The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a warm golden haze over the field. A gentle breeze rustled through the tall grass, carrying with it the faint, sweet smell of earth and leaves. Not far from the edge of a small, sleepy town, a six-year-old boy stood under a sprawling apple tree, craning his neck to reach the thick, green fruit dangling from the branches. His short, tousled black hair fell into his dark, curious eyes as he stretched on his tiptoes, fingers brushing the smooth skin of an apple, then carefully twisted it free.
It thudded softly against his palm before he tucked it into a small sack slung over his shoulder. Around him, the world felt impossibly quiet, as if the whole field had paused just to watch him gather the fruit. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at the apples in his hands, a small smile tugging at his lips. The town's chiming clock echoed faintly in the distance, but here, under the wide canopy of green, time seemed to slow, holding its breath with him.
The boy froze mid-step as a faint, distant noise drifted from the direction of the town. His dark eyes sparkled with recognition, and a grin spread across his face. "I'm coming, Grampa!" he called, clutching the sack of apples tighter. Without a second thought, he darted through the tall grass, little feet kicking up soft clouds of dust as he ran toward the familiar sounds of home.
The wind tugged at his tousled black hair as he darted across the field, the tall grass whipping past in a green blur. Each tiny footfall echoed faintly in the warm afternoon, and with every bound, the outlines of the town grew sharper. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, mingling with the faint, comforting scent of baked bread and sun-warmed earth.
At last, the edges of the town came into view-timbered houses with sloping roofs, a cobblestone path weaving between them, and a tall, muscular figure standing in the doorway. Haru's grin widened, his small legs pumping faster. "Grampa!" he called, the word bouncing joyfully across the quiet streets.
The man's weathered face twisted into a mock scowl as he crossed his arms. "Took you long enough," he rumbled, his voice carrying a gruff amusement. "I sent you out to get these apples hours ago."
Haru skidded to a stop in front of him, giggling. "I got them! And they're all for you, Grampa!"
The man shook his head, ruffling the boy's black hair with a low chuckle. "All right, all right. Let's see what you've got, then."
Haru held out the basket, beaming. The old man's eyes fell on the contents, and his scowl deepened.
"Granny Smiths, Haru! How many times do I have to tell you to stop picking these?" he barked.
Haru giggled, shrugging innocently.
The man let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well... I guess Kaito can eat them," he muttered, shaking his head.
The wooden door creaked open, and a tall, lean man emerged, his kimono swaying gently with each step. The fabric, pale with subtle patterns, rustled softly in the afternoon breeze, and his dark hair was tied neatly at the nape of his neck. He stopped on the threshold, his sharp eyes narrowing as they fell on the basket of apples clutched in Haru's small hands.
"Ah, Haru, back already," he said, his voice calm but edged with amusement, carrying easily across the quiet yard. "Lemme guess-you got Granny Smiths again. You do know Genjiro hates that, don't you?"
Haru's giggle escaped before he could stop it, bright and musical, bouncing lightly off the walls of the house. He shuffled his feet, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Eheheh... sorry, Uncle Kaito. It's just... it's so funny!"
Kaito let out a low, mirthful hum, running a hand along his chin as he studied the boy. The shadows of the afternoon played across his sharp features, and for a moment, the serene calm of the yard seemed to pulse with the quiet energy of the family-old traditions, little arguments, and laughter mingling together under the warm sun.
Genjiro let out a low hum of disapproval, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Kaito. "Kaito," he barked, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder, "did you collect the firewood like I asked?"
Kaito scratched the back of his head, letting out a sheepish chuckle. "Ah... sorry, Genjiro. I... ehehe... forgot," he admitted, his shoulders shrugging in playful surrender.
A smirk tugged at the corners of Genjiro's mouth. "Well... I guess I have a purpose for these Granny Smiths now," he muttered. Without another word, he strode inside, the wooden floor creaking beneath his heavy boots. Haru followed, eyes wide and curious, as Genjiro set the basket of green apples carefully into the heater.
