There was this guy named Sakejima who lived under the bridge of the one highway that took you out of the shithole I grew up in. Get into a conversation with him, and in minutes you’ll have him rambling on and on about how powerful he is and how his strength has godlike potential, and if you haven’t walked away by then, you’ll hear him drunkenly slur out this promise: “I’m g’nna be th’ worl’s stronges’ Metafighter!”
That promise is about as fragile and disposable as the bottle he waves around in his hand when he gets going on his ravings. And just like that bottle, once he’s gone, somebody’s gonna find him discarded somewhere in his little spot in the underpass, or maybe in an alley, or even on the sidewalk or in the sewer. Either somewhere like there, or nowhere at all. In any case, time will pass, and then it’ll be like he never existed.
Sakejima pisses me off. But honestly, he’s one of the only guys here other than me who isn’t always pissed off, so he kinda lightens the mood of this depressing place in a way. There’s this kind of aura that floats all over the place that really drains you. Everybody here is struggling. Nobody seems to really get better in life. It feels like everybody’s ambition was beat out of them a long time ago.
You see, you might call this place the Rugged Fist Prefecture, but in our native tongue, we call it 険拳県, or Kenken-Ken. Yeah, I guess the guy who founded this place was a fan of puns. But for a thousand years, nobody was laughing at the name of this place. It was the Promised Land of metamartial arts. Everybody who gave a shit about Metafighting came here at least once in their lives, and the ones who gave the biggest shits about Metafighting came from here. Then everything changed with the Babel Blast.
But I’m no history teacher. Point is, it’s almost like the Babel Blast killed more than just people. And animals. And plants. And whatever the hell else chose that day to exist in Kenken-Ken. It killed the spirit of the place itself. Now, nobody seems interested in fighting. Everybody who did either died, or got the hell out. Everybody who couldn’t get out got too busy trying to stay alive to spend any more time fighting. Well, actually, a lot of people get into fights, but not ‘cuz they like being in fights. Everybody’s just so pissed off and depressed that sometimes starting shit with somebody is just a good way to feel something. It’s fighting, but not Metafighting. It’s just pure unrest and anger.
But then there’s Sakejima. Every day, somebody will drive or walk their way down the road that leads to the outskirts of town, where the buildings crumble and the roads crack, and they’ll approach the bridge, the last thing to be developed in the last few decades or something. If you’re walking, and he’s awake, he’s probably gonna see you, and he’s probably gonna start up a conversation. And if you’re driving, then you’re gonna have to slow down, ‘cuz just past the bridge is the crater. And if you went there to see the crater, which most people go there to see, you’re gonna have to get out. And if you get out, he’s gonna see you, and…yeah. He’s unavoidable. And like I said, he mostly only talks about one thing: That he’s gonna be the world's strongest Metafighter. But that’s mostly because he’s almost always drunk. Sometimes, if you go real early in the morning, before the liquor store opens, you’ll catch him sober. Hungover as all hell, but it’s the best you’re gonna get, ‘cuz he’s probably about to get ready to head to the liquor store so he can be there when the place opens.
Talking to Sakejima sober is when he’s a bit more articulate, but no less delusional. He’s talked about how he feels “drawn” to the “energy” of the crater. What really pissed me off was that I felt the exact same way.
There was a heap of Metaki that’d flare up from the crater, randomly, once every few days, and I could sense it from anywhere in Kenken-Ken for as long as I remember. The energy would just instantly start bursting out like a leak in a water pipe, and it’d just stay there like an itch in my soul, for a few seconds or a few minutes or a few hours. Every time I’d feel it, I’d be compelled to go down to the crater on the outskirts of town, but I’d just always be somewhere else when it happened.
One day, as a way of training, I decided I’d try to haul ass all the way to the crater, just to see if I could make it while it was still there, so I could see what was going on at the source. I always figured it was some residual Metaki from the Babel Blast, but I never thought too hard about what actually was down there.
“Yer jrawn to it too, huh?” The bum babbled the first time I visited the crater when I was 12.
