《Fuuko: The Fox-Masked Hero》


 Chapter 1

    I hear my father, kenjutsu instructor, Kenji Hiko come through the door. At once, my mother and I rush to greet him. We bow our heads low to show proper deference. My father returns a slight nod. His face is stoic and unmoved by emotion. This is the proper way for a man to greet his family, especially for one who¡¯s a proud warrior. However, being the man that he is, my father soon breaks character and his face alights with a smile.


    He steps to an inch in front of my mother and takes her by the hands. They search one another¡¯s eyes and say in an instant what words couldn''t speak in an eon. Nonetheless, he still delivers his daily haiku as is customary for my family.


    Cherry blossom lips


    Move me with fierce desire


    To kiss my good wife.


    My mother, Kasumi, leans forward to receive his kiss and replies:


    With joy and honor


    Rejoicing in your pure love


    I accept your kiss.


    My parents then proceed to make out like newly weds while I tap my feet waiting for my turn to greet my father. When he finally finishes smooching, he turns his attention to me.


    My sincerest wish


    Is happiness for my child.


    I give my blessing.


    He kisses me on the forehead. I reply:


    My father, my king


    I promise to make you proud


    With my sword and life.


    He takes me by the hands, ¡°My precious daughter, I am always proud of you. Come now, let us have our tea.¡±


    Following him, we move into the next room, which harbors our small rectangular table. The rest of the room is only sparsely decorated. There are a few scrolls written in kanji on the walls, scattered plants, including my father¡¯s prized bonsai, and a large painted vase in the back corner. Yet its relative emptiness is rendered a work of art by the meticulous care with which my mother keeps the room and the entire house flawlessly clean.


    My father and I sit on the floor with our legs tucked underneath the low table. He sits on its left side facing into the room, whereas I sit on its opposite side. We wait for my mother to bring the teapot from the kitchen, which is adjoined to the room¡¯s left side in a tiny compartmentalized space. Sadly, our tiny kitchen is standing room only, but it works out since only my mother and I use it. She believes that it¡¯s a woman¡¯s job to prepare food and tea. That¡¯s how it is with my parents. They¡¯re both tradition-oriented Chowans.


    With the teapot in hand, my mother comes towards the table taking dainty steps with her thin legs poking out of the bottom of her pink kimono. Carefully, she pours a bit of hot tea into my father¡¯s cup, then into mine, and then into her own. Once her family is suitably served, she takes her rest at the table, sitting beside me rather than my father.


    He looks at his two girls proudly, ¡°So my beloveds, tell me, how were your days?¡±


    My mother answers, ¡°Very peaceful dear. And yours Fuu?¡±


    ¡°Stressful. There are so many disruptive idiots in my classes that it¡¯s hard to listen to the teachers.¡±


    My father sighs deeply and then takes a sip of tea. ¡°My Fuu, you¡¯re a good student and a hard worker. I know that you¡¯ll be able to excel even in difficult situations.¡±


    ¡°Yes dad, but it¡¯s still annoying.¡±


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    He and my mother exchange sympathetic glances. He continues, ¡°You know what? Why don¡¯t we do something special to celebrate Fuu¡¯s hard work?¡±


    ¡°What do you have in mind dear?¡± asks my mother.


    ¡°How about the three of us go out for ice cream?¡±


    I take a sip of tea. ¡°We don¡¯t have money to waste on something as superfluous as ice cream.¡±


    My father¡¯s smile withdraws uncomfortably. ¡°Come on Fuu. Your father can afford to spoil his girls every now and then.¡±


    I look at him seriously. I can see that he¡¯s practically begging me with his eyes. My father is generous and kindhearted to a fault. I have to be strict with him or else he¡¯d ruin himself attempting to please my mother and me. But I suppose that every now and then I should cut him a break.


    ¡°Alright. Fine dad, but one scoop not two.¡±


    He grunts in disagreement. ¡°One scoop for your mother and me, and two scoops for you.¡±


    ¡°No father. That¡¯s not fair.¡±


    My mother seizes my right arm. ¡°Please Fuu. We¡¯re your parents. Let us dote on you for a change.¡±


    I shake my head with apprehension. Ice cream is not a good way to spend money. But if it makes my parents happy, then I must consent.


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll have one scoop strawberry and one scoop vanilla.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my girl!¡± my father chimes pleased.


    We rise from the table and head out the door at once. Unfortunately, the first thing we see when we leave our house is the brick wall across the way. It has the words ¡°Wild Men¡± tagged on it in big green letters. The gang of delinquents known as the Tiger Lily Wild Men fancy themselves as legitimate artists, but in actuality they¡¯re nothing more than a bunch of high school students and dropouts with poor tastes. They do their graffiti work in the cover of night like the cowards that they are. I¡¯d love to give the ones who painted the wall a piece of my mind, but I don¡¯t know who they are or where to find them.


    Walking down the crumbly gray sidewalk, I soon pick up on the second most noticeable thing in my environment. The streets of our town, Prosperity, are cluttered with garbage. How this is possible in the face of so many readily available trash cans, I don¡¯t know. Perhaps it has something to do with the subconscious mind demanding one¡¯s external environment to match one¡¯s internal reality. We, the people of Prosperity, are unanimously poor. We have the worst of everything from schools, to unemployment, to crime rates, and suicides. On the other hand, teenage pregnancies are way up this year, so there''s that. But to sum the town up in a phrase, Prosperity is our own little ghetto wonderland.


    As usual, my family doesn¡¯t travel far before encountering a crime in progress. On this particular occasion, we find a man beating his girlfriend senseless. He has her pressed against a brick wall in a narrow alley. She covers herself as best as she can while he pounds her furiously with his fists. My father, being the man that he is, jumps in immediately to save her.


    ¡°Hey! Leave her alone!¡± he calls to the abuser.


    The man doesn¡¯t take kindly to my father¡¯s words. Rather, he turns on him with evil eyes and pulls a metal chain from his pocket.


    ¡°Wrong day pops.¡±

 Chapter 2

    The woman abuser approaches my father with his chain in hand. There¡¯s no easy way to defend oneself against a chain empty-handed, yet my father courageously stands in place, anticipating his attacker¡¯s first move. I breathe lightly and keep my eyes on my father. I have faith that he can defuse this situation without getting hurt because he¡¯s a martial arts master who specializes in swordsmanship.


    The man raises his chain. At the same time, the unexpected screech of a whistle catches everyone¡¯s attention. We look down the sidewalk towards the right and see an armed magistrate storming to our position. When the abuser sees him, he immediately takes off running. Without missing a beat, the magistrate charges right past us. He yells, ¡°Don¡¯t worry Hiko Sensei. I¡¯ll get him!¡±


    I recognize the law officer. He¡¯s one of the students from my father¡¯s kenjutsu dojo. His name is Jigoro. He¡¯s a far cry from being our best swordsman, but he¡¯s a faithful and loyal student. Moreover, he has the legal authority to deal with the woman abuser in a better way than what my father could do. So leaving the criminal to Jigoro, my father attends to the victim instead.


    Her arms are blackened from blocking repeated punches and she¡¯s visibly shaken. I stare at the woman blankly. I never know how to feel when I witness domestic violence. Part of me feels sorry for her injuries. Another part of me cringes knowing that this was done to her by a man to whom she looked for love and support. Yet an even greater part of me, the warrior part of me, feels like she should have taken the man to battle. Sure, the average woman can¡¯t beat a man in a fight, I understand that, but she didn¡¯t even try. She just curled into a ball and let him hit her. That I don¡¯t respect.


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    ¡°Young lady are you alright?¡± my father asks.


    Right away, she bursts into sobbing and falls into my father¡¯s arms. He holds her, rubbing her back softly and gazing at my mother and me with sad doughy eyes.


    To spare him the guilt of leaving his family, my mother advises him to do what we both know he¡¯s going to do anyway. ¡°Honey, why don¡¯t you be a gentleman and walk her home?¡±


    ¡°Unnh,¡± he answers, meaning yes.


    My father removes his black haori and wraps it around the woman¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Come miss. I¡¯ll walk you home.¡± They leave together with my father watching her closely.


