The Eternal Swordsman
Chapter 2 : Swordsmen
The night wind still clung to Hiruko's skin as he jogged the final stretch home. The adrenaline of the alleyway fight hadn't faded, not even with the monster's body gone like smoke in the wind. His ribs still ached, his palms stung, and the phantom weight of that glowing katana seemed to press on his hand even though it wasn't there anymore.
He shoved the door of his family's modest Tokyo apartment open and slipped inside, the faint hum of the fridge and the buzz of the ceiling light greeting him. The familiar sound steadied him. He wasn't sure if tonight had been a nightmare or not, but the bandages he wrapped around his ribs said otherwise.
In the bathroom mirror, he splashed cold water on his face, staring into his own royal-blue eyes. "Get it together, man," he muttered, water dripping from his chin. "That… thing's gone. You're alive. Just chill."
He reached for the towel then froze.
The katana.
It had been leaning against the wall just seconds ago, glowing faintly under the moonlight streaming through the window. Now it was gone. Completely. As if it had never existed. Hiruko spun, checking the bathroom, even pulling back the shower curtain. Nothing.
His pulse raced. "What the hell…? Am I losing my mind?"
But no his ribs still throbbed, reminding him it hadn't been a dream. He clutched his side, groaning, then trudged to his bedroom.
The next morning, the scent of grilled fish drifted from the kitchen. Hiruko shuffled out in his tracksuit pants, hair sticking in every direction. He opened the fridge to grab some milk but stopped when he saw his father already sitting at the table.
Hide Kyotetsu was a tall man in his late forties, his short black hair peppered with gray, his posture straight as if discipline itself had been carved into his bones. His eyes lifted from the newspaper, sharp and unreadable.
"You're up late," Hide said flatly, folding the paper. His gaze fell to the fresh bandages around Hiruko's chest. "What happened?"
Hiruko froze. "Uh... nothing. Tripped during training yesterday. Fell on the mat weird, you know?" He forced a laugh.
Hide's brow furrowed. "You've trained for years. You don't get wounds like that from a mat."
"Dad, chill. I'm fine. Just a scratch." Hiruko grabbed the milk carton and turned away before his father could probe further.
But later, alone in his room, he peeled away the bandages. His breath caught.
The bruises, the gashes gone. His skin was smooth, unmarked. Perfect.
"What… the hell?" he whispered, staring at his chest in disbelief. He touched where the cracked rib should've been. No pain. Nothing. Only the faintest tingling warmth remained.
Far away, beyond the eyes of Tokyo, an ancient hall stood carved into a mountainside. Lanterns burned with blue flame, casting long shadows across its endless corridors.
In the central chamber of the Hitorika Swordsmen Headquarters, two figures knelt before a great table of stone. Their uniforms were sharp, black , their faces obscured by shadow.
"A new one has awakened," one said, voice low, deliberate.
The other figure inclined his head slightly. "A boy… touched by moonlight itself. His blade answered the call."
"Then we watch him carefully."
Silence passed like a blade sliding into its sheath, until the second figure rose. His presence radiated authority, almost regal.
"I will take him into my division, Head Master."
The other only nodded. "Do as you will."
Back in the city, Hiruko stuffed his hands into his hoodie pockets and walked the streets aimlessly. The autumn air bit at his cheeks, but his mind was far away, replaying the events over and over. The monster. The sword. The way it felt like the blade belonged to him.
"Unnatural…" Master Rika's words from the dojo whispered in his head. "If you continue like this, you could become the greatest"
"Yeah, right," Hiruko muttered to himself. "Or maybe I'm just cursed."
"Cursed? That's one way to put it."
Hiruko spun.
A boy stood leaning against a lamppost a few feet away, arms folded. He looked about Hiruko's age sixteen, maybe seventeen with long straight black hair behind him and sharp, aristocratic features. His uniform wasn't the dojo's; it was black and crimson, the cut elegant yet practical. His bearing was noble, like someone used to being obeyed.
"Who?" Hiruko began.
The boy smirked. "Hayate Senju. Remember the name. You'll be hearing it a lot." His voice carried an easy confidence, smooth and self-assured.
Hiruko scowled. "Never heard of you."
"You will." Hayate's crimson eyes narrowed slightly. "That power you stumbled into last night it wasn't luck. It was Karma Energy."
Hiruko blinked. "Karma what?"
