“Again!” Miyamoto yelled as Tim the Printer Guy fell hard onto his face.

The dojo floor smacked his cheek, turning it red. For a moment Tim just laid on his stomach and felt tears come into his eyes. His father leaned over him and scoffed at his shame, picking up the bokken and throwing back at his son’s limp body.

“Again!” he yelled with more fury and rage.

Tim the Printer Guy shakily made his way back on his feet and stared at his hazy opponent. There was a wooden effigy of a man with a carved grimace. Tim saw many faces but as he started to lose his grasp on reality, he could swear Adem was right in front of him. He picked up the bokken and again attempted to strike him as his father instructed. There was a swift jab to the ribs, before a twirl and another slash to the head.

“Too slow!” Miyamoto hit him in the head with his bokken and watched him fall to the floor. “If this were a real opponent you would be dead!”

Tim the Printer Guy was now full of tears, sobbing and blubbering.

“Get up, it's not too bad,” said Miyamoto.

“I am just so sick of myself. I am so sick of failure!” screamed Tim, face pressed against the ground.

Miyamoto took a deep breath and rested his bokken against the wall. “Let’s take a moment and rest.” He slowly walked outside and Tim, amazed by this sudden act of leniency, got back on his feet and followed him.

“I am sorry, I don’t know what came over me. It was weakness, I know,” said Tim.

Miyamoto said nothing, he just stood still and looked deeply at the koi pond, covered in moss and leaves which replaced every koi that once roamed its confinement. Tim the Printer Guy looked at his eyes, and could almost see a tear form, though after lingering too long, his father turned with ferocity and stared right into Tim’s eyes.

“When did you feel the most weak—the most like a failure?” asked his father. “Was it when you left? Your mother thought you would be some great artist, but here you are…”

“I have failed at a lot of things,” said Tim. “I came back here to understand what I am missing.”

“Tell me about the man you killed.”

Tim froze, looking at his feet and his hands, feeling them tremble and twitch. “He was a horrible man, but I accidentally put the sword through him.”

“Accidently?”

“Well, I was fighting something else. I think they were spirits,” said Tim the Printer Guy.

“You said you were on Penn Island?”

“Yeah, I believe I witnessed the Wedding of the Foxes.”

His father’s eyes got wide. “I told you Penn Island was magical. You entered the spirit world,” he said.

“I need to tell you something,” said Tim. “There is this one particular spirit who follows me and tells me things. It wears bandages around its head and a black kimono…”

“Does it appear to be human?” asked Miyamoto.

“Yes! It actually has taken the form of a dear…” Tim stuttered for a second. “... A friend of mine.”

His father pondered the description, yet Tim could tell he was lost. Miyamoto scratched his head a bit and turned away, looking back at the koi pond. “There is nothing that I know of, that would…” Then he stopped. “Who was this friend that he took the form of? Are they dead?”

“No.”

His father stopped again. “Who is this person, then? Someone you love?” he asked.

Tim the Printer Guy was hesitant to reveal the influence of the Adonises to his father. What if he rejected Tim’s love for them as his mother did? Though Miyamoto taught his son the importance of the pond—the importance of leading a group of young minds—Tim could not bear to feel more stress regarding his father. His mother had not said one word to him, since he had told her of the Adonises. Immense shame filled Tim’s soul, just thinking about how much he cares for them. He always thought his mother would understand those feelings, yet her apparent rejection sent Tim the Printer Guy down a spiral of madness.

“This is just a friend!” Tim screamed at his father. “If I love this person, it is because they are my friend and nothing more!”

Miyamoto looked at Tim the Printer Guy with suspicion. He curled his brow and tightened his lips, continuing to gaze heavily at Tim. “Well… If they were anything more to you, I would understand the influence that this thing has on you,” he said.

His words made Tim the Printer Guy elaborate further. “Let’s say I do love this person with a passion. There is a part of me that would die if anything were to ever happen to… this person. What do you think it could be?” he asked.

“I don’t think it is yōkai. I think it is you, or your mind, that is conjuring this spector,” Miyamoto said. “Love can do destructive things. It can plague you, and manipulate your mind. But it can also drive you to do great things.”

“What do you mean?”

“When do you see this specter?” asked Miyamoto.

