((This is continued from this thread.))

"Hm? Yeah! My mom is an amazing cook!" Mizuki exclaimed cheerily.

There was ideally a followup here. She wanted to ask him a question, but she suddenly found that very difficult to do. Why? She'd been able to talk about just anything before. Well, actually, she hadn't tried to talk about just anything at all--none of the embarrassing stuff, at least.

"U-um . . . A-Akeno-sempai?" she asked for his attention, oddly bashful.

Mizuki encountered a sudden, odd shyness--having not socialized with many people, she didn't experience it much, but this was pretty rough. It actually stifled her question; she couldn't reasonably bring herself to ask it and feel comfortable with it, but if Akeno caught on . . .

"You--you should try her cooking sometime . . ." Mizuki said as she looked to the table, a bit nervous, but not so much that she couldn't talk.

They boy’s head would cock slightly to one side, a finger on his left hand playfully rolling a small marble across the smooth surface of the table, and all the while his mind would attempt to grasp at the meaning behind Mizuki’s statement.

It was obviously not all that complex a thing to understand, of course. But neither of the two had any real social experience, but eventually the meaning of the small girl’s words became clear, she had already invited him over to her house once before, and while he had initially dismissed it as nothing … It surely was not a coincidence that she was once again bringing up the same topic.

In an awkward fumbling for words the child opposite the small girl would attempt to speak again:

“Y-yeah … Maybe,” he spoke. “That sounds like it’d be fun.” A genuine smile spread across the boy’s face, his eyes lit up with happiness. It was an odd thing to be so friendly with someone he had barely known existed until just a few days prior. But it wasn’t a bad thing at all.

Still, there were years of forced manners and tradition embedded into the child’s brain. Akeno would find it a very difficult thing to press the subject at fear of sounding over eager. It was impossible for him to take his statement, his comment and go one step further… He could not turn his “maybe” into anything other than that without an absolute invitation from the girl before him and of course, her mother.

His head bowed, eyes fixated on the marble rolling across the table top.

Offtopic: Bad post is bad. I apologize. :C

"R-really?!" Mizuki exclaimed in quick, rapturous excitement.

She quickly quieted herself, putting her hands over her mouth sheepishly to cover her smile and force herself to calm. The girl was easily excitable with certain things--things like this, finding friends and inviting them over to spend time with her, and those friends actually saying yes. It was too glorious!

A glorious thing to be joyful about, but embarrassing. She could have sworn that everyone in the cafeteria were staring at her for a brief moment--not like that wasn't uncommon, but she really hated that . . .

"I'll ask my mom as soon as I get home," she whispered to avoid her voice spiking up in pitch with cheer, "I know she'll let you. I, um, I haven't had any friends over in years--and she always used to like it when I brought friends over."

Sadly, it was only when she started to officially attend a school that she lost track of her friends and then lacked friends as a whole. This was just about the first time someone from school had actually spoken to her in any depth, and even maybe called her a friend!

“Yeah.”

Akeno lowered his head bashfully, mirroring a similar expression as Mizuki’s. He had few friends; fewer yet were friends who weren’t simply taking advantage of him. He had lived most of his life by simply being a second string, possibly third, and it wasn’t enjoyable; Mizuki was possibly his first actual friend, whether she knew it or not.

Resting his head lazily on the flat of his plam, Akeno looked around the cafeteria and noted the other students occasionally looking over to the two’s table, a familiar figure leaving the cafeteria, ignored, and a few unfamiliar individuals chattering amongst themselves immediately after Akeno turned his head back towards Mizuki, a half-hearted smile creeping on his features. Sometimes Cizok and its people were rather hateful.

“Ano …“ He spoke, hesitantly breaking the silence that had slowly drifted over their table. “What, … What is your family like, Mizuki-chan? Do you have siblings?”

Lunch had a bit longer before ending, it was nearing the usual time, but a good number of students had yet to clear out or finished their meals. A good opportunity for the two to speak a bit longer.

That was one heck of a story to tell! Truth be told, Mizuki didn't have nearly enough time to tell it all, but as is, the story was a good one, if not a strange one: a tale about her family. Mizuki was no storyteller; in fact, she had a bad habit of exaggerating details to the point where they bordered on complete lies, but talking about her family required a bit of a story!

