In my youth, I lacked wisdom. Now that I am old, I lack empathy
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“You’re the guy that’s gonna ‘revolutionize’ my business? Is this some kinda joke?” Gato scowled behind round sunglasses, cane held in front of him with both hands.
He was a short man that carried himself as though he were taller than the massive trees stretching out of the nearby lake, a species that owed their prodigious size to a criminally fast evolution cycle and cross contamination with Hashirama’s forests from the neighboring Land of Fire.
I offered him a little smile, trying to emulate the genuine eager-to-please persona boys the age that I looked were prone to harboring. “I’m not joking, Mr. Gato! Just give me a moment, I’ll prove my work worth your time!”
“You’d better. I ain’t above drownin’ brats.”
On either side of me stood Ryota and Makiko, my escorts. The latter of which tensed. If it wasn’t at the threat thrown my way, it was the prospect of making nice with the one man responsible for Waves’ less than stellar economic condition.
They were chosen for their lack of ties to opponents of Gato’s regime.
Of course, being both quiet and not known troublemakers didn’t mean my helpers didn’t have a bone to pick. Gato’s racketeering sunk a great majority of independent maritime endeavors that refused to crawl under his thumb— quite literally in some instances. For an island nation, that means dominance over imports, exports, and travel.
Three years back, Makiko’s little sister succumbed to a rare but treatable respiratory disease, one that could be easily remedied by a trip to the Land of Tea. With Gato’s prohibitive prices her family couldn’t afford the journey for an herb cheaper than a bag of minnows.
I reached up on my toes to place a calming hand on Makiko’s shoulder while I helped her undo the straps of her over-sized frame pack. We were here to conduct business, not start fights. I did my best to remind her as much with the moment of eye contact between us.
To Gato and his bodyguards, it was meant to look like an innocuous gesture. Just a child relieving a young lady of a burden.
Ryota, a burly ex-longshoreman, sighed as he dropped his own pack, they dug themselves into the damp earth with a soft crunch of healthy grass.
The goods were bundled up into crates which I promptly fiddled with. My hands weren’t the toughest and the clamps were fixed tight; it took a while. I peeked up at Gato’s hired men, Zori, and Waraji if memory serves. And ever since I discovered my affinity for Blue, my memory served rather well. “Pardon the question, but the two of you are samurai, right?”
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The shirtless one with tattos that spiraled along an arm to one side of his chest, Waraji, smirked. “Something like that.”
“That’s so cool, I’ve never met one of you in person!” I didn’t need to be a psych geek to notice the two swordsmen swell up a bit with pride. Everyone loves honest praise, and when it comes from a kid, you don’t tend to think there’s more than one layer to it. “I heard that some of you use matchlocks, is that true?”
The other spoke this time. He was the skinnier of the two, preferring a hoodie with many pockets and a purple beanie.
“Not too many of us. They’re only good in big formations and take forever to reload. Useless against ninja.”
I hmed at him. Finally managing to crack the crate open before I dove in, coming back up with full arms at a teeter. Luckily, Makiko was there to catch me.
No, I wasn’t trying to look daffy; some of them were heavy and many were almost as tall as myself. My lovely assistant helped me lay out the merchandise, bulky things made of gnarled twisting wood in the shape of rifles, pistols, and carbines on a long piece of tarp.
Gato’s scowl deepened, the samurai shared amused looks.
“They aren’t beautiful by any stretch,” I started. One of them muttered something along the lines of ‘that’s for sure’. “But they work really hard! Ryota, if you will.”
“Aye,” He said. Swinging three scarecrows from his crate on his broad shoulders. I had him plant the first within hopping distance, the second around fifty paces away, and let him keep walking with the last.
And walking.
And walking.
He was the size of my thumb when I shouted out the okay.
“You sure that’s not too far, kid?” Waraji asked.
Zori, for his part, was too busy clamping his hands over a laughing fit to comment while Gato chewed his teeth. I didn’t blame them. The weapons didn't even look functional, and the last target far exceeded the maximum range of any firearm found in the Elemental Nations.
“Not at all, Mr. Samurai! Observe.”
I settled one of the rifles into my hands, hovering a cartrige of the same design under the barrel for a second. Tendrils snatched it up and into place with an audible hiss.
The atmosphere chilled.
“Are those things alive?! Who are you?” Gato tightened his grip on his cane.
“People call me Maru! And you don’t need to worry, most of my toys are well behaved!”