by Ryota Hori
But if he was allowed to be honest, he wished she would stop making them entirely. Carrying one of these into high school was... Well, it may go over well with the girls, but it would squander any dignity he had among the boys. Up until middle school, he’d eaten at the cafeteria, so there was no problem there. But with the advent of high school, he had to start bringing his own lunch.
Ryoma didn’t have parents, and his grandfather wasn’t the type of person to make him a boxed lunch, so he made do with bread from the school store. But sometime in mid-April, Asuka suggested the idea of making him lunch. He gratefully accepted this gracious offer, but he wasn’t quite surprised when he opened the box the following lunch break.
It’s a good thing no one saw that...
The memory still made him shiver a little. He wolfed it down before everyone else could see it, somehow retaining what little traces of dignity he’d managed to build up to that day. But when he called her to complain after school, his lunch the following day was the most basic of lunches imaginable; rice with a single pickled plum.
Breakfast was pretty bad, too... She made us cornflakes with milk and nothing else...
Not that he intended to slight cornflakes with milk as a breakfast option, but it was nothing short of torture after a harsh session of morning training.
But he still endured his hunger until lunch, only to once again be met with despair when he opened the lid on his usual boxed lunch. In the end he swallowed his pride and apologized to Asuka, cursing in the bottom of his heart all the while. He knew perfectly well that buying bread or making his own lunch would just sour Asuka’s mood further.
And so it was that Ryoma Mikoshiba’s boxed lunches were all decorated in this manner, prompting him to flee to the rooftop and eat alone every time. It was the other reason why he had refused his classmate’s offer this morning.
“You keep saying you’ll join us next time!” She said. “And you always go straight home when school ends. With a body like yours, you’re wasted on the literary clubs! C’mon, my upperclassmen won’t stop pestering me about it. Come check out the karate club. All you have to do is watch, so please?”
She looked at him with an upturned gaze. It was a fairly adorable gesture, the kind that would render most men incapable of doing anything but nod at her suggestion. But Ryoma stubbornly shook off the temptation. These kinds of recruitment tactics had become an everyday routine in the month since he’d entered this school.
“Didn’t I already tell you? I don’t intend to do kendo, karate or join the track team. I’m really sorry, but I can’t come.”
He was up against a highschool girl, and one of the more attractive and influential ones in his class at that. He didn’t want to refuse in a way that would express his displeasure too forcefully, so as to not buy her animosity. So, while minding to keep his tone and wording as delicate as possible, Ryoma made his refusal as clear as he could. Especially since the mention of karate made the other classmates listen in on their conversation.
While this school focused on academics, it was also pretty serious about sports. Their achievements when it came to kendo were especially remarkable. They won the regional tournaments regularly, and while they never won the national competitions, it wasn’t unusual to find this school ranked in the top 16 or top 8.
So what would happen when a brawny new student like Ryoma Mikoshiba were to enroll into the school? As one might expect, every club imaginable immediately began trying to recruit him, and all 190 or more centimeters of tempered muscle that went around with him. These weren’t a bodybuilder’s muscles, developed for the sake of showing off, but a supple armor of flesh, graced with just the right amount of fat. It was obvious he had experience from some sort of club.
“Hmm, well, I guess I can’t force you to come today. Still, I hope you’ll at least consider it. We’ll be able to kill it at the nationals for sure if you join!”
With that said, she jauntily turned around and returned to her friend’s desk. She probably already knew from experience that hounding him stubbornly wouldn’t do her any good.
She does this day after day, and she still doesn’t give up... Maybe I’d consider it if she just invited me for lunch like a normal person...
Smiling wryly at her retreating figure, Ryoma placed his hand on the classroom door.
Asuka’s boxed lunch wasn’t that much of an issue, honestly. He could just buy some bread or another boxed lunch when eating with them, and then eat Asuka’s for a snack later. But there was another major reason Ryoma didn’t make that choice.
Simply put, their repeated attempts to recruit him into their clubs were irritating. Not that he thought there was anything wrong with sports or martial arts clubs in and of themselves, nor did he have any intent to pass judgment on people who devoted their lives to them.
But now that they had all become glorified sports, divided by weight classes and based on gaining points, Ryoma didn’t find them the slightest bit interesting, and had no desire to do them only for the sake of showing off his strength.
For Ryoma, martial arts were a tool for killing an opponent, and to keep himself from being killed at their hands. It wasn’t something he wanted to make a show out of, and he didn’t see it as something to compete for superiority with. But he knew full well that this line of thought didn’t align with modern-day peaceful Japan, and no matter how much he tried to explain it with words, he wouldn’t be understood or accepted.
The majority of people saw martial arts as nothing more than sports, or otherwise, a form of mental training or a piece of culture to preserve. And there was a difference as wide as heaven and earth between that line of thinking and Ryoma’s, a gap that could not be bridged or mediated.
So Ryoma simply refused, saying nothing else, and on sunny days like this he would flee to the rooftop to eat his lunch and nap until the bell rang. It was better for everyone this way.
“Right, see you later, then.” Ryoma threw those words in the direction of his classmates’ inquisitive gazes and left the classroom.
