“Where are we going?” Eigo asked, panting as he tried to keep up with her pace, even though his longer legs allowed him to take one step for every two of hers. Kiriai was weaving through the late-morning market crowd with subconscious skill, her sandals deft on the uneven cobblestones of their neighborhood’s busiest section. Her mind was busy running through which strategies she’d use when she got to the hood’s headquarters. A spitting grill giving off a delicious smell pulled her attention to a small sidewalk vendor. Her breakfast of rice with a hefty serving of vegetables was ages ago and she kicked herself for not grabbing something to eat on her way out. She didn’t have extra credits for something in the market.

“Come on, Kiriai,” Eigo said. “You said we could try the new game I got you. We're headed to hood headquarters, not my workshop.”

She kept moving, sidestepping a small delivery cart on its programmed route before it ran into her. Sento would probably ignore her or order her to leave if she tried approaching him on his own. How could she make him honor the terms of their agreement?

“It’s your birthday.” Eigo tried again. “Don’t you think you have enough bruises for one day?” When she didn’t reply, he grabbed her sleeve and dug in his heels.

Surprised, Kiriai stopped. “Hey, don’t pull off my armband,” she said as she looked down at the green and white patterns of her Jitaku identification bunched up in his fist.

He let go immediately and a flush crept up his neck.

“Sorry, Eigo,” she said, feeling bad. “I'm trying to figure out my future. I don’t have time to play games.”

“You're planning to get that sponsor token from Sento, aren’t you?” he asked, disappointment on his face.

“Of course I am. What other choice do I have?”

“You have lots of choices. What you do for work doesn’t determine how you spend your free time.” Her expression must have been unyielding because he resorted to pleading. “I realize you love to fight, but you don’t have to make it your whole life. Helping your grandfather with his fixing and healing would give you plenty of free time and no extra injuries to get in the way of having fun.” He added a joking tone to the last few words and Kiriai gave him a half smile in response.

“Eigo, you know me better than anyone else. You recognize how much this means. Today is my birthday and I have one last chance to do this.” Now she was the one to let a tone of pleading enter her voice. “If I don’t try everything I can think of, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

She saw him falter. He understood how much this meant to her and it wasn’t in his nature to ask her to go against her dreams. She gave him a concession. “All I have is today. Help me today and, if I can’t get this to work, tomorrow I’ll beg Ojisan’s forgiveness and accept his choice for me.” The sudden vision of what that meant for her future made her sick to her stomach. What if she failed?

Eigo gave an abrupt nod and relaxed into his usual easy-going demeanor. “Then let’s go do our best to beat that sponsor token out of Sento. I’ll cheer you on,” he said and then grinned as he added, “from a safe distance.”

At least she had that. No matter what happened, Eigo would always be in her corner.

***

The two friends stood in front of the imposing dojo attached to the side of the hood headquarters building. Kiriai guessed her home dojo would fit many times over in the large structure. The outer walls were weathered, the bamboo of repaired sections paler than the older neighbors. Multi-layered roofs swooped down from small to large, lending a beauty to their utility in weathering the storms that crashed through the area. Bright red support posts and trim of the roof added a splash of color, setting it apart from its drab neighbors. It made the towering headquarters next to it look like a large and brooding sibling watching over an excited child.

People pushed past the pair, busy with their own business. Fighters with their bright implants, ’forcers with purpose in their steps and ’zens in all shapes and sizes coming and going with hood business. Kiriai knew she should turn around and choose the calm and ordered life Ojisan had planned for her. Despite his support, she figured Eigo also hoped for the same. Now all Kiriai had was the fragile outline of a plan she'd developed on the walk here, with no assurance it would work.

Through a window, she saw Sento shove another scrapper with a laugh. He was in the middle of a group of fighters in various stages of warming up and stretching before class started. The group had an easy camaraderie that was enviable. From across the dojo floor, Kiriai saw another man approaching the training floor. His black gi was worn to a faded gray and a brown belt with ragged edges held it closed. Thin silver hair dusted his temples with wisps dotting his bald dome. He wasn’t much bigger than she was and though age had blunted his movement, he still crossed the floor with the grace of a predator. Every eye turned in his direction and Kiriai decided if she didn’t move this instant, she would lose her chance. Once the workout had started, the doors would be barred.

Before she had a chance to overthink it, she pushed through the doors, slipped her shoes off and stepped onto the edge of the dojo floor. She did this all, while maintaining a cocky fighter’s swagger and a confident grin on her face.

“Sento, there you are!” she said, projecting her voice over the chatter of the fighters between them. The young man’s head turned at his name, but his expression did not look pleased when he saw who it was.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She spoke before he could get a word out. “Is this a good time to take care of the sponsor token business?”

That got attention. Conversations trailed off. Now, other fighters were giving her considering looks, evaluating her. The older man ignored her and turned to Sento.

“Junior Scrapper Sento, are you sponsoring this fighter? Why haven’t you registered the sponsorship before having her presented?”

