Ting… Ting… Ting
The boy walked through the village entrance. He didn't look like a knight in shining armor. He looked like a vagrant.
He carried a long, thick wooden stick over his shoulder. Tied to the end was a dirty cloth bundle and a small brass bell that jingled annoyingly with every step.
Ting… Ting… Ting
He hummed, stepped over a rock, then froze.
Up ahead, three burly men in leather jackets had cornered a trembling grandpa and two small children. One thug kicked the old man back down as he tried to stand. Another shoved the children aside.
The boy sighed. "Oh, come on. I just got here." He paused, his eyes lighting up. "Wait a minute! This is an opportunity!"
He marched straight toward them.
"HEY!" he shouted, striking a pose with full anime protagonist bravado. "Pick on someone who hasn't even eaten breakfast yet!"
The three men turned.
The biggest guy looked down at him, unimpressed. "Kid, go away. This doesn't concern you."
"We are Prometheus's Legion 99," another sneered, as if that meant something. "We own this town."
The boy scoffed. He ignored them completely and walked straight to the old man, crouching down. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, stiff rectangle of paper, handing it to the grandpa.
The old man blinked, wiping blood from his lip. "What... what is this?"
"Oh, Grandpa, it's called a visiting card," the boy said seriously.
WHACK.
The grandpa's fist connected squarely with the top of the boy's head.
"You idiot!" the old man screamed, surprisingly energetic. "I know what a card is! I'm asking why you are giving it to me while I'm being mugged!"
Rubbing his head, the boy pointed to the card. "Ow—! Well, I am a mercenary for hire and that's my mercenary card. Hire me. I'm cheap. Only one hundred Beans."
The grandpa's jaw dropped. "One hundred?! Are you crazy? These goons are only asking for twenty Beans protection money, you brat!"
"Yeah," the boy nodded sagely. "But if you pay them twenty, they come back next week. You pay me one hundred, it's a one-time transaction. Pure profit in the long run."
"But what can you do, you stupid brat?" The grandpa cried. "You are just a boy!"
"Well, I can beat the shit out of these guys for you..." Kaizer leaned in, opening his palm to the poor old man, his eyes glimmering with shameless greed. "...all for the measly price of one hundred Beans."
The goons behind them started laughing. It was a deep, mocking belly laugh.
"A hundred Beans?" the leader wheezed. "Ideally, I'd kill you for free. You got a name, comedian? And what's with that stick, boy? Are you going to defeat us with that thing? Muhua ha ha!"
The other goons joined in, cackling.
The boy stood up, dusting off his knees. He looked the leader in the eye.
"The name's Kaizer—"
"Kaise—" the thug started.
"KAIZER."
"Okay, Kai—"
"KANE."
The thug paused, confused.
"Kaiser Ka—"
"KAEL."
The air went still.
Then all three exploded at once.
"STOP CUTTING US OFF!"
"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?"
"You think you can take on THREE grown men!?"
Kaizer grinned. "Yep. With my stick, I will beat the crap out of you all."
The goons' faces turned red. Glowing red.
"Fine, smartmouth," the leader growled. "Let's see how you gonna do that when we have this!"
The burly man suddenly drew a crude flintlock pistol.
BANG!
The shot echoed through the village.
Kaizer's smile vanished. He clutched his chest where the bullet hit.
He dropped.
Just like that.
The bell on his bundle gave a final, soft ting as he hit the ground.
.
.
.
Silence slammed into the area. Not a leaf rustled. Not a bird chirped. The world seemed to hold its breath, staring at the unmoving bundle of rags in the dirt.
"What the hell...?" The old man's voice cracked, trembling with pure horror. "You villains! You just killed a boy! How can you be so cruel?"
Behind him, the two grandchildren shrieked, burying their tear-streaked faces into the old man's tunic, too terrified to look at the corpse.
"Yeah, Boss," one of the lackeys muttered, taking a nervous step back. "That was... cold. He was just a kid."
"Damn," the other thug grimaced, looking at the motionless body. "That's too far, even for us, Jinko."
Jinko ground his teeth. A cold bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
"He... he shouldn't have challenged us if he was this weak!" he barked, his voice shrill.
Inside, panic clawed at his chest. It was an accident. He only meant to scare the brat! The gun was just for show! But his finger had slipped, the trigger clicked, and now... now there was a dead body at his feet.
He needed to regain control. Now.
"A-anyway!" Jinko shouted, masking his guilt with rage. "Old man, listen well! If you had hired that punk, you and your precious brats would have ended up just like him! Dead in the dirt! Now hurry up and pay our fee before you join him!"
The old man trembled. He looked at the gun, then at his weeping grandchildren. He had no choice.
With shaking hands, he fished out four crumpled notes. Twenty Beans.
Kick!
Jinko kicked the money out of the old man's hand. The notes fluttered to the dust.
"No," Jinko spat. "The fee has changed. It's one hundred Beans now."
"What?!" The old man gasped, his eyes widening in despair. "What atrocity is this? We agreed on twenty! We've been starving to pay you that much for seven months—arghh!"
"Grandpa!" the children screamed as the thug lunged forward, grabbing the old man by the throat.
"You were going to pay the kid a hundred, right?" Jinko leaned in, his breath hot and foul. "Pay up. Or watch your grandkids bleed."
"F-fine... J-just let me go."
The thug dropped him.
The old man fell to his knees, defeated. Tears streamed down his wrinkled cheeks as he pulled out a thick, worn stack of bills. His life savings.
"T-this..." he sobbed, holding it out. "If we give this... we won't eat for a week. Please. Have mercy on us."
The thugs stared for a second—then burst into laughter. Cruel, hyena-like cackles that echoed through the square.
"Mercy?" Jinko wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. "Prometheus requires funding, old man! He's saving the world! Shouldn't you starve a little so he can save humanity? Quit whining!"
Jinko sneered, stepping forward. He bent at the waist to snatch the money from the weeping elder.
He stooped low. His guard was down. His rear end was perfectly, completely exposed.
Suddenly, a cheerful, very alive voice whispered right behind him.
"Secret Jutsu: One Thousand Years of Death!"