The darkness of dawn still held its cloak when Ritsu, immersed in duty, broke the silence of the new day. It wasn’t an unfamiliar task for him; since childhood, the dawn found him already awake and in motion.
In his boyhood days, at those early hours, he would head to the market, with a basket of vegetables in hand, to bring sustenance to his family. And long before his entrance to the Forbidden City, those same dawns found him already up, preparing for the imperial examination. It was a routine that had become rooted as part of his being.
Like all the newly arrived boys, Ritsu had gathered in the living room of the “browns”. In contrast to the academy spaces, he was used to, this room was a corner of shadows and humility. Its ceilings were lower and the walls, rustic and worn, evoked the feeling of being enclosed in the trunk of an ancient tree, as if the room itself refused to yield to extravagances.
Except for the fire that danced in the central brazier, a beacon of warmth that seemed not to extinguish either day or night, the only sources of light in the room were modest paper lamps. They cast a fearful, pale, and ethereal light that lent the room a ghostly air, charged with unease.
All this contributed to the sensation that this austerity and apparent simplicity were meticulously calculated, as if to inspire in the aspirants a certain sense of humility and the need for self-improvement.
Scarcely ten minutes had passed since his arrival when the door burst open, a boom that echoed in the room and made them rise in their seats. Through the threshold appeared an imposing figure, dressed in a dark blue military uniform, adorned with dozens of medals that shone like stars on his chest.
It was an elderly man, with white hair and a trimmed beard, but his bearing was erect, and his gaze was as sharp as a sword. The robe he wore over the uniform fluttered around him, as if a gust of wind accompanied him, though the room was in complete calm.
His steps resonated on the wooden floor as he made his way to the room’s lectern.
He radiated authority from every pore.
“So this is the new batch of worms,” he spat out with a hoarse voice, surveying the students with a look of disgust. “I am Kazuki Soda, the unfortunate one who will have to waste his time trying to cram some knowledge into those hollow skulls you have for heads.”
He let out a disdainful laugh that bristled the hairs on the necks of more than one.
“Don’t even bother asking me about the ranks,” he continued in a venomous tone. “If your tiny brains can’t retain something so basic, it’s your problem, not mine. I’m here to teach military strategy, not to change diapers for a bunch of whiny brats.”
The insult hung heavily in the air for a moment. Then, Soda continued his harangue.
“The only thing you need to know is that we award points for your behavior and performance. Every three months, those who manage to gather the necessary points may aspire to rise in rank and rub shoulders with their superiors.” He surveyed them all with a mocking grimace. “Although I highly doubt it seeing the bunch of nobodies, I have in front of me. Surely, you’ll end up rotting in the mud of mediocrity, where bastards like you belong.”
Each word was like the pounding of a hammer on an anvil, inflexible and firm. The other students nodded solemnly, some biting their lips as they absorbed every warning.
“Therefore, if you wish to become outstanding officials, you must strive to the utmost in each class and exercise. I will not tolerate laziness, indiscipline, or incompetence. If you prove to be trustworthy, I will impart all I know about military strategy and tactics. If not, I’ll make your days here a living hell.”
“A living hell,” echoed in his mind. Something in that grim omen suggested that, indeed, this would be his new, painful reality.
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“Alright, let’s start at once.” The professor headed to the desk where there was a list of names. “I’ll do roll call to see what oxygen wasters I’ll have to endure this year. You better be wide awake and attentive because I’m not going to repeat any names! Did you hear me? The first idiot who doesn’t respond when called, I’ll make him run in the sun until his guts spill out.”
He began to read the names in a monotonous voice, and the aspiring students responded fearfully with a “present” or “here.” From his position, he could see how Professor Soda marked each name with a cross or a circle.
He didn’t know what those symbols meant, but the cross, undoubtedly, did not bode well.
Professor Soda reached the end of the list, and his dark eyes paused when he pronounced the last name.
“Ah, yes…” A malicious smile formed on his face. “Ritsu Akechi. Our new… celebrity.”
The word lingered in the air like the smoke from a freshly extinguished candle. The students held their breath, and dozens of eyes were fixed on him. Ritsu felt a blush rise from his neck to his ears. He tried to shrink in his seat, wishing to disappear among the shadows.
“Present,” he responded tremulously.
Professor Soda, however, did not seem satisfied with the response. His angular features hardened as if carved from stone.
“Present?” he repeated. “Is that all you have to say? Aren’t you going to take this opportunity to tell us about your exploits? Aren’t you going to boast about your exceptional score? Aren’t you going to ask us to treat you with respect?”
The professor mocked him cruelly, and some aspirants laughed quietly, following his lead.
“No, sir,” he replied, trying to end that uncomfortable conversation.
“Well, at least you’re not stupid enough to talk back,” he sentenced loudly enough for everyone to hear his humiliation. “Did you think a nobody like you could have something to contribute here? Don’t be ridiculous, boy. You are less than trash under my shoes. Less than the mud I clean from their dirty sole at the end of the day.”
“I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me angry,” he thought. “He surely wants to provoke me to have an excuse to expel me.”
The professor set aside the list and walked toward him with a firm step, his feet tapping against the old floorboards. He stood in front of his desk and leaned in until his stern features were mere inches from his face.
He smelled of ink and old parchment.
“You’re pathetic,” hissed the professor. “Nothing but a trained monkey. Your tricks impress no one, least of all me. In here, you’re nothing but an insignificant insect crawling in the mud along with the rest of the scum that dares to call itself ‘apprentice.’”
Soda leaned in even closer. He took Ritsu’s chin with bony fingers, digging his nails into his skin, forcing him to raise his gaze and confront him.
“Look me in the eyes when I speak to you, vermin,” he ordered before spitting out the next words: “You’re an insignificant insect. A writhing worm unworthy of being here. You should crawl back to the dungheap you came from.”
He released Ritsu abruptly and stood up straight, wiping his fingers on his robe as if he had just touched something particularly repulsive.
Ritsu took a deep breath, trying to calm the anger that threatened to overflow.
He would not let the envy of others prevent him from conquering his dreams. He had come too far, sacrificed too much.
A few venomous words would not stop him.
“This must be clear. You are nothing!” he declared to the rest of the class. “You’re useless larvae crushed under my feet. You’re rat excrement, and this is my palace. If any dare to question my authority, I’ll crush them like the cockroach they are.”
The professor walked to one of the shelves and extended his fingers towards a bulky tome with yellowed pages and a worn cover.
“You are here to embrace the art of war,” he announced, lifting the book with reverence for everyone to see. “Some of you, pathetic delusional, may have even heard extravagant stories and accounts about legendary Reikan capable of altering the very fabric of reality. Let me tell you that those stories are nothing but ridiculous nonsense. The harsh and undeniable truth is that the vast majority of you are not and never will be anything but filth unworthy of licking the mud under the boots of a true master.”
A tingle of offense settled inside him.
He had grown up steeped in those very legends.
The book his aunt had entrusted to him was saturated with stories of heroes capable of unleashing overwhelming powers with a simple gesture. Reiki, the vital essence that flowed through every being, could be shaped by some to forge effects of enormous proportions.
It was the most precious and coveted gift in the world, and many longed to master it.
“Reiki is nothing more than a tool,” the professor continued. “A powerful tool, but also dangerous. A tool that can be used to create or destroy. A tool that can be wielded by anyone, good or bad, smart or stupid, brave or cowardly. A tool that does not make the master, but the slave.”
The professor opened the book, revealing a page full of symbols and diagrams.
“This is what matters,” Professor Soda asserted. “This is what makes the difference. This is what separates winners from losers. The art of thinking, planning, acting. The art of winning.”