Before Sento could express the vehement denial she saw on his expression, Kiriai risked rudeness and spoke one more time.

“Sensei,” she said, bowing her head when the older man turned her way, “Sento-san honored me with the chance to win the token from him by showing fighting proficiency in a bout just this morning. He knew I needed to declare my path today as it is my sixteenth birthday. I hope this is not too inconvenient.” Kiriai let out an internal sigh of relief that she’d gotten through her whole speech with the polite language preferred by her grandfather. Now, she had to hope it worked.

“But that’s crazy!” yelled Sento, his outrage making his skin flush red.

The irritation Kiriai saw flicker in the teacher’s eye almost made her smile. She was just able to keep a solemn expression on her face.

“So, you did not give this student a chance to win your sponsor token in a fight this morning?” asked the sensei in a deep, powerful voice laced with warning.

Sento must have been familiar with the teacher and hastened to moderate his tone. “I apologize, Bushi-sensei. My student is eager but unprepared for initiation. I will ensure that she leaves so we may begin class.”

Kiriai’s heart sank. Was he going to dismiss her?

“That was not my question, Sento,” said the sensei, who then waited, silent, while the young man sputtered, obviously wanting to protest. The teacher didn’t relent, maintaining eye contact with the fighter as he waited for an answer.

“Yes, I gave her a chance to win my token―but she failed, Sensei!”

Kiriai had to exert all her control to keep from protesting against Sento’s angry outburst. From the other students’ reactions, she sensed that would be the wrong approach for this teacher. She bit her tongue and stayed silent.

Bushi-sensei turned back to her, and she waited for him to address her. He gave her a slight nod before speaking. “Is this true? Did you fail, young student?”

“No, Sensei. I have no idea why Sento would say that when I fulfilled the victory conditions we agreed upon before the bout began.”

From behind the sensei, Kiriai heard Sento making a strangled sound in protest, but he was too smart to interrupt the teacher again.

“Explain the conditions,” said the sensei, no expression on his lined face to give Kiriai a clue about his disposition on the subject.

Quick to grasp the chance, Kiriai tried to keep the explanation short and succinct. She wanted to avoid trying the sensei’s patience. “We agreed that if I scored a blow to a critical target during a four-minute bout, I would have demonstrated enough skill to earn the token. We agreed that a critical target was a body part that, if injured, would significantly decrease the fighter’s ability to continue to fight, or a blow to any portion of the head. Sento’s superior skill won most the bout, and I didn't score a blow until the final seconds, when I hit a critical target and won the token.”

The sensei just nodded, silent, and turned back to Sento.

“Is this true?”

“No, Sensei. She did not win the token.”

“She did not hit a critical target?”

“No, Sensei,” said Sento, except this time his tone wasn’t as confident.

Kiriai couldn’t believe the straight-faced lie and struggled to keep quiet. She was somewhat confident the sensei would give her one more chance to speak, especially if she remained calm.

Bushi-sensei also seemed to have noticed something about Sento’s last answer and narrowed his eyes. “I will ask you one last time, did this student land a blow, any blow, during your bout?”

“It wasn’t a critical one,” said Sento, all semblance of confidence now gone.

The answer did not please the teacher, and Kiriai thanked the instincts that had urged her to keep quiet so she was not the focus of his displeasure.

In a slow and measured tone, Bushi-sensei said, “Any attempt to deceive is a lie, scrapper. No more trickery. You will explain the blow landed at the end of this bout, so the rest of us can get back to work and stop wasting our time. We are fighters, not ’rangers!” It was amazing how the teacher could somehow yell without raising his voice at all.

Cowed, Sento told the truth. “In the last seconds of the bout, my student Kiriai hit me on the top of the foot with a strong blow.”

There was silence for two seconds as the audience, now enthralled with the unfolding drama, digested the words. Snickers came from the back. “The foot?!” came an incredulous whisper.

Kiriai felt the embarrassment almost as acutely as Sento probably did. She hadn’t wanted notoriety as the student who won her place with a blow to the foot. Then again, she thought, standing up straight and keeping her head high, a win is a win.

“That’s why you’ve been limping today?” asked the sensei after aiming a glare at the rest of the crowd to quiet the onlookers.

“Yes,” admitted Sento, reluctance radiating off of him. “But it is a minor injury,” he said, still trying to argue his position.

“Silence!” interrupted the sensei. “You are limping. It was a blow to a critical target,” said the teacher with a cold finality. “Please present your student to the registrar for initiation.” Then he paused and gave both Sento and Kiriai a shallow nod of acknowledgment. “Congratulations to both teacher and student for your service to our hood. Dismissed.”

With that, he turned, walked to the front of the training floor and rapped a small bronze gong with a padded stick. The rich sound echoed through the space and the fighters exploded into action, straightening gis, finding their places, and then coming to a strict attention stance, awaiting the orders from their teacher.

In the chaos, Sento grabbed her upper arm in a punishing grip and practically dragged her off the training floor and toward the hallway leading to headquarters.