The waves struck the shore with a calm murmur, their surface glimmering with the reflection of the sun. In the distance, a flock of seagulls rose into the sky, filling the horizon with white wings and cries that faded into the wind.
Akio stood at the edge of the water, the tide brushing against his bare feet while his blue hair swayed with the sea breeze. He was wearing a blue kimono tied with a belt that held two crossed swords, their metal was gleaming beneath the daylight. On his back, a large black bag was hanging. On his face, there was a smile overflowing with excitement and a touch of defiance.
He stepped away from the port and headed toward a small seaside market. The place buzzed with life, faces, smells, and voices blending into one rhythm. Vendors shouted their offers, the scent of grilled fish mingled with spices, and fabrics fluttered in the salty wind.
At first, Akio entered hesitantly, but soon his eyes widened as if he'd stepped into a new world. He stopped at a stone statue by the market gate, a weathered samurai holding a rusty sword. Reaching out to touch the cold surface, he smiled in wonder and said a little loudly:
"Whoa… even the rocks here feel alive!"
A few passersby glanced at him strangely, others chuckled quietly. He didn't care. He continued to a stall displaying ornate weapons, picked up a small sword, and ran his fingers over it with sincere enthusiasm.
"Look at this! Even if it's just decoration… the carvings are more detailed than any real sword I've seen!"
The vendor spoke in a serious tone:
"You've got a sharp eye, kid. That sword is special, I can't sell it cheap."
Akio checked his wallet, finding only a few coins, then smiled awkwardly.
"If I had more money… I'd buy it right away."
Just then, the smell of hot food drifted from a nearby stall. He hurried toward it, his eyes sparkling as he saw steaming bowls of soup.
"Oh my god! You cook right here on the beach?! This is the coolest thing I've ever seen!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Someone called out jokingly:
"Clearly, you're new to the island."
Akio turned towards him with a wide grin and replied earnestly:
"Yes! I just arrived today… and Orakano Island is the most amazing place I've ever seen!"
One man whispered to his friend with a smirk:
"Look at him… acting like an excited tourist. He'll lose his first coin before he finishes his stroll."
Akio kept walking through the crowd until he reached the heart of the market, where the smells of grilled meat and sweets filled the air. He bought some dango from a vendor and began eating eagerly, his lively smile never left his face.
Between bites, he turned to a passerby and shouted over the noise:
"Hey! My name's Sakamoto Akio. I'm a samurai! Do you know where is the annual selection for the Arkan organization takes place?"
The man stared in surprise, while others snickered and watched with disbelief at his boldness. Someone shrugged and said indifferently:
"You're asking about Arkan? Their place isn't a secret, but getting there isn't a child's play…"
Akio wiped a bit of sauce from his mouth with his finger.
"Huh? Just tell me where they are. I'm here to start my own journey!"
A short silence fell before a burly man burst into laughter, waving his skewer in the air:
"Your own journey? Ha! Everyone who says that either comes back broken… or doesn't come back at all!"
Whispers spread through the crowd. Mockery from some, curiosity from others. One vendor finally tilted his head to him and said:
"Over there, at the big plaza near the larger stone statue. You'll find what you're looking for. But I have an advice, don't shout their name too loud. Arkan doesn't like being flaunted in public."
Akio smiled as if he hadn't heard the warning, waving energetically.
"Thanks! I'll show everyone that I'm the best!"
He dashed off toward the exit, leaving the crowd exchanging glances of disbelief and amusement. But as he entered the side streets, his eyes widened. The ground was cracked and uneven, the walls stained and covered with graffiti, and foul smells leaked from every corner. Ragged beggars sat on the ground with outstretched hands, while skinny children darted through the alleys like ghosts, stealing whatever they could.
Akio stopped for a moment, watching with half-open lips.
"Huh… this is completely different from… my home."
But instead of disgust, fascination shimmered in his golden eyes. He walked deeper into the chaos as if discovering a new thrilling world. Spotting an old man wrapped in a torn blanket, he crouched beside him with childlike enthusiasm.
"Mister! Your life must be really tough… right? But you're strong because you're still here!"
The man only stared blankly and turned away. Akio smiled wider and moved on, his eyes darting around the alleys, looking for adventure amid the ruins.
Then he froze. Few steps ahead, stood a group of men gathered in the middle of the street, their voices were tense and filled with anger. Among them was a scarred man with a burned red mark on his cheek, he's the same thief who had escaped in terror earlier.
He was trembling, his eyes were wide, and his hands were shaking while he shouted:
"I swear! That place isn't a normal house… it's hell itself! I saw sparks coming from his hands, his eyes too! Anyone who goes near that place won't come out alive!"
Some thugs laughed, but others exchanged uneasy glances, fear began to show in their eyes. The scarred man kept yelling hoarsely, as if the memory itself burned his skin.
From a distance, Akio watched while chewing the last piece of dango.
"Who are those guys? A bunch of thieves?"
He muttered curiously.
Suddenly, the house door burst open. Ken stepped out, he was wearing A black short-sleeved shirt hugged his broad frame, paired with dark trouser and a side pouch marked with a red X.
He also wore a black fingerless gloves covered his hands. A sword hung diagonally from his waist to his back. Between his fingers was a burned cigarette, with a thin ribbon of smoke into the air.
Ken walked forward with calm steady steps, passing by the gang as if they were shadows. He didn't spare them a glance, his presence alone shifted the air.
The gang froze. Their Eyes darted among them. The scarred man stumbled backward, cold sweat running down his face as he unconsciously touched the mark on his cheek.
Then one thug broke the silence with a raspy laugh:
"What, you're all scared of some teenage punk? That scar's got you shaking like that?"
A few others chuckled, feeding his confidence. He stepped forward, his muscles tightening, fists clenching as he growled:
"Let me teach him a lesson… I'll make this brat bow before us!"
He lunged, the ground trembling beneath his steps. His right arm swung forward like a hammer, aiming to crush Ken's skull. The air itself seemed to split under his momentum.
But before the blow landed, Ken moved. He didn't turn his body or change stance. His right hand shot back with deadly precision, his fingers slipping out of the glove to clamp around the man's wrist like iron claws.
Ken's gray eyes shifted slowly towards him. The cold sharpness in that gaze froze time itself. The man's fist halted midair, caught by an inhuman grip. His muscles strained uselessly, but Ken's hand didn't budge, it was solid as steel.
Ken lifted his head slightly and exhaled a stream of smoke. Then his left hand ignited. A faint flame burst between his fingers, heat spreading through the air until even the onlookers stepped back instinctively.
The gang's breathing quickened. Someone whispered, trembling:
"F… flames? Could he be… related to King Cirrus?"
The name rippled through them like distant thunder. The fire around Ken's hand flared brighter, and fear took root in their eyes. The man caught in his grip stared in horror as the heat neared his skin, burning without even touching.
Ken's voice was cold and cutting:
"I'm really not in the mood. Don't make me hear that name again. Leave now before I turn you and this street into ash."
The man's voice broke as he stammered:
"W–Who the hell are you?!"
Ken paused, took one last drag, and exhaled slowly. Smoke veiled half his face.
Then he lifted his gaze, and spoke in a voice that pierced the silence:
"I am… Yukaji Ken."
The street fell dead silent. The name echoed off the walls like the sound of impending danger. Every thug's eyes widened in sheer terror, while from afar, Akio stood frozen, his heart pounding, awe flooding his chest.
One name. That was all it took to shake the entire place. Who exactly was the person behind it?