Tim the Printer Guy thought for a moment about Bandaged Cage and realized he only appeared when Tim was on the verge of falling apart with hate or doubt for the Adonises. Bandaged Cage also steered him right back into their arms—for good or bad. “When I was about to cry, or whenever I felt strong pressure from my job,” he said. “The specter always scares me and tells me to do things and sometimes we have disagreements and we fight.”

“What does it tell you to do?”

Tim thought about how he could phrase this. “He tells me that I need to keep working the job I hate, because the people I work with need me,” he said.

“The specter is a man?” asked Miyamoto.

This was it! Tim the Printer Guy was conflicted with how much information to let slip; however, if he wanted answers, he needed to say something about the Adonises and about Bandaged Cage. “Okay!” he said, trembling and nervously pacing around the pond. “So the spirit with the bandages has the form of this person I know. I worked as someone who went around and just instructed people on how to sell all these kinds of printers. I also fixed things sometimes and made sure retail stores had those printers in stock—and I hated it! I got kicked out of art school and I had to do this and I was at the point of death, until I came across this PaperClips store…”

“PaperClips?” Miyamoto asked.

“These men who worked there…” Tim blurted out. “These four men changed my life. They were so smart and they didn’t treat me bad and I don’t know, I just got addicted to that. Suddenly, I had the desire to paint again and I was happy. I needed to be there and mentor them. Octavian, who is strong; Mikeal, with that hair and his relaxed attitude; Jamir, always in the mood to learn; and Cage, the innocent cherub who I felt every aching desire to mentor. The spirit was a vision of Cage in bloody bandages and it urged me to go back to them!”

“What?” asked his father, confused—somewhat like his mother. “You were always a weird little boy,” he finally chuckled. “But I guess… I understand the influence a group such as that might have on you.”

Tim the Printer Guy was shocked. “You do?” he asked.

“Though I may not look like it, I was once pathetic like you,” said Miyamoto. “When I joined the service, there was a group of men that I admired, and perhaps gave me some purpose, like I needed to protect them from the world. They looked up to me and respected me—it felt good. I needed to hold on to that feeling by any means necessary and in order to do that, I had to protect those of my friends. The men that relied on me.”

“Then what about the bandaged Cage?” asked Tim.

“He may be a vision brought on by your own mind. I don’t think he has any substantial influence over you, other than your mental state.”

Tim the Printer Guy took a long breath and meditated on his father’s answer. “But he seemed so real…” he whispered.

“Your mind can be a powerful enemy as well as your ally. A vision such as that could be some sort of yokai, but when you take into account how much anxiety you feel, I figure your mind must not be clear.”

Tim felt a calmness wash over his chest and stomach, as he realized the burden of anxiety. It was clear to him now that he desperately needed focus and relaxation to finally find meaning. Tim the Printer Guy looked to his father, a seemingly changed man, and for the first time in a while, he trusted him. “I will listen to whatever you say, sensei,” he said.

Miyamoto smiled and put his hand over Tim’s shoulder. “I can train you,” he said. “Though, do not think it will be easy. Finding this sword proved to me that you are willing to make sacrifices. You may never be my son, but hopefully one day I can call you my student.”

Tim bowed his head with acceptance and smiled. He finally felt safe within the dojo, and though he figured the training would be nothing less than what his father had been doing for years, it seemed as though now it was more purposeful. There was a warm light over the two of them, as Tim opened his mind and heart to his father.

“Why don’t you wash up and then you can join us for dinner,” said Miyamoto.

Tim the Printer Guy was overjoyed at the promise of food, and for the first time, a loving family dynamic. With giddiness, he jumped up and ran back to the house. His mother was in the kitchen, preparing more noodles and vegetables. The smell was intoxicating, and lingered throughout. Tim ran past his mother and up the stairs.

“I will be eating dinner with you!” he shouted. “Father wants me to get ready!”

Tim the Printer Guy bounded past the rooms and found his old sleeping quarters. Nothing appeared to have changed since the time of his leaving. The old wooden cabinets and shelves were coated in layers of dust. Tim opened one of the drawers to reveal some of his old clothes: a simple yukata, hanten, and jinbei. There was also an assortment of old t-shirts that Tim’s mother had bought for him long ago. One stood out to Tim. It was black and had a picture of two strong boys on the front graphic. Written in blue and pink was “Saved by the Bell: The Boys of Bayside.” Under each boy was his name: “Slater” was the more exotic one, while the other, a beefy, all-american boy was named “Zack.” Tim remembered being very taken with this shirt and found that he would stare at it endlessly as a young kodomo. He put it on to see if it still fit, but of course, it was a child’s size and only reached the top of his belly.

