The road stretched endlessly ahead.
Dust rose softly with each step Benji took. Trees lined both sides, their shadows swaying gently in the afternoon light.
Another town. Another stop.
His steps were slower now.
His shoes—worn, tired—scraped against the ground.
Still, he walked.
The town was peaceful.
Small houses stood quietly. Children ran through the streets, laughing, shouting, playing without worry.
Benji stopped.
His eyes followed them.
A group of kids play-fought using sticks, swinging wildly, laughing as if nothing in the world could break them.
His gaze lingered.
Empty.
Distant.
They still laugh… like nothing ever breaks.
After a moment—
He turned away.
At the edge of the town stood a small structure.
Old.
Worn.
A wooden dojo.
The roof was slightly broken, its walls cracked with age. The signboard above it barely held its paint.
Training Hall.
Benji stood still, looking at it.
A man worked near the entrance.
Around thirty years old.
He quietly repaired part of the wall using simple tools.
Without stopping, he glanced at Benji.
Said nothing.
Benji lowered his head slightly in respect.
Silence hung between them.
Only the sound of wood and tools echoed.
Then—
"Looking for training?"
The man's voice was calm.
Benji nodded.
"Yes."
The man studied him.
Carefully.
His eyes paused for a moment—
Something unreadable flickered within them.
Inside, the dojo was simple.
Wooden floors.
Basic mats.
No decorations.
No luxury.
Just space.
Benji removed his shoes and stepped onto the mat.
The man gestured slightly.
"Show me your skills."
Benji took a breath.
Then moved.
A punch.
Unstable.
Another.
Weak.
He tried a kick—
His balance broke.
He nearly fell.
The man watched silently.
No reaction.
No interruption.
Benji stopped, breathing heavily.
Sweat formed on his face.
"You don't know how to fight."
The words were direct.
Benji lowered his head.
"I know."
The man walked past him.
Then stopped.
"But you're not empty."
They sat down across from each other.
"What's your name?"
"Benji."
"And your age?"
"…Twelve."
The man froze.
For just a moment.
A memory flashed—
A young boy.
The same age.
A face filled with life.
Gone.
The man clenched his fist tightly.
Then stood up abruptly.
"I'm not a great fighter."
A pause.
"But I can teach you how not to die."
The door suddenly slid open.
An old man entered, carrying groceries.
His presence was gentle.
Warm.
He noticed Benji immediately.
"A guest?"
Benji bowed deeply.
The old man smiled faintly.
"He looks thin."
The younger man looked away.
The old man said nothing more—
But his eyes understood more than words.
Evening arrived quietly.
The sky turned orange.
Benji sat alone, eating simple food.
Across the room, the man watched him silently.
His hand trembled slightly.
A memory returned—
A hospital room.
Still.
Silent.
A woman lying lifeless.
A child beside her.
Gone.
Back to the present.
The man closed his eyes.
"Same eyes… same age…"
Benji looked up.
Their eyes met briefly.
Silence.
Then—
The man turned away.
Night fell.
Benji lay on a futon inside the dojo.
The roof above him was broken in places.
Moonlight slipped through the cracks.
He stared at the ceiling.
Quiet.
Outside, the man stood alone.
A cigarette burned between his fingers.
The smoke rose slowly into the night.
His face was heavy.
Tired.
But determined.
"If I couldn't protect my son…"
He looked back at the dojo.
A long pause.
"…maybe I can protect this one."
His voice broke the silence.
Soft.
Calm.
"Tomorrow… training starts."
Inside—
Benji's eyes opened.
Wide.
He was ready for the upcoming training