I replied by just staying doubled over, hands on my knees, panting my lungs out from having just sprinted all the way across town from the sleeping place I’d chosen for the night. I don’t think I did half bad, ‘cuz I got there in…I don’t know how many minutes, but I think it was…a few..?
“Whuh…Huhh…What?” I asked between heaving breaths.
Sakejima took a swig from his bottle, then stood up and started hobbling down from the little armpit under the bridge. Halfway down, he tripped on his own feet and rolled and tumbled the rest of the way to the ground. His bottle rolled down with him, shattering the moment it touched the rough, rubbled road.
“Yoo came ‘ere ‘cuz you felt tha innergee, din’cha?”
I cringed at the blubbering mess I’d just turned around to face. I squinted at him, gauging whether it was worth it to talk to him. Okay, sure.
“Yeah.”
“Yunnowha’ dat down dere is, boy?”
I stared at him, wordlessly and narrow-eyebrowed for a second to figure out what the hell this drunk bastard was saying.
“...It’s the crater..?”
“NOOO!! I’m talkin’ bout wat’s in da crater! Da source o’ da innergee!!”
“You mean the Babel Blast?”
“NO IDDAINDADAMN BABBALAST!!!”
“What?”
The old man grabbed me by the collar and pulled me real close, treating me to his scent of booze, sweat, and dumpster food. “I SEZ NO. IT-”
I shove him off me, sending him flying back a couple meters.
“I sez-” He pushes himself off the floor. “...no!”
He groans for a second as he hobbles back up to his feet,
“It ain't…” He dusts himself off.
“...Da’ damn…” He steps back up to me, balling up his fists at his hips, building up and releasing the tension in his shoulders, and steadying his breathing–a basic combination for building up Metaki. “...Babel Blast.”
I instinctively dashed back a step, sending myself tumbling all the way down the crater.
As I lay on the ground, face planted in a pile of ash and dirt, Sakejima’s stupored cackling echoed down to me. “PUSSY!!!!” He screamed.
I rolled around to face the sky and spat the shit out of my mouth. “Shut up!!” I yelled up to the bum.
“PUSSYYYYYYY!!!!!!!”
“I only fell ‘cuz my instincts are so shar-”
“PUUUUUUUSSYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!”
“FINE!! I’m a pussy! Now tell me: What the hell is the source of that freakin’ energy?!”
Sakejima got down on his stomach and craned his head over the lip of the crater. He cocked an eye at me and shot an eyebrow up his bald, sunburnt head. He opened his mouth real slow. He tightly whispered the answer to my question, acting like I’d hear him all the way down that bigass crater.
“WHAT?!” I called up to him.
“I KNOW!!! FUGGING GRAZY, RITE?!?!?”
“I DON’T FUCKING KNOW! I COULDN’T HEAR YOU!!”
He started cackling again, then, cocking his eye back at me, sending that eyebrow on another trip to the sun and making a mocking, babyish pleading frown. “Nnnn…notuhleputhee?”
I picked up a bigass rock and chucked it at the drunk bastard, who was now rolling around on the fractured, forsaken ground, giggling. He fluidly rolled right to the side just in time to dodge my projectile. When the hunk of blackened rock shattered right next to his head, he screamed like a cat spotting a cucumber, scrambling to his feet and jumping away. That drunk bastard actually jumped pretty damn high. High enough to do a double backflip.
“STAR–” He growled in midair.
“FUCKING–” He tucked his arms and legs into his body like a dangomushi.
“–SEVENTEEN!!!” My jaw dropped as I watched his red, spotty head wink at me twice in rapid succession from the glint of the late afternoon summer sun. He may have been hammered, but the way he nailed that one double flip made it look like he suddenly sobered up, just for a second.
“BE CAREFUL, DAMNIT!!!” He commanded right as his feet slammed firmly into the ground. “ARE YOU TRYING TO TAKE AWAY MY METAKI?!?!”
I cringed again. Did this dude just do that weird superfan/cultist thing where people mention Star 17’s name for “good fortune” or whatever?
Okay, I thought to myself, since this guy is clearly obsessed with Metafighting, the only way I can get any information from this crazy fuck is if I beat his ass.