With a practiced motion, he ignited the apples with a flick of his palm, the flames licking hungrily at the fruit as he shut the metal door with a resonant clang. Outside, Kaito rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Dad, I told you to stop using your Tsuyoi to light the furnace! It's built for real fires!"
Genjiro let out a proud hum, his chest puffing out. "Humph! My fires are ten times better than 'real' fires," he declared, the warmth of the flames spilling faintly through the cracks of the heater's door.
Haru scratched the back of his head, tilting it curiously as his dark eyes wandered between Kaito and the fading smoke from the heater. "Uncle Kaito... what's a Tsuyoi again? Everyone's always talking about them, but I don't think anyone's ever really told me."
Kaito paused, shifting his weight as he stepped back out of the house. He settled onto a weathered tree stump, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the yard. "Huh... didn't I tell you about them when you were younger? Well... whatever. You never were the kind to listen," he muttered, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm... okay, how do I explain this to a kid without getting into all that Rei-kan stuff? Right. So... a Tsuyoi is a kind of power everyone has. It manifests depending on what type you are."
Haru blinked, leaning in slightly.
Kaito continued, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "There are two main types: elemental and natural. The difference... well, one's really flashy and cool, and the other... is Genjiro." He shook his head with amusement before going on. "A natural Tsuyoi can become any kind of power, as long as it isn't tied to controlling or creating an element. Elemental Tsuyoi, though-that's all about controlling a specific element."
Haru's eyes lit up, a grin tugging at his lips. "I think I get it... so that means Genjiro has an elemental Tsuyoi!"
Kaito's smile widened, and he leaned back on the stump, letting out a soft laugh. "Yep. And honestly... that's the only reason he was able to become a gladiator, if you ask me."
From the doorway, Genjiro's deep voice cut in, followed by the sharp smack of a hand against Kaito's back of the head. "I heard that!"
Haru giggled, bouncing slightly on his toes before tilting his head in curiosity again. "Then... what type are you, Uncle Kaito?"
Kaito turned a mischievous grin toward him, eyes glinting with playful secrecy. "That... is my secret," he said, leaning back and crossing his arms, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.
Haru frowned slightly, crossing his small arms, but the glint of curiosity in his eyes didn't fade. "A secret? Come on, Uncle Kaito! You can tell me-I'm not a baby anymore."
Kaito leaned back further, letting out a low, exaggerated sigh as if the weight of revealing such a truth was crushing him. "Hmm... maybe one day, Haru. Maybe when you're a little older, you'll understand. For now, just know it's... complicated."
Haru pouted but couldn't suppress the grin that bubbled up anyway. "Complicated, huh? That sounds... kinda cool!"
From inside the house, Genjiro's deep voice rumbled again. "Haru, don't let him fool you. Kaito's Tsuyoi is strong-strong enough to make even me roll my eyes sometimes."
Kaito chuckled at that, shaking his head. "Hey now, Dad, don't make me sound like a bragger in front of the kid!"
Haru's giggle rang out across the yard, light and bright. "I like that," he said softly, eyes still glued to Kaito. "I want to be strong too... like you, Uncle Kaito. And like Grampa!"
Kaito's sharp eyes softened, and he ruffled Haru's black hair again, a small, rare smile tugging at his lips. "You've got time, little one. A lot of it. But if you keep that curiosity... you'll surprise even yourself someday."
Haru's grin widened, and for a long moment, the yard was quiet except for the rustle of the wind and the faint crackle of the heater behind them. The warmth of the afternoon wrapped around them like a promise, and Haru's small mind buzzed with questions, dreams, and the kind of wonder only a six-year-old could hold.
Haru's eyes suddenly lit up, blazing with determination, and he threw his small fists into the air. "WHEN I GROW UP," he shouted, his voice echoing across the yard, "I'LL BE THE FIRST SWORDSMAN GLADIATOR!"
Kaito blinked, caught off guard, then let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and admiration. "Well... that's one heck of an ambition, Haru," he said, a grin tugging at his lips.