"A-ah! W-well, I have two sister and we live with our mother," Mizuki didn't mention having a father, "Onee-san is twelve and nee-chan is two. Mom had her just a few years ago. It was very weird at first, too."

Having a little sister around when she was used to being the baby was something Mizuki really had to get used to, and it took awhile. Truth be told, she still wasn't over it just yet, but in time . . .

"Everyone is really nice and nee-chan loves to be around new people. Onee-san can be really weird and moody sometimes, though. But she is usually okay. Only once has she ever--"

But alas! It was time to go. Everyone had started to adjourn from the cafeteria, denoting a necessity for them to do the same, or else they'd be late for their next class. She'd just have to tell this story another time . . .

Akeno looked around the room as he noticed lunch time was up, students were not only getting rid of their trash, but also leaving the cafeteria all together. Time had flown rather fast, almost as though Mizuki had planned such a convenient disruption the entire time, but that couldn’t be… Could it? He would have to ponder this more, at a later time.

“Ah! It looks like lunch is over,” he suddenly gasped. No doubt, though, that Mizuki had already noticed. “W-we should get going, Mizuki-chan.”

The young boy stood from his seat, flattening the hand that had been playing with the marble, lifting it, as it came up empty, and looking around the cafeteria one final time. It had thinned considerably, obviously, and the two children hadn’t been bothered all that much, surprisingly.

Mizuki was a little surprised, actually, that there was no significant trouble during their lunch. Her story would have to wait for another day, but that was fine. She took her lunch away to toss the scraps that weren't going to be eaten and left the lunch room with Akeno. If the rest of the day went like this, with no trouble befalling either of them, it'd be a good day! After all, he had said he might go to her house for dinner someday--and for some reason, it seemed wondrous to her to introduce a friend of hers to her family.



Four boys had a younger one surrounded. Four to one, and they were all older than him by a longshot. The odds were against him. They were in their mid-teens. Three of them had dark hair, grown out as if they were anticipating the day that they could tie it up in a top-knot. The fourth, however, kept his hair short. Status as a samurai was not his immediate or even future goal. He wore a loose kimono, a little dirty. It hadn't been washed in quite a while, more than likely--and neither had he. His blond hair was matted with grease and his freckles looked a lot like pimples.

"Tanjiro-kun," the blond declared with a grin, his bokken slapping into his hand with a threatening yet passive rhythm, "You really screwed up my cousin good. The doctors say he'll never walk again. Do you have anything to say for yourself? Any excuses? Justification?"

Revenge had brought them there to that spot near the edge of town, behind a store selling cheap alcohol--the kind of alcohol that the boys smelled of. There were no windows in the back of that place, though; unless someone came around back from inside, no one else would be joining the five of them . . .

"Ehhhh, Tanjiro-kun?" he goaded the boy for a response.

The rest of Mizkuki's and Akeno's day would pass relatively quickly and without much trouble for the two of them, word had spread about the two, but even quicker--was a rumor that teachers were now keeping a closer eye on their classes, specifically those that contained Mizuki or Akeno. Students, weary of being punished by the more stricter teachers would choose to allow the flames to cool, biding their time, and eventually they would no longer be hindered by the hawkish eyes of their instructors. Of course, a weekend's time could quite possibly be all they needed to wait.


A lazy stare was one of two replies the boy would receive; the second was the disapproving frown that marked Tanjiro’s face. His clothing wasn’t lose but neither was it tight, no; it was a perfect fit--stark contrast to the antagonists that faced him. His brown eyes were nearly black, his hair was actually long enough to form a top-knot, but he had yet to bother with it, so it hung loosely about his shoulders. After all, his mother still dressed and groomed him.

“I’m sorry, believe me.”
Tanjiro pleaded with the speaker, a sincere honesty woven into each spoken word.
“I had meant to kill him for disrespecting my brother, but being unable’ta walk is justice enough.”