Tim the Printer Guy took it off and just set out something else for dinner: a traditional dressing kimono, and some wooden sandals. He then walked over to the bathroom, and began the shower. Tim felt the steam enter his senses—it opened his pores and cleared his mind. The water struck his back and relaxed each muscle. Soon, his whole body warmed as the dirt, grime and sweat finally rinsed away. Then, something could be heard entering the room. Tim awoke from his meditation to listen carefully, as the door creaked its way to halt and a figure glided into the bathroom. He chuckled.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“Mother, I don’t need your help. I can wash my own back now,” Tim said.

A graveled voice uttered through the sound of the stream. “Baka,” it choked, revealing a presence all too familiar.

Tim the Printer Guy flung the curtain open and was met again with Bandaged Cage.

“Thought you could get rid of me?” he asked.

Tim was floored. “You are not real! You are just in my mind,” he shouted. “Be gone now, because I don’t need you!”

“If I am in your mind, why are you certain that I am not real?”

“Look, I have been plagued by anxiety and the Adonises… I know that I need to work out my problems, I am not crazy!” shouted Tim, holding onto his face—shielding his eyes from the vision of Cage.

“Don’t get too lost in your past!” shouted Bandaged Cage. “You don’t need your father’s teachings. He will never understand your connection with them!”

“You are wrong! I have never felt this energy from him before. He is a changed man!” shouted Tim.

“Look at your mother, and her disgust for you,” said Bandaged Cage. “She is clearly at odds with their influence over you. Didn’t you expect her to be more understanding? There was no joy in her face when you revealed that they were men. She is a lost cause!”

Tim the Printer Guy felt the rage boil inside him once more. “Why should I even argue with you—you are in my mind!” he screamed.

“So then I am one with you. I know you inside and out and will continue to be with you for eternity. Trust my words, when I say that you are wasting time with these people. The Adonises are in trouble and need you!”

“Begone!” screamed Tim. “Let me be, please. You do not know what it means to me, that my father is actually understanding me—that he wants to help me. My mother is not disgusted with me! It is true she has been acting differently, but she is still my mother—my muse! I will never live without her!”

Tim the Printer Guy threw himself past the Bandaged Cage and into the hallway. He stumbled towards the ground and collapsed in a mess of tears. “I am not crazy,” Tim continued to whisper to himself.

* * *

Some time later, Tim the Printer Guy picked himself up and put on a nice kimono for dinner. He walked down the stairs and saw his mother, sitting on the floor around the table in the living room, anxiously waiting for his arrival. Tim greeted with a bow and sat down across from her. There were a few moments of silence before she spoke.

“What were you screaming at, up there?” she asked.

“You heard that?”

“It was so loud it rattled the house.”

Tim the Printer Guy felt the tension between the two of them. Her coldness made him queasy and perhaps a little enraged. Tim needed her love and support more than ever, as he struggled with himself. Why couldn’t she understand that the Adonises made him happy? Just as Tim the Printer Guy was on the verge of speaking, Miyamoto walked into the house and sat at the table. He stared at the meal, with silence, and then started to devour what was in his bowl. Tim’s mother started to eat soon after, slowly picking at each noodle and vegetable.

“When we are done, we can continue to discuss some more of your training,” Miyamoto said to Tim, while he shuffled food into his mouth.

“Please can we not talk of such things at the table,” said Tim’s mother, sternly gazing at the two.

“Your mother is right. We will save ‘man-talk’ for the dojo,” said Miyamoto.

Tim’s mother slammed her chopsticks down on the table. Then she slowly rose and walked away from dinner. Miyamoto continued to eat, while Tim, who hadn’t touched his phone, watched her head up the stairs. He picked himself up from the floor and went after her, leaving his father alone.

“Mother!” called out Tim the Printer Guy, searching each doorway.

Soon he found her standing in his bedroom, solemnly looking down at the Saved By the Bell t-shirt. Her hand glided over each boy as Tim stepped towards her.