    As if on cue, my mother and I turn at the same time to walk home. I say into the air, ¡°I hate this stupid town.¡±

 Chapter 3

    School life in Prosperity pretty much sucks too. I go to Promise High School. The ¡°promise¡± refers to the belief that education is the way out of poverty. I¡¯m already a senior. I¡¯ve seen a lot of kids graduate ahead of me. None of them have made it out of poverty per se, but a handful have made it to college. That¡¯s my goal too. I want to go to Cho University, but my only chance to attend is if I manage to get a scholarship. There¡¯s no way my parents could afford to send me there. And that¡¯s the reason for my problem with many of the other students. Eighty percent of them aren¡¯t even trying to make something better out of their lives. The few of us who do dream of something more have to fight tooth and nail to make the most out of our overcrowded classes, twenty-year-hand-me-down text books, and disinterested underpaid teachers. Sometimes I have fits of panic when I think about how disadvantaged I am in the pursuit of my goal. At times, it seems impossible.


    However, I¡¯m the daughter of Kenji Hiko. My father believes in me. He¡¯s always believed in me and he¡¯s told me as much. So I don¡¯t give up. Nor would my father give up. That¡¯s not the kind of man he is, and that¡¯s not the kind of woman I want to be.


    Holding my head high, I attend my literature class. Contrary to what one might expect, my literature class is the worst one of the day, and it¡¯s not because I don¡¯t like the subject matter. It¡¯s because my class is filled with a bunch of dumbasses.


    From the moment I walk through the door, I¡¯m greeted with rude catcalls. One especially articulate boy tells me, ¡°Bring your snow white hair over here and I¡¯ll introduce you to the Prince Charming in my pants.¡± This, of course, triggers celebratory cackling from the other jackals in his pack of merry dumbasses.


    I generally get two kinds of responses based on my appearance. The first is the awkward stare followed by the invariable, ¡°What are you?¡±


    I¡¯ve mastered answering this question with tact. What I am is a Chowan girl with double recessive genes that caused me to be born with white hair instead of black and blue eyes instead of brown. Other than that, I look like a normal Chowan.


    The second kind of response I get is the ¡°Ooh baby, sock it to me¡± or whatever mindless drivel the hormonal boys like to spew. Some of them prefer my exotic look. Others think I¡¯m butt ugly. Either way, few bother trying to get to know me beyond my appearance.


    Yet one of the boys who does know me is Spree Flitz. Unfortunately, he¡¯s also a complete dumbass. He shouts to me, ¡°Hey Fuuko!¡±


    Fuuko is my nickname, meaning ¡°Wind Child.¡± It¡¯s also shorthand for Fuu Hiko.


    I turn at my desk to look at him. ¡°What Spree?¡±


    ¡°When are we going on that date you promised me?¡±


    ¡°I made no such promise.¡±


    ¡°Yeah you did. You said ¡®when pigs fly.¡¯¡±


    Spree sticks out his leg and trips an overweight girl named Melanie as she goes to the pencil sharpener. The class bursts into a riot of laughter. Melanie gets up. Her face and exposed arms are flushed red. The teacher, Mr. Jones, an immigrant from ?me Kingdom, looks at Melanie briefly and then continues his lecture all the same. At this point, he¡¯s given up on trying to make the students hear him. He just talks and whoever wants to listen, listens.


    That¡¯s the general vibe with most of the teachers. They started off wanting to help us underprivileged hoodrats get a good education, but after a few years of daily struggles with disrespectful students and sub-par teaching materials, the internal fire that they started out with has died down to simmering embers. I¡¯ve always had the impression that most of the teachers are operating on autopilot. They only come to life on the rare occasions when they get to work with a student who really cares about his or her education. That¡¯s probably why I get along with all of the teachers. That, and the fact that I¡¯m not a disrespectful brat like most of the others.


    After my literature class, the rest of my school day follows along the same trend until I get to my Advanced College Prep class at the end of the day. This class is reserved for hard working seniors who have real prospects of making it to a university next year. There are no idiots in this class; nonetheless, there¡¯s still one boy who¡¯s a major pain in my butt. His name is Shinji ¨­kami. He¡¯s the oldest son from the family whose kenjutsu dojo rivals our own. You could say he¡¯s a natural-born enemy of mine.


    ¡°Good afternoon Lady Fuu,¡± Shinji says as I sit at my desk next to him.


    I ignore him completely. He¡¯s such a tool. His family name, ¨­kami, means ¡°wolf¡±. That¡¯s exactly what he is. He¡¯s an ¨­kami after all, and the ¨­kami¡¯s are enemies. He¡¯s just waiting for me to show the least sign of vulnerability and then he¡¯ll capitalize on my weakness.


    I manage to avoid meeting his glance for the rest of the class. Then, once the class ends, the school day is over. Yet before I leave to walk home, I have to meet up with some junior classmates whom I call the Hanabira. The Hanabira, meaning Flower Petals, is the official name I gave to the group of young people to whom I teach kenjutsu. To help my family raise money, I volunteered to teach a side class of children and teenagers to complement my father¡¯s adult classes. Not only does it work out well financially, but it¡¯s also created a safety network of trustworthy friends who are all trained in martial arts. Such a group is vital in a city riddled with gang violence.


    The two kids whom I¡¯m picking up are Eli Genesis, 15, and his younger sister Eowin, 13. Despite their young ages, they¡¯re two of the most talented swordsmen of the Hiko dojo. I need their protection just as much as they need mine. The only problem with them is that Eli somehow made the tragic choice to take Spree as his male role model to compensate for his absentee father. By Eli¡¯s insistence, Spree is the fourth member of our safety traveling group.


    I meet them at the front door of the school. As a sophomore and freshmen, Eli and Eowin¡¯s classes are closer to the front, so they always arrive first. I arrive third, and Spree arrives late. Every day. Without fail. He¡¯s a rude and irresponsible jerk, but I have to grit my teeth and bear him with a smile for Eli¡¯s sake. Otherwise, I¡¯d ditch him on a moment¡¯s notice.


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    When Spree finally arrives, we depart. It¡¯s a twenty-minute walk to the Hiko dojo and another five minutes from there to my house. It¡¯s not too far of a walk for athletic high school students, but it¡¯s more than far enough to get into trouble in a city as dangerous as Prosperity. Thankfully, we rarely have problems.


    As we walk, Eli can¡¯t help but open a conversation with his favorite father figure. ¡°Hey Spree. Have you heard the rumors about the ghost samurai who walk through the town at night and kill everyone they encounter?¡±


    Spree digs a booger out of his nose and flicks it away casually. This is his version of being polite. In private he¡¯d probably have eaten it. He answers, ¡°You mean the Loathsome Midnights? I don¡¯t think they¡¯re ghost. Ghosts don¡¯t normally wear straw hats and wield katanas. But I don¡¯t know for sure. The only way to find out is to go out at night and try to find one. Want to come with me Eli?¡±


    ¡°Sure!¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not!¡± I shout. ¡°You¡¯re both going to stay inside where it¡¯s safe.¡±


    My strong words amuse Spree. He laughs his annoying, condescending cackle and grins at me wryly. ¡°You¡¯re such a bossy hardass Fuuko. But that¡¯s what makes you so sexy. I want to take your power and break you. You should be eating out of my lap.¡±


    I squint my eyes and stare at Spree. He locks eyes with me, not relenting his cocky grin. Many of the boys at school talk like him. They¡¯re all creeps, yet Spree alone scares me. There¡¯s an unpredictable darkness lurking just behind his eyes.


    Spree and I continue walking while staring at each other. Our eyes only pull away when Eowin suddenly shrills, ¡°Oh no!¡±


    I look ahead. It¡¯s the Shenrong Butchers. I recognize them by their telltale red clothing. They¡¯re the most violent and dominant gang in town. My first instinct is to hurry to a different street to evade them, but before we can escape, they spot us. There are four men between the ages of 18 and 30. Each one of them has an even cockier and more sinister grin than Spree. They sprint towards us to prevent us from escaping. I take a defensive posture and channel a small amount of mana into my hands. If necessary, I¡¯ll summon my oak-wood bokuto.


