Seijuro Matsuda stood still, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground as shadows cast an eerie mask over his face. The room fell into a heavy silence, save for the faint hum of the dormitory air. His mind churned as he replayed the scene, over and over, like a broken record.
"Why am I giving up so easily?"
His fists clenched inside his pockets as he thought back to the countless hours spent honing his skills, the sleepless nights spent studying—learning to read and write after years of struggling in the streets. All of it had been for one purpose: to claw his way into the Three Divine Academies. To prove, not to others but to himself, that he was more than a nameless grunt scraping by in a world that didn't care if he lived or died.
"All that... just to quit now?"
His jaw tightened. No, that wasn't him. It couldn't be. The Seijuro he knew didn't roll over and surrender. He stood tall, even when the odds were stacked against him. And now, here he was, wavering because a kid—half his size—had shown more grit than he ever had.
Souta's timid voice cut through his thoughts. "S-so... is it true, Sir Seijuro? Are you really... not going to stay at the Academy?"
The words were spoken softly, but the weight of them hung heavy in the room. Seijuro didn't answer, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the floor, unmoving.
Souta's face fell, his small frame shrinking under the crushing silence. "Oh..." he murmured, his attempt at a smile faltering. "Well, I'm just glad you're fully healed, at least! And I—"
"I'm not leaving."
The words came out of nowhere, firm and resolute, cutting through Souta's nervous ramble.
Souta blinked in shock, his wide eyes locking onto Seijuro. "W-what?"
Even Ryu, leaning casually against the wall, raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Seijuro finally lifted his head, his expression hard but not unreadable. His hands remained in his pockets, a subtle shield for the emotions he refused to show. "I said I'm not leaving," he repeated, his tone casual, though the resolve in his voice was unmistakable. "Everyone expects me to quit, right? Well, screw that. I'm staying." He smirked faintly. "I do whatever I want, anyway."
Souta's face lit up with pure joy, his previously downtrodden demeanor replaced with an infectious grin. "Really?! That's amazing, Sir Seijuro!" He practically bounced in place, his excitement radiating like sunshine through the dreary atmosphere.
Ryu stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Seijuro's shoulder. "Good call, kid," he said, his tone now calm and approving. "You're going to make a fine Reitōka someday."
Seijuro shrugged off Ryu's hand and turned his sharp gaze to him. "Don't think I forgot what you said earlier, Ryu Tsukiyama." His voice was steady, but there was a quiet fire behind it. "I couldn't care less about the 'potential' you see in me. But let me make one thing clear—don't get too comfortable. That title you hold, Omukashi..." His eyes narrowed, his words carrying the weight of an unbreakable promise.
"One day, it'll be mine."
Ryu froze for a moment, genuinely caught off guard. Then, a slow grin spread across his face. "This kid..." he thought, amused. "He's got guts." Aloud, he said, "I like the ambition, Matsuda. Keep it up." With that, Ryu gave a dismissive wave and turned toward the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got more important things to deal with."
"Thank you, Sir Ryu Tsukiyama, sir!" Souta said, snapping into a dramatic salute as if he were a soldier. His voice cracked slightly, and he flushed with embarrassment but held the pose.
Seijuro scowled, leaning around the doorframe to watch Ryu leave. "Wait—so you're just gonna ditch me here after making me join the Academy?!" he shouted, annoyance dripping from every word. "I don't know what classes I have or where I'm supposed to go! What kind of upperclassman are you?!"
By the time Seijuro poked his head fully out the door, Ryu had already vanished into the bustling crowd of students filling the hallways.
Souta chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. "You know, Sir Seijuro, you're really grumpy for someone who just made a big decision."
"Nobody asked for your opinion," Seijuro shot back, his voice tinged with irritation. "And stop calling me 'Sir Seijuro' or whatever. Just... call me Sei."
"Really?!" Souta beamed, the light returning to his eyes. "Alright then, Sir Sei!"
"I said drop the 'Sir'!" Seijuro snapped, his frustration met only by Souta's unrelenting cheerfulness.
Souta grinned wider, entirely unbothered by Seijuro's gruff attitude. "Got it, Sir Sei!"
Seijuro groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he muttered under his breath. "Why am I stuck with this dweeb..."
...