Right, that day was the same as any other. But that peaceful time would not last for much longer.
It happened just as Ryoma was climbing up the staircase to the roof. This was when his long, long journey began.
“Huh?” Suddenly, Ryoma lost all sensation of the floor beneath his feet.
His body began to fall vertically. It wasn’t that he missed a step. The floorboards comprising the stairs he was walking on had suddenly disappeared. Ryoma reached out, trying to grab onto the staircase’s edge and regain his balance, but the rest of the staircase had seemingly disappeared along with the floorboards, and his hands groped at nothing but air.
Looking up, he saw the light of the school building’s lamp becoming smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing altogether. He simply kept on falling into this dark abyss.
“H-Huh?”
Ryoma soon noticed a change; at some point he seemed to be ascending instead of falling.
“Is this a dream? Or some kind of hallucination?” Ryoma whispered to himself. “What’s happening to me?”
A natural question to ask. Falling was perfectly in line with the laws of physics. The probability of it happening was low, but faulty construction or a powerful earthquake could make the staircase’s floorboards come loose. But him floating up defied all logic. People weren’t capable of flying on their own, no matter how they might temper their bodies.
Ryoma looked up. He noticed that, at some point, light had begun shining down on him. His body floated up, and Ryoma found himself flying into the light.
“What’s going on? The school... didn’t have anywhere like this, did it...?” Squinting at the light, Ryoma looked around.
From Ryoma’s point of view, this should have been the school, or at least like something that could be found anywhere in its premises. So when he saw the sanctum-like space spreading out before him, he at first thought it was some kind of facility of the school’s. But as soon
as he saw the people standing around him, that idea was completely annulled in his mind.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the light, and the muddled silhouettes in the room gradually became clearer.
Who are these people...? Teachers? No, they couldn’t possibly...
Five men stood in front of Ryoma. One of them was an old man, dressed in what looked like heavy robes, embroidered with silver and gold threads. It was the kind of thing one might expect to see in a movie based on Middle Age-era Europe. But that wasn’t the real issue here. The problem lay with the four shiny, sharp objects held by the four people standing behind the old man.
The men had a weight and physique that wasn’t much different from Ryoma’s, and they looked to be well trained. He could tell with a single glance, from the thickness of their upper arms and thighs, that they weren’t amateurs. They were clad in full-body metallic armor, and wore on their heads what looked like ancient Roman Galea helmets; they had chicken plumes on their tops and T-shaped nose guards. In their hands they held halberds.
Ryoma couldn’t tell by sight if their armor was the genuine article or not, but having seen his grandfather wielding a real sword in training countless times, his eyes could tell the halberds in their hands were true tools of murder. And if so, that very likely meant the swords sheathed at their waists were also real weapons.
Were it just their armor, Ryoma would be inclined to believe these were costumes and props. They may have had an unusual design, but fake props like these weren’t something impossible to buy in Japan if one desired to. Of course, there weren’t many who would buy them, and even then, they would be unlikely to actually wear them. But while implausible, it wasn’t impossible, and it didn’t strike Ryoma as something that could never occur in real life.
But while he couldn’t guess at the fact he was in another world yet, the realization that this place wasn’t part of the everyday life he was used to dawned upon him with perfect, undeniable clarity. That was owed to how the halberds directed his way were all sharpened to a deadly sheen. Having helped maintain and whet his grandfather’s treasured sword, he was very capable of being able to distinguish a true blade from a fake one.
And to top it all off, Ryoma couldn’t believe someone would gather real halberds for some kind of practical joke. He couldn’t imagine having a weapon like this thrust at him in Japan, which boasted of its peacefulness and pacifism even among the rest of the modern world. Even burglars and murderers wouldn’t go to the trouble of finding a halberd. They’d use a knife of some sorts, perhaps, but not something like this.
And finally, the murderous intent emanating from their bodies was real. Ryoma had studied martial arts since he was young, and this was the same kind of aura he could feel from his grandfather. The familiar sensation prickled against Ryoma’s skin.
Holy crap, they’re serious. I don’t like the look in these guys’ eyes...
Their leg movements and the way they handled their halberds gave the impression that they were experienced. They were, without a doubt, professional soldiers trained and familiar with the use of this unique weapon.
The instant he realized it, a switch seemed to flip within Ryoma’s mind. As if switching from the ordinary to the extraordinary. He could practically hear the sound of his peaceful daily life crumbling to dust...
“Oh?” The robed old man spoke to one of the soldiers standing behind him, keeping his gaze fixated on Ryoma. “It seems we caught quite a fine specimen with our summoning this time.”
The man he spoke to had red plumage decorating the top of his helmet. Out of the four soldiers, this was most likely the captain of the group.
“Nay, Lord Gaius, I believe it’s too early to make that judgment. His physique is impressive, of course, but first impressions can be deceiving... After all, we’ve summoned over a hundred of them so far, but less than ten have proven to be of any use.”
The men’s eyes regarded Ryoma with the weight of a merchant assessing the value of his merchandise.
