ROUND ONE:
Memories of the Past
Ashura was awakened
with a jolt as the sound of a loud smack permeated the quiet air. It sounded
like it came from the living room. Taking care to remain quiet, he sneaked
towards the door like a mouse with a few close calls. Cracking the door open
wide enough to see without giving his position away, he peeked into the living
room.
His
overwhelming shock and flux of emotions would be the first of many to come as
he had a ringside seat to a show no child wanted to see.
His
father was sweating, sweating enough to stain his white dress shirt to the
point where he pulled it out of his black slacks. His heart beat quickened and
he imagined that his breathing slowed. The father quivered as two men blocked
his exits, even though he knew fleeing was futile.
Save
for his father, there were eight men that were in the room: four men clad in
black suits that all held submachine guns, three more enforcers in the same
clothing but were armed with Japanese swords instead of firearms, and the Boss.
The Boss was fitted in a jet black suit, complete with a red tie, in his
mid-twenties, and slim figured. He sucked on a cigar and smoke wisped free from
his devilish smile.
Ashura
shuddered at the sight of the man. He couldn’t fathom why his father was
meeting with such a slime ball. “So, have you ever had a chance to consider my
business proposition?” The Boss spoke to his father in Cantonese.
“Well,
I’m unable to do business with you. If even the slightest thing goes wrong, I’ll
catch all the heat from the police—“
Suddenly
a woman in her mid-thirties, shapely and clad in a night robe, entered the room
from the kitchen, carrying a tray of tea. Setting it down in front of the Boss,
she interrupted the conversation. “Tea.” She couldn’t speak Cantonese fluently.
Ashura watched as his mother exited the living room and entered his room. Almost
immediately, she shushed him, holding her hand over his mouth and planting her
index finger over hers.
The
Boss resumed speaking. “You have a lovely wife, as well as a lovely home. I’m
surprised you have no children, well, any that I know of. It’d be a shame if
anything was to befall any of this, wouldn’t it?” Ashura’s father’s eye began
to twitch, and then he immediately calmed himself. “Look…I’m sorry. I am unable
to compensate your business.”
The
Boss furrowed his eyebrow and seethed, forcing air through his teeth. “How many
times have I explained this situation to you?” He clenched his right hand into
a fist. “I’m sorry, but time has run out for you.”
The
Boss struck Ashura’s father in the face with a right hook, hitting him with
enough force to send him stumbling sideways into a lamp stand. The commotion
caused Ashura’s mom to leave his room and run to her husband’s side.
“Asuka,
get back!” His father said as he stood to his feet. The glasses he wore were
cracked and so he removed them and tossed them to the side.
Even
though he was a businessman, Ashura’s father took an opportunity to learn Chinese
Kempo when he was younger and sixteen years of training was now going to work
to his advantage. A new, furious look present on his face, the father took a
stance and beckoned his opponent, or opponents, to come.
He
was going to defend his family at all costs, even if it meant his life.
A
henchman charged at him and Ashura’s father disarmed him, took his submachine
gun, and smacked him across the face with the weapon. One down, seven to go. As
he was deciding on his next course of action, the sound of someone clearing
their throat reached his ears, catching his attention.
One
of the bodyguards, who were considered the Boss’ elite man, held Asuka by
knifepoint, a drop of crimson liquid sliding down the stainless blade. The Boss
sat down in Ashura’s dad’s favorite reclining chair and took a long puff from
his cigar.
The
second henchman dropped his submachine gun and withdrew a knife, stepping forth
to fight. He attacked furiously, only for the father to parry each of his
strikes and land a devastating blow to the side of his neck. The bodyguard felt
his body go limp and then spring back to life as his target proceeded to crush
his arm into pulp.
With
a hip throw he tossed the defeated bodyguard into his China casing, causing a
loud shatter. To take his place, the second to last bodyguard decided to
attack, albeit with much faster knife strikes. Ashura’s father dodged each one
and landed a flying spin kick, knocking out a tooth. Rubbing his jaw from the
strike, the man failed to see the father preparing his second attack, a kick
that propelled him across the floor.
Ashura
smiled. He was glad that his father was beating up the strange men who invaded
their home and threatened their family.
And
then he saw something he would never forget.