Genjiro's deep, gravelly laugh rumbled from inside the house. "Hah! That's my boy," he said. "Dream big, kid... but don't think it's gonna be easy."
Haru bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes sparkling, utterly undeterred by the warning. "I'll train! I'll get strong! And I'll make you proud, Grampa! And you too, Uncle Kaito!"
Kaito shook his head again, smiling softly as he ruffled the boy's tousled black hair. "Well... with that kind of spirit, maybe you really will pull it off. Just... don't forget who's going to be keeping you out of trouble along the way."
Haru giggled, the sunlight catching the edges of his grin, and for a brief, perfect moment, the field, the town, and the warm laughter of family felt like the whole world.
Kaito leaned back on the tree stump, a sly grin spreading across his sharp features. "Well," he said, eyes glinting with amusement, "in that case... I think you deserve a present."
Haru's dark eyes widened instantly, his small hands gripping the edges of his shirt as he bounced slightly on his toes. "A p-p-present? Really, Uncle Kaito? What is it?"
Kaito let out a low chuckle, standing and brushing off his kimono with a casual flick of his wrist. "Patience, little one. All in good time. But I promise-it's something that'll help you on your way to becoming a swordsman gladiator."
Haru's grin stretched from ear to ear, excitement practically radiating off him. "I can't wait! I can't wait!"
Kaito shook his head, smiling at the boy's boundless energy. "Easy there, Haru. A good swordsman knows the value of patience... even if he's six."
Haru let out a playful huff, crossing his arms with mock seriousness. "I can be patient! But I'm really, really excited too!"
Kaito laughed, the sound light and warm, echoing across the yard as the afternoon sun bathed them in golden light. "Alright, alright... come on. Let's go see what I've got for you."
Kaito led Haru across the uneven yard to a small training area that had clearly seen better days. The wooden posts leaned at odd angles, ropes hung frayed and sagging, and patches of the ground were worn smooth from countless hours of previous battles. This was the place Genjiro had built, a place of sweat, grit, and determination-but it had mostly fallen apart under the weight of Kaito and Genjiro's extreme training over the years.
By the cracked wall stood a sword rack, its wood darkened and scarred from age. On it rested a single katana, its sheath etched with the word Kara. Kaito's hand hovered over it reverently.
"That there is Kara," he said, voice low, carrying a hint of nostalgia. "Genjiro says he found it back in the war when I was little. When he got back, he gave it to me-since he's never been much of a swordsman himself, he let me have it. It was... an okay sword, I guess. Not much now, I've got better ones. But..."
He lifted the katana carefully, sliding the sheath onto Haru's small waist. "It's yours now."
From behind, Genjiro's deep voice rumbled, tinged with incredulity. "Kara? Why'd you give him that piece of junk?"
Kaito chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't worry, I'll get him a proper one once he's done with his training."
Genjiro's eyes widened slightly. "Training? You're sure about that, Kaito? It's probably just one of those things kids say when they're little."
Kaito nodded firmly, a glint of determination in his sharp eyes. "Too late. I've already decided. I'm gonna train him."
A low hum of approval-and slight resignation-escaped Genjiro. "Fine then... I guess I'll train him too. Even swordsmen need to be able to throw a punch."
Haru's eyes went wide, a mix of excitement and awe washing over him as the katana felt surprisingly light and steady at his side. The air seemed to thrum with possibility, the small, battered training yard suddenly brimming with promise, adventure, and the first sparks of a young boy's dream.
Haru stood in the middle of the small, battered training yard, gripping the sheath of Kara and letting his imagination run wild. He pictured himself swinging the sword with perfect precision, Uncle Kaito correcting his stance with a calm, guiding hand, and Grampa Genjiro stepping in to teach him how to throw a punch that could rival the strongest fighters in town. He could feel the rhythm of training in his chest, the imagined clang of steel on steel echoing in his ears.
But his daydreams were abruptly cut short when Genjiro's deep, rumbling voice called from the doorway.