    The Shenrong Butchers catcall and ogle me from head to toe. One man who¡¯s six feet tall, has dyed red hair, and wears an open red vest with no undershirt howls, ¡°Mm, mm, mmm, look at this babe! I¡¯d like to see what¡¯s under that kimono.¡±


    A second man adds, ¡°I¡¯ll pull up her kimono. You pull down her panties.¡±


    Needless to say, I¡¯ve heard enough. I summon my bokuto and take a centered fighting stance. The men find my action hilarious. They burst into wild laughter, slapping their knees as if I were harmless or joking with them or something.


    ¡°Look, this pup thinks she can do something with her toy sword.¡±


    ¡°Hanabira ready your weapons,¡± I command.


    Eli, Eowin, and Spree summon their own bokutos. Now their mood finally becomes more serious. The second man who wanted to pull up my kimono says, ¡°Hey man look at these kids. Do they think they can do something against us?¡±


    The Hanabira and I hold our fighting stances with silent intensity. Sometimes it¡¯s possible to avoid an undesirable fight by appearing dangerous to your opponents. Many animals such as rattlesnakes use this tactic to avoid fights. Yet this time it¡¯s not enough. Our opponents commit to their assault.


    The man who started it all comes at me with his right hand extended. I smack his wrist with my wooden sword and then strike him in the head for a quick two-hit combo. Rather than cause him to retreat, I only anger him and make him want to press the attack more. His boys step in to help him, so the rest of the Hanabira jumps into the fray.


    We each take our own opponent ¨C four against four. Even while fighting my own attacker, I still manage to keep a watch over my friends. The man fighting Eowin has an absolutely horrified look on his face. Eowin¡¯s compact 13-year-old frame hints at weakness, but looks are definitely deceiving in her case. Eowin is fast and ruthlessly aggressive. She uses a one-handed sword style to continuously strike the man¡¯s sensitive spots with startling speed. Even when he tries to hit her back, she dodges by inches and continues wailing on him.


    Eli is a counterstriker. He prefers to let his opponent move first so that he can attack any openings they leave. His opponent is an unskilled street brawler, so he, too, catches a one-sided beatdown.


    Spree is in a different league from Eli and Eowin. He uses an unorthodox sloppy style, but he¡¯s darn good at it. Everything he does is technically wrong, yet somehow he makes it work. I hate to say it, but if I¡¯m the leader and best fighter of the Hanabira, then Spree is second. He destroys his opponent in no time flat.


    Seeing as my students make short work of their foes, I can¡¯t let myself be shown up. I motion as if I were sheathing my sword and then swing out a godly powerful Iai strike that catches my opponent in the chest and blows him back 15 feet.


    Finally, the Shenrong Butchers realize that they¡¯re not going to be able to have their way with me. They limp away in retreat.


    ¡°Whew,¡± I huff relieved. ¡°Thanks for helping me guys.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Eli says.


    ¡°That was fun,¡± Eowin adds.


    ¡°Poor saps, but you can¡¯t blame them,¡± Spree comments.


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Well, you flaunt it and guys want it. What¡¯d you expect?¡±


    His words deeply offend me. I¡¯m not immodestly dressed. I wear an indigo kimono with white flower patterns on it, a light blue obi sash to keep it tied, and a simple pair of sandals. It¡¯s traditional garb for a Chowan woman and it should hardly incite men to lust. I tell Spree, ¡°I don¡¯t flaunt anything. Those guys were creeps, and you¡¯re a creep too for sympathizing with them.¡±


    ¡°Well, everyone has an opinion,¡± he replies.


    I groan and stomp on. Spree can be so stupid sometimes. He¡¯s hardly better than a Shenrong Butcher himself.

 Chapter 4

    The technical name of my father¡¯s dojo is the Megumi Kara Tsuyo (Strength from Grace). I teach the after school class from 4 to 5:30 p.m. My father¡¯s adult class, the one with Jigoro, begins at 6 and runs to 8. To get the most out of our brief class period, I¡¯ve pushed the concept of punctuality to the point of having everyone in the dojo dressed in their kendo gear and ready to go at 4¡¯o clock on the dot. The only person who¡¯s generally a few minutes late is Spree.


    To open the class, I stand in front of my students in the center of the room while they form a straight line organized from the lowest ranking students on the left to the highest ranking student, Spree, on the far right of the group. Spree orders the class to sit in the seiza kneeling position. We all kneel for a brief meditation. When I feel the meditation is sufficient, I nod to Spree. He then orders the class to face the main wall, and we bow. Afterwards, he orders the class to face the instructor. He and the other students bow to me with their heads touching the floor. I repeat the gesture, and then order the class to stand.


    We move on to the warm up exercises and stretching. In total, this process takes us about six or seven minutes. Next, I want to jump right into the offensive techniques that we¡¯ll be practicing this day. As per my father¡¯s instructions, we always begin the first day of the week with the most basic and fundamental techniques. My father is a deep believer in the value of practicing the basics. For my students this can sometimes seem boring, yet the inherent value of this practice reveals itself in the progress they make. Even my newest student, eight-year old Emiko Gozen, shows great promise after only three months of practicing the basics. So in this dojo we stick to the fundamentals.


    The first and most basic technique is the head strike. The formal name for this is ¡°men,¡± literally meaning head. Its two variations are hidari men (strike to the head above the left temple) and nigi men (strike to the head above the right temple). I summon Spree to approach me as my training partner. He takes a centered fighting stance directly opposite of me. I mirror his stance in the same position. To demonstrate the technique that I want my students to focus on, I lunge forward with a single step called the fumikomi-ashi and strike the center of his head. Spree is wearing his helmet and body armor, so this doesn¡¯t hurt him.


    After demonstrating the technique three more times, I let my students get to work. There are 24 members of the Hanabira, not including myself. Our demographic breakdown is 12 males, 12 females, 16 high school students, and 8 students in middle school or below. I¡¯m also proud to say that we have an equal mix of native-born Chowans at 12 and foreign-born or immigrant students, also at 12. Spree Flitz is in fact half-Chowan and half-S?ren, but as his Chowan father married his immigrant mother, Spree counts as Chowan. Eli and Eowin Genesis were both born in Whimsy and their parents immigrated to this country eight years ago.


    Having immigrant students may not seem like much to brag about to some people, but I think that it is. Cho has a new and emerging immigrant population. Mass waves of immigrants only began to migrate to this country in the past 20 years. Unfortunately, there¡¯s still a lot of racial and cultural prejudice in Cho. My immigrant students often face problems in their daily lives, yet here at the Megumi Kara Tsuyo all people are accepted and treated as equals.


    I watch the performance of my students with a smile of satisfaction hidden behind my mask. The Hanabira are my pride and joy. I derive great pleasure from using my kenjutsu knowledge to benefit the lives of others. The little ones are a special pleasure to me. Technically, they¡¯re not as proficient as the older students, but what they lack in skill they make up for with enthusiasm. They have so much fun during class and they bring bundles of joy to everyone around them. Even Spree is occasionally protective of the little ones. That¡¯s important in this town where there¡¯s so much corruption and gang influence these days. My biggest nightmare would be for my students to become no account gang members. I worry about this every single day without exception.


    Fortunately, there are some great kendoka in this class. Their good example will hopefully keep everyone¡¯s morale high, which will be pivotal in overcoming the myriad negative influences in Prosperity. As I previously mentioned, Spree is the best kendoka after me. He¡¯s also the class¡¯s most senior student. The siblings Eli and Eowin are another couple of formidable swordsmen. They always set a good example for the class with their hard work and positive budo spirit. Other particularly noteworthy students are Daitaro Hanabi, 16, Takeshi Maeda, 14, Tatiane Munoz, a 13-year-old from Selva, Miho Ito, 16, and the best female swordsmen after me, and Shazi Assaf, a 16-year-old immigrant from Kanabo who already knows a fencing style that uses a curved sword called a scimitar. These students work with me as co-instructors to help exemplify proper techniques and martial mannerism to my younger students.


    Saving the best for last, I use the final 30 minutes of class time for sparring practice. My senior students and I line up in the center of the room. The rest of the junior students rotate to our positions every five minutes. This allows all of them to get in practice with kendoka who know what they¡¯re doing well enough to not hurt them while also providing constructive criticism. Our first wave of sparring is just about to begin when uninvited intruders suddenly step into our dojo.


