"Where have you been, Kero?" his grandmother's shaky voice asked. She was sitting in her usual spot at the corner of the tribe shaped huts. She had heard the boys his age call him the name once when he had just arrived at the clan. She had scolded them and promised to lay her walking stick on their undisciplined butts if they called him that again. The boy had cried for a long while, and his great-grandmother had sat with him before the fire for a long while till he stopped weeping. The event never stopped, however, and the boys made even worse nicknames for him every time he cried. Then one day when his grandmother had been tired of consoling him she had sat him down and told him to make his weakness a strength. to embrace all names and to never cry when he was bullied.
"I will call you kero too from today. When it comes from me, it will mean you are a gift to me. so don't cry when they call you Kero, just think of what it means to me." His grandmother's words had not made sense, but he had pushed himself to stop crying when they called him kero."Wear the name like a badge of honour." His great grandmother had repeated to him.
Soon, he had stopped minding their name-calling, and every time he did not cry, their anger towards him could rise. It should have made him scared, but he was proud of himself for not giving in to their provocation. That is when the beatings had begun. Even then, he had made a point to never cry. Again.
"Kero, don't cry every time someone chooses to hurt you. Crying shows weakness and gives power to your assailant. So laugh or ignore them," his grandmother had said that to him when the beatings had begun. She had tried to report it to the traditional school teachers, but even they could not do anything against the sneaky boys. Punishing them could only go so far, and they could still bully him outside of school.
"I was training late," he answered his great-grandmother as he limped further into the house. The old lady had not completely lost his sight to be blind to the swelling around his eye and the blood trickling down his mouth.
"I can see you limping, you know. My sight might be bad, but I am not a totally blind child."
"It is nothing. I just fell," he said, the same lie he always did.
It was either 'I fell', or 'it is nothing.'
"Clean yourself up, then. There is food in the pot," she said in her shaky voice. She should have been hurt that the boy was hiding his pain from him, but she was not long for this world, and she could not be able to take care of him forever. She already had one foot in the grave and could only wish the boy could get into a high school so he could get away. His nephew had turned out to be a vermin, and all she could do was take care of the boy. Perhaps it is my fault I raised my son wrong, who, in return, raised a good-for-nothing, she always lamented and spat at her misfortune.
Kero was an outstanding boy, and if he had had a better upbringing from a young age, he could have been stronger than any boy. It was still not too late with the rate at which the boy was pushing himself. He had not let his past cripple him, and even with his body smaller and weaker than anyone he was still at the top of the class in the study subjects. His body failed him in the art of war and body fitness, but that had not kept the boy from trying.
Kero woke up before dawn, and after stuffing his face with what was left in the pot, he went for a run in the woods. Down south, he had learned the art of the hunt from outside the class because he was not allowed to mix with those of the Anki clan. He was shunned even there. That had still not stopped. He was an outsider wherever he went.
He carried his wooden sword with him and practiced against the back of a tree. He also punished himself with core building exercises whenever he missed. He did not want to go to just any high school. To wield real power, he needed to go to a war academy. War generals were more respected than healers, philosophers, historians, or even innovators. Besides, the other practices could not help him cause real pain to those who had afflicted him. He had come to accept that he was an outsider, and apart from his great-grandmother, he hated everyone and the world at large with so much venom. He wished all of it could burn as he watched. He had never known anything apart from pain, rejection, and more rejection since he could remember.
One thing he had more than his peers who bullied him was that he was hungriest. They wanted to join a military school because it is their way of life, but he wanted to join because he had to. There was no other path for him. He wanted to join a war academy more than all of them. They might have been stronger, but his hunger exceeded theirs. and the hungriest always won. not the most talented, not the strongest, but the hungriest. He only had six months left till the academy joining trials, and he was going to join. not just any war school, but the number one war school, The Galka War Academy. He was going to join it, then go to war college, and he was not going to stop until he became the best of the best.
He chose the same tree every day, its bark scarred from old cuts. He bowed once, not out of respect, but habit, then began. He wielded the wooden sword in his hand and breathed in. Some did it to calm down and concentrate, but he did it to summon his rage and anger.
