12 Years Ago

  Standing at the foot of the stairway leading up to the Dojo was an older man in a long red robe, its fabric accented with green.

  Blū approached. The man was turned away, facing the opposite direction, watching the students as they trained.

  “You come to watch?” the man asked.

  Blū jumped a little. “You can see me?”

  The robed man kept his focus forward, not sparing a glance for the young lad.

  Blū had a better view of him now—just a wrinkled old stack of dust with a short, unremarkable beard. No hair on his head, either.

  “I knew you’d come,” the old man said.

  “Right… Anyway, old guy, do you have a Hero course?”

  “You want to be a Hero, boy?”

  “I’m considering it.”

  “There are many views on heroism, my little friend. What path do you plan to pave?”

  “I don’t know about all that. I just want to get stronger.”

  “Admirable… potentially. Come. There is someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Blū was led past the training students, each of them taller than him, their faces more serious.

  The man guided him up more stairs, through grand open doors, and down corridors adorned with weaponry and artwork. It was a long trek, but Blū was used to running through the streets—usually to escape someone—so a long walk was nothing new.

  The old man finally stopped at an archway, leading to a room of students younger than those outside, but still far more mature than Blū.

  The young boy held a serious face, doing his best to make sure no one could tell he was intimidated.

  “Master Silver!” the man in the red robe called.

  A cross-armed man in a uniform of authority turned from his students at the sudden call. He walked over, letting his class continue their routine.

  He didn’t look pleased—a scowl pulled his face inward.

  He was tall. Really tall. Taller than most adults. His hair was long, tied into a single strand running down his back.

  His robes were white, strikingly so—the recognizable uniform and belt of a martial arts practitioner. From the pristine look of it, it seemed like he’d never worked a day in his life.

  Yet his body was muscular and scarred, clearly worn by years of discipline.

  “Master Marine,” the teacher said, “what’s wrong?”

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  “I want you to add this young man to your class.”

  “He seems a little young, Master,” Silver replied.

  “You seem a little old,” Blū snapped back.

  “Old? How do I look old?”

  “Your hair is grey.”

  “It’s always been grey.”

  “Have you always been old?”

  “You’re one to talk. Your hair is white!”

  “But I’m obviously not elderly like you.”

  Silver raised a fist, his scowl somehow deepening. “I ought to give you a solid whack, you little punk.”

  “Enough!” Marine yelled, slamming his foot down. The echo pulsed through the room and down the hallways.

  The students in the next room froze mid-pose, turning uneasily toward the doorway.

  Blū rubbed at his ear. “Alright, Master Man, we get it.”

  “I don’t understand why you can’t handle this, Master,” Silver grunted.

  “I do not have the patience for one so young, I think.”

  “Thanks,” Blū said with a sarcastic snarl.

  “You actually expect me to abandon my class for this street rat?” Silver protested.

  “You will not abandon them. I will take care of them.

  Students this age are far more my experience. Take him to one of the gardens. I’m sure you’ll whip him into shape.”

  Blū looked up at Master Silver. The Master met his gaze with an irritated glare.

  “Come on, then,” Silver muttered with another grunt.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  Out in the wide fields of the Tinkerring Dojo, Blū stared at the city wall—a structure that seemed so at odds with the nature around it.

  Yet here, it was the grassy fields that felt out of place.

  The gardens were filled with plants and trees, tended by the students.

  Such a thing sowed doubt in Blū’s mind—how serious could these fighters be if they wasted time gardening instead of training?

  “At least you can appreciate nature,” Master Silver commented.

  “Yeah…” Blū answered nervously. “It’s nice enough.”

  “It’s rare to find peaceful fields like this. There’s a place up west, though. Wonderful flowers. It’s like a field of blue.”

  There were punching bags of various materials, each staked into the ground.

  The stone ones looked tempting, but for his first try, Blū picked the leather one.

  He kicked into its side, striking what felt like a bag of feathers—strong feathers.

  “Stop that,” Master Silver said without much enthusiasm. He seemed so reluctant to spend his energy on the boy that not even his anger was worth the effort.

  “Stop?” Blū asked. “But I’m training!”

  “Anything can be training if it has a purpose. Without reason, you’re just doing things.”

  “Fine! What do you want me to do?”

  Silver sat down on a short, stone stool. “Meditate. An hour to start should be enough.”

  “Meditate? You mean like… sit down?”

  Silver rolled his eyes. “Sit on the ground, cross your legs, and if possible, shut your mouth for a bit.”

  Blū grimaced. “What?” He jabbed a finger at him. “You’re just trying to get out of work, old man!”

  “Oh heavens. Will you just do it, you little turd!”

  “What for?”

  “Patience! Any fighter worth their weight needs it.”

  “Nah. You’re just lazy, old man!”

  “Why’d you come here, boy?” Silver snarled, doing his best to keep his temper down. “This clearly isn’t worth either of our time if you insist on disobeying me at every step.”

  “I need to get stronger! I’m going to be a Hero!”

  Silver scoffed. “Then leave. We have no time for your kind of Hero.”

  “Huh?” Blū shouted, baffled. “What’s wrong with being a Hero?!”

  “Half-arsed, wannabe Heroes with no patience go looking for trouble. And anyone who does that just ends up making more of it.”

  “Sounds like you really hate Heroes!”

  “I’m unbothered—unless they waste my time. Do what you want. But if you insist on such a self-fulfilling path, then leave.”

  “Fine!” Blū shouted. “You’re no use to me anyway if you can’t even show me how to throw a single punch!”

  Blū marched off, far away from that horrid man. He didn’t need him anyway.