“Mother, can you at least look at me?” he asked her.

“I don’t know where I went wrong,” she said.

“What do you mean? You did nothing wrong.”

“You seem so angry and confused,” she said. “It feels as though I can’t relate to you anymore”

“That is not true!” exclaimed Tim. “I need you in my life, and I need you to tell me that everything is alright.”

Some tears entered his mother’s eyes and she turned away from him and looked outside the window. “You just seemed so artistic…” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Your father said it was wrong of me to give you my old kimono. He said it would make you strange, but I knew that you loved the way it looked…”

“I do love it! It is beautiful, and I see that every time I look at it,” shouted Tim the Printer Guy. “What does it matter? What would it turn me into?”

His mother continued to anxiously ramble, seeming to not hear his pleas. “I see you turning into your father more and more… You are no longer my plum bottom boy.”

“Mother,” Tim lunged towards her and put his hands over her shoulders. “I am still yours—forever yours!”

She began to feverishly cough, then hack up some sort of bile into the palm of her hand.

“You are sick,” said Tim. “Have you been seeing a doctor?”

“No,” she said, standing up again. “I don’t need that.”

“Do you know what is wrong? You seem so weak.” Tim the Printer Guy cradled his mother, letting her finish the intense fit of coughing.

“There is nothing wrong.” she said. “You just stress me.”

“Does the fact that they are men scare you?” Tim the Printer Guy pestered her. “I seem to recall that you were once a man…”

His mother finally turned to face him. Her cheeks were red with tears, streaming down. Her lips trembled and her face felt hollow—eyes, exhausted and sunken. “Then I am not your mother,” she whispered.

Tim welled up with frustration and left the room and ran down the stairs. Miyamoto was nowhere to be found. The nausea deep in Tim the Printer Guy’s stomach made him stumble around. He felt as if the room was spinning again and needed a drink of water to calm his nerves. Then he saw that the light was on in the dojo. Now more than ever Tim needed to see what his father could teach him. He filled up a glass from the sink and took a swig. It calmed his nerves enough so that he could make it out. There, his father was sitting cross-legged, in the center of the room.

“Father, I need your guidance now! What do I have to do to meditate?” Tim the Printer Guy asked.

“This was a mistake,” said Miyamoto, closing eyes and locked in his own meditation.

“No, not now!” Tim screamed, breaking with frustration. “I need this. You cannot go back on me now!”

“Calm yourself,” Miyamoto whispered. “The training is not over.”

“What?”

“It is your mother. I cannot have you in this house and give her more stress.”

Tim the Printer Guy wiped away his tears. “Where do you suppose I go?” he asked.

“What about those friends you talk so highly about—why not go to them?”

“I uh…” Tim stuttered. “I can’t right now.”

“What is wrong?”

“Well, they don’t want me back,” said Tim. “I need to work on myself a bit more and, I guess… protect them without them knowing.”

Miyamoto opened his eyes and stood up. He turned to face Tim, with a narrowed expression. “Your mother is just so weak and you being back… I don’t know if it is good for her,” he said.

“She is sick!” exclaimed Tim the Printer Guy. “Tell me what is wrong!”

“Calm down,” whispered Miyamoto. “She is weak but will make a recovery. She just needs rest. You, on the other hand, need to listen to your internal emotions.”

“What?”

“I heard you,” began his father. “You were in the bathroom screaming at yourself. It is clear that being so far away from your friends is painful for you.”

“But father…” Tim nervously turned away. “They just don’t want me to be around them.”

“I thought you were a teacher, or a sensei. What possible reason would make them not want to see you?”

There was an awkward pause. Tim the Printer Guy did not want to divulge the sorted details of his excommunication. There was simply too much heat on him, and they might be frightened if he came back too soon. That harlot, Sindy, saw Tim’s face and chemise, while all the Adonises were at least aware of his attack on the oni—Adem. Those violent outbursts may have given them the wrong idea of who he was. All Tim the Printer Guy wanted to do was protect them and see them flourish, but they may think he was some sort of lunatic.

“Look,” said Miyamoto. “If they give you happiness in some way, then go to them. Each day, there is a part of me that wishes to be back in the service with my men. Having them really made me feel like I was worthy of something. It is like tending to the koi pond. I was the source of knowledge of nourishment and that gave me a sense of power. Leadership made me feel whole.”