"Haru! Come inside, the sun's beginning to set!"
Kaito's voice followed, carrying the same tone of practical authority.
"Yeah, kid, time to wrap it up before it gets too dark out here."
Haru's shoulders slumped slightly, but he obediently slung Kara at his side and followed the two men toward the house. Inside, the warm glow of flickering torchlight lined the walls as Genjiro moved methodically from one torch to the next, lighting each in turn. The golden flames cast dancing shadows across the room, lending the space a cozy, almost magical atmosphere.
Meanwhile, Kaito disappeared into the kitchen, the soft clatter of pots and pans signaling the beginning of dinner preparations. The rich, savory smell of simmering stew soon began to fill the air, weaving its way through the house and making Haru's stomach rumble in anticipation. Tonight, stew—his favorite—would be on the table, and the thought made him quicken his pace, eager to wash the dirt from his hands and join the warmth of the kitchen.
The day outside had been full of promise and dreams of swords and strength, but now, with the sun dipping low and the house filling with golden light and the scent of dinner, Haru felt the comforting pull of home wrap around him like a soft, familiar cloak.
Haru practically bounced off the walls with excitement, eyes sparkling as Kaito carried the steaming pot of stew to the table. The moment the ladle hit his bowl, Haru dug in like he hadn't eaten in days, shoving mouthful after mouthful into his eager little mouth.
"Eat properly, Haru! Not like a damn dog!" Genjiro barked, smacking the back of the boy's head lightly with a firm hand.
Haru just giggled, cheeks puffed with stew.
Kaito laughed from the other side of the table, shaking his head.
"Eheheh... just let him eat, Dad. You know he loves stew."
Genjiro let out a low hum, crossing his arms, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
"And he knows I hate Granny Smiths... It's funny."
Dinner finished far too quickly for Haru, and soon he was bounding toward his small room, leaving crumbs in his wake. Once inside, he closed the door behind him and called out, voice full of eager anticipation.
"Grampa! Can you tell me a story? One from your gladiator fights!"
From the doorway, Genjiro's deep voice rumbled, carrying both warmth and the hint of an old, battle-hardened edge.
"Huh... a story, you say? Alright then... settle in, kid. This one's a good one."
Genjiro's deep voice softened as he settled into the chair by Haru's bed, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows across the walls.
"Alright... this one's from Cinsiti. I had a match against a gladiator known as Steel Skulls. You see..."
Haru's eyes widened, leaning forward on the edge of his bed, gripping the sheets with excitement.
"Steel Skulls wasn't just a nickname," Genjiro continued, a faint grin tugging at his weathered features. "He wore a helmet forged from a rare, unbreakable metal. Every hit I landed barely made a dent, and every strike he made could've cracked a normal man's bones. He was fast, precise... deadly."
Haru's small hands curled into fists, eyes sparkling with awe.
"Wow... he sounds scary, Grampa!"
Genjiro chuckled, his rumbling voice like distant thunder.
"Scary? Sure. But that's the point of a gladiator match—you face the impossible, and you find out what you're really made of. I had to think faster, move smarter, and fight harder than I ever had before. One wrong move and it was over."
He leaned back, eyes distant as he remembered the battle.
"Steel Skulls charged at me, swinging that massive mace of his. I barely dodged, feeling the wind of it whip past my face. Every strike I threw had to be calculated, every stance perfect. One slip... and I'd be nothing but a lesson for the next fighter."
Haru's breath caught, gripping his bedframe tighter.
"And... did you win?"
Genjiro's grin widened, a flash of pride in his dark eyes.
"Of course I did, kid. But it wasn't about brute strength—it was about patience, observation, and knowing when to strike. That's what made me a gladiator. That's what every great fighter knows: brains and heart over sheer power."
Haru's gaze lingered on his Grampa, his mind spinning with visions of swords clashing, sparks flying, and the roar of an unseen crowd.
"I... I want to be like that, Grampa. I want to fight like you someday."
