Sentarō, already weakened, his body specifically his head, chest and right arm where wrapped in bandages and burning with fever, felt another strike, not from claws or fists, but from a deeper wound fear. It clutched at his chest more tightly than the tiger-bear's slash ever had. Fear, because the voice that reached him was not the one he longed to hear.
He had hoped, desperately, for the gentle warmth of his mother's voice, soft as spring rain. Instead, what filled the air was deep, manly, and sharp, a sound that carried the weight of years and battles.
Slowly, trembling, he raised his head. Fear was etched plainly across his young face.
"W… Who are you?" he whispered, his voice thin and broken, weakened by fever and blood loss.
Behold the man before him. Of average stature, black hair streaked faintly with gray, and a face marked by mild wrinkles, the kind that warned of old age's approach. He sat cross-legged on a tatami mat only a few paces away. The distance was close enough for words, yet carefully kept outside the bounds of intimacy.
"Hmmm, that shouldn't be the first thing you ask a man who just saved you and took care of you while you slept for two days." The man's tone was filled with mild annoyance as he poured himself a cup of sake. "Instead, you should be grateful, kid."
He took a long sip, then pointed the sake cup toward the boy, his cheeks already tinged red with intoxication. Upon hearing the that sentaro eye widened, letting out a gasp in shock. "What do you mean two days!?".
"Consider yourself the luckiest man alive, what were you doing out in the harsh cold That's dangerous!" His words slurred with drink, yet his voice rose sharply ignoring sentaro's question. "Not only that but you also encountered a tiger-bear, such great luck"
"You should be grateful I was out that night, you damn kid."
Sentarō blinked, stunned by the man's coarse manner. As his vision steadied, he finally began to take in his surroundings. The house was small, built from wood, bamboo, and thatch. The walls were framed with sliding FUSUMA, and the floor beneath him was woven tatami. It was modest, almost bare, but warm against the cold he had left behind in the blizzard.
Sentaro who was still hazy from the fever suddenly got struck by memories. Memories of the silhouette that saved him from the bare.
"Are you by chance the one who saved me?" Sentaro asked, gripping his head in pain.
The stranger's face darkened. "It seems you're still a bit dazed, kid " His voice grew sharp, not from anger alone, but from the drink that made his temper quick to rise.
Still, despite the wobble of his body and the flushed cheeks, he managed to hold his words steady enough.
"Do you at least know your name?" he asked bluntly.
"Sentarō Hachibei, Mister." The boy's voice, though weak, managed to voice out his name.
"What about you mister?" Sentaro asked.
The man sighed, rubbing his temple. He seemed reluctant, but finally rose to his feet and faced Sentarō fully.
"I go by Ogasawara Ujiyuki." He grinned wide, cheeks gleaming red from sake. "And…I'm actually a samurai."
He paused, raising the bottle again. "Well a retired one"
The name itself meant little to Sentarō. But the title, the word "samurai", lit a fire in his chest that no fever could extinguish. His weary body trembled with sudden energy.
"Wait really? Are you an actual samurai? a real samurai—aghh!" He hissed through clenched teeth as he doubled over, clutching his head. The excitement clashed with the pain of his still healing wounds.
Ujiyuki's drunken grin wavered. For a moment, the stern eyes of a warrior surfaced. "Are you crazy? You're supposed to stay down and rest." His tone carried a rare seriousness, because even through sake's haze, the sight of a boy in such pain was unpleasant.
Sentarō flashed his teeth, as joy in the form of a wide smile appeared on his face. "I can't believe it, I was rescued by an actual samurai"
Ujiyuki gave a short, dry laugh. "Calm down,kid, I wouldn't even be proud to call that a battle." He took another sip, some of the liquid spilling on his blue with white stripped kimono, yet he seemed not to care.
He straightened his back, his tone deepening as he began his tale. "I was on my way back home when I saw the beast slash at your chest. It's a miracle you're alive right now" Ujiyuki said, his cheek still red from intoxication.
Sentarō leaned forward, his heart racing as he listened.
"I moved as quickly as I could through the storm, I managed to cut it down before it finished the job." He lifted the cup to his lips again, as though it were nothing more than a passing story.
Without hesitation, he shifted forward into a kneeling position and bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the tatami. "Thank you very much, Mister Ujiyuki. I'm in your debt."
"Huuh?! What can a kid possibly do for me?" Ujiyuki barked, the harsh tone rolling out almost like a laugh.
Sentarō remained earnest, his forehead pressed low.
Ujiyuki exhaled through his nose, realizing the boy was still young, burdened with more spirit than responsibilities. "Do not worry about it. Just forget it."
He set his cup aside. "It seems you're wide awake, so first thing tomorrow morning you're heading home"
"I don't have a home or at least anyone to return to."
The words burst from Sentarō's lips, His voice was sharp, desperate, and heavy with truth he dared not fully explain. His father's anger, the broken household, the shame of rebellion—returning was unthinkable.
Ujiyuki studied him with a skeptical glance. There were lies in the boy's voice, and yet behind them… there was a reason.
"Hmm, this is strange, it's my first time seeing a kid who refuses to return to his home" Ujiyuki snarled. "What is the reason for your lie, boy?"
Sentaro didn't say a word letting silence settled over the room, broken only by the sound of sake being poured and swallowed. Ujiyuki smiled faintly, cheeks red and eyes distant, while Sentarō sat frozen in thought.
Mustering what little courage his frail body still possessed.
Suddenly, Sentaro knelt once more, bowing deeply. His voice quivered with determination.
"Mister Ujiyuki, please train me to become a samurai"
"Not happening, kid." Ujiyuki refused sharp and swift.
The refusal was cold, and final. Ujiyuki's eyes locked on him, stern with a veteran's disgust. He did not wish to be asked again.
But ignorance and youth are stubborn allies. Sentarō clenched his fists. His eyes, still fever-bright, burned with resolve. "What, why not?" Sentaro asked in a desperate tone.
"I'm not eager to take a pupil under my wing."
The boy's determination soured into frustration. "Why? There should at least be a reason for not wanting to train me!"
THUD!
The bottle slammed against the tatami, spilling sake across the mat. The sound startling sentaro.
"I've told you that I'm not going to train you, child!!" Ujiyuki's voice thundered, soaked with sake and rage.
For the first time since waking up, Sentarō froze with fear. His earlier bravado drained away, leaving only realization.
This was no mere drunkard. This was a man who had once lived by the sword, a man who carried death in his past and still had the strength to deliver it. The title of samurai was no idle boast, it was a mantle forged in blood and survival.
The boy's heart hammered. His determined face contorted into fear, his eyes wide as he grasped the weight of his offense.
Only one thought raced through Sentaro's mind
"Ohh no, I went too far"