Teaching Kendo in Tokyo 1980

That afternoon, Ikeda Shigeru drifted through the hours in a fog of confusion. By the time he stepped through the school gates, he felt like a lost soul—adrift, without direction.

He had no goal, no particular desire to do anything, so he simply let habit steer his steps toward the game center.

It wasn't until he arrived that he remembered—he barely had any money on him now. He couldn't afford to play pachinko.

Back when he hung out with Miura and the others, they'd buy a whole bucket of balls and sit at the machines all afternoon.

Now, with nothing else to do, Ikeda wandered toward a nearby park. In the old days, after burning through their pachinko money, he and his friends would hang out here—sharing the last of their cigarettes, bragging, and talking about girls.

Occasionally, a violinist would practice in the park—a rare moment when Ikeda got to experience "art" up close.

Miura and the others would ogle her chest the entire time and gossip about how many men she'd slept with.

Ikeda, though, would just lean back against the bench, gaze at the sky, and let the music wash over him.

Today, the violinist wasn't here. The park itself was quieter than usual—probably because Golden Week had just ended, and everyone was buried in the mountain of work left over from the holiday.

Ikeda sat on his usual bench and looked up at the sky.

That same deep blue sky as always.

Suddenly, a line from Manhunt, the old Ken Takakura movie, drifted into his mind: "Keep moving forward. Don't look to the sides. You'll melt into the blue sky."

Right now... he almost wanted to try it—to melt into that blue sky.

Then he remembered the barber's warning from the other day.

"You act like a delinquent at school, then join a biker gang, and after that, you end up a low-level thug in the yakuza. You're scum through and through, bound to die young. And when you do, everyone will celebrate your death—throw a party, even. But until that day, at least you'll be having fun."

For a moment, Ikeda couldn't help but wonder… had he chosen the wrong path?

Was he really destined to live out his life as human garbage?

That was when he noticed—he was surrounded.

At the head of the group was none other than Ōnishi from Nankatsu High—the guy he'd run into just yesterday.

Ōnishi still had that metal baseball bat with him, a sneer tugging at his lips.

"Well, well! Look who it is! Our reformed little lamb!" Ōnishi called out mockingly. "Someone told me I could beat up a guy here today who wouldn't fight back. Didn't believe it—so I had to come see for myself."

"Ōnishi!" Ikeda shot to his feet, fists clenched. "Thanks to you, I lost my job!"

"Oh? That's hardly my fault," Ōnishi chuckled. "Think about all the crap you've done. How many charges you've got on your record! Honestly, that convenience store manager must've been blind to hire you in the first place!

"We're just helping him correct his mistake."

"You bastard!"

"Whoa there, that's not how a good citizen should talk!" Ōnishi laughed, swinging his bat casually—and suddenly slammed it across Ikeda's left cheek.

Fury ignited inside Ikeda. He swung his fist to fight back, but Ōnishi's lackeys swarmed him from behind, pinning his arms.

"Oh? Trying to hit me? Tsk tsk! Is that how a model citizen behaves?"

Ōnishi jabbed the bat into Ikeda's stomach like a battering ram.

Ikeda nearly threw up from the impact.

In that instant, old memories resurfaced—his father beating him as a child after drinking.

His father always targeted the stomach—bruises on the face or arms were too easy for teachers or child protection groups to spot.

His dad was ruthless. He could leave Ikeda doubled over in agony without leaving obvious marks.

The childhood memory flashed and faded, leaving behind only the cold reality of now.

Ōnishi swung the bat again, slamming it into Ikeda's chest. The blow knocked the wind from his lungs.

Ōnishi laughed. "Weren't you supposed to be some big shot? The terror of Kitakatsushi? I heard the Tsuda-gumi even had their eye on you. Gonna be a proper wakashu soon, huh? Heh, you've been bluffing all along!"

Gritting his teeth, Ikeda forced himself to lift his head, glaring daggers at Ōnishi—eyes blazing with pure killing intent.

"Oh? What's with that look? That's not the gaze of a law-abiding citizen!"

Ōnishi's bat came down again—this time crashing into Ikeda's forehead.

The world went dark.

Several seconds passed before consciousness returned—but everything was a blur. His vision was clouded… by the blood streaming down from his brow.

Through the red haze, a memory rose—his mother pulling on her coat, carefully covering the bruises left by his father. Then turning to face him with an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Mo-kun. I'm so sorry. I can't take it anymore. If I don't leave now, he'll kill me.

I'm sorry, Mo-kun. Please… remember—men don't shed tears easily. No matter what happens, stay strong."

And with that, the woman he'd once called "Mama" had walked away—growing smaller and smaller in the distance.

"Mama…" The word slipped from Ikeda's lips before he realized it.

The surrounding delinquents burst out laughing.

Someone even mimicked his voice in a mock wail. "Mamaaaa~"

Ōnishi spat on him. "The so-called invincible boss of Kitakatsushi? Just a baby who still needs his mama! All this talk about turning over a new leaf—hah! You got scared shitless at the Tsuda-gumi the other day, didn't you? Trying to back out now!"

He sneered. "You just wait. After I beat you half to death, I'll go after that punk who wrecked the Tsuda-gumi too! Heard he's just a high schooler like us—and he doesn't even kill! He'll make the perfect stepping stone for Ōnishi's legend!"

With a tremendous effort, Ikeda raised his head, glaring at Ōnishi. "Don't you dare…"

Ōnishi answered with another brutal swing—slamming the bat against Ikeda's skull.

"How's that? A gift for our reformed delinquent! Do you like it?" Ōnishi crowed. "Hah! You're just a coward! You should be trampled underfoot!

Tell me—who would ever believe trash like you could really turn over a new leaf?"

Just then, a clear voice rang out, cutting through the jeers:

"I believe."

The delinquents all turned in unison.

Summoning the last of his strength, Ikeda turned his head toward the voice.

The figure stood against the light—face hard to make out—but Ikeda knew. This was the one who had guided him. His mentor. His guiding star.

His hero.

Kiryu Kazuma stepped forward, voice firm:

"I believe he truly wants to change. He truly wants to be a good person."

At those words, tears streamed down Ikeda's face.

(End of Chapter)