Chapter 8.

“I’ve seen many wonders in my travels around the world, but none as remarkable as the Imperial Military Academy of the Forbidden City. It’s the place where the empire’s finest soldiers are made, the guardians of the Son of Heaven and his secrets. The academy boasts a rigorous teaching system, based on the study of martial arts, literature, history, philosophy, astronomy, medicine, and other disciplines. The teachers are the most renowned and experienced in the empire, some of them war veterans, erudite scholars, or even Buddhist monks.”

“The Forbidden City”

Memoirs

Grand Alim, Ahmed Aljinn

Ritsu woke up feeling choked, as if someone had shoved a dirty rag in his mouth. He tried to breathe through his nose, but the smell was even worse. A nauseating odor, reminiscent of the Outer Walls, where the city’s waste and corpses accumulated. An odor that had nothing to do with the cleanliness and order of the academy.

He opened his eyes with difficulty and looked around. He was in his room, small and austere, with a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk. There was no one else with him, but the smell was still there, pervading the space.

Where was it coming from?

He got out of bed and followed the trail of the stench. It didn’t take long to find the source. His leather backpack, which he had left by the bed, was stained with something viscous and yellowish. It was vomit, no doubt about it. And not just his backpack, but also his clothes. His robes, his pants, his capes... everything was soaked in vomit.

Ritsu felt a knot in his stomach and an anger that welled up in his throat.

What had happened? Who had done this? Why? What had he done to deserve such humiliation?

Then he heard footsteps in the hallway, followed by mocking laughter. The door burst open and in came several youths dressed in the Academy’s uniform. They were some of the new aspirants he had met in Professor Soda’s class. Ritsu recognized them instantly, but only one caught his attention. Katsuo Oka. Katsuo was a tall boy, with blue eyes and a cruel smile. From what he had heard, he was the son of the minister of agriculture, and thought himself superior to all.

“Good morning, Ritsu,” Katsuo said in a honeyed voice. “Did you sleep well? Did you have sweet dreams?”

A chorus of laughter followed his words as Ritsu stood immobilized between an outburst of rage and the weight of shame.

“What’s wrong, Ritsu?” Katsuo continued, feigning concern. “Aren’t you pleased that your clothes smell like the Outer Walls?” He covered his nose in a gesture of disgust. “How repulsive, it must be the same odor that peasants are so familiar with.”

The laughter turned into a deafening cacophony, as if the room’s walls were mocking him. A searing fury took over his body, feeling the blood boil and redden his eyes.

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“What have you done?” Ritsu stammered, his voice trembling. “Why? Why would you do something like this?”

Katsuo shrugged, as if the torment he had inflicted was of no significance to him.

“It’s a lesson in humility, Ritsu,” he explained in a condescending tone that made his blood boil even more. “You have to learn to respect your superiors, to not think yourself more than you are. You’re a talentless, uneducated peasant who has come to steal the place of the true elite. You don’t deserve to be in this Academy, let alone in this city.”

Ritsu fought to maintain composure, feeling the tears coming, threatening to betray his dignity.

But he would not give Katsuo the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

“Leave me alone, Katsuo. I’ve done nothing to you.”

Katsuo responded with a contemptuous spit on the ground, completely ignoring him.

“Don’t make me laugh,” he said with hatred. “Your mere existence here is an affront to all of us.”

Katsuo approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“So, listen well, Ritsu,” he whispered in a low and dangerous voice, tightening his grip to the point of pain. “This is just the beginning. I’m going to make your life miserable. I’m going to humiliate you, beat you, ruin you. I’m going to make you regret being born. I’m going to make you beg for death.”

Katsuo intensified the pressure, digging his nails into the flesh as if he wanted to mark him for life.

“Do you understand?” he asked.

Ritsu felt an urge to throw himself at him. But he held back. He knew he couldn’t do that, Katsuo was a venomous snake with many allies and an influence that went beyond his own. If he attacked, he’d only get punished or expelled.

“Yes,” he replied in pain.

“That’s what I like to hear, peasant,” Katsuo snapped.

The pressure ceased when Katsuo finally let go, turning to leave him behind, as if he had already tired of the entertainment.

“Remember this well: you’re a poor devil with nothing worthwhile. You are alone and helpless, and no one will bother to help you.”

The others followed him, laughing and mocking.

Ritsu was left alone, trapped in the narrow confines of his room, whose walls seemed to advance threateningly, closing in on him. The sight of his backpack and clothes, stained with vomit, caused a knot in his stomach.

He felt miserable and furious. Why was this happening to him? He was in a strange land, far from his home, his family, his beloved mentor... completely alone, submerged in a desolation that cut to the bone.

***

Ritsu did not sit at the common table that afternoon. He convinced himself it was because he had to submit an essay to Professor Soda the next day and not because he feared the mockery and insults of the other aspirants.

Instead, he took refuge in the darkest and dustiest corner of the library and surrounded himself with ancient volumes, while his fingers turned black as he carefully traced the symbols and figures adorning the pages.

When the library closed its doors, he headed to the dormitory before nightfall. He hid behind the shadow of some older students, who walked with firm, sure steps, to avoid his fellow coursemates who laughed and chatted in the hallway.

Among them were men twice his age and even some old men with gray beards. Of course, they too did not speak to him, but at least they did not despise him.

They had lives, concerns, and goals more transcendental than humiliating a fourteen-year-old boy.

Ritsu moved among them until he reached his room stealthily, then saw the reason for the laughter of the other aspirants: someone had drawn a fat, dirty pig on a paper and stuck it on the door of his room. Below the drawing, there was a phrase written in large, twisted letters:

RITSU THE PIG, THE DUMBEST PEASANT IN THE ACADEMY.

The laughter echoed in the hallway as some of his classmates reveled in their vileness.

Juro Tahara, one of Katsuo’s lackeys, stopped next to him and shoved him in the shoulder.

“What a pity,” he murmured with a malicious smile. “Looks like someone captured your essence, Ritsu. The real you.”

The blush took over his cheeks and his fists involuntarily clenched. Nevertheless, he preferred not to respond. He knew that any word uttered would only serve as fuel for the fire of mockery. He entered his room and slammed the door, tearing down the pig drawing and ripping it to shreds. He threw himself on the bed and covered his head with the pillow, wishing he could escape from that place.