"No, mother. No father. But I had brothers. That was enough. Until the world taught me... it wasn't." -Kamui
Yurahara village, 1887, before the world knew of the real power of Mabitake.
Dust hovered above the streets like the breath of the forgotten. The village's centre was beautiful, full of wonderful houses and beautiful monuments symbolising the village's history with samurai, their biggest honour, having many talented samurai warriors in the entire country. But not all of it was beautiful, as in every village, not everything was always beautiful. Cracked stone paths led to decaying homes, and children ran in bare feet. It was a peaceful place full of laughter, hiding the brutal truth about the ache of hunger.
In the middle of it all, on the wide wooden steps of a humble dojo, sat a boy of twelve. His black hair hung to his shoulders, wearing a red kimono, wild and untamed. His face was always serious, a permanent scowl beneath fierce, stormy eyes. His fists rested on bruised knees, still raw from his last training session.
This was Kamui. A name with no roots. A boy with no family. But he had something more. The friends he always claimed that he would "cherish for life".
He had Argon Shinjuku, the son of a nobleman called Yoshiro Shinjuku, a talented samurai and a fierce diplomat who wanted his only son, his heir to the legacy to become a true successor to his name, the boy though, was older than Kamui, but he was already on a path to becoming a fierce strategist, but the boys skills with the katana, simply unmatchable, yet, unlike his father he was more emotional, often in sparring never dealing the final blow, as much as he was powerful, he was stopped by his moral principles which were forced upon him. And he had Arma Bunshu, the laughing brute who could knock down walls and still chuckle like a child. He was abandoned early in his life, same as Ka.mui, but he never let that change his character. Although they were the same age, Arma's physical strength was something different. Arma wasn't much of a thinker; rather, he would go in for the sake of enjoying the thrill of fighting! They called him a child tank, a name which would later on become something close to him.
His brothers. Not by blood. But by life.
Their master, Ishido, was unlike anyone else. He wore a plain white kimono, spotless despite the dust of the earth. His short, light brown hair was spotless! His face, wise. His eyes — terrifying. It felt like they held galaxies of knowledge.
Ishido taught both education and martial arts. His dojo was the only school in Yurehara. There, children learned numbers, history, swordsmanship, and philosophy. He made a school, a dojo, that was made for everyone. He never favoured income; he wanted to show the children that education is for everyone, not just for the nobles. But only three stood out.
Kamui, Arma, and Argon.
Kamui hated sword sparring. He always said, "This blade feels fake," as he always favoured using martial arts and preferred hand-to-hand combat! He preferred his fists — and those fists could floor older students effortlessly. But never underestimate the power of those leg kicks; some students sadly have underestimated it.
Arma was a tank. Broad, taller than any kid his age. He broke sparring dummies with bare hands and laughed like a thunderclap."HAH! That kid flew like a leaf!"
Whack!
Ishido's wooden staff always found his head seconds later.
"You laugh too loud for someone who fights like a drunk elephant," Ishido scolded.
Argon, elegant in posture, spoke like a scholar and fought like a samurai. Despite his noble birth, he walked barefoot with the others, joking and brawling. He debated Ishido often.
"Master, if the Emperor lives in comfort while his people starve, is it still righteous to follow him?"
Ishido, sipping tea, would smile. "Is a lion wrong for eating the lamb?
That depends on who you ask — the lion, or the lamb."
Ishido gave the children a chance to reach their potential, even though many village people despised making education free and letting the poor children have a chance to improve. Ishido never listened to them; he followed his way. He taught them everything he knew. But, only the three will have enough potential to learn what the true knowledge is, to learn what Mabitake itself is.