Neo Tokyo

The bright neon lights of Neo Tokyo blended into the starry skies, the incessant sound of shops, clubs, bars, and skyscrapers filling the busy East Asian city. A lone figure darted across the night between dark alleys, cloaked in the shadow of the misty night.

Akira Kamei moved with precision, swift movements and conviction that was unlike his age. At seventeen, he was lean, with a dark ponytail and eyes as dark as the night, visible behind a mask. He felt the chilly air hit his face as he weaved through the maze-like rooftops of the old Neo Tokyo district.

He was on one of his patrols, just as his grandpa had taught him, taking care of the old dojo and temple in the ancient part of town—a relic of a bygone era that clashed with the slick, modern buildings creeping up in recent months. It was a quiet sanctuary in a cruel and relentless place.

The figure suddenly came to a halt and looked around. Akira found himself on the rooftop of the old dojo his grandpa used to own. He crouched and looked for a switch. With a click, a hidden entrance opened up in the corner of the rooftop. Akira nimbly went into it, and it closed behind him.

Darkness enveloped him, yet he moved like a man who had been there a thousand times. He flipped a switch, illuminating the small room. Swords decorated the walls, and old ukiyo-e paintings covered much of the walls in the dimly lit room. He took hold of the sliding door and stepped inside an even smaller room.

The familiar feel of the tatami under his feet brought back memories. As he knelt down, the scent of lavender filled his nostrils. It was one of the few times he had been in that room—his grandpa's office. The room was shrouded in darkness, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through ancient shoji screens.

He had a reason to be there. The reason stared back at him: an old, dusty wooden chest filled with sakura carvings and a dark energy emanating from it. His grandfather's chest had always been a source of intrigue; it was said to hold ancient secrets of the Kamei clan. He paused, remembering that his grandfather had been the last master of the Kamei clan, a protector of the ancient arts, but had passed away under mysterious circumstances a year ago.

He had asked his grandpa about this chest before, but he had always waved him off, and Akira had lost interest—until now. The curiosity that had been gnawing at him for weeks surged to the forefront of his mind. Something compelled him to look inside. He moved closer to it, the weight of his lineage on his shoulders. With a practiced hand, he unlocked it. The ancient mechanism clicked open with a muted sound, and a chill ran down his spine.

Inside, he found an assortment of scrolls wrapped in faded silk and a small, weathered box. It had the same smell of lavender that permeated the dojo for as long as he could remember. He opened the scrolls, revealing arcane symbols that he didn't recognize. His eyes widened as he unrolled the final scroll, depicting a map with cryptic annotations and a central symbol—a sakura blossom surrounded by swirling runes.

The scroll seemed to depict something resembling Tokyo from a long time ago. He scratched his head as he examined the map, sensing it wasn't ordinary. His heart raced as he continued reading.

Under the map, written in an archaic script, were the words: "When the moon eclipses the sun, the blossom shall awaken. Seek the shards of time, and the hidden legacy will be revealed."

He sat there in stunned silence. Why had Grandpa kept this hidden? Did anyone else know about it? Was his grandpa's passing related to this?

His mind raced with questions and doubts. He wasn't sure if opening this chest had been a mistake. But he didn't have time to dwell on it, as a noise from the hallway shattered the silence—footsteps, muffled but unmistakable.

As he quickly slipped the scrolls and the box into his satchel, a memory of his grandfather surfaced, vivid and clear.

Akira was ten years old, kneeling beside his grandfather in the dojo. The old man's eyes, sharp yet kind, scanned the horizon through the shoji screen as he spoke.

"Akira, our family's legacy is not just in the martial arts we practice. There are deeper secrets, ancient knowledge that must be protected," Grandpa had said, his voice a mix of pride and caution.

Young Akira had tilted his head in curiosity. "Secrets, Grandpa?"

His grandfather had smiled, ruffling Akira's hair. "Yes, secrets that can only be revealed when the time is right. Always remember, Akira, our duty is to protect, not to seek power."

Akira had nodded, though he didn't fully understand the weight of his grandfather's words back then.

The memory faded, leaving Akira with a renewed sense of purpose. The chest and its contents weren't just relics; they were part of the legacy his grandfather had spoken of. 

He clenched his fists, determination hardening his resolve. He had to uncover the truth, not just for himself, but to honor his grandfather's teachings and protect the legacy of the Kamei clan.

