikado noted it, but didn't comment. Rivalry, he thought. That's all it was.
Inside the training hall, Gan introduced Mikado to Karaga Tokoshima, the sensei. The hall smelled of sweat, metal, and determination, the air thick with discipline. Mikado's eyes scanned the room, taking in the men and women training—their skill, speed, and the rings glinting faintly on their hands.
Gan looked around the training hall, arms crossed, watching the soldiers move with precise, lethal grace. "Alright," he said finally, turning his gaze to Mikado. "You won't have to do anything for now. Just watch. Learn. Let the hall teach you what I can't explain with words."
Mikado's eyes widened, taking in the whirling forms of seasoned fighters—some leaping with ease, others swinging massive weapons as if they weighed nothing. The faint glint of rings flashed on their fingers and weapons, the power almost palpable.
Gan smirked, noticing Mikado's fascination. "Once you're healed, though… you'll train here. I can teach you how to fight. You want that, don't you?"
Mikado didn't hesitate. "Yes. I want to learn everything."
Gan's grin widened. "Good. That's the spirit."
The next few weeks were a blur.
Mikado watched the training every day. He saw Max sparring in the background, now silent, tense, and focused. The rivalry simmered quietly, unspoken but ever-present.
He observed Karaga demonstrating techniques: the precise footwork, the weight shifts, the quick, fluid strikes that could turn a single movement into devastation. Mikado's mind raced, absorbing patterns, memorising movements—even if his body wasn't ready to imitate them yet.
He watched Gan move like a force of nature, pulling strings of combat with near-superhuman strength. The man's shadow seemed to stretch across the hall as he flipped, swung, and leapt effortlessly. Mikado's small fists clenched at his sides, determination burning behind his eyes.
Days passed. Mikado trained lightly under Gan's supervision—shadow drills, stances, defensive rolls. His shoulder still restricted his movements, but each day, the pain receded a little, replaced by strength and resolve.
Nights were filled with quiet reflection. Mikado would watch the sunset from the high ledges of the zeppelin, thinking about the behemoth, the battle, and his friends lost. He remembered Kiroku, the games that honed his reflexes, and the promise he made to himself: no child should cry like he had.
Weeks turned into months. Mikado's movements became sharper, faster. The spark in his eyes grew brighter, the aura of determination more palpable. By the time he was allowed full training, his body and mind had been tempered like steel in a forge.
One evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the training hall in streaks of gold and crimson, Gan clapped him on the shoulder. "You've grown. Not just in skill… but in heart."
Mikado looked up, his chest still heavy from the months of training, sweat dripping down his face. His eyes reflected the fire inside him.
Gan smirked, stepping back. "This is just the beginning. I want to see the real Mikado when you get older. Don't disappoint me."
Mikado didn't speak. He just nodded, letting the quiet promise between them settle. The hall hummed with life and energy around him, a symphony of combat and power.
And somewhere deep in his chest, Mikado felt it: the boy who had once been fragile, bruised, and unsure, was slowly stepping into the man he was meant to become.
The future was waiting. And Mikado was ready.