And so this became our regular ritual. Every time I felt that energy, I dropped everything I had on me, then got up from whatever the hell I was doing, and got my ass down to the crater of the Babel Blast. For the first few days, the energy would fade by the time I got there, but gradually, the fadeaway would start sooner and sooner before I'd arrive. And when I got there, I’d beat the old shit-faced alcoholic into telling me something that made a lick of sense. It took longer than I had originally thought it’d take to beat up a drunk hobo until he talks about the mysterious energy shooting up from the edge of town.
“Alright, old man!!” I called up on that first day, bending my arms and balling my fists, charging up my Metaki.
“Time to test that ‘godlike’ potential you always bullshit about!” I leaped out of the crater, and got a few meters clear of the normal ground, too. Not to brag or anything, but it was probably, like, the size of a house.
I threw my right arm back, and tensed it up, trying to shove all my Metaki into it, so I could lob a nice, fast blast at his fat ass.
Honestly, I had it all wrong. I was too concerned with being fast and hard with the move that what came out was an unfocused blob of shapeless, destructive energy.
The old man could’ve easily dodged the blast. It was bright, hot, and flashy. On top of that, it was slow, and completely off-trajectory. He’d just have had to shift his weight to his right, not even take a full step, and then maybe jump to avoid the crumbling chunks of concrete the explosion would create. But instead, he leaned to his left, bending his knees into where my blast was headed. Then, just as I was beginning to fall, he brought his hands together like a volleyball player preparing a game-changing pass. With a swift swipe upwards with his arms, he deflected my move and perfectly sent the ball of energy flying skyward. I thought it was gonna hit me, but I fell out of the way just in time for me to look up and see it soar right over me and into the crater.
I tucked my limbs in to do that same dangomushi flip he did, but it was sloppier, not nearly as good as his. When my feet slammed onto the ground, I wobbled a little. I grit my teeth. Sakejima guffawed again. I heaved in another breath and thrust a palm at him, like I was gonna give him a good gust of Metaki, even though I definitely didn’t have enough to actually do anything to him.
Sakejima shot his hand out in front of him, too, but it wasn’t to blast me. He was pointing at the crater behind me. “LOOK WHATCHU DID TO DA CRATER!!!” He commands me.
He probably thinks I turned around ‘cuz of him, but really I turned around because the crater’s energy started…sizzling. Like freshly-thrown vegetables in a wok.
The glaring orange of my Metaki blast was sort of melting deep into the ashy ground inside the crater, and within a split second, it was gone, enveloped by the mass of dark and dormant specks, like how the autumn sun always sinks into the horizon way too soon.
Wispy strands of smoke rose up from where my blast went. Rising up with the smoke was more of the very same energy that brought me here.
“It’s gonna wake up.”
“Huh?” I whipped back around to Sakejima.
“Yoo hafta give it more!” He stretched his arms out in front of him like a zombie, curling his fingers down, gritting his teeth, and planting his feet.
He always said that shit. Every day when I’d give that crater all the energy I had (after taking a second to breathe when I got there), and that bastard would just keep telling me to give it more, telling me I’d never wake it if I didn’t.
“What the fuck is it?!” I’d always ask him, at first on the ground, out of breath. Eventually, I graduated to being doubled over, about to throw up. Finally, by the time I was 14, I got pissed off enough to actually stand up straight and flare up more Metaki.
As usual, the fucker didn’t answer my question. Instead, he just giggled and took a swig from his bottle. Today it was a huge thing of Hadorami vodka. Its creepy, pretentious design was of an owl looking up, piercing whatever stands above it with glassy, emotionless eyes. Its extra long and skinny neck was perfect for an alcoholic to grab and suck the crystal poison out from its beak. Practically kissing the rim of the drink, a smile sloshed its way onto his face as he locked eyes with me.
“Ken…Ken..Ken...Ken.”
I scoffed and crinkled my nose. “I shoulda figured it’d be some nonsense,” I mumbled. I started to jog off. I was out of Metaki, so no more fighting. The sun was starting to set. I needed a place to sleep that night, and it was not gonna be under the armpit of that bridge with Sakejima.