“Hmm, true enough... So be it. We will find out just how useful he is once we raise him.” Nodding at the younger man’s words, the old one gestured with his chin towards Ryoma. “Let us make haste and carve the seal on him... Go on.”
Hearing his words, the other three soldiers moved in on Ryoma slowly in a formation, surrounding him while keeping their halberds pointed in his direction.
Who are these people? What’s going on here?!
Ryoma struggled to suppress the questions burdening his mind. In this moment, what these people planned to do with him wasn’t something he had any way of knowing. After all, he had been going about his business at school just a few moments ago. Being thrown from that into a situation where he was staring down blades in the blink of an eye wasn’t something he could so easily understand.
But Ryoma could tell that the men’s intentions for him were far from virtuous. One does not point a weapon at another without the intent to do them harm.
Ryoma quickly surveyed his surroundings. The important thing right now was securing a way out. There were four enemies, plus the old man in the robe. Attempting to fight them directly would only end in his defeat, but the room didn’t seem to have any windows he could use to escape. He could see what looked like a window used for ventilation around ten meters above the floor, but there was no reaching it without a ladder. Which meant his sole path of escape was the iron door behind the old man.
Ryoma had to choose now. Would he sit quietly and accept whatever ill fate was to come, or make a run for it even if it meant killing everyone in the room?
His grandfather’s words floated into his mind: If you truly wish to protect something, show your foes no mercy.
Those were words that were more easily said than put into practice. At the very least, never before in his life did Ryoma Mikoshiba have to resolve himself to murder another. But this extraordinary situation demanded taking extraordinary measures.
Running is probably the best idea, but I still need to figure out where I am and what’s going on.
Given his lack of understanding of the situation, he would have to ask someone to explain it to him. If nothing else, he didn’t see how taking a powder without an inkling as to the circumstances around him would tip the odds in his favor.
Which left him with one choice. Leave the weakest of the bunch— the old man in the robe— alive, and kill the other four.
That was an unforgivable choice to make. It was more than just resolving to kill; it was a taboo a man living in modern times should never break. But Ryoma didn’t hesitate. He chose the path that would lead to his survival, even if it was a bloodied road of carnage. The animalistic instincts slumbering within Ryoma were beginning to awaken.
I’m unarmed, and facing down four enemies in armor bearing weapons... Attacking from the front puts me at a disadvantage. I need to catch them by surprise and take them out immediately, or I’m screwed... Right, only one thing to do.
Ryoma formulated a plan in his head which gave him the highest chance of survival. His grandfather had already taught him the skills necessary to put it into action, though he’d never had to actually make use of these skills before. But this was no time to hesitate.
Ryoma purged all violent thoughts from his mind, and as he did, all his anxiety and anger plateaued as well. Ryoma then dropped the boxed lunch in his hand, and greeted the approaching soldiers with a wide grin. Just as if they were close friends heading towards him.
Seeing the smile directed at them, the soldiers exchanged glances in what looked like confusion. They had never conceived of the idea that a summoned human would smile at them in this way. And their confusion was to be expected. An abducted individual wouldn’t normally grin at their captors.
Stricken by doubt and confusion, the soldiers stood still, stopping their advance towards him. And that was exactly what Ryoma had expected them to do.
Then, in a flash, Ryoma broke into a run towards the soldier on his leftmost side, and thr
ust his index finger deep into his left eye socket, right down to the knuckle.
“Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah?!” An animalistic howl erupted from the soldier’s lungs.
The eye was one of the more vital and easily damaged parts of the human body. Even a grain of sand entering into it could inflict a significant amount of pain, and Ryoma gouged it out without mercy. It wasn’t an easy area to attack, but Ryoma’s smile had caused the soldier to momentarily let down his guard.
Surprise attacks, by their nature, were launched from outside the enemy’s perception. If both opponents were facing each other on equal footing, surprise attacks would never prove effectual. But these sorts of attacks were not limited to merely sneaking around and striking from the shadows.
And so, just as he had been trained to do, Ryoma dealt the finishing blow to his opponent. With his finger still gouged into the soldier’s eyeball, he swung his arm down. The soldier’s greatest misfortune came from the fact he was wearing armor. Even with his powerful body, Ryoma couldn’t hope to defeat four armored soldiers with his bare hands. He needed to find an opening to strike. And the easiest one was their eyes, which granted a man a far more painful fate than mere death.
The eye-gouged soldier fell to the floor, howling and screaming in agony like an animal. Ryoma’s gaze fell on his cervical vertebrae, exposed in the gaps between his armor. In one fluid motion, he mercilessly drove his elbow into the soldier’s defenseless neck, putting all 100 kilograms of weight his body packed into the blow.
A wet, blunt crushing noise filled the room. It was the sound of the soldier’s neckbones snapping under the force of Ryoma’s blow. The soldier violently crashed to the floor, blood frothing from his mouth.
It had taken Ryoma mere seconds to attack and dispatch a single soldier.
This totally unexpected development left everyone in the room stunned. And while everyone around him struggled to process what just transpired, Ryoma pulled the sword from the toppled soldier’s waist and ran toward the other two soldiers. His surprise attack may have gone well, but he was still at an overwhelming disadvantage.