The sky had darkened early that day, as if mourning something not yet lost. On his way home, a young boy named Naku Hizusuki found himself cornered by a group of jeering children. They tormented him with cruel words and stones, as they often did. This time, however, their mockery cut deeper. He ran, eyes stinging, heart pounding in panic and shame.
But the torment outside was nothing compared to the horror that awaited him within.
As he stepped into his home, a suffocating silence met him—unnatural and chilling. Blood stained the tatami mats. His mother and father lay lifeless, their bodies twisted in unnatural angles. A scream clawed its way from Naku's throat but never made it out. He fell to his knees.
His father had borrowed money from a powerful samurai. Unable to repay the debt in time, the samurai—Simo Roy—had done what no justice should permit. He slaughtered them both without remorse.
Naku could do nothing. Simo Roy was a man of wealth and power, feared across the region. No one dared to raise a voice against him.
Later, as Naku wandered aimlessly in shock, he found himself face-to-face with the very man who had destroyed his life. Their eyes met. In that moment, something primal surged through the boy—rage, sorrow, and a desperate thirst for justice. He lunged at the samurai with nothing but trembling fists.
Simo Roy, amused and unbothered, drew his blade. With a single effortless motion, he slashed. The boy's hand fell to the ground. Blood sprayed. Pain followed. Darkness.
And yet, the samurai spared him.
When Naku opened his eyes, sterile white walls surrounded him. He was in a hospital. The antiseptic smell, the hum of machinery—it was all foreign, terrifying. He looked to his side.
His hand was gone.
Panic took hold. He fled, unnoticed, into the streets and beyond. Alone and broken, he wandered until he came upon a quiet shrine nestled in the forest. At its heart sat an old monk, cloaked in calm and silence. This was Buddha Mong.
With one glance, the monk saw the story written in the boy's eyes. Without words, he offered food, warmth, and—most importantly—peace. Naku collapsed from exhaustion and grief. That night, the monk laid him gently in a guest room, whispering prayers as the boy slept.
The following morning, Naku awoke to the sound of rhythm and discipline. Outside, the monk moved with unexpected agility, practicing with a long, gleaming spear. He noticed the boy watching and smiled.
"Come," he said, offering the spear. "Do you wish to learn how to wield this?"
Naku hesitated, eyes wide with fear and hope. He nodded. "Yes," he whispered.
And so the monk began to train him—not just in the art of the spear, but in balance, patience, and strength of spirit. Through seasons of sweat and silence, of pain and perseverance, Naku transformed. Five years passed.
One evening, as they shared a quiet meal, the monk finally asked, "What is your name?"
The boy hesitated, unsure of whether he was still the same person who once bore it. Then, with renewed fire in his voice, he answered:
"Hizusuki."
The next day, Buddha Mong placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "You are a capable young man. Go out into the world. Do good where you can. And if the road is too harsh, this place will always be home."
And with that, Hizusuki's journey truly began.
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To be continued…
Next chapter arrives May 4th