Hayate stepped closer, lifting a hand. Red light pulsed from his palm, crackling, vibrant. A katana shimmered into existence, black with streaks of crimson along the blade. Its aura pulsed like a heartbeat.
Hiruko's jaw dropped. "You… you just"
"Manifested it," Hayate finished smoothly. "Anyone who awakens their Karma can call forth their weapon. Yours answered already. You just don't know how to call it yet."
He tilted his head. "Want me to show you?"
Hiruko hesitated, then nodded.
"Good. Close your eyes. Tense your body. Feel the flow of your energy it's already inside you, burning. Then imagine it forming in your hands. Focus. Will it."
Hiruko gritted his teeth, doing as instructed. At first, nothing happened. Then warmth surged through his veins, a rhythm syncing with his heartbeat. He opened his eyes.
The katana of moonlight blazed in his grip.
His breath hitched. "I… I did it."
Hayate's smirk widened. "Not bad. Let's see how you handle it."
Without warning, he lunged. Steel clashed. Sparks flew.
Hiruko staggered under the force of Hayate's strikes. He blocked desperately, his arms screaming from the pressure. Hayate's movements were precise, merciless, a dance of practiced elegance.
"You've got raw talent," Hayate said between strikes, almost laughing. "But raw won't save you."
Hiruko grunted, deflecting another blow. "You talk too much!"
Hayate's grin sharpened. "Then let me show you real power." His katana pulsed, crimson light flaring as he raised it. "RAI..."
A pale hand caught his wrist.
Hayate froze. His smirk vanished.
"Enough," a cold voice said.
Hiruko looked past Hayate and felt his stomach drop.
The man standing there was tall, his hair long and white as fresh snow, falling straight to his waist. His skin was pale, almost translucent, his eyes a chilling shade of light blue, the pupils themselves frosted white. His uniform was the same as Hayate's, but the aura around him was different sharp, suffocating, like winter itself.
"Master Hatake," Hayate said quickly, " I was only testing him."
Hatake's gaze shifted to Hiruko. The boy's breath caught under that icy stare.
"I am Hatake Roiten, Master of Division Six of the Hitorika Swordsmen," he said, voice like a blade dragged across glass. "And you are the one who awakened last night."
Hiruko swallowed. "Y-yeah. That's me."
"Then prove it."
Before Hiruko could react, Hatake's blade flashed into existence light blue and black, glowing faintly. He moved with terrifying speed, striking Hiruko head-on. Their blades clashed, the force sending shockwaves down the alley.
Hiruko staggered back. "You're insane!"
"This is training," Hatake said coldly, stepping onto the very air itself as if climbing invisible stairs. He stood above Hiruko, eyes unreadable. "This is what Karma Energy allows. To bend the world beneath your will."
His blade glowed brighter, vibrating with energy. "Let me show you what mastery looks like."
The katana's form twisted, reshaping into twin wakizashi, light blue and white, glowing like frozen fire.
Hiruko's eyes widened. "Two swords? That's cheating."
"Snow Art…" Hatake's voice dropped, soft as snowfall. "Ice Wave."
He slashed. A roaring blizzard of icy wind exploded outward, slamming into Hiruko with the force of a hurricane. His body was hurled into a wall, consciousness slipping as frost spread across the pavement.
Darkness swallowed him.
Morning sunlight streamed through the window. Hiruko blinked awake in his bed, groaning. His father was seated at the desk nearby.
"You're awake," Hide said without looking up. "Someone carried you home last night. I assumed it was one of your dojo instructors."
Hiruko sat up, clutching his head. "Yeah… something like that."
Hide stood and nodded toward the chair. A folded uniform lay there royal blue and black, sharp and formal. "They left that for you. Said it was yours now."
Hiruko stared at it, his chest tightening.
Later, when he opened the front door, he nearly jumped out of his skin.
Hatake Roiten stood there, silent, unmoving, his pale eyes fixed on him. He hadn't knocked. He hadn't said a word. He was simply waiting.
"C-creepy much?" Hiruko muttered, slipping into the uniform.
Hatake's gaze flicked over him once before turning away. "Come. You're ready."
"Ready for what?" Hiruko asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Hatake glanced back, his expression unreadable. "Headquarters. Where else?"
The words sank into Hiruko's gut like stone.
The world he thought he knew was already gone.
To Be Continued…