Yasuo was born in the Kakunodate district from a long line of Samurais. He learnt the way of the sword from his grandfather, one of the strongest swordsmen in his village. However, his life in the Kakunodate district wouldn’t last long. July 13th, 2008, the day 15 Samurai families ceased to exist. A day... Yasuo would never forget. Returning from his weekly spring baths, the birds sang as usual. The cherry blossom trees paved the way into the town, but the wind was distressed. Yasuo could feel something was off. As he arrived home, he couldn’t hear his rowdy siblings playing with each other. Troubled by the silence, he slid his heavy wooden door, only to find what remained... 5 Bodies, lifeless. Blood painted the floor, and bullets scattered around the home. Yasuo's heart dropped; he couldn't believe his eyes. At that moment, he remembered the way he used to train with his grandfather, the strongest of the village, unbeaten, now his title was no more, just a lifeless body riddled with bullets. Yasuo didn’t understand, he didn’t know what these objects were, and from what he could remember, his grandpa had told him that nothing could beat the sword. He was confused, desperate, angry but most of all, he couldn’t imagine a life without his family. The young Yasuo went to embrace the corpses of his smaller sister and brother, he wanted to cry but couldn’t. He stared at the heavens, asking them to give him an explanation, to tell him this was a dream, but it wasn’t… After police arrived at the scene due to reports of other families being massacred, the small Yasuo was moved to an orphanage in Tokyo, where life became a living hell. He thought he was the same as the others, all orphans, but no. They tormented him for being a villager, an outcast. They would take his food, toys, clothes and would go to such extents that they would take turns keeping Yasuo awake so he couldn’t get sleep. However Yasuo wouldn’t fight back, he constantly remembered his Grandfather's words “Honor your family, Yasuo. Power is gifted to people so they can protect the weak, the unfortunate, it's not given so they can gain benefits from it. Being powerful is a burden that you need to carry all your life, a burden which was entrusted to you by God.” Yasuo kept to himself, he endured all the torment, all the belittling, but what he couldn’t fathom, was how the caretaker would never attempt to diffuse these situations and Yasuo even swore that he’d seen him crack a smile or two in some occasions. It felt like the world was against him and thus Yasuo had no more hope, he simply accepted this, sometimes thinking of it as punishment, his punishment for not being able to be there that day and save his family. It all had to stop one day. Things continued as usual, the bullying had become normal for the starved Yasuo now, while he was getting beat he heard something… Something that made him ignore the words of the grandfather he loved so much. “I heard his grandpa was some nutjob who thought he was a samurai or something.” - The kids burst out laughing, but Yasuo had made up his mind now. It was night, and the boy who was supposed to watch him had dozed off. Yasuo slowly approached the boy who mentioned his grandfather earlier and pulled out a shard of glass that broke off during lunch, which he managed to take stealthily. His eyes were determined, but he had gone insane, his face expression as mad as one can be. He plunged the shard into the boy's naked throat as blood began squirting, staining the pearlescent white bed sheets. The kids woke up, and the boy desperately cried, “HELP ME! HELP ME!” - Witnessing this, the other bullies were frozen in place, their ‘courage’ not present in the face of death. Yasuo took the shard out and stabbed the boy continuously until the white canvas was covered in red, but so was the painter. He sat on his bed, looking at his dirty hands. He felt a sense of relief, like he had done the right thing, but still, looking at the corpse of the small boy reminded him of that day. He was small but he had matured, realizing the magnitude of the choices he had made. Due to the commotion, the caretaker rushed to the bedroom, but surprisingly all he could do when seeing the bloodbath was laugh maniacally, his hand on his face. “Wow kid! You really gotta have some balls to pull this shit off! Fine, come with me.” - The caretaker took Yasuo with him, placing him in the backseat of his blacked-out Mercedes Benz. Confused, Yasuo asked all the questions that came to mind: Who are you? Where are you taking me? Why did you leave that boy lying on the floor? “Agh! Just keep quiet until we arrive; you’ll see soon enough.” the man said, shutting Yasuo up, however, his mind still wanted answers to his questions. “We're here, Wake up.” That was the most sleep Yasuo had gotten in days, but as soon as he woke up, he found himself in front of the biggest man he’d ever seen, “Get out, Sir is waiting for you, and he isn’t known for being the patient kind.” The man had a black suit, which, in Yasuo's opinion, fit a bit too tightly. He wore a pair of darkly tinted sunglasses, even though it was the middle of the night, and had a smooth bald head, covered in tattoos. Yasuo, with no choice other than complying, followed the man into the Red Dragon Club, which his parents had told him so much about. As he walked down the stairs, anxious, he was eyed down by the horde of men protecting the inside of the building. As he reached the entrance he was met by 2 men, even bigger than the one who walked with him. He could feel their strength, but nothing compared to the monster he was about to meet. As soon as he stepped foot into the club he was disturbed by the menacing aura he could feel. The air was suffocating, Yasuo locked eyes with the man that they called ‘Sir’. The man’s eyes peered into Yasuo, the same way that a predator examines his prey. It was intense and Yasuo could do nothing but look away in cowardice. The man was tall and muscular, he wore a black suit that was almost bursting, and a red tie. His skin tanned, and his facial expression intense. He had short, spiky black hair that he kept slicked back, with a gray goatee. A large scar ran down his left eye, and another in between his nose. He stared Yasuo down, not sparing him in the slightest, but to his left a small boy. That small boy was Masaru, and this was his father, the current leader of Teppeki, known in Japan as “The God of War”. Smoking his large cigar, he invited Yasuo to come to him with the movement of his hand. “Boy, welcome, we are Teppeki. This is my son Masaru.” - Said the man. The children, both around the same age stared at each other, puzzled. “From now on, whether you want to or not, you’ll be working here, you have talent.” - Putting his cigar down, the man patted Yasuo on the head, but to Yasuo it felt more like being struck by a sledgehammer. This is how Yasuo became affiliated with the criminal underworld. Soon enough he became accustomed to the criminal life, how they made money, how they dealt with problems, how they fought, and how they protected, and by the age of 17, Yasuo had become an urban legend in Tokyo, known as the “Samurai of the Wind,” and at around this age he also became the right hand of Masaru who was the heir to the throne. He fought many battles himself, and many along his comrades, looking back on his troubled past, and the beautiful few years he spent with his family. A man who hated killing, but a man who killed often…

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