One
of the sword-wielding bodyguards, one who wore a pair of purple-tinged
sunglasses, drew his sword and drove it into Ashura’s father’s sternum. A fresh
spray of blood spilled onto the wall.
Ashura awoke in a cold
sweat; his face and bare chest was drenched and he immediately grabbed a cloth
to wipe himself dry. He sat upward and looked out of the window; it was still
early morning and in a couple of hours, he had to make the commute back to
Ikebukuro.
Ashura slid out of his bed and walked over to his desk,
where a still-warm pot of tea and a cup was waiting. He took a swig of the tea
and let loose a deep sigh. This had been the ninth night that the nightmares
occurred. Nine nights of no sleep and Ashura didn’t understand why he was remembering
that night all of a sudden. It was true that the anniversary of his parents’
murders, but that couldn’t be the reason of it…could it?
It was at that moment that Ashura’s room door slid open
and in stepped Master Wong. Master Wong was in his sixties and had a weathered
face full of wisdom, a long white beard that reached the sash tying off his grey
tunic, a snow-white hair color that ended in a long ponytail. He stood in
Ashura’s doorway with his arms crossed behind his back, his eyes beneath his
bushy eyebrows focused on his ward.
“What troubles you, my pupil?” He spoke in Cantonese. In
terms of communication, it was bit of a daunting task as Master Wong taught
Ashura how to be fluent in Cantonese, Japanese, and English.
“The dreams, Sifu.
They’re getting more and more vivid. I can also see the face of the man who
killed my parents.” He responded. Ashura wiped the fatigue from his eyes and
Master Wong clearly could see that the nightmares were taking a toll on his
student. “Nine days. Nine days of the same thing, Sifu. The dreams are always the same: I look on, helpless as those
men brutalize my mother and gut my father.”
Master Wong stepped inside of Ashura’s room. It was
medium sized and quaint, bore almost nothing but a writing desk with a lamp, a
laptop, and an iPod, his futon, a bookshelf, and a short closet. Lain beside
his bookcase was a Katana sword with a black scabbard and held up on his wall
were a pair of Chinese sabers with silver and blue hilts. The teacher laid an
old but strong hand on Ashura’s shoulder; when he first came to Master Wong’s
pagoda, his hands felt like a lead weight but now, he welcomed the heftiness.
“Ashura, it’s been so long since you first came here. You
were six years old and I felt I wasn’t prepared to take in such a young boy,
but in some ways you reminded me of my own son…” Ashura turned to him and said,
“You never really mentioned him. Where is your son?”
Master Wong pulled away and Ashura immediately knew that
this was a sensitive subject. “He’s not with us anymore. He died a long, long
time ago.” Ashura set down his tea and sat down on his bed and looked at the
clock. It was 3:30 A.M. and his time to make the commute was approaching.
“It’s been ten years since I first took you in, Ashura.
I’ve done my best to teach you how to be a man, how to fight and more importantly,
how to defend. Before you could begin to learn the ‘Shorin-Bojuken’style of martial arts, you had to learn how to get
rid of your inner demons.” “Shorin-Bojuken”, translated to “The Shaolin Fist of
Interception”, was a unique martial arts discipline that Master Wong developed
over years of training, research, and fighting against other Chinese styles. It
combined elements of American Boxing, Muay Thai, and Kyokushin Karate in order
to strengthen the areas that Shaolin Kung-fu could not.
Ashura walked to his
closet and pulled his gakuran, his school uniform, from a coat hanger. “Sifu, you’ve taught me well, but I have
a feeling that these nightmares won’t stop. Did you know my parents at all?”
Master Wong paused for a few moments and Ashura turned
his head slightly towards his teacher. “Yes, your mother brought you to me once
before, when you were very young. I met her once before, around the time…that
my son died. She felt that she could trust me. That night, I found you, bloody,
wandering the streets of Hong Kong, and I took you in.”
Ashura remained silent and continued to dress himself.