    These intruders are four more Shenrong Butchers. They come in strutting and rudely step into the dojo without even removing their shoes. Their presence causes my heart to palpitate with nervousness. My anxiety has to do with the influence they could exert over my little ones and not because I¡¯m scared to fight them. Yet at the same time, I can¡¯t just run up and start swinging my sword at them. My father¡¯s 14th principle of kenjutsu is ¡°Do all within your power to avoid a fight. The sword must be your last recourse.¡± My students have heard this principle a thousand times, and it would scandalize them more than anything else to see their instructor run up and attack people without even trying to open a dialogue. As such, my hands are tied. I take off my gloves and remove my mask so that I can speak to them as if they were civilized human beings, which I already know they aren¡¯t.


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    ¡°Spree, keep the class going,¡± I order once my mask is off. Spree takes an examining look at our uninvited visitors, and then gestures with his sword for the class to continue. Amid the clinking sound of wooden swords, I move to the Shenrong Butchers to see what they want.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± I ask.


    One of them steps forward. He¡¯s a savage young man with fiery red hair thrown every which way, a red kimono top that¡¯s neither tucked nor tied together, and red hakama pants. He evaluates me with his chin in his fingers. ¡°Just looking,¡± he says.


    He and his companions glare beyond me to watch my students sparring. At the same time, I do a little evaluating of my own and sum up the young man and his companions. There are three men and one woman. They¡¯re all too old for high school, but still quite young looking. My guess is they¡¯re all in their 20s. Each of them has either dyed red hair or red clothing to signify that they belong to the Shenrong Butchers, and unlike the group of them we encountered before, these four are armed with swords. To fight them with my bamboo shinai would be folly. I have to try to convince them to leave peacefully with words.


    ¡°If you¡¯re looking for kendo lessons, then go somewhere else. We don¡¯t teach gangsters at the Megumi Kara Tsuyo.¡±


    Their front man replies, ¡°I¡¯m not looking for lessons; I¡¯m looking for soldiers.¡±


    ¡°Listen up!¡± he shouts with a volcanic voice. At once I cover my ears. My head rings from the unexpected percussion of his voice. Even worse, his call gets Spree and the other students to stop what they¡¯re doing. He steps around me and moves closer to my class. In a panic I scurry to get back in front of him and point my sword to his throat. He doesn¡¯t seem to mind. In fact, he doesn¡¯t even flinch. He moves straight into a recruitment speech instead.


    ¡°Yo, the name¡¯s Ifrit Kazan. I¡¯m the leader of the Shenrong Butchers. Word has it that some of your guys put the smack down on some of my guys earlier today. Congrats on that. We¡¯re recruiting and the number one thing we look for in new members is power. Now, you might be thinking, why in the fiery gray hell would I want to join the Sherong Butchers? Well, let me tell you.


    Being a butcher comes with a lotta perks. For one, no more stupid flippin¡¯ school with its dumb teachers, and pointless home work assignments. Two, whatever you want is yours. Candy, toys, nice food, your choice of boys, girls, women, men, whatever you want. Name it and it¡¯s yours. Three, you get to roll deep in a gang of winners. Ain¡¯t nobody gonna mess with you when you¡¯re a Butcher. And four, every new member gets one wish granted. Whatever you want. Ask for a star and I¡¯ll pull one down for ya. Any questions?¡±


    I answer for everyone. ¡°Great speech, but we¡¯re not interested. Now leave!¡±


    Ifrit points his finger to someone behind me. ¡°You don¡¯t have to raise your hand, but go ahead.¡±


    I spin around in horror. Someone has a question?


    ¡°Do the members get paid?¡± Spree asks.


    ¡°Good question,¡± answers Ifrit. ¡°Our members generally don¡¯t need money since everything is provided. But those who bring in the bacon are our raid parties. If you join a raid party, then, yes, you receive a commission percentage of the cut. Bonuses are given to those who perform especially well. Our tops guys pull down about 50,000 ames a month. So yeah, the money¡¯s good. Other questions?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I shout.


    ¡°Do we really get girls?¡± I hear my student Daitaro ask.


    I turn to him deeply hurt. ¡°Daitaro!¡±


    Ifrit smirks as if it were a stupid question. ¡°Of course! All the girls you want. In the Shenrong Butchers, we share our women. Nobody is reserved. In fact¡­¡± He turns around to look at the female Butcher behind him. ¡°Vanessa, show him your tits.¡±


    The young woman grabs the bottom of her shirt. I immediately blast her with the Light Breeze spell to stagger her backwards. ¡°Stop it! There are children present here!¡±


    ¡°Good point,¡± Ifrit says. ¡°Shame on you Vanessa.¡±


    ¡°Other questions?¡±


    I swing my bamboo sword at Ifrit¡¯s neck and stop only a half-inch away from it. ¡°You¡¯ve had your say. Now get out!¡±


    Spree shouts, ¡°Ifrit, you said that the members get their choice of women, but what if the woman you want isn¡¯t a Butcher? What then?¡±


    Ifrit ignores me and smiles. ¡°The Shenrong Butchers take what they want. End of story.¡±


    I begin to shake with anxiety. My Hanabira are actually listening to this psychopath while I stand by helplessly. It¡¯s like a scene out of my worst nightmare. I feel a sudden stinging sensation in my fingers and toes. I think I¡¯m about to have a panic attack.


    Ifrit takes a step backwards. ¡°Alright guys. If you ever feel like joining up with us just tell one of our members that you¡¯re from this dojo and that you want to see Ifrit. They¡¯ll bring you to our base where we can talk.¡±


    Finally, Ifrit and his cohorts depart. They¡¯re just in time. My symptoms are starting to grow worse and I have to get away. As soon as they¡¯re out the door, I shout, ¡°Class dismissed!¡±


    This throws my students for a loop. Ending a training session in the dojo is not like the bell ringing at the end of a class at school. There¡¯s a formal proceeding of lining up and bowing that has to be respected. However, I¡¯m about to lose it.


    I run out the backend of the dojo and journey to the far end of a narrow hallway where there is a room that only members of the Hiko family are allowed to enter. In this room, there is a set of samurai armor with our family¡¯s sacred sword placed on a stand in front of the armor. The sword is called Megumi, which means ¡°Blessing.¡± It has divine-grade properties and it vastly expands the martial abilities of its wielder. However, not even our sacred sword can save me from a panic attack.


    Feeling the sensation of imminent death as my heart beats hard enough to explode, I collapse to the ground.

 Chapter 5

    When I have a panic attack I enter into a surreal experience. I lose my sense of self, I¡¯m unable to control my breathing, my heart races at a thousand miles an hour, and I have tunnel vision. In short, it feels like I¡¯m dying.


    What little remains of my awareness is flooded with intense dread. Initially, my attack was triggered by the fear of losing my Hanabira to the Shenrong Butchers, but now, I¡¯m assaulted by sheer, unmitigated panic. My adrenaline is on overdrive like when an animal¡¯s fight or flight response activates. I feel like I have to escape. From what, I don¡¯t know, but I have to get away. Of course, I couldn¡¯t get away from anything right now because I can¡¯t even breathe. My chest spasms up and down as I hyperventilate. I want somebody to help me, but I¡¯m completely alone and there¡¯s nothing anyone could do to help me anyway. It seems like I¡¯m going to die in this room and nobody will ever find my body.


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    My panic continues to rage against me. My heart races so fast that I must be having a heart attack. I feel lightheaded. I can¡¯t think anymore. I feel like I¡¯m outside of my body watching myself die. My eyes close. I think. I¡¯m not sure. Maybe I¡¯ve fainted, but I¡¯m not sure of that either. All I know is that the last drop of my conscious awareness drips away and I disappear.

 Chapter 6

    When consciousness returns, it finds me a despoiled victim. I lay on my back staring at the ceiling. My face is bathed in tears. I feel violated. Like an important part of me was just ripped away. That part being my sanity namely. I don¡¯t know what time it is. I don¡¯t know what day it is. I don¡¯t know where I am. I only know that I am. Even if what I am is a little bit less.