“Wait!!” He called out to me. “Learn more Higanese, Dammit! I’m talkin’ ‘bout the Kenken-Ken Ken!”
I froze in my tracks and spun around on my heel.
“The Rugged Fist Prefecture Sword!!” Sakejima hollered as he hoisted the bottle above his head, pointing it up to the sky, like how Asa Astra pointed his sword in the air in the poster of that one old shitty movie they made about this place: The Rugged Fist Prefecture Story.
I remember the first time I saw that movie. I was 4. It was at a laundromat. I wasn't there to wash clothes, though. It’s just that I didn’t have a home anymore, on account of the fact that the chiisana apaato I was living in was burning down. From out the glass doors of the entrance, I could see the last remnants of real comfort I ever knew billowing into black clouds in the distance.
So I decided not to look that way. Instead, I walked over to the corner of the room, where there was this little tube TV playing the movie, featuring a buff, long-haired manly Western dude trying his best to look Higanese wearing this impractical-looking chest harness and wielding this massive double-edged blade. He was in the middle of a colosseum full of other Metafighters, and it was clear that it was him versus everybody else. And he was handling them all! I was immediately in love.
For the next hour and a half or so I was entranced, sucked into the world of this film, overflowing with so many historical errors and corny lines that I didn’t even realize that it was based on the real world. But that’s kind of a good thing, since the real world was the last place I wanted to be right then.
I didn’t understand much of the plot at the time, but the way that the guy went through trial after trial and always came out on top lit a very different kind of fire inside me than the one that was tearing down my home a couple blocks or so away.
My favorite part is when Asa Astra, the protagonist, dramatically walks away from the camera and into the sunset with his sword at his side in a dreamy extended shot at the very end. I remember the floaty fusion jazz caress my soul as the credits came on, covering up the legend.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“DIRECTED BY SERGIRA LEOSAWA,” the credits said, boldly and coldly as tears welled up in my eyes. Somehow, I felt like that movie gave me some kind of new strength. Maybe it did. Somehow, in that moment, I suddenly felt like everything would be alright, eventually, as long as I kept walking like Asa Astra.
That was my life’s philosophy for a good few seconds. The chuckling from the guy behind me decided to drop a new source of enlightenment on my head.
“Heh. You know, like, two weeks after the shit in this movie happened, the Babel Blast happened. Killed him, destroyed the sword, and turned this shithole into what it is today.” With a tight, sarcastic smile, he dropped his clothes basket onto the floor and started loading its contents into the nearby machine.
Ten years later, I raised an eyebrow at Sakejima incredulously. “So you're saying that the source of the energy is the Kenken-Ken Ken?”
“DUUUUUUUUUH!!!!!” Sakejima spat. “An’ if yoo give it alllllllll yer innergee, yoo can wake it back up, den gibbet tamee!”
“...Huh?” was all I could ask at first, since for a second I had no fucking clue what he was saying. I squinted my eyes and went over the nonsense in my head for a bit, and then came the second “HUH?!”
“WHY THE HELL WOULD I GIVE IT TO YOU?!”
He pecked himself on the chest with the beak of the Hadorami bottle. “‘Cuz I’m destined ta have it!” He giggled and hiccupped. “Duh!”
I was speechless. For a second, I could only stare at the motherfucker. Then, since there just wasn’t any way to get my words across, I ran up to him and gave him a flying kick to the face.
Sakejima fell to the ground, and I flipped back a bit to give him some space. I wanted to see what he could do.
He wobbled up to his feet, balled up his fists, and started to breathe. It was the same basic Metaki charging form as before, but this time, he was even more drunk. And he’d just been kicked in the head and knocked to the ground. So I can’t blame him for the colorless, misty fizzling of Metaki coming off his body that time. And sure, it’s been shown that alcohol isn’t an excuse for some of the best Metafighters, but, well, Sakejima’s not the best. Not even fucking close, contrary to what he always slurs out to anyone who’ll listen (as well as plenty who wont). But yeah. Can’t blame him.
Oh wait, yes I can. He chose to get drunk that day. Every day. It’s like he’s dedicated to alcohol. I’ve never seen him train. I’ve never heard anyone else talk about him training.
