With no time to think about the repercussions, Howlie made a tough decision. He didn’t have any other choice. He needed to survive. It's what was taught to him and it's what was expected of him.
Bending down to give him more time from Jinto’s swing, Howlie let go of his bokken with his right hand, shooting it backward. He gripped a wad of hair from the student who’d tripped him, yanking him forward.
An airy gasp escaped the mouths of Howlie’s fellow students as he pulled the young boy over his back as a human shield. A loud whack followed and the boy’s body went limp over Howlie's shoulders.
“ENOUGH!” Sensei barked, performing a quick bow before stepping onto the arena.
Howlie stood on shaky legs, removing his heavy shield and placing him down. His name was Benjiro, a student talented in subterfuge. Of course, it would have been him to try and trip Howlie.
Sensei stooped over Benjiro, “Does he live?”
Howlie could see the boy’s eyes flickering as he pressed two fingers against the boy's sweaty neck.
“He has a pulse,” Howlie answered his Sensei, “But he has most likely suffered irreparable spinal damage.”
“And how do you know this?” Sensei asked him.
Howlie shrugged, “I heard it, Sensei.”
“You heard it?”
“Yes,” Howlie said, “And felt it. Of course, a Bio-Scan will be needed for a more accurate diagnosis.”
Sensei looked down at the crippled boy as if one of his prized pots had fallen off a shelf and shattered. He turned back to Howlie, looking down at his feet and taking note of the blood.
“What happened here?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Howlie answered.
“Show me your feet,” Sensei commanded.
Howlie did as he asked, plucking his sticky feet from the mat. Just the small breeze in the room was enough to cause pain to his fresh wound.
“Who did this to you?” Sensei asked, grabbing the foot roughly and looking it over.
“No one,” Howlie answered.
“Are you telling me this just happened on its own?” Sensei didn’t wait for an answer from Howlie, turning to address his students. “You understand this has gone too far. Howlie is by far the most talented asset in our dojo and I plan on handing him over to some very powerful people. By you weakening him you have also weakened my position. You have cost me prosperity. You have dishonored me.”
Sensei went quiet as he often did when considering his punishment. The students waited with an anxious air filling the room.
Finally, Sensei pointed at Benjiro who now trembled on the ground, the boy's fingers curling inward like a deranged ghoul. “Benjiro-san has paid for all of your sins against this dojo and myself,” he said, “But know this, if any of you ever maim a fellow student in a way that makes him less valuable to me again then you will surely face a fate doubly worse. Is this clear?”
“Hai!” the students shouted their understanding, obviously relieved to hear they would not be punished.
But what of poor Benjiro? Howlie watched him with a sadness he tried but failed to terminate inside his gut. Howlie was responsible for this boy's suffering, but it had to be done or else it would have been him lying broken on the ground.
“What will happen to Benjiro?” Howlie asked, moving his foot away as the convulsing boy who unknowingly tried grabbing at his ankle.
Sensei sighed, “He will be put to use for his intelligence. We won’t let a strategic, well-trained brain like his go to waste.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Will he be able to graduate?” Howlie asked.
“What is with the sudden care for this student?” Sensei asked, “He is your competition. He attempted to keep you yourself from graduating.”
"But I harmed one of your assets," Howlie said, "I broke him."
“No,” Sensei said, placing a hand on Howlie’s shoulder making Jinto flash his teeth in anger from behind, “Do not see yourself as salt to the soil, but as a scythe clearing the weeds.”
Howlie had heard this speech a thousand times before, but it never made him feel any better. Still, Sensei awaited a response and Howlie merely bowed his head in understanding.
“Good,” Sensei said, removing his hand. He grabbed Benjiro-san and hoisted him over his shoulder in one easy movement. “Our lesson has ended. Please shower, break your fast, and complete an hour of self-study on whatever topic you see fit.”
With that, Sensei dismissed his students as though it was just a normal day.