Genjiro's voice softened, almost a whisper.
"And you will, Haru. But it starts with small steps. Training, learning, and never forgetting why you want to be strong in the first place."
Haru nodded vigorously, a determined grin spreading across his face.
"I'll start tomorrow! I'll train harder than anyone!"
Genjiro let out a low chuckle, the sound full of pride and nostalgia.
"That's my boy. Tomorrow... the first step of your journey begins."
Haru's eyes grew heavy as Genjiro's story painted vivid pictures in his mind—the clash of swords, the glint of Steel Skulls' helmet, the roar of the crowd. His small body curled up beneath the soft blankets, the weight of Kara resting harmlessly at his side.
His breathing slowed, rhythmic and even, a contented smile lingering on his face as the adventures of gladiators and the warmth of home mingled in his dreams. Soon, the excitement of the day, the promise of training, and the stories of battles long past carried him gently into sleep, leaving only the soft flicker of torchlight dancing across the room.
The house settled into a quiet rhythm, the soft crackle of the torches the only sound breaking the stillness. Outside, the last rays of the sun slipped below the horizon, leaving streaks of pink and orange across the sky, and the scent of stew still lingered faintly in the air.
Genjiro leaned back in the chair, watching Haru sleep with a mixture of pride and concern. The boy's small chest rose and fell steadily, so peaceful now, yet already filled with the fire of determination that would shape the rest of his life.
Kaito emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, and glanced at the scene.
"He's out like a stone," he said softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "That kid... he's got more spirit than I expected."
Genjiro grunted softly, the corners of his mouth twitching in approval.
"Spirit alone won't make him a gladiator," he muttered. "But it's a start. He's got the heart for it. And that's worth more than most realize."
Kaito nodded, stepping closer to adjust one of the flickering torches.
"Tomorrow, we start his training properly. Not just swings and stances, but the kind of lessons that stick. The boy's going to need patience... and a lot of endurance."
Genjiro's eyes followed Haru's peaceful face.
"Patience... endurance... he'll learn. But we'll have to be careful. That fire in him... it can burn out just as easily as it can drive him forward."
The two men exchanged a brief, knowing glance, the weight of the responsibility settling between them. Outside, the night deepened, the soft chirping of crickets and the distant rustle of wind through the trees the only signs of life beyond the small house.
And in the small room, Haru slept on, dreaming of swords, battles, and the promise of becoming the first swordsman gladiator—a dream that had only just begun.
The next morning, sunlight spilled through the cracks in the wooden shutters, painting golden stripes across Haru's room. The boy stirred beneath his blankets, blinking sleep from his dark eyes, and yawned wide, stretching his small arms toward the ceiling.
The aroma of fresh bread and the faint remnants of yesterday's stew drifted from the kitchen, tugging at his stomach. With a spring in his step, Haru leapt from bed, slinging Kara at his side, and raced down the creaking wooden stairs.
In the kitchen, Kaito was already moving with quiet efficiency, chopping vegetables and stirring a pot of steaming broth. Genjiro sat at the table, arms crossed, watching the morning light catch on the worn lines of his face.
"Morning, kid," Kaito said without looking up, a playful lilt in his voice. "Ready for your first real training day?"
Haru's grin stretched ear to ear. "Yes! I've been waiting for this since last night!"
Genjiro let out a low chuckle. "Good. You're going to need that energy. Today, we begin with the basics—stance, grip, and balance. You can't swing a sword properly if your foundation isn't solid."
Haru nodded vigorously, eyes bright with determination.
"I understand, Grampa! I'll do my best!"
Kaito wiped his hands on a towel and gestured toward the yard.
"Alright then, Haru. Let's take this outside. The sun's up, the air's fresh… time to start your journey."
Haru's heart pounded with excitement as he followed the two men out into the training yard, the worn posts and frayed ropes welcoming him back. The ground beneath his feet seemed to hum with possibility, and the small katana at his side felt lighter. But once they actually started training, something became obvious: Haru was horrible at swordsmanship.