“Did you really just think that somebody else would come along and just give you the sword??” I didn’t mean to, but a bit of Metaki started to reverberate from my body. Slowly, the hairs on my head (as well as a few tiny, pubescent hairs elsewhere) started rising, then falling, like how a drunk bastard groggily hobbles up every morning for his breakfast beer.
“Whuh?? Nooooooo, I jus’ nee’ sum help, thass aww!!”
My mouth flattened into a line equally as thin as my patience for this fucking loser.
“All da great Metafighters git help, y’know! Star 17 had his friends, n’ ev’rybody says day wuz yoosliss, but I disagree.”
He went on and on with his surprising amount of knowledge on Metafighter history. Partially because he was saying a lot of shit I already know, and partially because I envied how much more he knew than me, I started tuning him out. There was still a lot I wanted to know, but he was too drunk to stay on topic. Beating his ass wasn’t gonna help in this case. I decided to pull out my last resort: Thinking.
It was kinda tough to do that, though, since he was now prattling on and on about how Star 17 could never have saved the world without his friends. Man. The guy probably had access to stuff like a phone or a computer at some point. He’s old as hell, too, so he probably even got to see Star 17 live on TV, or in a newspaper or something. Damn, I actually kinda wish I was Sakejima. Or, at least, I wish I was born in his time. He got to witness history.
He had “godlike” potential, and all he did with it is witness history?
“Asa Astra was da same! He never woulda got da Kenken-Ken Ken if it wasn’t for ebrybody tryna geddit before!”
“What?!” When I spoke, I spat, sparking a bit of Metaki around me.
Sakejima giggled and took another swig of the owl’s foolishness. “Ohhhh, yoo think he jus’ took dat Kenken-Ken Ken outtadat Tane-Ishi aaaawwww by himself, huh?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Guuuuuuuhhhhh,” Sakejima cringed, squeezing his owl bottle in his fist, shaking it in frustration. “Dat damn movie! Rugged Fis’ Precfekcha Storeeeee! Changed da’ narrative of what happened here! Hid da’ troof!!”
He kinda had a point. The Rugged Fist Prefecture Story does have a fuckton of historical errors, and I’m not so sure they were all accidents. For example, Asa Astra’s lover, Tsuki, was a man in real life, but for some reason, a woman plays him in the movie. She does look a lot like him, and she even had to bulk up a helluva lot to play the part, but still, it just doesn’t sit right with me.
“Da’ movie makes it seem like he only could take dat sword outtadat stone ‘cuz of his own strength!”
“Yeah. ‘Cuz that’s what happened. Haven’t you read a history book?”
“DEM HISTORY BOOKS WERE REWRITTEN AFTER DAT DAMN MOVIE!”
“The one I read was made before the movie came out!”
“Oh, yeah? What was it called? Who wrote it?”
“Who the fuck looks at the titles and authors of textbooks?!”
“A well-edumagated Meta-skoller like me! What da hell are you doin’ debatin’ Metahistory if you can’t cite sources?!”
“This isn’t a ‘debate’! And I know I’m not well-educated! I’ve never even been to school! Everything I know about metamartial arts is from my local fucking library!”
“So why’re yoo kwestionin’ my nawlidge??”
I crossed my arms, bracing myself for a barrage of bullshit. “Okay, so how did Asa Astra take the Kenken-Ken Ken out of the Tane-Ishi?”
“Basically, every Metafighter before him, who tried to take it out, put in their Metaki n’ made it budge. Little by little, over da’ centuries, more and more Metaki was given to da’ Kenken-Ken Ken. Even doe none of ‘em could take it all da way out, dey still moved it a little. Little by little, more and more Metaki, Kenken-Ken Ken. Hee-hee-hee.” He started repeating that phrase over and over, turning it into a little song.
“...And so…Asa Astra just took it out the rest of the way?”
“Yeah! Exactly! Da’ Metaki he added was just a little bit of da’ total!”
“...Yeah…So..?”
“So I need yoo to budge da’ sword for me!”
I put my hands on my hips, grimacing in disgust again. “Fuck you,” I said, putting my left palm up to his face and blasting.
