The dim, flickering lanterns in the narrow holding cell cast long, wavering shadows on the damp stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, old tatami mats, and the faint acrid tang of sake lingering on the breath of a nearby drunk. Outside, the rhythmic sound of geta sandals clacking against the cobblestone streets of Sakai Port Village echoed faintly through the iron bars.
Ichigo sat against the cold, unforgiving wall, his ribs aching with each shallow breath. His body throbbed from the earlier beating, the pain a dull, constant reminder of his place in the world. He clenched his fists, frustration simmering beneath his bruised skin.
A sharp clanking of keys disrupted the uneasy stillness.
A towering police officer loomed outside the cell, his uniform stiff with dried sweat, his sword resting casually at his side. His glare could have cut through steel.
"Do you have any idea what you've done, you little piece of garbage?" the officer sneered, his voice rough, like the growl of a wolf in the dead of night. "You just cost a good friend of mine two months' worth of pay. You're going to rot in here, boy!"
Ichigo tensed, but before he could find words, Mau—his cellmate, a scruffy mountain digger with wild eyes and a grin that never quite faded—leaned forward.
"Oi, oi," Mau drawled, tilting his head in mock concern. "Just look at the kid. Hasn't he been through enough already? He can barely stand. Poor guy's probably got a fractured skull, broken ribs, damaged lungs, shattered spine, bruised kidney—"
Ichigo's eyes widened. "What!?" he blurted, utterly bewildered. "Oi, oi, Mau, are you high on something!?"
The officer scoffed. "Oh, shut up, Mau. What the hell are you doing in here again? Sixth time this week? Can't resist prison food, can you?"
Mau threw his head back in laughter, his voice carrying through the musty room. "You know it! Prison food's got more soul than whatever my brother cooks. But nah, that's not why I'm here." He stretched lazily, as if the cell were nothing more than a cozy inn. "Those sleazy soldiers up in the mountains didn't take too kindly to me helping myself to a little of their wine. Imagine that! Can't trust a man who won't share his liquor, I say."
Ichigo, despite the pain coursing through his body, found himself intrigued. He had never met anyone like Mau before—someone who could laugh in the face of misfortune like it was all part of some grand adventure.
"What soldiers?" Ichigo asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Mau's grin widened. "Four of 'em, plus some kid who led them to us. Said they were searching for a hidden temple." He scoffed, shaking his head. "Sounds like a fool's errand, if you ask me. But hey, they paid us upfront. Half now, half later. When they realize only Mau and Tau can guide them through those mountains alone, they'll be paying triple!"
Ichigo's brows furrowed. "A hidden temple? You really think it's real? What could they possibly be looking for?"
Mau chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "Kid, me and my twin have lived in those mountains all our lives. If there was some mystical temple up there, don't you think we'd have found it by now? I say let the fools chase their ghosts. Easy money for us."
Ichigo leaned back against the wall, considering Mau's words. A hidden temple… what could they be after?
Outside the cell, the sound of the shishi-odoshi—the rhythmic bamboo water feature—filled the silence between them. The distant hum of the sea carried through the air, mingling with the faint scent of burning incense from a nearby shrine. Sakai Port Village was a place of transient souls—merchants, samurai, and thieves alike—all moving in the endless tide of commerce and conflict.
Ichigo exhaled slowly. He had bigger dreams than being a nameless street rat scrambling for scraps in this port town.
"Well," he said, determination creeping into his voice, "good luck to them. As for me, I intend to travel all across Japan." He clenched his fists, his battered body trembling, but his spirit burning with unshaken resolve.
"I'm going to be the strongest fighter in all of Japan!"
"Hah, don't sweat it, kid. You'd be better off focusing on something else," he said, shifting to a more comfortable position on the cold wooden floor. "What's fighting ever done for anyone? My brother and I—we lost everything to men who fought. These days, kids fight over the dumbest things.
So quick to draw an arc, an ace, or even a spade just to prove who has the stronger fighting spirit." He exhaled, shaking his head. "Can you imagine that? They throw fists like it's some divine test, like strength makes a man. But what's left when the fight's over? Nothing but broken bodies and shattered dreams."
Mau turned to Ichigo, his voice softer now. "Kid, I know you must have it rough…"
Ichigo's fists clenched at his sides, his body tense. His breath was ragged, but it wasn't from the pain anymore—it was from the storm raging inside him. He lifted his gaze, eyes burning with something deeper than anger.
"Rough?" he spat, his voice barely above a whisper but heavy with emotion. "You don't understand what it feels like to be me. Do you know what people see when they look at someone like me? I've seen hate, real hate, burning in people's eyes over a single breadcrumb in their dumpster—for me and my family."
His fingers curled into the fabric of his tattered robe as he stared at the ground, jaw tight.
"You don't know what it's like," he continued, his voice raw. "At least you have a fighting spirit. At least you have something. Me? I was born without a fighting spirit. Do you know what that feels like?" His voice cracked, but he forced himself to push through.
"I can't even defend myself, let alone my family. Everyone laughs at me. They call me 'the boy who can't fight.' They treat me like a dog, like an outcast."
He lifted his head now, his expression fierce with determination. "But I'm going to prove them all wrong. Once Master Haido accepts me as his student, I'll give it my all. I will become the greatest fighter in all of Japan—believe it!"
His words echoed through the cramped cell, lingering in the air like a silent challenge.
Mau snorted, rubbing his chin as if considering Ichigo's declaration. "Master Haido, huh?" He let out a low chuckle. "Hah, does anyone even get accepted into Master Haido's dojo anymore? I heard he's nothing but a scam artist. Swindles wannabes, makes sure they fail the acceptance test so he doesn't have to take anyone in."
Ichigo's eyes flared with defiance. "Master Haido is not a fraud! He hasn't taken another student since Samurai Ten-Kai because no one has been worthy enough! But I'm going to be that worthy one—you can believe that!"
Mau yawned, rubbing the back of his head. "Alright, kid, whatever you say. You've got guts, I'll give you that. But the only thing I believe in right now is that I need some sleep." He stretched out, lying down on the wooden floor with a lazy sigh.
"I hope you've got someone coming for you," he muttered, eyes already half-lidded. "But if you don't—don't worry. My brother will bail us out."
Ichigo remained sitting, staring at the ceiling as the distant sound of the ocean waves echoed in his ears. His body still ached, but inside, something was stirring.
The storm inside him wasn't one of pain—it was one of purpose.