***
Howlie dared not bathe with the others, instead choosing to exit the dojo grounds and shower underneath a natural spring he'd discovered many years ago. It was his private getaway.
He let the cool, crisp water fill his belly as he listened to the birds sing and build their nests. Despite the beauty which surrounded him, something felt off and not in the typical I’m in danger sort of way.
No, he could sense an inner turmoil within his gut. He felt like he walked in another man's boots. The contrast between the free flowing-ness of nature, the refreshing spring water, and the rummaging animal noises always brought his mind to his current reality. One filled with pain and sadness which he’d been taught were traits of a weaker, lesser warrior.
How come these birds could fly wherever they wanted yet he was stuck in a home with people constantly trying to kill him? He never would have realized this if it hadn’t been for his time out in the forest. Not even his assimilation classes on daily life in Japan had given him cause to rethink his destiny.
The gorgeous nature surrounding him was more like a thorn in his side.
But he had no choice in the matter. He was shinobi first, a person second. He’d been blessed by the almighty to one day don the armor of a long-running and powerful clan. To withhold the tradition and to serve those more powerful and wealthy than he. To serve those who could not physically protect their power and needed the help of someone trained in the many dark arts of killing.
Lords had their precious Samurai. Mafia's had their Shinobi.
Howlie cast out the thought of escape before it could blossom. He knew it would come eventually as it always did after a particularly rough day. Thankfully, the Shinobi teachings were highly talented in their ways of cultivating the art of controlling one's own mind in their students.
But is this not a mirage? Thought Howlie, Am I truly in control, or am I merely a puppet? What's the point of controlling a mind that isn't theirs, to begin with?
Again, he shoved out the treasonous ideas, bringing his attention back to the heavy, cool water pounding on his head.
A twig snapped somewhere in the distance. Howlie shut his eyes, confirming the destination he believed the culprit to be. He remained calm and continued to wash his armpits without pause of movement.
I should've known not to come here, Howlie thought, Not at this time. Of course, I was followed and now my favorite hiding spot has been spoiled.
No more sounds of snapping twigs. Not even a rustle in the bushes. Howlie, however, could sense the enemy staring at him. He could practically feel the person’s eyes digging into his nude body.
“Stop poking me!” yelled a high pitched voice.
“Well move over to yer side or stop yer bitchin’!”
The voices took Howlie by surprise. No shinobi in their right mind would have made the mistake of creating any auditory sound from their mouths unless it was a distraction.
“Come out,” Howlie said, moving from underneath the water, carefully hiding his limp utilizing his skill in the art of concealment. “Or leave, it doesn't matter to me. Live or die, it’s up to you.”
Howlie grabbed his hidden katana, the one he’d stolen from the dojo many years ago. Well, he hadn’t stolen it but merely salvaged it from the dojo’s dump. He used the nearby rocks of his hiding spot to sharpen it but still, it was far duller than he would have liked.
How could I have been so careless, Howlie thought, mentally punishing himself.
“I said come out,” Howlie repeated, “Or leave. I still hear your breath.”
“This is what ya get fer all yer bitchin’!” came the gruffer voice.
“Me? Why’s it always me?” the whinier voice asked, “You already have the front-facing feet so at least give me some elbow room!”
“How’s this for elbow room?” the gruff voice asked. A loud popping noise came from the direction Howlie figured them to be. A few cranes bound from their homes, flapping their wings loudly as they escaped.
“I won’t ask you again,” Howlie warned, “Come out or--”
The sharp edge of a katana pressed itself slowly and carefully across Howlie’s neck. Howlie’s next inhale pushed his skin further into the blade.
“I would've expected better of the Ookumi Clan,” a stranger whispered in his ear. "What Shinobi lets his guard down so easily?"
“Guess again,” Howlie responded cooly, pressing the tip of his hidden tanto dagger against the enemy’s ribs. “One sudden move and this meets with your heart.”