The sword struck the trunk again and again. Straight cuts first. Slow, controlled. Each swing ended exactly where it should, even when his arms burned. He practiced footwork in the dirt, stepping in, stepping out, keeping his balance low. When his grip slipped from sweat, he tightened it and continued. When dawn broke, and the sun rose, his hands were raw. He rested only long enough to breathe, then resumed, practicing blocks against an enemy that existed only in his head. He imagined strikes coming from taller boys, heavier bodies, stronger arms. He blocked and struck with the intention to kill. He wanted those who had harmed him to cease to exist.
He only went home to eat breakfast, which was already prepared by his grandmother, before heading to hell. That is what his clan's traditional school was for him. No matter how much he trained during the day with his teachers, he always made sure to train a bit more at night. He could afford to relax.
At night, he returned.
The air was cold at night. His muscles ached. He could barely lift the sword most nights because of his weak bones, but he did anyway. He was not going to submit to his weakness even if it meant he had to crawl or slither to reach his goal. This time the training was quieter. Short movements. Precision. He struck the same spot on the tree until the sound of impact changed, until the wood gave slightly under repeated hits. He had to tie his hands with gauze to reduce the impact, yet he used all the force he could master, no matter how much he bled. He was a deranged child with a weapon. Kero did not care for his well-being anymore. The only thing that drove him was his need to be strong and pay in full what he had suffered.
When his arms finally failed, he leaned his forehead against the bark and stayed there, breathing through the pain. The tree did not mock him for his weakness. It did not laugh. It only stood and endured. So he did the same. When the moon climbed high, he lowered the sword, hands shaking, and walked back without looking behind him.
That was his routine for the remaining days till the main high school trials. The trials were free for everyone to join, and him being the best in the studies section, he had bought himself a spot. No matter how much he was despised, that was something a tribe chief could have allowed to happen. After all, the performance of the tribe brought him honour. Many expected him to join a philosophy academy like Lokuza Spirit School or Tisaro Arc Academy, but he had a completely different direction in mind. He wanted to join a war school, and so he could only join in the fitness and art of war trials.
The day had finally come, and he stood with his peers in the Exam Council Headquarters. After meeting other contenders from other tribes of the north, he had almost faltered. Some tribes, like the Bami tribe's twelve and thirteen-year-olds, looked sixteen. They made the biggest boy in his clan look normal. That should have scared him, but it made him happy to see how small his bullies looked. When those of the Bami tribe walked in, especially from the Asakana clan, he had felt the difference in size. No wonder their tribe was the strongest in the north, and they had held that position for ages. They looked like beasts.
one had almost ran into him and almost stepped on him as he moved and had stopped himself at the last moment. he looked down so far before finding the obstacle that had stood in his way. What he saw was a child and his eyes had narrowed even further. He had then lowered his towering form and lifted him into his hands like a child.
"Hey, kid, how did you get in? Which examiner is your parent?" he had asked.
"I'm thirteen," was all Kero had said, and that had the boy bursting out loud. He almost keeled over. He then called his buddies over. kero braced himself to get a beating, but they had just looked at him as if he were an animal, like a dog. They patted his hair and petted him, pulling his cheeks and limbs as if he were a toy before leaving. For the first time in his life, he did not know how to feel as he watched the tall boys walk towards the trial arena. No one from the Bami tribe had ever failed in joining a war academy, and he wondered if they were the ones he was supposed to compete with. Many kids did not even try to compete with them and some other northern tribes, so they just picked a second-best war school or third to try at joining.
kero, after just watching one of them pick him as if he were an infant, almost turned around to go to the Daziko Sun School trial arena or the Zoli Sea Academy, but even the thought disgusted him. After all the training he had done, he was not going to try for anything less than first place. he took one step towards the Galka War Academy recruiting trial arena. Then another and then another. He could hear whispers around him, but he had gotten so used to them that instead of them acting as a discouragement, they were like fuel under his feet. His bullies, who had cowered out and were almost heading for the other war school arenas, could not believe their eyes. Even so, they were not about to lose to him, and they joined in a walk. They could not bully him inside the exam council headquarters, but he could feel their hate growing, and it fired him even further.
"Willing recruits stand in line!" A command was issued, and he ended up in the first line beside those of the Bami tribe. They kept their eyes forward with no fear, as if it was just another day in their life. He hated them even more. They had been born with a genetic advantage. They had never once endured the struggle of being weak. Even before they trained a day in their life, they were already better than him, and that made his hate for them grow every second until it turned into loathing. He loathed them the most, and he wanted to crush them. He wanted them to know what it tasted like to be weak.