    I hear the sound of hasty footsteps squeaking the floorboards in the hallway. My father flies into the room alarmed. ¡°Fuu!¡±


    He races to me and kneels at my side. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Daddy!¡± I sob, throwing my arms around his neck.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright Fuu,¡± he says, patting my back. ¡°Daddy¡¯s here.¡±


    His fingers unlace the straps of my kendo chest protector. Having a hard piece of armor over my chest didn¡¯t help me while I was hyperventilating. As soon as he finishes removing the chest protector, he throws it aside and picks me. ¡°How long have you been here Fuu?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Since after practice. What time is it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s late Fuu. The adult practice ended over two hours ago. I went out to have a drink with the guys, and then I went home. Your mother told me that you never came back from practice, so I came out to search for you. I¡¯m sorry that I didn¡¯t realize where you were sooner.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright daddy. It¡¯s not your fault.¡±


    ¡°Did you have another anxiety attack?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°A bad one?¡±


    I nod.


    ¡°Alright, well let¡¯s get you home and tuck you into bed.¡±


    Carrying me in his arms, my father turns to the suit of samurai armor and bows. He then carries me out of the dojo and into the night¡¯s sky. The sun wasn¡¯t even setting when I entered the Megumi Kara Tsuyo, and now the stars are out. He said that it¡¯s been over two hours since the adult practice ended, so it must be at least 10 p.m. This is bad news. When it becomes late like this the ghost samurai known as the Loathsome Midnights come out.


    Coincidentally, my father unexpectedly stands still with a serious expression on his face. I gauge by his eyes that he¡¯s looking across the street. I turn my head to see whatever he sees. Surely enough, there¡¯s a man standing across the street staring back at us. He wears a straw hat on his head and has a sheathed katana strapped to his waist. More likely than not, he¡¯s a Loathsome Midnight.


    My father turns to left and begins walking. The man across the street mirrors him, turning to the right and walking down the street opposite of us. Calmly, my father continues to walk down the street in silence with the same serious look on his face. Two or three times, he glances at the other man out of his peripheral vision. Eerily, the man continues to match my father¡¯s movements. I have the impression that if he were to run, the man would run after us.


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    ¡°Fuu,¡± my father says in a muted voice.


    ¡°Yes daddy?¡±


    ¡°Could you walk on your own if need be?¡±


    ¡°I think so.¡±


    ¡°Unnh.¡±


    My father breaks into a sprint. He runs down the street as fast as he can while still carrying me. I watch in horror as the man wearing the straw hat unsheathes his sword and comes running after us. There¡¯s no question now. This man is one of the mysterious serial killers that roams the streets of Prosperity at night. I¡¯m also sure that my father could escape him if he didn¡¯t have me as a burden weighing him down, but unfortunately he does, and being the man that he is, I know my father would rather die than abandon me.


    Our house is only a five-minute walk from the dojo. Sprinting, we could probably be there in two and a half minutes if not less. Yet if my father were to run straight home, it could put our entire family in jeopardy if the mysterious killers decided to attack us where we live later on. So instead, he decides to try weaving through a side alley to lose our pursuer.


    The alley is a narrow corridor that leads to another main street. Within it, there¡¯s a large dumpster and a number of smaller trash cans. Since our city is filled with litter anyway, my father figures that it¡¯s okay to knock over the trash cans in an attempt to stall our attacker. He continues running and exits the other end while our pursuer is left stumbling over trash.


    Finally, my father¡¯s serious expression cracks with a small grin as we turn the corner from the alley to the main street. Yet his grin dies at once. We run straight into another Loathsome Midnight. When this new man sees us, he¡¯s just as surprised as we are. He stands still silently facing us while my father tries to decide what to do next.


    He doesn¡¯t decide fast enough. The other man who was pursuing us from the start, comes out of the alley behind us. We¡¯re now stuck between two Loathsome Midnights.

 Chapter 7

    The man in front of us points his finger to the Loathsome Midnight behind us. My father turns to look at him. He still has his sword drawn like before, but now he¡¯s taken a fighting stance as if to challenge my father to battle.


    My father looks again to the man who¡¯s blocking our path. He doesn¡¯t draw his sword. He simply stands by observing us with his arms crossed. It would seem that there are rules to the way that the Loathsome Midnights murder people. Perhaps, they always give their victims a chance to fight back.


    ¡°Fuu, I¡¯m going to put you down.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    My father sets me down. Being chased by murderers in the dark of night is not a good scenario to be in after suffering from an anxiety attack. I feel strong enough to stand, but too faint to fight. I step off to the side and press my back against the brown apartment building that lined the right side of the alley. I don¡¯t know if anyone inside sees us. But even if they did, they wouldn¡¯t come out to help us unless they were a trained magistrate. Ironically, the magistrates who are supposed to patrol the city to keep our residents safe are rarely around when you need them. This isn¡¯t because they¡¯re indifferent or useless. It¡¯s because there¡¯s simply not enough of them to watch over the entire city. The magistrates are as underpaid and ill-equipped as the teachers at Promise High School. For this reason, they don¡¯t have a lot of new recruits beating at their door, eager to join their ranks. As such, there¡¯s not enough of them to guard the city, so innocents like us end up the easy victims of gangs like the Shenrong Butchers or the Loathsome Midnights.


    The streets are dead silent. Only the howl of the wind and the glow of the streetlights alarms my senses. In the wake of this mute deadzone, my father faces our attacker and reaches for the mask hidden underneath the chest of his kimono. This means that he plans to fight to the death.


    One of the secrets of the Hiko-style of martial arts is to wear an enchanted mask in battle. The mask serves three purposes. The first is to intimidate the opponent. The second is to facilitate entering into a warrior state of mind, as the mask is only worn for actual combat and never for practice. This results in conditioning the subconscious mind. It¡¯s sort of like being able to put on an alternative personality with that personality being a battle-hardened warrior. The third purpose of the mask is the power that it gives to its wearers as per its magical affixes. My father, mother, and I all have different types of masks with different magical properties. My father¡¯s mask is called The Face of the Ogre. It¡¯s a red Shikami demon mask that amplifies his physical strength and defense, and gives him a chance to land extra powerful blows. Its formal tag reads:


    Given Name: Face of the Ogre


    Technical Name: Savage Shikami Mask of Brawn


    Prefix: Double Damage, Superior Grade: Savage ¨C 9% Chance Double Damage with Any Offensive Attack or Spell


    Suffix: Physical Stats, High Grade: of Brawn ¨C +23% Physical Strength, +23% Physical Defense


    After my father puts on his mask, he draws his katana. He takes a middle stance and slowly steps towards his opponent. I watch with a pit in my stomach. My father is in a life or death battle with a heartless serial killer. I want to scream out loud, but my voice wouldn¡¯t come out even if I tried. All I can do is believe in my father and watch the master of the Hiko-style of martial arts put his skills to good use.


    The Loathsome Midnight loses patience with my father¡¯s small steps and attacks first. He dashes to my father and cleaves his sword for his head. In response, my father blocks high and then parries with a lunge for the killer¡¯s heart. Demonstrating his skill, the man parries well with a twist and throws out a spinning wheel kick for my father¡¯s head. Adroitly, he ducks the kick and slashes his sword upwards while in a kneeling position. The killer is fast enough to recover from the kick and block my father¡¯s attack. The shade from his straw hat prevents me from seeing his eyes, but I do manage to see that my father¡¯s last attack causes the killer to smile. It would seem that he enjoys fighting for the sake of fighting. He probably even prefers it when his victims fight back.


    The killer hops back and my father resets in a centered fighting stance. It¡¯s unusual for an attacker to break the chain of aggression like the man just did. I wonder what he¡¯s up to.


    To answer my question, the man channels mana into his left hand and then fires a black bolt of magic at my father. I¡¯ve never seen a magic spell colored black and electric purple before, but upon seeing it I know immediately what it is. ¨CDeath Magic.


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    ¡°Dad!¡± I scream.


    Reacting quickly, my father pushes off the ground in a mighty leap and sails over the black bolt with a summersault. The other Loathsome Midnight who stands aside watching has to dodge his own ally¡¯s attack. It would have served him right if the spell had hit him.


    My father comes down from his flip with a crushing slash of his sword. The killer blocks it perfectly, yet my father¡¯s attack was only a ruse. He crouches and spins twice in quick succession and then blasts forward with a slash angled slightly upwards. The killer¡¯s mouth drops and his belly splits. His legs and upper body separate and fall on top of one another in a bloody pile. My father slinks the blood off his sword and then twists around. I rush to get behind him.