The boys surrounding Tanjiro had the advantage in more ways than one, the first and most immediate challenge for Tanjiro to over-come was the superiority in numbers, but the difference in skill between the two “groups” could easily make up for that. The second was them being older, but they lacked the same physical and mental development as the younger child, but they did have more natural development. They were taller, some perhaps stronger. The biggest advantage was the fact that some, if not all of them, were carrying weapons and Tanjiro was as unarmed as they came.

“By the way,”
Tanjiro remarked rather off handedly.
“Who’s the foreigner in your family? Your mother or your father? Or are you a mongrel by choice?”

No venom stained Tanjiro’s words as he spoke, again adding sincerity to his tone, fake or not, it sounded real. He wasn’t even trying to psyche the group out.

There was no reason for Tanjiro to be the aggressor of this little skirmish, after all; they were just having a friendly conversation--for now. Still, one of the principal practices in the boy’s father’s sword-style was patience. One’s enemies would make themselves known and strike sooner rather than later, there was no reason to actively seek them out.

“You boys,” he spoke aloud, addressing the other kids. “You hear what I did to this mongrel’s cousin, right? His cousin wasn’t alone, either. You know? My father will reward me for defending me and mine’s honor, he won’t care if I kill or even cripple you.”

Like a mental switch was flipped, Tanjiro’s entire demeanor had changed, a sharp, but passing glare was shot to each of the kids facing him. Intimidation 101, utilization of big words and passive-aggressive body language. The only thing to trump it would be bravery or a leader’s rally. This particular leader, facing Tanjiro, didn’t seem all that capable, honestly.

Initially, the blond boy thought Tanjiro was actually apologizing. His grin widened. It wasn't like this was going to bail Tanjiro out or anything. In fact, a beating was almost guaranteed! He would, perhaps, be hospitalized just like the blond boy's cousin. Still, a sincere apology was amusing. It might keep them from maiming him too badly! At least, he might just lose his legs. Eye for an eye, that kind of deal!

The blond boy's grin slowly faded with each word that Tanjiro spoke following the apology. Indeed, the apology was sincere, but it wasn't what he was expecting. The boy was apologizing for the exact opposite thing . . .

He could have ended it there and got the same result--a few pissed off boys. They were pissed, yes. Pissed as all hell. That didn't mean they couldn't get angrier--enough to attack, possibly?

But Tanjiro went on.

"You-- . . . you little brat . . ." he growled between his teeth.

And that was it. It was all he had to say to Tanjiro after that. Anything else would have just been excessive. The three others, unarmed, stepped forward, encircling Tanjiro. The boy didn't need to taunt much to get their attention. He had it, definitely. It wasn't the best attention, though--but that was to any normal kid. Someone like the blond boy would have tried to avoid this kind of trouble if he was outnumbered and outmatched, but Tanjiro had said some pretty hefty things. He was going to bring that kind of trouble with a vengeance.

And that vengeance would come swift in the form of a bokken straight down towards the center of Tanjiro's skull.

A feeling of disappointment momentarily washed over Tanjiro, he was hoping to not only cut the other boy’s numbers, but spare himself the trouble of having to deal with a similar situation in the future. Really, he had been trying to save these kids from causing themselves more trouble than they could handle.

Still, Tanjiro’s inner-switch had already been flipped--he was young, maybe even naïve, but he wasn’t unskilled. Almost immediately after he was surrounded and the bokken was brought down towards his skull, he had dashed forwards and towards the attacker, twisting to the side just as the “blade” passed his face, and attempting to add to that downward slash, in hopes of violently dislodging the bokken from its wielder’s grip, by bringing both his hands down atop the weapon, palms facing down. If this succeeded, Tanjiro, in a moment of over-excessive flamboyance, would kick the bokken back up from the ground, and grab it mid-air in an effort to wield it as his own. Indeed, if this succeeded he would now be armed and his skill as a swordsman would actually be worth something, at this point he was nothing more than an acceptable street brawler.