The footsteps grew louder, and Akira's instincts kicked in. He melted into the shadows, his senses heightened. Whoever it was, they were skilled to have gotten this close. No ordinary ninja could breeze through all the traps he routinely laid out for safety.

He knew what he had to do.

He swiftly moved to the corner of the room, setting himself up like a springboard to launch himself at anyone coming in. His muscles tensed, his chi flowing freely through his pathways, activating his ninja art. Softly, his features grew dimmer, blending in with the corner he was positioned in—not totally invisible, but enough to go unnoticed by the untrained eye.

A basic ninja art, but it would help him gauge the strength of his unknown intruders. The dojo's main door creaked open, and two figures entered, their voices hushed but urgent. Akira could barely make out their conversation.

By the sound of it, they were large individuals who could carry themselves in a fight. They came closer, and Akira listened.

"I wonder if whoever laid those traps is still here," a deep voice said.

"If," a raspy voice cut in. "If they're here, you just gave them our position. The old man must have left someone in charge of this dump since it wasn't repossessed by the city."

They carried an air of authority and menace, hinting at a hidden agenda.

They searched the main hall with determination, as if what they were looking for was definitely there. Akira's heart pounded as he watched them search through the dojo. Their presence was an ominous sign that what was in his satchel was likely what they sought.

One of the figures stood up and clicked his tongue.

"We should go deeper," the raspy voice said. "Worst case, we get rid of any wannabe shinobi here."

"But what if they find out about this?" the deep voice questioned.

"Look," the raspy voice turned around, annoyance palpable. "I took some jobs for the Syndicate back in the day, and they spoke about it. Dealing with the old man was the only thing keeping them at bay. Now that he's gone and enough time has passed, we can grab it before anyone else can."

"Why didn't anyone take it the second the old man was buried?"

"Simple," the raspy voice snapped. "The Shadow Lotus Clan. For some reason, they protected this place after the old man died."

"Now, let's move along to avoid any problems."

As the intruders moved closer to the study, Akira made a split-second decision.

The moment the first man stepped into the studio, Akira readied his weapon—a traditional tanto blade passed down by his grandfather, engraved with the emblem of his clan.

'It seems they haven't noticed me yet,' Akira thought. 'It's now or never.'

In a heartbeat, he surged forward, aiming his blade at the intruder's ribcage with deadly intent. The man was shocked to see a dark figure move so swiftly. He dodged, rolling to his side, but not fast enough to avoid all the damage. Akira's blade cut into his left side.

"Dammit!!!" the wounded man screamed, holding his side.

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Akira prepared to pounce again when he felt a kick, which he barely managed to block with his arms. The force sent him back against the wall, pain coursing through his arms.

The wounded man was leaking blood, staining the tatami mat, but it didn't stop him from launching projectiles at Akira.

Akira sidestepped, avoiding the sharp objects directed at him, and took a low defensive stance—one he had practiced for years with his grandpa.

"On your feet, Lin!" the raspy voice yelled at the wounded man.

The wounded man, smaller than the standing man, looked foreign with dark hair, a black jacket, and jeans. He stood up slowly, drawing a blade similar to Akira's. The man who had kicked Akira was burly with similar facial features, wearing a black t-shirt and black pants. He also drew a blade—a featureless katana.

"I think he can use ninja arts, Yang. We can't take him lightly," Lin said, pain in his voice.

"We'll just have to dispose of you, kid. Wrong time, wrong place. You don't scare me!" the bigger man roared.

The shorter ninja hurled a smoke bomb, filling the room with a thick, choking cloud. Visibility dropped to near zero. Akira's instincts kicked in, and he focused on the faint sounds of movement within the smoke. He had to use his other senses to survive.

He felt movement to his right and raised his blade, blocking the taller ninja's sword strike. The strength of the blow was too much, causing Akira to jump backward. He threw his trusted ninja stars, aiming at the man. Hearing grunts of pain, he knew he had hit his mark.

Doing a backflip, Akira landed on his feet. Sensing killing intent, he did another backflip as a gust of wind sliced through the smoke, narrowly missing him. "Wind Slash," he thought, recognizing the technique. He couldn't afford to underestimate these opponents.

Blending into the shadows, Akira's form became almost invisible in the dim light. The taller ninja moved cautiously, taking out the stars embedded in his chest, his eyes scanning the room.