He flew all the way back into the concrete ramp part of the underpass and fell right on the back of his head.
I turned around, fists clenched and trembling in excitement. I faced the crater, realizing that, if this crazy bastard is right, then my whole life is about to get fucking insane. My eyes widened and my mouth stretched out to triple its size. All I’d have to do is what I’ve already been doing for two years, and I’ll have the motherfucking Kenken-Ken Ken?
I stood up straight, took a deep breath, and let out a cry for hope. I sent every drop of my Metaki into the crater, thinking of how the bastardized, fictionalized Asa Astra gave his all to pull out the sword, thinking about how badly he wanted it, needed it, because if he couldn’t have it, he’d be nothing. At that moment, I sorta kinda almost became him. And not the movie version either. Letting out that scream and all my energy made me feel like how Asa Astra must’ve really felt.
Up to that point, I think I’d watched Rugged Fist Prefecture Story about a thousand times, but screaming my lungs out by the crater that day made me think of the first time I’d watched the whole movie, from start to finish. I was six years old, squatting at this one movie buff’s house. He had this whole home theater that I’d figured out how to use while messing with it every time he was asleep or out of the house.
The film began with Asa Astra as a homeless orphan child, running through the bustling, chaotic streets of the old Kenken-Ken.
“Whoa…” I whispered, forgetting for a second that I should really be as quiet as possible, since the dude was asleep right next to me. He’s just like me! I thought to myself.
While passing through the crowds of people, Asa bumps into everyone he can. At first, it looked like his little malnourished body slammed against every grown-up he ran into by accident, but once the shots of him bumping into people are interspersed with closeups of a little hand quickly slipping into and out of pockets and handbags, it became obvious to me that each and every movement of his was coordinated. I played that part a couple extra times over, trying to see if I could pick up his pickpocketing techniques.
I think the first guy I stole from was a drug addict or something, ‘cuz the guy went crazy when I tried to take his phone. He kicked me in the stomach over and over till I coughed up blood.
I started to feel my Metaki being taken from me. The Kenken-Ken Ken was sucking up all my energy, greedily snatching my aura and funnelling it down deep into the ashes of the crater. I doubled over, out of breath, staring incredulously at it, trying a search inside myself just to see if there was any more energy to give. Nope, I was all tapped out.
“Dassa whooooole lotta Metaki, boy,” Sakejima commented, trying to get the back of his head unstuck from the concrete ramp I’d blasted him into. “Tell me yer name.”
“Ken.”
He stopped trying to get himself free to laugh his ass off at me. “Ken???? From Kenken-Ken???” From the way he thrashed his limbs around, you’d think it was the funniest shit he’d ever heard.
“Yeah, it’s my name. What of it?”
“Nuthin’! I like it! It’s like yoo were destined to get the sword out for me! Yoo’ll make a wurthy ally, Ken.”
“WE’RE NOT ALLIES!!” I yell. If that sword hadn’t taken all my Metaki, I’d probably have tried to blast him in the face again. I breathe in and let go of my anger. “Fucking bum,” I mumble.
From here on, the itch got way stronger. And it didn’t fade away before I got there anymore. In fact, the itch would get stronger as I approached it. And every time, the sword would gladly slurp up all my energy, getting hungrier and hungrier every time. It was no problem, though, because every time, I’d always manage to rest up and regain just enough Metaki to feed it. For the next three years, there was this really beautiful balance to my life. Sure, I was homeless, sure I really didn’t have any friends, but…I don’t know. This little routine became like a home and a friend to me.
Can you guess what Sakejima was doing for those three years? Give yourself a prize if you guessed that he never stopped drinking. He did stop fucking with me, though. I guess he got tired of me beating his ass. Instead of telling me that I wasn’t giving it enough, he started praising me. He noticed every time I came back stronger, which eventually became every day.
Meanwhile, I was spending my runs trying to picture my life after I finally got that sword. I started to imagine that his blubbering cheers were actually the cheers of crowds, and every time I was panting or coughing my lungs out, drained of all my energy, I’d imagine how it’d feel to spend my energy on a worthy opponent.