    Now all that¡¯s left is to defeat the second Loathsome Midnight and we can finally go home. Or at least I wish, but things are never that easy. Out of nowhere, a new Loathsome Midnight appears in front of the other one. This new entry is completely different from the other two. Instead of wearing a straw hat, he wears a deer skull with tall antlers and green kabuki lion hair hanging from its sides. Likewise, his clothing is not a dark green kimono like what the other two men wear, but rather it¡¯s a priest¡¯s black frock coat.


    The Midnight who¡¯s still standing rushes to the side of the new man to speak to him. ¡°Kagemaru Shisai our brother has fallen!¡±


    I raise my eyebrows at this new revelation. The title shisai, which the man used to address Kagemaru, means ¡°priest.¡± Granted, nobody knows much about the Loathsome Midnights, but I definitely didn¡¯t expect them to have a priest. And judging from Kagemaru¡¯s appearance, he¡¯s anything but the holy type.


    Nonetheless, he replies, ¡°I will say a prayer for him.¡±


    My father and I watch puzzled as the two men approach the body of their fallen comrade. We step back to give them space as we were previously standing near the corpse ourselves. When the two men reach him, the ordinary Midnight bows his head for prayer. The priest begins convulsing wildly and babbling some incomprehensible language.


    ¡°Huyahuyahuyahu,¡± he mumbles while shaking out of control.


    ¡°Oookay,¡± I hum.


    ¡°Fuu, let¡¯s go,¡± my father suggests.


    We leave the bizarre scene and flee for our house. Luckily, we encounter no further Midnights along the way. Once we get inside, my mother flies into the front room to greet us. She¡¯s overjoyed to see me, yet when she notices my father wearing his red Shikami mask, she freezes in place.


    He removes the mask. ¡°Don¡¯t worry Kasumi. We¡¯re fine now. Fuu had an attack at the dojo and then we ran into the Loathsome Midnights on the way home.¡±


    My mother now comes to me and gives me a hug. ¡°My Fuu. Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine mom.¡±


    She turns her attention to my father. ¡°Were you hurt Kenji?¡±


    ¡°The man I fought was a skilled swordsman, but no, I¡¯m not hurt.¡±


    My mother pulls away from him holding her hand to her head as if she had a headache. ¡°This is awful. We already have so many problems without madmen roaming the streets at night.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± says my father. ¡°I¡¯ll report this to the magistrates in the morning. I¡¯ll see if we can¡¯t get some more patrols stationed around here.¡±


    My mother turns to me again. ¡°Fuu, you mustn¡¯t have your anxiety attacks while you¡¯re out. I know that you want to help with the money, but if teaching at the dojo is too much stress for you, then we can cancel the junior class.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I say more forcefully than I intended. ¡°I¡¯m sorry mom, but I don¡¯t want to stop the class. I had a panic attack because the leader of the Shenrong Butchers showed up at the dojo wanting to recruit my students. Some of them seemed interested and I felt powerless to persuade them to stay away from gang influence. But watching dad fight the Loathsome Midnights made me realize something. If I want to defend the Hanabira, then I must be prepared to kill like dad.¡±


    My harsh words alarm my parents. ¡°Fuu!¡± my father shouts, ¡°That¡¯s not something I want to hear you say!¡±


    I look at him sternly. ¡°But why not dad? You say it all the time. It¡¯s the 15th and final principle of the Hiko-style of martial arts. ¡®If you must draw your sword, then destroy your opponent quickly, without hesitation, and without remorse.¡¯¡±


    My father looks to the ground with a frown. He knows that I¡¯m right.


    I continue, ¡°I will try to keep the peace, but if anyone ever hurts those whom I love, I will kill them.¡±

 Chapter 8

    Last night was quite the ordeal. I go to school the next day completely drained. I¡¯m even so tired that I sleep soundly through my first class, which is my literature class. Not even Spree and his rambunctious companions wake me from my sleep. I only snap out of my slumber when the bell rings.


    My classmates scramble at once and rush out the door. I hang my head as they go to hide the fact that I¡¯m blushing from embarrassment. It¡¯s not like me to sleep through class. Once the slowest student, Melanie, trickles out the door, I gather my books and rise from my desk.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I feel asleep Mr. Jones. It won¡¯t happen again.¡±


    He looks at me and sighs defeated. I¡¯m not quite sure what to make of his lethargic reaction, but in any case, I have to get to my next class, which is World History.


    Rushing along, I speed through the hallways and arrive third to the class. The insufferable Shinji ¨­kami and his best friend Houoh Hikari are the two there before me. Thankfully, they sit on the other side of the room unlike in my College Prep class in which Shinji sits beside me. It¡¯s so annoying having to sit beside my mortal enemy.


    Another three minutes pass before the rest of the class arrives and the bell signals for the class to begin. All of the students and I stand and bow to the teacher.


    ¡°Good morning Shishio Sensei,¡± we say.


    He bows in return. ¡°Be seated.¡±


    We sit and the class begins. I smile to myself. World History is one of my favorite classes. Admittedly, the fact that I have something of a crush on Shishio Sensei has a lot to do with it.


    Shishio Sensei reminds me of my father. He stands tall and straight with broad shoulders and defined muscles bulging just underneath his wrinkle-free clothing. He has slicked-back black hair, a stern face, and eyes that penetrate straight into a girl¡¯s soul. Yet my favorite thing about him is his voice. He has such a deep and commanding baritone voice that I just want to close my eyes and drift into auditory ecstasy. I often fantasize of him calling my name and singing my praises. Of course, that never actually happens as Shishio Sensei is quite strict, hard to please, and not very personal with us students.


    My esteemed educator clears his throat before he begins yet another riveting lesson on the wonders of history. He says, ¡°Class, we the Chowan people are fortunate to have a robust history featuring many great heroes and time-honored traditions. One of our greatest traditions is passing on our knowledge of the martial arts from one generation to the next. However, a certain impurity threatens to unravel all of the great feats that our honorable ancestors have accomplished up to now, and that impurity is the invasion of foreign nationals who threaten to pollute our pure disciplines.¡±


    Mmmm. His words are like honey. Even when he says¨C Wait. What did he just say?


    ¡°I¡¯m very disturbed to hear that we have a dog in our midst lapping up things much too sublime for him. Eds?o da Souza, I hear that you¡¯re studying Chowan Karate. Is that correct?¡±


    I look with alarm to Eds?o. He¡¯s an immigrant from Selva who sticks out even more than most immigrants because of his dark brown skin. The majority of the immigrant students face prejudice on a daily basis, but it seems like those with darker skin complexions are the ones who get it the worst. Eds?o amongst them.


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    My Selvan classmate leans back in his chair. ¡°I don¡¯t need this today.¡±


    Shishio Sensei raises his voice. ¡°Answer me you banana-eating mongrel!¡±


    Eds?o stands to his feet. ¡°Yes, I practice karate and I¡¯m proud of it.¡±


    Sensei snaps the piece of chalk in his hand. ¡°And this is what I mean. Such a savage and inferior brute will only pollute our culture with his big lips and small brain. Who is your teacher? How dare he train you in karate?¡±


    I wrap my arms around my stomach. I feel sick. Sensei is treating Eds?o so unfairly. Maybe I should say something and stand up for him. But how can I talk back to a teacher? What if I make Shishio Sensei mad at me? What should I do?


    My stomach bubbles like boiling water and I decide to do nothing. I empathize with Eds?o because I, too, look different than the average Chowan, but this isn¡¯t the time or place for me to say anything.