Souta stood tall, or as tall as his modest height allowed, pointing a finger with mock authority. "Alright, first things first! Since you missed orientation—because, y'know, out for the entire first week—I'll be your guide. Sir Ryu Takahashi's busy with... uh, important things."
Seijuro raised an eyebrow, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Kay," he replied nonchalantly, the word rolling off his tongue as if it weighed nothing.
Souta puffed out his chest, clearly ignoring the lack of enthusiasm. "Follow me!" He gestured grandly toward the bustling hallway, taking the lead. Seijuro trailed behind, his movements relaxed, though his sharp gaze missed nothing. He had switched into a crisp, new uniform, his previous one left shredded and bloodied after his fight with that Nephom. The uniform fit snugly, its dark fabric lined with intricate red designs representing the Academies. He tugged at the collar with a grimace. "Too stiff," he muttered under his breath.
As they navigated through the crowded corridor, Souta launched into his explanation. "The academy's divided into three schools," he began, holding up three fingers. "First, there's Hokā Academy on the far right. That's where the physical genuines go. Then there's Seikā Academy, smack in the center, which is where I take my classes. It's focused on healing—and support stuff, you know? And last but not least, there's Yūka Academy, over on the left. That's where you'll be, Sei." He turned, beaming.
"I know that much," Seijuro grumbled, sidestepping another student to avoid a shoulder bump. The hallway was packed, a chaotic mix of students rushing to morning classes, their chatter filling the air.
Souta scratched his head, laughing sheepishly but then noticed Seijuro was not laughing. "Ahem, anyway, you already know where the dorms are. The more you walk around, the more you'll figure things out. Even I haven't seen everything yet, and I've been here a week! Rumor has it there's even a whole wing dedicated to anime!"
Seijuro didn't respond, his focus drifting elsewhere. Souta's voice faded into background noise as Seijuro's keen eyes scanned the academy. The architecture was a blend of modern and traditional Japanese design, with sleek glass panels juxtaposed against wooden accents carved with ancient symbols.
The halls were lined with digital displays, showing schedules, announcements, and sparring highlights. Practice dummies, designed to withstand even the most brutal techniques, were visible through large glass windows leading to training rooms. Students carried weapons ranging from sleek katana-like blades to advanced, glowing gauntlets, casually strapped to their backs or belts.
But it wasn't just the physical design that intrigued him—it was the energy. Reitō, the energy of martial prowess, pulsed around him like waves in a crowded ocean. Each student emitted a unique signature, some weak and flickering, others strong enough to send a shiver down his spine. His lips curled into a faint smirk. "The amount of talent here… Some are my level, others leagues above me," he thought. "Right now I'm like a mere insect in this Academy, no more than the average student on the most part."
"And here I thought I was decently strong but the truth is, I have not even scratched the surface."
Souta waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Hey, are you even listening?"
"Huh? Yeah, bathrooms, anime, something-something," Seijuro replied lazily, earning a defeated sigh from Souta.
"Anyway," Souta said, coming to a stop in front of a classroom door, "this is it—Class A1. Your main classroom. Remember it, because you'll be spending a lot of time here."
The door looked unassuming, but muffled chatter and the faint hum of energy from inside hinted at the chaos awaiting him. Souta lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret. "By the way, your teacher's supposed to be really strict. And... well, class start at eight thirty and it's already past nine, so you're late. Just a heads-up."
Seijuro grunted. "Great. Fantastic."
Souta stepped back, giving a small, respectful bow. "Good luck, Sei. I'll see you around!" He turned to leave, but Seijuro called after him.
"Hey."
Souta stopped mid-step, glancing over his shoulder with a curious look. "Yeah?"
Seijuro hesitated for a moment, his fingers clenching slightly in his pockets. His voice came out quieter, almost awkward. "Thanks... for everything. You didn't have to help, but you did."
Souta blinked, his eyes widening in surprise. Then, slowly, a warm smile spread across his face, one that felt genuine and unforced. "You're welcome, Sei. It's the least I could do."
Before Seijuro could respond, Souta waved again and disappeared into the crowd, his cheery voice blending with the morning din.
Seijuro stared after him for a moment, then turned back to the classroom door. He took a deep breath, his fingers brushing against the handle. "Alright," he muttered. "Let's see what this place has got."
He pushed the door open, stepping into the next chapter of his journey.