Master Wong decided to return to bed, knowing that this was a matter that
Ashura had to learn to conquer on his own. Thirty minutes later, Ashura was
fully prepped for school. It was a two hour ride back to Ikebukuro and if he
was lucky, he could find a quiet spot to catch some shut eye before class
started. He ventured to the garage area in the front of the large pagoda and
uncovered his prized possession: a 2009 Yamaha VMAX Motorcycle. It was a
present for that previous year: Master Wong felt that he should get something
special for his sixteenth birthday, since his personal opinion was that all
boys became men at that age.
The engine revved, a sound that
Ashura enjoyed and Master Wong found irritating, even from his room in the rear
of the pagoda, and Ashura sped off.
Ashura’s
father was being held in place by the sword. Amazingly, he found the strength
to speak. Most would think this kind of blow from a sword was imminently fatal
from the drastic blood loss. The Boss watched the violence unfold without
batting an eye.
“Well,
well, well. Any last words? Any prayers?”
“Please,
just spare my family. This is between me and you. I beg you; they were no part
of this. Leave my wife and son out of this…they have no need to die. My head is
sufficient enough.”
The
Boss smiled. “Of course. Anything for an old friend and acquaintance of mine,”
The Boss lied. He nodded to his assassin and on command the sword was withdrawn
in a ripping motion, causing a new spray of blood to splatter on the carpet. Groaning
quietly, the father’s body fell lifelessly in front of Ashura’s cracked door.
Tearfully,
all Ashura could muster was the soundless word, “Father…”
Asuka
screamed at the top of her lungs and struggled to break free, despite the
weapon pressed against her throat. She elbowed the man in his sternum, gaining
release but causing the blade to nick her throat. More of the crimson liquid
flowed freely from her wound.
“Kill
her.” Yamaguchi announced her death warrant, prompting one of the hitmen to
draw a pistol and anchor it to aim. Asuka instinctively went for her husband’s
corpse before the bullets ripped into her body. A bullet struck her spinal cord
and she fell immediately.
The
Boss laughed and flicked his cigar out of the open window where it fell into a
canal. He then turned towards his hired killers and uttered without a hint of
emotion, “He has a son. Find the boy. Kill him. Leave no witnesses breathing.”
The
other two swordsmen drew their weapons and proceeded to Ashura’s room. The
blades glimmer as the assassins raise them in order to cut the boy down
quickly. Panicking, Ashura went for the window and hurriedly crawled through
it. It was already open, giving him more time to escape. He slipped on the wet surface
of the landing and fell; fell down into the darkness of the streets of Hong
Kong below.
Ashura rose up in a
violent jolt, his desk snapping under the pressure of his abnormal strength.
His brow was drenched in sweat once more and his body was shaking. Ashura’s
eyes quickly glanced around and he remembered that he was in Literature class.
The rest of the class was frozen in surprise and
curiosity, especially the teacher, who blinked tersely and rubbed his face; he
wasn’t that boring…or was he?
Ashura’s
mind promptly went to calm his nerve-wracked body; it meditated, finding that
calm place that he could always run to. On the outside, Ashura’s face contorted
into embarrassment as he looked down at the destroyed desk and broken pencil case.
Without a word, he made a beeline for the door. The bell rang shortly
afterwards and the students clamored to recess time.
Ashura sat on the rooftop with his iPod in his lap and
one bud in his left ear. Whenever his mind got frazzled, Jazz was the drug he
needed to bring him down. He listened to a composition with a medium tempo and
it was just the fix he needed.
These nightmares were getting out of hand. The lack of
sleep caused him to doze off in a class that he normally found interesting and
the dreams became more vivid each time. Who were his parents? What did they do
to warrant a visit from that crime boss? If he didn’t fall out of that window,
he’d be dead too. Ashura shook his head and held his sinuses as a slight
migraine slid in.
“I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do.” He
uttered under his breath as he changed the song to a more somber piece.
“Ash! Ashura! You up here?” the voice of a young female
rang out, catching Ashura’s attention. Ashura instantly recognized the voice
and perked up; it was Azuki Kanehana, daughter of Kazuma Kanehana, who was a
wealthy businessman in Tokyo. Her father was CEO of the Kanehana Zaibatsu, and
owned/funded many businesses and establishments in the city. The Zaibatsu even
owned the school, as its name was “Kanehana Gakuen”.