Seizing the moment, Akira emerged from the shadows behind the shorter ninja, delivering a powerful kick to his back. The kick sent the shorter ninja flying across the room, crashing against the wall.

Akira was left standing with his leg up, when the taller ninja delivered a kick of his own to his chest that sent him stumbling down, air out his lungs. He managed to regain his composure, while the taller ninja ran to his wounded comrade.

'I can take one of them, but not two' Akira thought. He needed to escape before he took too much damage to run away. He needed to create an opening to escape.

He took throwing knives out his satchel and threw them at them with deadly precision. Both of the ninjas jumped and tried to evade them, the larger man threw knives of his own as he evaded the projectiles.

The shorter ninja wasn't so lucky, he managed to avoid all but one knife, that pierced his abdomen, right in the middle, going deep and sticking out alarmingly.

Akira, bit luckier, a took a knife to only his tight, burning pain running through his leg and limiting his movement as he stepped backwards.

"Lin!" The taller ninja moved quickly kneeling next to his fallen partner , who at this point was slumped against the wall bleeding profusely but conscious.

"Yang, take him out, don't worry about me!" the shorter ninja urged his partner.

The taller ninja stood up and readied his sword, with a high oblique stance, that Akira noted was common with Chinese ninja clans, his grandfather had taught him. The ninja closed the distance quickly and swung his katana down at Akira who managed to deflect it with his tanto.

They started trading blows, with the taller ninja attacking relentlessly but finding no openings, however he was slowly but surely driving Akira to the wall, which each clash of blades sending ripples of pain down Akira's arms. They kept clashing swords when one of the slashes managed to graze Akira's arm making him do a flip over his opponent to gain distance.

They were both now injured, and only their heavy breathing could be heard in the studio. Both of them were facing each other eyeing their every moment.

The taller ninja lunged, his hand crackling with energy. Akira recognized the signs of Paralysis Touch and narrowly avoided it, countering with a flurry of Blossom Arts. Cherry blossom petals materialized in the air, swirling around Akira before launching towards his opponent like razor-sharp blades.

"No way!" the taller ninja said. He was shocked and caught off guard, raising his arms to shield himself. The petals cut through his defenses, leaving deep gashes. He roared in pain but remained standing, driven by sheer willpower.

Meanwhile, the shorter injured ninja recovered, drawing his short sword and charging at Akira. Akira deflected the blade with his tanto, sparks flying from the clash. He spun around, delivering a swift roundhouse kick that sent the sword clattering to the ground. The shorter ninja fell to his knees trying to grab his sword.

Akira knew he couldn't afford to prolong the fight. With one opponent down and the other injured, he needed to escape. He dashed towards the door, but the taller ninja intercepted him, blood dripping from his wounds.

"Not so fast!" the taller ninja growled, launching another Wind Slash. Akira dodged, the gust of wind slicing through his sleeve but missing his flesh.

He was exhausted from the fight already and almost out of chi, gathering his remaining Sakura-Essence, Akira unleashed a final, concentrated Petal Dance. The cherry blossoms whirled around him, creating a protective barrier and then shooting forward in a concentrated burst. The taller ninja tried to defend himself but was overwhelmed by the onslaught, petals slicing through his defenses and leaving him heavily wounded.

Seizing this opportunity he jumped to the door and dashed out of the studio, disappearing into the shadows just as the taller ninja collapsed, clutching his bleeding wounds. Breathing heavily, Akira emerged in the alley behind the dojo, the cold night air hitting his face.

He was shaken but kept running, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the scene of the battle. He was bleeding and hurting, but he was alive. That was the important part.

Akira stopped in front of an abandoned building, an old refuge he had used many times before. With a graceful leap, he entered through a second-story window, despite his injuries. The clock read 4 a.m. He had no idea how long the battle had lasted; minutes felt like hours in the heat of combat.

He walked into a small, dimly lit room, furnished only with a dirty bed and a small wooden box. He crouched down, opening the box to reveal a first aid kit filled with traditional medicine, lotions, and creams. He stripped off his torn and bloodied clothes, inspecting his wounds in the flickering light.

Bruises were already forming, dark and painful. He winced as he examined a knife wound embedded in his right thigh. Steeling himself, he gritted his teeth and yanked the knife out. Blood oozed slowly from the wound, but it wasn't as deep as he had feared. Small blessings, he thought.