Should the impossible occur and Tanjiro could not manage to dislodge his opponent’s weapon, he would be in a spot of trouble, surrounded at all sides without a weapon, and facing off against a much larger opponent. Still, he wasn’t completely out of options--indeed, if he could not arm himself, he would continue his advance, dodging whatever attacks he could, or even taking some, and stopping just on top the blond’s outside foot, all of Tanjiro’s strength would then go into a violent and heavy shove, a basic, if laughable last-ditch effort, but a very productive one. If the shove succeeded, Tanjiro wouldn’t need a weapon, instead; having taken his opponent’s balance away, along with his ability to step backwards, Tanjiro would have the advantage, able to try and crush his opponent’s throat, or at the very least cause those who were surely running at him from behind to trample their friend.

The young boy would have to avoid being hit from all directions, he could defend and even counter frontal attacks, but that was it. If he was ever unable to avoid being surrounded and attacked at the same time, the fight would be over and he would not be the victor.

Tanjiro was successful enough in that category: disarming his opponent. The blond boy's bokken slipped out of his hands as he personally slipped forward, having tripped on Tanjiro's foot.

The boy was directly in front of him, and the blond boy, thrown of balance as he had stepped forward to swing, only to miss, lose his weapon, and step too much, fell forward into Tanjiro, his weight into the boy enough to knock him onto his back with the blond boy on top of him. This didn't leave Tanjiro a chance to retrieve the adolescent's bokken, which was instead plundered by one of the dark haired, completely native Cizokians.

Tanjiro would essentially find himself accidentally pinned. Short as he was, the blond hit his face on the ground in his descent, throwing off his reaction time, and leaving him to just lay on Tanjiro. It wouldn't be a second later that pinning became his primary goal, though: he'd hold Tanjiro down by the shoulders once he had his bearings back, if he got them back.

This posed a significant problem, for no matter how skilled a warrior, being dragged to the ground in any way hampered movement--and even if Tanjiro managed to wriggle out of this, the other three boys were standing directly over him, leaving him no room to personally get up without a risk of being attacked.

Way to go, showoff.

Tanjiro’s brains raddled about his skull as his body was pinned and his head hit the ground, but the situation, although bad, wasn't entirely lost. Normally, as an up and coming samurai, born from an established family of such, Tanjiro, skilled as he was, was bound by certain codes of honor. He wasn’t the most vocal about it, it hampered him and he was too young to fully understand just how importance honor was. However, there was a time and place for such concepts, a duel between equals, for example, could be seen as the perfect place for this so called “honor.” In stark contrast, an unfair fight--the advantage being to the enemy--there was no tangible reason not to fight dirty.

“Stupid …”
The young boy’s voice was a whisper, the extra weight from his attacker was making it slightly harder to breathe, it wasn’t deadly, yet, but it could be if the attackers were smart enough to use it. Tanjiro, however, intended for the fight to be over far before that became an issue.
“Don’t move.”
Noticing that he was pinned by the shoulders and not the arms, Tanjiro couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph in his next plan, a stealthy smile forming on his lips, his hands and arms wiggled underneath the blond’s body, not from under the attacker, but instead--further down his length.

If getting up would lead to being attacked, Tanjiro would instead use his opponent’s body as a shield, at least until he could stand without worry of being knocked unconscious right away, with this as his reasoning, the blond, who was pinned atop Tanjiro, would soon find a painful and unbearable deathgrip locked tightly around his groin, specifically his testicles. Yes, Tanjiro now--quite literally--had his enemy by the balls.

“Don’t move,” he repeated. “Or so help me, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”
A deadly seriousness was in Tanjiro’s voice as he spoke, such a tone would be impossible to ignore by the blond, although he definitely had a choice, albeit slim, in the matter. Still, with his opposite hand, Tanjiro, still holding his enemy by the balls, made sure to clutch at the other’s clothing, ensuring his enemy could not try and suddenly stand up and cause him to lose his grip, although the latter most likely wouldn’t have occurred anyways.
“Your friends will never let you live this down.”
Luckily, as embarrassing as it was for both of them, it was an unexpected situation and without a doubt, it would allow Tanjiro some time to think ahead and plan out his next move.

The act was definitely a surprise to the blond. He tensed up immediately, then narrowed his eyes and did everything he could to avoid beating Tanjiro's face in. Indeed, Tanjiro had him by the balls--there was only so much he could do right now, and beating the kid's face in was not one of those options.