    ¡°My teacher¡¯s identity is none of your business,¡± Eds?o says. ¡°But I can tell you that he¡¯s a better teacher than you, you racist clown.¡±


    Sensei¡¯s face tightens with anger. Steam blows out of his ears. ¡°How dare you, you black hunk of dirt?¡±


    ¡°Sensei,¡± Shinji calls, rising to his feet. ¡°I disagree with your premise. You say that sharing our traditions with immigrants will pollute them, but I believe that it will enrich them. At the ¨­kami dojo, we have a number of foreign-born students, and they¡¯re some of the nicest and hardest working students that we¡¯ve ever had. Given time, I think that the recent influx of immigrants will prove to be a boon for Cho.¡±


    Sensei''s aggression turns to him. ¡°You dare speak against your teacher Shinji ¨­kami?¡±


    ¡°No Sensei. I don¡¯t speak against you. I speak in favor of immigration and for the good of Cho.¡±


    ¡°So be it ¨­kami. If you sympathize with these foreign parasites that much, then you can both get out of my classroom right now. Of course, you¡¯ll receive a zero for the day¡¯s assignment.¡±


    Shinji looks at Eds?o and smiles with a nod of his head. ¡°Alright Sensei. It¡¯s your classroom.¡±


    He packs his belongings and heads for the door with our Selvan classmate. Before he exits, he says, ¡°Sensei, it¡¯s your classroom, but it¡¯s our country, and the young immigrants will be a vital part of our future. I suggest that you get used to it.¡±


    With that, Shinji and Eds?o depart. Shishio Sensei turns his attention to the rest of us with fire in his eyes. ¡°Does anyone else sympathize with that banana-eating mongrel?¡±


    I hang my head and keep my mouth shut. I sympathize with Eds?o, but I can¡¯t afford to receive a zero for the day¡¯s assignment. I have to maintain flawless grades in order to earn a scholarship to Cho University. I¡¯m sorry and I know that it¡¯s not right to keep silent, but it¡¯s the best thing to do right now.


    No other students speak up. Shishio Sensei, feeling justified, rolls his shoulders and then proceeds with the day¡¯s lesson, except unlike on an ordinary day, he doesn¡¯t call on any of us to answer questions. He knows that all of us have been rendered speechless.

 Chapter 9

    I grind through the rest of the day and then eagerly march to the front door to meet with my safety traveling group. Strangely, when I arrive Eowin is the only one there.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your brother?¡±


    ¡°He went with Spree.¡±


    ¡°Went with Spree where?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but Spree, Eli, and Daitaro went with those bad guys from yesterday, and they said I couldn¡¯t go with them.¡±


    ¡°The Shenrong Butchers?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Is my brother in trouble?¡±


    ¡°Your brother¡¯s in a lot of trouble! Let¡¯s go look for them.¡±


    Eowin and I race into the school¡¯s courtyard. The courtyard isn¡¯t very big. It¡¯s lined with a brick wall on every side except the front. The front has a metal gate instead of a wall. Students always hang out in large clusters in the courtyard after school, so it takes us a moment to visually weed through them in our search for Spree and the others. Tragically, we don¡¯t find them.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hurry towards the dojo. Maybe we¡¯ll see them along the way.¡±


    Eowin nods and we take off. Stepping out of the courtyard, we immediately enter into the heart of the city. Prosperity is a gray ghetto where the sun only shines with reluctance. Probably because it¡¯s ashamed to shine light on the things that happen in our town. For pity¡¯s sake as soon as Eowin and I cross the street, we get multiple offers from three opium dealers standing on the corner. Luckily, they know that young girls aren¡¯t their target customers, so they let us go without too much hassle.


    Down the street from there, we see a man bursts out of a corner shop running full speed. The store¡¯s shopowner comes chasing after him with a broom, but to no avail. The shoplifter is already gone with whatever goods he stole. Criminals tend to run faster than the general populace.


    Up the street from the shoplifter, we encounter a group of loosely dressed women with powdered faces passing judgment on our humble attire. I don¡¯t even want to say what business they¡¯re in.


    From there, we go up the street, searching left and right for any sign of our friends and the Shenrong Butchers. Sadly, we don¡¯t see them. There¡¯s no telling where they went. All we can do is go to our houses and hope that the boys aren¡¯t as stupid as they sometimes act. I imagine that Spree and Daitaro are being pervs right now and that they just wanted to join the Butchers for the women, but there¡¯s no logical reason why Eli would join them. The only thing that could draw him to a gang would be the fact that Eli likes to do anything that he sees Spree doing. Eli is such a good kid. It¡¯s a shame that he latched onto Spree instead of someone more respectable. In any case, all I can do is wait and see how things unfold.


    I leave Eowin at her house and then return home myself. The first thing I do is my homework. On Tuesdays my parents and I go to the dojo once I finish my homework for our family training time. It¡¯s during these sessions that my father teaches me the secret techniques that are only passed down to the heir of the Hiko-style of martial arts. Also, it¡¯s a chance for me to bond with my parents. It¡¯s serious business, but it¡¯s also lots of fun. I always look forward to our Tuesday training sessions.


    When all of my assignments are complete, I grab my gear and then rush to my parents who are in the main room sitting at the low table, staring at each other with twinkling eyes. When they see that I¡¯m ready to go, my mother blows my father a kiss, and then they stand and go to the front door where their gear is already placed.


    Together, the three of us merrily sashay down the streets of Prosperity to the Megumi Kara Tsuyo. Once we¡¯re inside we make the opening bows and then begin warm up and stretching. We don¡¯t wear the full set of body armor because our training doesn¡¯t involve striking one another like when I train with the Hanabira. Our training is largely theoretical and when we do need targets to strike, we either use wooden dolls or bamboo mats for tameshigiri.


    Today my father is teaching me the technique he used to defeat the Loathsome Midnight. My mother and I stand on the sideline watching as he explains.


    ¡°The technique that I used to defeat our attacker was the Giman-F¨± No Tsume ¨C the Deceptive Wind Claw. To perform this technique, you use a pattern of precise steps coupled with wind magic to create a spiraling effect that coils your body like a spring. After the second spin, you let the wind uncoil and project you forward. This technique is deceptively fast despite what seems like so much wasted motion. Also, the low spin forces your opponent to either guess how you will attack or try to attack you first, in which case it¡¯s already too late because your attack will already be there. You come and try it Fuu.¡±


    I oblige my father and step forward. My mother claps her hands in a show of support. It¡¯s not necessary, but my parents are naturally supportive like that. Lifting the pants legs of his hakama, my father shows me the steps for the Giman-F¨± No Tsume. I try to replicate the steps, but get them wrong. My father wags his finger and then repeats the pattern. I model his movements beside him. Playfully, I pretend to spin out of control, uttering, ¡°Woah, woah, woah, woah!¡±


    I fall on my butt and stick out my tongue. My father smiles and then suddenly kneels to the floor to tickle me. I laugh and kick at him until he gives me a big kiss on the cheek. He then stands to his feet and stretches out his hands to help lift me up.


    As soon as I¡¯m on my feet, the dojo doors swing open and the Shenrong Butchers enter. I see Ifrit, Spree, and four other men whom I don¡¯t know. They come in strutting like usual and spread out in a line. Ifrit then takes a step forward with a cocky grin and his hands on his hips.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± my father asks.


    ¡°Nah, not you pops,¡± Ifrit answers, ¡°But your daughter can.¡±


    My father takes a quick glance at me. ¡°Leave my daughter alone.¡±


    Ifrit whistles. ¡°Sorry, no can do pops. Ya see, I¡¯ve promised to fulfill one special wish for all of my new members, and Spree''s wish is for your daughter¡¯s sweet ass. Now she can either give it to him willingly or we can take it by force.¡±


    My father draws his sword. ¡°Get out!¡±


    Ifrit¡¯s cocky grin grows even wider and he steps forward with his hands still on his hips. When he reaches four steps away from my father, he draws one of the two katanas that he wears on his belt. My father takes an orthodox centered stance. Ifrit poses in a strange sideways one-handed stance. Judging from the fact that he has two swords, he¡¯s probably used to fighting with one hand per sword. Yet the fact that he¡¯s only using one against my kenjutsu-master father is a blatant show of disrespect and condescension. I¡¯ve never wished for a man to die in my life, but I hope that my father kills Ifrit.


    While the two of them sum each other up in their fighting stances, I glare across the room to Spree. He seems fidgety and nervous and he won¡¯t look me in the eyes. Nor should he. He¡¯s done callous things before, but joining the Shenrong Butchers to get to me is the most unspeakably cowardly thing that I¡¯ve ever heard of. When my father finishes with Ifrit, Spree will be severely punished.


