The morning after Hanzo parted ways with Catherine Hackner was bright and mercilessly hot. The roads of Okayama shimmered beneath the sunlight, and the distant castle stood like a silent sentinel overlooking the city's slow bustle.
Hanzo adjusted his furoshiki bundle and wiped the sweat from his brow. His steps were light, his spirits lighter still. There was something about arriving in a new city that always felt like opening a fresh page.
His stomach, however, disagreed.
Grumble.
Hanzo grimaced, pressing a hand to his abdomen. "Alright, alright. Message received. You're the boss."
He turned down a narrow street lined with merchant stalls, and that's when the aroma hit him—savoury broth, pork, scallions, and soy. The red paper lantern swinging in front of a small ramen stall seemed to call his name.
Hanzo ducked under the cloth banner. Behind the counter stood an elderly man with a towel wrapped around his head, his sleeves rolled up as he stirred the pot with reverence.
"Welcome, traveller," the old man greeted, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "You look like you've walked from Kyoto itself."
"Close enough," Hanzo said, grinning. "One bowl of ramen, please. Actually—no. Make that five."
The man blinked. "...Five?"
"One for hunger, one for the road, and three for my stomach."
The old man chuckled. "Five ramen bowls, coming right up."
Steam rose in elegant coils as the bowls were set before him. Hanzo didn't waste time. He ate with the same discipline he used when fighting. Fast slurping without cutting a strand of noodles and always finishing even to the broth, no ramen broth should be left untouched.
The stall owner watched, impressed. "You've got an appetite like a bear."
Hanzo slurped the last noodle and exhaled in satisfaction. "Thanks."
They spoke for a while. The old man told him of Okayama's changes—the influx of Western trade, the tension between old customs and new ideas. Hanzo listened, amused and thoughtful, occasionally dropping quips that made the man laugh.
When it was time to pay, Hanzo placed a few coins on the counter, bowed respectfully, and said, "That might be the best ramen this side of heaven. If the gods are hiring cooks, they'll send you an invitation."
The old man grinned, shaking his head as Hanzo disappeared into the crowd.
That night, rather than spend money on an inn, Hanzo sought out a Shinto shrine on the city's outskirts. The torii gate rose like a silent guardian against the star-swept sky, and the air was thick with the scent of cedar and incense.
The shrine priest, a kindly old man with kind eyes, watched as Hanzo approached.
"Forgive the intrusion," Hanzo said, bowing deeply. "I'm but a traveller seeking a place to rest for the night. I'll make sure I leave it cleaner than I found it."
The priest studied him for a long moment, then smiled. "A polite wanderer is a rare thing these days. You may sleep under the eaves, young man."
Hanzo bowed again. "My thanks."
As the night deepened, he lay beneath the shrine's wooden awning, watching stars blink through the gaps in the torii gate. The forest whispered with life. Somewhere far off, a nightbird cried.
He smiled faintly as he brought himself to the dreamland that is filled with muscle mommies. "One of the cons of living in the past, no computers or phones to watch something."
Dawn came like the slow lifting of a curtain.
Hanzo rose before the sun was fully awake, stretching his limbs as mist rolled lazily across the shrine grounds. He placed his staff beside him and began his routine.
His karate kata flowed with precise grace—each movement a poem written in muscle and breath. Punches cracked the air. Kicks sliced the morning mist. Then he transitioned seamlessly into bo-staff practice, twirling the oak staff in wide arcs, striking imaginary foes with disciplined rhythm.
The shrine priest watched quietly from the steps, arms folded.
When Hanzo finished, he caught the priest's gaze and smiled. "Good morning, sir."
The priest chuckled. "What a spectacle."
Hanzo spent the rest of the morning cleaning the grounds—sweeping fallen leaves, scrubbing the wash basin, and repairing a broken section of the wooden fence. He worked without complaint, humming an off-key tune.
'Do good and thee shall be rewarded,' he thought.
When he finally left the shrine, the priest handed him a small bundle of rice cakes. "For your journey," he said.
Hanzo bowed low. "Thank you very much. I hope you have a good day, sir."
The road led him toward a river that cut lazily through the outskirts of the city. He stopped to refill his canteen, kneeling by the water's edge. The current glittered under the midday sun.
Then he heard it.