"You . . . bastard kid . . ."

It was a tricky situation. These guys weren't thinking about tactics. In a group, they really didn't have to. If four people threw punches, at least one of them was going to hit. That was the problem with fighting more than one person; while one would have just the same trouble hitting one, their chances of hitting the one person increased dramatically.

Tanjiro still had a lot of his body exposed, though . . .

Naturally, his body would go limp for a brief second; if this were to happen one hundred times, ninety nine out of those times would have him releasing all tension for a moment, letting go of anything he was holding, halting any forward action, and falling limp in a state of delirium quite suddenly, too quick to allow for a reaction. That was how it was when being kicked in the side of the skull like a ball to a Xexorian sports star.

One of the other boys had reared his leg back and kicked forward at the side of Tanjiro's skull like he was trying to score a goal across a one hundred yard field. Fortunately, he wasn't a strong kicker; he wasn't going to break the kid's neck, but he would force him into a state of delirium, momentarily unable to tense up, temporarily limp, before any effort to squeeze could be made. He was in a bad place, right now. Losing gracefully had almost completely ceased to be an option--but fortunately, these kids weren't planning on killing anyone today.

And after that, there'd really be no avoiding what was to come: the blond beating him in the face bare knuckled until he felt better about today . . .

The young boy, his vice grip still holding, did his best to soften the force of the kick by turning his head, narrowly avoiding a blow to the temple, it was still painful, almost crippling so, but the damage wasn’t as severe and if it had hit him in the temple, he’d have a concussion, or possibly have died.
“Fuck you,” he shouted as his brains once again raddled about his head, his grip tightening on the blond, who would at least be urinating blood for the next week, if things continued in this fashion.

Losing gracefully was not a possibility from the very beginning, those that surrounded him, the one on top of him, and the seven that seemed to blur around the others may have thought such an option existed, but they were wrong.

Heels dug into ground, the boy was trying to plant his feet firmly, he wasn’t standing, obviously, but if he could get his legs into good shape, he’d have many more options. Along with this effort, though, would be his body trying to shake from left to right, his hands were still occupied, his grip was far tighter than before, part in thanks to the kick to head and adrenaline surging through his body. It was almost enjoyable.

Stubborn as a mule, Tanjiro’s body would continue moving, one kick after another, it didn’t matter, he’d take it in stride, all it would take was a push and some luck.

“Hrrn! Y-you,” through gritted teeth he spoke. “Never answered me, mongrel. Mother or father?”

Tanjiro thought, at least, that he still had a grip on the blond. In actuality, it was only his leg, now--a grip regained, but not where he had originally intended. The blond adolescent now sat upon his chest, raining down fists upon Tanjiro's face in righteous vengeance. The boy had maimed his cousin, insulted him and his family, and aggressed where no man should aggress another man. The makeshift honor code popular in the world about men fighting other men migrated even to Cizok--partially thanks to the open borders, as per the Shogun's mandate--but it was a fair all around: you never hit another man in the balls.

Once he was somewhat content with the mess he had made, he stopped . . . only to hear Tanjiro's next question. Another stubborn, bullheaded, arrogant little remark from the brat about his family . . .

"I'm . . ." the blond growled, "I'm going to kill you."

He raised his fist up one more time.

But he was interrupted by a voice--a female voice, not too much older than Tanjiro himself, "Seijun . . . what are you doing?"

A girl had migrated to the back of the store, standing near the corner with her arms folded over her diaphragm. She had short red hair, all cut to level with the middle of her neck, sans her bangs, which were kept shorter. The girl was only thirteen, only a few years older than Tanjiro, and she looked it--if not a little younger. No chest, skinny, but lacking the development of curves for a girl her age--though, she was a little tall for her age. 5'4; girls her age were usually shorter than that.

The blond, Seijun, sat up, looking across the distance to the girl. "None of you business, Yumika. Why don't you get out of here?"

The girl ignored that. She spoke with a certain awkward sternness: "Your father is looking for you, Seijun."

"Seriously? Fuck," Seijun got off of Tanjiro, "Fuck. What the hell does he want?"