Man, I couldn’t wait to face a worthy opponent! That’s how I knew I had to get the hell out of Kenken-Ken as soon as I got the Kenken-Ken Ken.
The day it finally happened was on my 17th birthday, October 10th. It was just as dramatic as it should’ve been. I took a deep breath, heaving so much air into my lungs that I thought they’d scrape against my ribs or something. Then I let out a scream of rage, because I was almost an adult and it still felt like there was nothing going on in my life.
Every book I’ve read, every movie I’ve seen, every story I’ve heard about people’s teenage years is that they’re supposed to be some of the most exciting of a person’s life. Meanwhile, my teenage years consisted of fighting and arguing with drunk bastards who ruined their lives, but somehow had the audacity to tell me how to live mine.
Sakejima wasn’t the only one, by the way. Kenken-Ken was full of fuckers who wouldn’t leave me alone, who were always on something, and always wanted to tell me what to do. You’re not my parents! None of you bums are my parents! I’d think to myself whenever somebody had some bullshit “life lesson” to bestow upon me. Most of the grown-ups around me who were parents were really shitty ones, who never wanted kids, and never really bothered learning how to take care of them. My real parents are dead. Their life lessons included how not to shit your pants, when it was okay to cry, how to read, and how to get out of a burning building. They didn’t even teach me basic math, let alone how to act in school, or how to cook, or how to fix a car engine. I feel like I'll never even know if they would’ve been good parents.
Since I had no family, and I eventually started to realize that I shouldn’t make friends with most of the people in Kenken-Ken, I spent most of my life alone. Not in the literal sense, though. I got to squat at some houses where other people were living, and sometimes they wouldn’t know I was there. I’d usually end up getting caught, at which point, I’d have to either have to run (Sometimes having to tussle with the other person first), or the resident would actually be kind enough to let me stay, like Eizou, that movie nerd. He woke up after I fell asleep watching RFPS, and decided to take me in for a while.
I didn’t exactly hate everyone there, but as I started to grow up, I started to realize that I really am different from all the people around me. None of these people seem to want to get out of here as bad as me. Hell, getting out of here didn’t even seem that hard!
“All you need to get out of here is, like, a car, or a bike, right?” I once asked Eizou while helping him do laundry. There was some gimmicky Metafighting talk show debating which of today’s Metaswordsmen have the potential to surpass Asa Astra’s legacy. The point of these shows is for them to talk in circles till the runtime ends, which is when they reveal the obvious answer. That episode’s answer was “Nobody”.
Eizou plops his laundry basket onto the floor. “There are three used car dealerships in the 20-mile area. Two of them sell exclusively shitboxes. The third one sells stolen vehicles. Only criminals would buy a car from Tsunehiro.”
I’d charge my Metaki in the exact same place every day. By my 17th birthday, I’d created a tiny, shallow crater of my own. Okay, it was more like a little pothole, but still, my Metaki had gotten strong enough to crack concrete from just charging it! When I was 14, I could only really create gusts of wind from my body when I charged up. On that day, I created enough to make my little pothole a bit bigger.
When the bits of the ground crumbled underneath me, I lost my balance and fell on my ass. I stayed there for a second, feeling the ground below me. It was vibrating. Not quite like an earthquake, either.
I got up and dusted my butt off, chuckling a bit.
“WHOOOOOOO!” hooted Sakejima from his underpass sideline. I think he was trying to cheer me on or something, but since he was laying down, eyes closed, legs splayed out like a murder victim, he looked kinda like a fresh corpse. Smelled like one, too, but that's not unusual. When he did his little whoop, he shot his beer-bottled hand up woozily. I guess he didn't wanna get up from his nap. Understandable. It was early afternoon, and the guy had just finished a long morning’s work in the form of slamming a six-pack of beers.
“Shut up!” I barked back at him. “You're ruining my concentration!”
“Da FUCK yoo sey ta me, ya little shit?!” Sakejima leapt up and started charging toward me.
