In a small traditional village in the North eastern mountains of Japan, there lived a boy called Niwatori. Niwatori lived in a mobile home with his older brother, Oki. From a young age, Niwatori watched the world martial arts championships every year on an old school Television set with his big brother. Oki himself had been a successful martial artist for a period of his younger life and was thus rather obsessed with the annual outcome of the world series, despite his personal efforts to disconnect from his violent and competitive past. Every year for seven years straight, a beautiful young woman by the name of Memori would win the world tournament. Watching from his run down mobile home in the mountains, Oki scoffed and sighed at the screen. “What a shame,” he said, “I thought Saru had a real chance this year.” The young lady accepted the championship belt with a blank face, not even looking at the camera. She had grown bored of winning. The ecstatic mania of attaining the most sought after victory in the world has faded into utter melancholy for Memori over the years (In this world, martial artists are the most powerful, famous, and wealthy people in any given nation). She simply accepted the belt emotionlessly and walked off, her poofy platinum blonde hair flowing in the breeze. Oki turned off the TV screen, annoyed and disappointed, while Niwatori sat on the ground utterly transfixed. His infatuation with the woman had been brewing since he was an infant. A ten year old boy with no mother is bound to fall in love. Oki walked from the couch in the TV room to the kitchen and began washing dishes. “Niwatori, could you help out please?” he said with a calm but tense demeanor. Niwatori jumped up and said “Yes big brother!” and rushed to pull the bags out of the trash cans. Niwatori was a fair skinned boy with short dark red hair. His bangs were always a bit messy. His eyes were dark gray like the mountains and he seldom had an expression on his face besides a big giggly smile when a pretty woman walked by. Opening the door out of the kitchen, Niwatori stood in the cold mountain air with a black T shirt on and some blueish sweat pants. He hurried out into the dense pine forest with the two plastic trash bags. He was heading for the dumpsters. He followed a path that was lined with short, worn down stone walls that were mostly covered with overgrown vines and little white Chinguruma flowers. Somewhere along the stone path, he came to a break where some old rocky stairs led down to a circular, gravel parking lot, connected to a heavily eroded asphalt road. On the edge of the parking lot there was a green dumpster and a flag pole with a very large Japanese flag at the top flapping softly in the breeze. Beside the dumpster was a blue ATV. (Typically what Oki drove into town if he didn’t feel like walking.) As Niwatori descended the steps, something strange caught his eye. About a hundred feet into the woods to his right, there stood erect, a red Torii gate. A beam of light piercing through the canopy above illuminated it. It looked old and regal, like the entrance to an honored temple or maybe a spirit oasis. He set the bags down at his feet and walked through the foliage to the gate. Arriving under the large wooden archway, he slowly read the words painted in black on the pillars. (Niwatori has a hard time reading) On the right pillar was written the Japanese Kanji for “Budo”, or Martial Arts, and on the left were the Kanji meaning, “Hageshi ai”, or Violent Love. And on the large wooden beam that was horizontal over Niwatori’s head there was a flat piece of knotted wood that had this symbol painted in black: 

The pillars were decaying and the paint was peeling in many places. Thin vines with little white flowers climbed up from the ground and wrapped around the Torii gate, interspersed with groups of brown barnacle mushrooms, eating away at the wood. Niwatori put his hand against the gate and was startled slightly by the many little white butterflies that had been resting among the flowers. As they fluttered off into the air, their wings caught the light filtering in from above and sparkled like tiny opal rainbows. A few yards beyond the gate, the light had been sheer and made it hard to see, but now that Niwatori stood where he was beneath the archway, the light seemed totally dim, and he looked and saw an old and gnarled bonsai tree. The tree looked dry and fading, with only a few reddish green leaves left clinging here and there. The branches were twisting and covered with long needle-like thorns. Tied onto the tree in various places were thick Shimenawa rope with occasional tears and gashes. Niwatori walked through the Torii gate to get a closer look, and as he approached a few things happened. Firstly, he noticed that scattered all around in a wide area under the tree, there were polished black stone orbs. The balls were polished so well that they seemed to be of glass or volcanic rock, and they were varied in size. The smallest were roughly like marbles, and the largest were like baseballs. They were strewn around and sometimes mounded up in piles. The second thing Niwatori noticed were the red stains on the thorns and limbs of the bonsai tree. As he got closer, a thin haze began to fill the air and it got thicker as he went. Once he was upon the tree the haze was so thick, that he could see it was red. “Is this mist?” He said to himself, “It tastes like blood.” He reached out his hand and was about to touch a thorn to inspect it, when he was startled by a voice in the woods. “AUGH-HEGH-HEGH-HAUGH-HAUGH!” Echoed the hoarse laughter from some unknown place afar. Frightened, Niwatori whipped around in all directions, but he could not locate anyone. The laughter trailed off into the distance, and then Niwatori heard another, more familiar voice. It was his older brother, Oki. “Niwatori! What’s taking you so long?” begged Oki in impatience. Niwatori dashed back through the Torii gate and found himself running for much longer than he remembered. He quickly noticed that he could not see the stairs anymore, and began to realize that he was lost. Somewhere far off the old man’s laughter echoed again, and Niwatori finally fell to his knees in despair amongst the verdure. “Big brother!” He cried out hopelessly “I’ve been sucked into the spirit world! NOOOOOOO!”. All at once Niwatori was lifted up into the bright fresh air and hung helpless like a cat caught by the scruff. “Why did you leave the trash on the stairs dumbass?” Barked Oki in annoyance. Oki had pulled Niwatori up out of a dense fern bush and was now inspecting him for any injury. He tossed him around in the air with ease, his frame was incredibly firm, large, and muscular. Niwatori, trying to hold back tears, apologized profusely. “Where did you go kid?” Oki said while looking around with a smidge of curiosity. “I- I’m sorry Oki, I went- went to go look at that big red gate, but it was f- farther off than I thought.” replied the little boy. “What gate?” said Oki. Setting Niwatori down, they both looked around in all directions and even hiked a little bit trying to find what Niwatori had seen, but it was gone. “I swear Oki! I swear it was here!” cried Niwatori. “Can you just wait to play pretend until we’re done with the chores? Besides, you're getting too big for that anyway.” was Oki’s reply.