“What about mother?” asked Tim.

“Haru gave me something more,” he said, followed by a pause. “I couldn’t leave her. Power was nice, but then came someone I could rely on as well. Maybe one day you will find a girl, and you will understand how that feels.”

Tim the Printer Guy did not think it was possible for him to experience that. Everything he knew about happiness was achievable with the Adonises. Finding some sort of soul mate could possibly lead to better things—-but a girl? He couldn’t fathom a life close to the domesticity his parents had. “Maybe…” he said.

“Just go now,” Miyamoto said. “With what I know about you, it would be unwise to not listen to me.”

Tim hung his head with shame, as Fred’s death was still on his mind. “What about the sword?” he asked. “I still don’t know how to wield it.”

Miyamoto walked over to the corner of the room, where Shinayaka Shojo was placed against the wall. He picked it up and put it in Tim’s hand. “You know how to wield it!” his father shouted. “Now you just have to trust it. Keep it close and use it when necessary!”

Tim the Printer Guy could smell a bit of sake on his breath. “Okay,” he said, solemnly.

“Good!” Miyamoto exclaimed. “Now I finally feel like I can relate to you. Let’s have a drink to celebrate!”

He guided Tim over to the corner of the dojo, and pulled open a small shoji door. Tim the Printer Guy could see many jugs of sake, varying in liquid amount.

“Come, take all you want!”

If young Tim could see himself now.

Miyamoto took one of the jugs and gave it a hardy swig. “Kanpai!” he shouted, before handing it to Tim.

Tim the Printer Guy took a big gulp as well. The two of them took turns until the room started to spin and soon they both entered a state of complete drunkenness.

Miyamoto began to awkwardly sing: “Sake wa nome, nome, sake wa nome nome!”

Tim joined, though not mimicking the words, just mumbling along to the rhythm.

“You know what!” hollered Miyamoto. “You are alright, gaijin!”

“You too!” yelled Tim.

“You are still no warrior, but alright!” Miyamoto grunted. “We should find you a woman tonight! So you can have fun.”

“No,” Tim recoiled with nerves. “I don’t need that. Thank you…”

“We men need women!” Miyamoto shouted. “Warriors need women.”

“I don’t,” said Tim. “I just need to get back to life as a sensei…”

“Let me tell you something—it’s part of your training; get yourself a woman!”

“What if I don’t want any woman,” said Tim, still drunkenly rocking. “I just don’t like being around them.”

Miyamoto sat still and just stared at Tim. “Well you can’t just always be around men,” he said.

“Why not?” asked Tim. “I mean… mother was a man, right?”

There was no response. Miyamoto grimaced, then picked up the jug and set it down with the others. “I am tired,” he said, solemnly. “We are done for now. When morning comes, you have to leave.”

Tim the Printer Guy threw his face into his hands and seized up with shame and embarrassment. “I am sorry,” he said. “I love her. I love you.”

His father kept his back turned to him as he walked away. “There is much more to learn,” he said, before leaving Tim alone in the dojo.

A crack in the doors allowed the moonlight to shine on Tim the Printer Guy’s face. Not wanting to show his face in the house, he curled up in the middle of the floor to sleep. It was cold, and hard on his back, but, again, he found himself removed from his own family. The only woman he ever loved, his mother, was crushed and Tim felt stupid for trudging up her past. As he lay there, he thought about how he had soiled the budding relationship with his father. Maybe he should have just lied and went along with the talk of women and love—maybe it would have made him feel like one of the guys. However, Tim knew deep in his heart that he could not take a wife. There was no need to stray from the Adonises.

* * *

Morning came and Tim the Printer Guy was up and alert. Not wanting his parents to see him, he hastily packed his things together and planned to slip out without waking them. Before he left there was one last thing he needed to give back. Tim the Printer Guy placed his mother’s old red kimono, carefully wrapped in a bow and folded in a precise fashion, on the dining room table.

Within the kimono he had placed a note: “I am sorry, but I must do what is right. I will come back for you.” After that message, he wrote down the number of his Jitterbug.

Tim now needed somewhere to go, and a ride. He dialed the only number he could remember.

“Hey Skeeter,” Tim said, all choked up. “It’s Tim, I was wondering if I could get my old job back?”