“Over here!” Ashura waved as the young lady stepped into
view. She wore a “Fuku” sailor uniform, customary for the academy’s women, had
her jet black hair combed straight and held back with a sapphire blue bow, and
Ashura could see her brown eyes from afar.
“Hey. What was all that about in class? Are you alright?”
She inquired as Ashura ceased his music. “I’ll be fine. Just a really bad
dream.”
“It looked like a lot more than a bad dream. You
shattered your desk.” Ashura’s base strength, indeed, was higher than a normal
human’s due to his training and at times he had trouble keeping it in check.
“…Alright. Lately I’ve been having dreams about my
parents. They were murdered when I was six and I saw the whole thing.”
“Oh my God…well, where have you been staying since then?
Who have you been living with?”
“A friend of my family, Master Wong. He raised me and
he’s looking after me. I try not to give him such a hard time.” Ashura finished
the final part of the sentence while mustering an artificial smile. She
couldn’t tell that it was a fake one; Azuki was surprised that someone hurt by
tragedy managed to smile.
Forgoing the memory of pain and suffering, Ashura quickly
changed the subject: “Hey. You busy Friday? You know there’s no school and I
thought that we could hang out and talk.”
Azuki paused for a moment. She could immediately detect
Ashura’s ulterior motives; she noticed the way he looked at her from time to
time and the last school function she turned Ashura down when he asked her to
accompany him. Ashura found Azuki very attractive and he’s wanted to date her
for a year now.
“I’m sorry, Ashura, but I have to decline. I know you
like me, but I don’t want you to project on me since your nightmares are making
you think about your parents. I’m your friend and I think we should stay that
way.”
The dreaded Friend Zone. Men worldwide knew that this
emotional purgatory was damned near impossible to escape from and most of the
time it was a suicide mission to try. Ashura had just been plunged headfirst
into the blank, white void of the Friend Zone. Ashura perfectly masked his
disappointment and asked, “Tell me: are you interested in someone else?”
Azuki found no point to lie and admitted: “Yeah. Koji
from the Karate Club.” Koji was the Captain of the Karate Competition Club and
he liked to relish in the popularity that winning tournaments garnered him.
Azuki mentally remarked that Koji’s immense masculinity turned her on.
Ashura brushed his dark hair from in front of his face,
picked up his stuff and walked towards the staircase. Azuki immediately rushed
behind him and asked, “You’re upset, aren’t you?”
“Why would I be upset? You were honest and I respect
that. So I’m going to grab some lunch before fourth period.” Ashura lied so
masterfully. He thought that Azuki was different, that she was unlike the other
girls who found such amusement in schoolyard popularity and social
interactivity. He has been wrong before.
“Well,” Azuki began, trying to make herself seem less a
villain. “I hope that we can still be friends.” Ashura looked back before
descending the staircase and responded, “Of course. We’re friends.”
Ashura exited the staircase and forgot to look where he
was going. In addition to his nightmares, he blurted out a proposition for a
date and Azuki shot him down. Of course, he didn’t expect her to accept but it
would’ve been sweet if she did. Azuki’s one of the most popular girls in school
while Ashura mostly kept quiet and played the background.
He turned the corner and WHAM! He collided with a young
woman who dropped her books from the impact. Both Ashura and the girl were on
the ground; Ashura brushed his hair away and laid eyes on a beautiful creature.
She looked at him with amber eyes and moved auburn hair
away from her face. She was Chinese, a foreign exchange student…and she was
breathtaking. Ashura was speechless.
“I’m so sorry!” She spoke with a hint of an accent. “I
should’ve been watching where I was going.”
“No, it was my fault.” Ashura helped her to her feet and picked
up her books. “My name’s Ashura, but you can call me Ash. Mostly everyone
does.” He offered his hand and she smiled, extending her hand to shake. “I’m
Mei-Lan, but call me Melissa. It’s easier to pronounce.”
The two’s eyes connected for a moment and Melissa was the
first to break the silence. “I was wondering if you could help me find my
classes. This place is freakin’ huge and I got lost!” Ashura chuckled and took
ahold of her hand. “Let me give you the grand tour.”
Azuki watched on as Ashura and Melissa left the hallway,
and a drop of jealously tainted her once-clear conscience. “Wow, she’s pretty.
Really pretty for a Korean girl.”
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