    The battle begins. My father attacks first with the fumikomi-ashi and a strike to Ifrit¡¯s head. The villain blocks the attack, angling it away from himself, and then counters with a swing of his sword to my father¡¯s left side. While he does this, Ifrit tucks his left arm behind his back in a further show of disrespect to my father. Nonetheless, my dad doesn¡¯t waver. He blocks the attack and then lunges for Ifrit¡¯s chest when he leaves himself open. Slyly, Ifrit turns his body to dodge the attack. At once, my father goes for a horizontal slash to decapitate Ifrit. With crazy fast speed, Ifrit sinks under the attack and sweeps my father¡¯s legs out from under him.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    He hits the ground hard, landing on his side. Yet there¡¯s no time for pain in the middle of a sword fight. He rolls away from Ifrit and recovers to his feet. All the while, Ifrit makes no effort to capitalize on my father¡¯s vulnerable position. Instead, he decides to show off, swiping a hand through his flame-like red hair and grinning his cocky grin.


    My father takes a glance at me and nods. There¡¯s precisely enough distance between him and Ifrit to repeat the attack sequence that he used last night. Leaping through the air, my father flies at Ifrit with a summersault. He comes down clashing his sword against Ifrit¡¯s high guard and then spins immediately into the Giman-F¨± No Tsume. When he shoots forward, Ifrit pulls back hard on his sword and manages to deflect my father¡¯s blow although its impact staggers him backwards. To be an uncultured street thug, Ifrit is a wondrously talented swordsman. I don¡¯t understand it.


    They turn to face each other once more. This time Ifrit prepares for a big move. He lets his sword hang by his side while he raises his left hand in front of him with his palm turned up towards the ceiling. As he strains concentrating his mana, a ball of fire appears in the air above his head. My father changes postures to a defensive high stance. Ifrit continues charging his attack. A series of seven more fireballs appears in the air around him in a circular pattern. Finally, Ifrit calls out, ¡°Kagutsuchi Style: Eight Volcanoes!¡±


    He thrusts his palm forward and all eight fireballs project towards my father, yet as they fly through the air, they coalesce into a single massive fireball. It hits my father with colossal power and knocks him completely off guard. Amazingly, Ifrit then shoots through the air at him with a single leap. My father quickly raises his sword to recover and block Ifrit¡¯s leaping slash. Yet there is no leaping slash. It was only a setup. Ifrit lands without attacking and instead goes for a lunge as soon as his feet touch the ground. My father is unable to react in time and Ifrit¡¯s sword pierces straight through his chest.


    ¡°Noooo!¡± I scream in horror.


    Ifrit pushes my father off his blade with a kick. Reeling backwards, my father¡¯s back hits the wall that we bow to in order to show respect to the dojo. He slowly slides to a sitting posture and the upper portion of his body slinks to the side. His eyes are still open, but the light in them has faded.


    I sink to my knees in a puddle of tears.


    ¡°Wheeew,¡± Ifrit whistles. ¡°He wasn¡¯t too shabby. Alright boys, you can take it from here. I¡¯m going back to the base. Spree, have fun.¡±


    Ifrit exits the dojo, leaving only Spree and the four other Shenrong Butcher goons. ¡°What do you want us to do?¡± one of them asks Spree.


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s five of us and I don¡¯t want to share. You guys can have the mother, but bring me the daughter.¡±


    At once, the four men run at me and my mother. As soon as they reach us, one holds us while the other tries to rip off our clothes. We scream and kick, but the men don¡¯t stop. I feel the one holding me lick his tongue across my face. My mind nearly shuts down in horror, but my years of martial arts training kicks in without conscious thought. I shove my butt hard into the man holding me from behind. This sets my body as a fulcrum point against his weight. At the same time, I grab his right arm and yank it while bending my body forward. These three movements together allow me to throw the man over me even though he¡¯s much heavier than I am. The sudden throw surprises the other man and I¡¯m able to escape.


    I run in a panic towards the back room with the samurai armor. The two men quickly recover from their shock and chase after me.


    Tears stream from my eyes, and I can barely breath from the raw terror of what¡¯s happening. Still, I reach the room in time to retrieve my family¡¯s ancestral sword Megumi. No one outside of my family has ever seen this sword. Not even Spree, who until now was the senior student of the Hanabira.


    The sword Megumi, despite its pleasant name, which means ¡°Blessing,¡± is actually an instrument of sheer destruction. It has divine-grade properties and its monetary value is worth more than my house by a factor of 10,000. It¡¯s formal tag reads:


    Given Name: Megumi


    Technical Name: Spontaneous Tungsten Katana of Deathblows


    Prefix: Action Speed, Divine Grade: Spontaneous ¨C +12 Action Speed


    Suffix: Critical Hit, Divine Grade: of Deathblows ¨C +200% Critical Hit Damage, +15% Critical Hit Rate


    From its magical affixes alone, it might be difficult to discern what special powers Megumi gives its wielders. Basically, what it does is it makes its wielder 220% faster than normal, facilitates pinpoint movements, and grants an enormous boost of power when an attack hits clean. It could be compared to reliably being able to throw a dart into the bull¡¯s-eye of a target given that the dart knocks a hole straight through the target and the wall behind it.


    I unsheathe the sword from its white scabbard and instantly my body feels weightless. The two men who were assaulting me reach the room with bad intentions. When they see that I have a sword, they try to draw their own weapons, but it¡¯s much too late for that. I breeze by them in a flash of lightning. I then run as fast as I can down the hall to the main area of the dojo. I¡¯ve already taken five steps by the time the two men fall to the ground lifeless. I cut them both twice for good measure, but neither of them even saw me move.


    When I reach the open area of the dojo, the two men assaulting my mother have all ready torn off her obi and opened her kimono, exposing her bare breasts. She continues to put up a fight causing them to be too occupied with what they¡¯re doing to notice me. It¡¯s a fatal mistake.


    I dash to the first man and cleave off the portion of his head above his nose. The other man releases my mother in a panic. I drive my sword straight through his heart, twist it around, and then pull it upwards until it exits the top of his skull. His brains and guts spew everywhere as he collapses to the floor. The only one left now is Spree.


    I turn to face him, but when I do, I barely catch a glimpse of him scurrying out the front door. I rush to the door to try to catch him until I see my father. He lies crumbled on the floor. His eyes are still open.


    I drop Megumi and kneel to my father¡¯s side. ¡°Daddy!¡± I wail.


    I close his eyes and then lean over him. I can¡¯t hold in my feelings anymore, so I burst into a torrent of tears. My mother closes her kimono as best as she can without the obi and comes over to us. She touches me on the back and then I turn into her, so that we can hold each other in our arms. We both sob uncontrollably.


    It seems like an eternity passes before I¡¯m calm enough to speak again.


    ¡°Mom,¡± I say tearfully. ¡°I¡¯m going to kill them.  All of them. Ifrit, Spree, Daitaro, Eli, and all of the Shenrong Butchers. They¡¯ll all die by my sword.¡±


    She answers, ¡°Fuu, we have to go the magistrates. It¡¯s not your job to chase criminals.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s the magistrates'' job, and they¡¯re not doing it. That¡¯s why I¡¯m going to be the one to cleanse this city of its gangs. Not one of them will get away with his crimes as long as I¡¯m still standing. I promise this on the Hiko name.¡±

 The Rest Of The Book (Chapters 10-44)

    Hey guys. The rest of Fuuko: The Fox-Masked Hero</a> is available free of cost to those who want it; however, I''m not going to be posting the full story here. The reason is because I''ve already posted two full novels on RRL with a request at the end for a short review on Amazon. Out of 300+ readers only five people took the few minutes required to help me - 4 for The Story of Hiver Glace and 1 for Souladonis. This puts me in a Lose/Win situation relative to the community, so it doesn''t make sense to continue to share my full-length commercial work with the community in exchange for almost no reciprocity.


    That said, I still want to share my stories with others and not always in exchange for money. Reviews, however, are critically important, so here''s the deal.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Anyone who wants the full book is welcomed to it, but it requires being an advanced reviewer. This means leaving a 3-4 sentence blurb on the book''s Amazon page on the day of its release. Those who still want the book can find more information and sign up to be an advanced reviewer on the page, Fuuko: The Fox-Masked Hero</a>.


    You''ll see that 9/30 people have already signed  up. I doubt the number will reach 30 quickly, but then that depends on how many people from RRL will want the book if it requires leaving a review. I have no idea how many or how few that will be, so if you want it, then please sign up without delay.


    Thanks guys.


    Note: Six hours or so later, the number is now up to 13/30.