Shouting. Harsh, angry voices. And the sound of women crying.
Hanzo's eyes narrowed. "Ah shit, here we go again."
He rose and followed the noise through the tall grass until he came upon the scene—a group of three thugs cornering two young women by the riverbank. The women had been washing clothes, their baskets spilled, and their faces pale with fear.
The thugs were local ruffians—cheap sake on their breath, arrogance on their faces. The leader, a thickset man with a greasy topknot, was laughing crudely.
Hanzo sighed and stepped into view. "Gentlemen," he said evenly, "you mind not ruining the scenery?"
The leader turned, sneering. "And who the hell are you? Some pretty boy playing hero?"
Hanzo tilted his head. "Pretty boy, huh? I'm flattered. But you're about to regret that compliment."
The thug then approached. "Regret what?"
Before the thug could take one more step, Hanzo's hand shot out.
SMACK.
The sound echoed across the river like a gunshot. The leader spun halfway around before collapsing into the mud, his cheek burning red.
For a brief moment, the other two thugs just stared. Then, shouting in rage, they rushed him with crude wooden clubs.
Hanzo exhaled softly. "Alright, then."
The first swing came from the left. Hanzo ducked, flicked his foot out, and swept the man off balance. The second thug swung vertically, Hanzo sidestepped, caught the club, and jabbed its end into the man's stomach, sending him sprawling.
The leader staggered to his feet, trembling with fury, and charged again. Hanzo sighed and met him halfway, delivering a swift palm strike to the chest that knocked the air—and the fight, maybe a sliver of his life—out of him.
When the dust settled, three unconscious thugs lay scattered like rag dolls.
Hanzo clapped his hands free of dust and turned to the girls, who were staring at him in awe. "You're safe now. Thugs these days. Ain't got no respect for ladies."
The older girl, her hair tied in a neat bun, bowed deeply. "Thank you, sir! We… we didn't know what to do."
Her companion, younger and shy, whispered, "They've been bothering people here for weeks…"
Hanzo waved it off with a grin. "Well, consider your problem laundered."
The older one blushed slightly. "I'm Hanako. This is my sister, Asuka. We can't thank you enough."
"Hanzo," he replied simply. "Just a traveller doing what gentlemen are supposed to."
Asuka shyly offered a small cloth bundle. "Please… take these rice balls. They're homemade."
Hanzo smiled warmly. "Thank you." He took the bundle, bowing lightly. "Stay safe, both of you."
The sisters giggled despite themselves as Hanzo turned away, the sun glinting off his bo-staff as he walked back toward the forest.
The forest near Okayama was deep, cool, and alive. The cicadas had begun their afternoon chorus by the time Hanzo stopped beneath the shade of a broad oak.
His Observation Haki spread outward, brushing against life signs—the flutter of birds, the scurry of squirrels, and something else… heavier.
A boar. A big one.
He grinned. "Perfect. A fine addition to my lunch."
Following the faint sound of snorting and snapping branches, Hanzo found the beast near a thicket—a wild boar as large as a carriage, its tusks gleaming ivory-white.
Hanzo crouched low, as his muscles coiled like a snake preparing to launch on its prey.
The boar lifted its head, sensing him.
The world stilled for one breath. Then—
It charged.
Hanzo sidestepped in a blur, driving a precise strike into the beast's forehead with his staff. The wood vibrated like a struck bell. The boar crashed to the ground, skidding through leaves and dust before going still.
Hanzo exhaled, shoulders relaxing. "Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys."
He knelt, murmuring a quiet word of respect for the animal before drawing his knife. He skinned it cleanly, buried the entrails beneath the earth, and built a fire from gathered wood.
The scent of roasting meat filled the forest soon after.
When it was done, Hanzo tore a piece of its legs free, savouring the crisped edge. "Good heavens," he mused aloud, "might need a little bit of condiments. Sadly, I have none."
He laughed quietly to himself, gazing at the canopy of leaves above.
The day melted into orange hues, and Hanzo sat there a while longer, belly full of meat. His body thrummed with strength, and his mind filled with peace.
Tomorrow, he would return to the city. Sell the hide and tusks. Buy supplies. Continue the road eastward.
But for now, as the sun dipped behind the hills and fireflies began to glow among the trees, marking the start of the opera of stars.