The vibration beneath my feet steadily increased as I started standing. I stepped out of my mini-crater, glaring readily at Sakejima as he started to approach me. Suddenly, he froze and scurried back up to his little sleeping spot. I chuckled, thinking he must've realized I had plenty of aura to kick his ass with, but then I started to feel an overwhelming, buzzing itch in my soles.
It was the ground. Something behind me was giving off insane energy, so boisterous and bold that I could feel it in my toes. And I knew exactly what it was.
I turned back around on one heel, running right up to the lip of the crater. There was warm, orange energy glowing from beneath the ash. I took a real deep breath and stretched my arms down to the depths, focusing on the light deep within it; the light that for all of my teenage years has been relentlessly beckoning me to bring it out, make it brighter and stronger.
With a flash of flooding light, the bottom of the crater erupted with energy. It was almost too much to handle.
Squinting in the brilliance, trying to keep my hands and eyes trained on the energy, I lifted them all up to the sky, tracing the trajectory of the source: The Kenken-Ken Ken.
My eyes started to adjust. A cross shape floated above me. I held my hands out in front of me, at torso level, beckoning for it to come down to me.
“HOOOOOOOLY SHIT!!!!” Sakejima screamed as he tumbled back down the ramp. “THERE IT IS!”
Once he came up behind me, the stupid, drunk nothingfucker seriously tried to push me down the fucking crater. I felt his hands shoving into my back a split second before they actually touched me, so I jumped just in time, so that he'd accidentally start falling forward. I kicked him in the head and sent him tumbling down the crater.
I could've watched him keep falling down, but I was a bit more intrigued by the fact that I was floating. Cops are rarely ever around in Kenken-Ken, so I didn't think they'd see, but it still made me kinda nervous. Even still, I floated a bit higher, focused on the Kenken-Ken Ken: My way outta this place.
“NOOOOO!!” I tried to ignore Sakejima’s shouts, but the guy was loud as hell. “THE ASHES ARE TAKING MY METAKI!!!”
“WHAT FUCKING METAKI?!” I asked as I grabbed my sword. The glow was dying down, but it was still overflowing with energy. It took a lot of effort just to hold it. I pointed the magnificent new weapon I just earned at the bastard who sat around waiting for me to earn it. “YOUR AURA’S HORRENDOUS!!” I screamed at him.
“IF YOU WANT THIS SWORD, FIGHT ME FOR IT!” I challenge him, charging at him with an outrageous new fuckton of energy the sword gave me. I flew down at him, intending only to smack him in the face with the flat of the blade, but when I saw his pleading face, I saw a bit of innocence. It's the closest thing I've ever seen to a newborn baby in real life. I froze and landed, planting the sword into the ground, and leaning on it.
“What? You don’t want it anymore?” I asked him, not wanting to make it seem like I was having mercy on him.
Tears started to well up in Sakejima’s eyes. “I do, but…I can’t fight. Look at me! I’m old. Drunk. Covered in the ashes of the Babel Blast!” He tried to dust himself off, but the stuff kinda stays rubbed into the skin for a good while unless you take a bath. I should know, because it’s exactly what happened to me when I fell down there.
I squinted my eyes at him and smiled. “Sure you can! Just tap into that ‘godlike’ potential of yours, and fight me!” I sourly encouraged him.
“You don’t understand! I can’t tap into my full potential if I don’t have the Kenken-Ken Ken!”
“I see.” I plucked the sword out of the ground, charged up my Metaki, and leapt right out of the crater.
“WAIT!” Sakejima called out to me. I didn’t turn around to look at him. I just started walking, holding my sword at my side, like Asa Astra in The Rugged Fist Prefecture Story.
“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING?!?!” Sakejima’s pleas for me to acknowledge him were getting fainter and fainter. It was a good question, though. Once I’d gotten my hands on the sword, I didn’t really know where to go next. I didn’t have a car or a bike or anything, so I guessed I just had to walk. I knew it’d be a long way, but at least it’d be out of there.
I started walking up the on-ramp of the one highway that’d take me out of the shithole I grew up in. I didn’t know how I’d do it, but I knew exactly who I should go to: Soshintsu Taiga, the only Metafighter alive to come from Kenken-Ken since the Babel Blast.