His stance was awful. His feet were uneven, his balance wobbled with every swing, and half the time Kara nearly flew out of his hands. But to Haru, every swipe felt legendary—each clumsy swing followed by him nodding proudly to himself like he had just performed a master technique.
Kaito watched in silence for a while, deadpan expression slowly evolving into an "is this kid serious?" kind of stare. Genjiro had already walked off halfway through, muttering something under his breath about "pathetic sword form" and "just wait until I get my turn."
After nearly an hour of identical mistakes repeated with increasing confidence, Kaito finally sighed.
"Alright, Haru. Break. Before you slice your own foot off."
Haru sheathed Kara with a triumphant grin, wiping sweat from his forehead like a seasoned warrior.
"I think I'm getting really good, right?"
Kaito only smiled faintly. It was not a confirmation.
Haru wandered back inside, chest still puffed out with excitement. Once he was gone, Kaito leaned against the doorframe and muttered,
"I don't know how he's completely oblivious to how bad he is."
Genjiro grunted from his spot near the table, sipping from a mug.
"Doesn't matter. Spirit like that can't be taught. You can't knock it out of him, no matter how many times he trips over his own feet."
Kaito shook his head, letting out a soft chuckle.
"Yeah… I guess that's true. Still, he's gonna need a lot of guidance before he can even hold a real fight."
Genjiro's dark eyes glimmered with a mix of pride and concern.
"He'll get there… but it'll be on his terms, that's for sure. Just like his father before him."
The two sat in quiet contemplation, the afternoon sun spilling through the windows, illuminating the small, worn kitchen. Outside, the yard was empty, but inside, the future of the boy who held Kara in his tiny hands already weighed heavily on the minds of the men who would shape him.
Over the next ten years, the days rolled by much the same as they had on that first morning in the training yard. Haru grew taller, his black hair longer and perpetually tousled, but not much else seemed to change. Despite Genjiro's patient lessons, he still couldn't read properly, the words on pages twisting and jumbled no matter how hard he tried. His swordsmanship remained clumsy, his swings heavy and awkward, and his hand-to-hand combat was little better, often ending with him flat on the ground while Kaito or Genjiro sighed in frustration.
Haru had also earned a reputation as an extreme idiot—not out of malice, just a total inability to connect the simplest dots or learn from even the most obvious mistakes. Yet, somehow, he remained endlessly cheerful, endlessly stubborn, and endlessly convinced of his own competence.
One sunny afternoon, while wandering through the town as he often did, something clicked. A memory, sharp and sudden, broke through his usual fog of distraction: the gladiator exams were starting in a month. And he was supposed to begin the long walk to them—now.
Panic and excitement collided in his chest. Without a second thought, Haru sprinted through the dusty streets, nearly tripping over his own feet as he raced toward the house. Bursting through the door, he skidded to a stop in front of Genjiro, breathless and wide-eyed.
"Grampa! Grampa! I have to leave! The gladiator exams are starting soon, and I—I'm supposed to start walking there now!"
Genjiro raised an eyebrow, his deep, gravelly voice calm despite the chaos.
"Haru… slow down, kid. You've got ten years of training behind you—or at least some attempt at training. You're sure you're ready for this?"
Haru shook his head furiously, ignoring the older man's question.
"I don't care if I'm ready! I have to go! I have to become the first swordsman gladiator!"
Kaito appeared in the doorway behind Genjiro, arms crossed, trying not to laugh.
"You're leaving now, huh? Well… good luck, Haru. You're going to need it more than you know."
Genjiro sighed, the weight of ten years of failed lessons heavy in his chest.
"Fine," he said finally. "If you insist on running headfirst into danger like this… then I'll come with you part of the way. And don't think you're getting off without training along the route, idiot."
Haru grinned wildly, practically vibrating with excitement, oblivious to the serious undertone of Genjiro's words. His journey—the start of the adventure he had dreamed of for a decade—was finally beginning.