Carefully, he applied the traditional medicines, their familiar scents filling the room. As he bandaged his leg, he pondered whether he had been followed. But he quickly dismissed the idea; if he had been pursued, his enemies would have already struck.

The scroll in his possession had proven to be more valuable than he had imagined. Why had Grandpa never spoken about it? And could it be connected to his mysterious death?

Shaking off the thoughts, Akira headed to the bathroom of the abandoned apartment. He took a quick shower, the cold water washing away the grime and blood. He changed into his high school uniform, meticulously maintained even in his hideout. Grandpa had always emphasized the importance of preparedness. "A ninja always has a place to fall back to," he had said. Sound advice, Akira mused.

He slept fitfully for a few hours on the dirty mattress. When it was time, he woke up and, like clockwork, jumped out the window, landing silently on the street below. Now, he was just a regular high schooler, blending in with the morning crowd.

Walking to school, he remained vigilant, his senses attuned to any signs of danger. He reached the school gates just before they closed. Punctuality was a habit ingrained in him by his grandfather.

 Though Akira was an average student in most aspects, he preferred it that way. He didn't excel because he didn't want the attention. Grandpa's influence was evident in that, teaching him the value of remaining inconspicuous.

Akira entered his classroom and sat down in his usual seat, his body still aching from the battle wounds of the previous night. He tried not to show it, but he guessed his face was giving away some of the pain.

"Hey man! Are you okay? You look tired," a chubby guy said to Akira.

This guy was Kai, Akira's only friend in school. He sat next to him, wearing an oversized coat and sporting a goatee.

"I'm good, Kai. Just did some training yesterday," Akira replied, trying to sound casual.

Kai took out a bottle of soda and started drinking it, a usual routine before homeroom. "You're still keeping up with that even after your old man is gone, huh?"

Akira's expression softened. "Yeah, martial arts are the only thing he left behind for me, along with his old dojo."

Kai nodded, understanding more than most. "I remember you talking about him a lot when we first met. It was clear he meant a lot to you. It's impressive how you keep his memory alive like that."

Akira looked away, his thoughts drifting to the nights spent training with his grandfather,  meditation, sparring, all of that, it was him who had always been a beacon of strength and wisdom. He recalled his grandpa's booming yet calming voice, his steady presence, and the lessons that had shaped him.

"Yeah, it means a lot. Sometimes I feel like it's the only thing I have left that connects me to him," Akira said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kai, sensing the weight in Akira's tone, decided to lighten the mood. "Well, if you keep working like this, you're gonna end up as famous fighter and get all the girls in Neo Tokyo! And that's saying something."

Akira managed a small smile. "Thanks, Kai. That means a lot."

Kai was about to retort when he was cut off by the teacher coming in.

"Class!" Kanazawa Sensei called out while organizing his papers. "We have a transfer student from Sendai. Please be kind to her."

He gestured for someone outside the classroom to enter. "Please come in and introduce yourself."

A girl with long black hair and bangs obscuring her eyes walked in. She had a slender build and eyes that could only be described as tired. She carried herself loosely, almost aloof, but there was an enigmatic charm about her that Akira couldn't quite understand.

"Greetings, my name is Hana Ashina," she said in a hoarse voice, as if she had been screaming for hours before coming in. "Nice to meet you all."

"Please take a seat, Ashina," the teacher urged her.

Akira kept staring at her, not because of her beauty, but because he sensed something unusual about her. Her energy felt all wrong, and he knew she was hiding something.

Hana glanced around the room, her eyes briefly locking with Akira's. She smiled coyly and then sat down a few seats away from him.

In that moment, just for a fraction of a second, he felt it—her chi. It was something he shouldn't be able to sense in regular folk; only ninjas or people with some degree of power exerted their chi in a way that could be detected by other users. And if he could sense hers, she might be able to sense his as well.

Hana turned her head slightly and looked at him again. This time, he felt a fleeting but unmistakable killing intent. Then she turned away, pretending she hadn't revealed anything.

Akira's mind raced. This was no ordinary transfer student. She was a ninja, just like him. The classroom, usually a mundane part of his daily life, now felt like the start of a dangerous game.

Kai nudged him, breaking his concentration. "Hey, you still with me? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Akira shook himself out of his thoughts. "Yeah, just... distracted."

Kai gave him a knowing look but didn't press further. "Alright, if you need anything, you know where to find me."

This was going to get interesting.