Later that night back at the house, Niwatori and Oki were making ramen, rice, and canned pork with egg for dinner. They sat at the table and Oki served the food. As they began to eat, Niwatori brought a spelling book to the table. “Oh you’re practicing your reading, that's good I wish you would do that more, it’s good for your brain.” Niwatori began sounding out letters. “S- Zu- Zun,” stuttered Niwatori, (Oki winces slightly remembering that his brother is basically illiterate) “What are you saying kid?” barked Oki in reply. “This letter right here big brother, how do you say this?” Oki grabs the book aggressively, “What? Here just give me the damn thing, show me what you want to say.” Niwatori points to each symbol and Oki sounds it out one symbol at a time. “I think it’s these three Oki,” says the boy, Oki puts the full word together and says it in surprise. “Zunji… who taught you that? I told you to stop talking with those old guys that walk by here on their hikes.” Oki scolded Niwatori, 

Niwatori: “No Oki I didn’t hear it from anybody, I read it on that gate I saw.” 

Oki: “Ah kid, not this stuff again I told you, you’re too old.”

Niwatori: “I’m not playing Oki, I really saw it.” 

Oki: “Don’t bring this up anymore. Zunji is not important to you.” Oki seemed concerned but he hid it with a stern demeanor.

Niwatori: “So it is something real! What is it brother? Please tell me!”

Oki: “I’m not telling you, now stop it, sit down and eat your food or you’re going to bed.” Niwatori had stood up in his chair and was leaning with hands on the table. He was a short kid. 

Niwatori: “It’s about martial arts isn’t it!” Oki’s feigned peace and patience breaks instantly.

Oki: “NO IT’S NOT NOW SHUT UP OR YOU ARE GOING TO BED RIGHT NOW AND WE WON’T PLAY ANY VIDEO GAMES!” Oki screamed at the boy.

Niwatori: “I don’t care if you don’t want me to be a martial artist like dad, I’m gonna be one when I’m older you can’t stop me! You might as well train me yourself. I know you could.” Oki stood up and loomed over Niwatori, furious, fists clenched. Mentioning dad was never a good idea.

Oki: “I am not a fighter. Now go.” his voice seemed strained, his eyes twitched with rage. Niwatori stormed off to his bedroom and got in one last shot before shutting his door.

Niwatori: “I am Niwatori, son of Moki, and I’m gonna prove it. You can just be a dead beat and watch me if you want.” Then he slammed his bedroom door. Oki sighed and slumped into his chair. He ran his hand through his thick black hair. 

Oki: “Little shit, he doesn't understand anything.” 

???: “Maybe you should explain it to him then, ass hole.” Oki sprang up into a horse stance ready to kill.

???: “It’s just me, moron.” A beautiful young woman with long black hair and straight bangs and purple eyeshadow stood hitherto unnoticed in a dark corner of the room. She looked barely twenty years old. She was wearing a hoody with some metal band logo on it, and some jogger’s leggings and tennis shoes. She had a nose piercing and lots of elaborate silver piercings in her ears. The tips of her hair were highlighted with a deep violet. Oki let his arms dangle limp in front of his legs, embarrassed.

Oki: “Fuck” Oki sighed in relief, “Shizuka, don't do that to me. I've got enough stress these days, I’m basically a single father aren’t I?”

Shizuka: “Yeah and you suck at it apparently. Why are you so hard on the kid, he just wants to be a martial artist. Every kid wants to be a martial artist these days. Lord, who wouldn’t want to be a fighter.” Shizuka pulled up a chair beside Oki, and lit a cigarette as she continued, “It’s the most sought after career in the world, it's basically better than being a movie star in America.” Oki pinched her cigarette out with his bulky fingers. 

Oki: “No smoking in the house.”

Shizuka: “Lets go be out of the house then.” 

Oki: “Are you even old enough to smoke?” Oki inquired with suspicion as they both got up to go for a night walk. 

Shizuka: “Never ask an old lady her age, sonny! hehehehe” Shizuka spouted off in a hyperbolic impression of an old woman, trying to look hunchbacked. Oki squinted slightly, disgusted.

Oki: “Yeah, whatever.” He grabbed his brown leather jacket from the coat rack as they both took off into the night, “I do not suck at raising him for your information. The boy is still alive after all.” 

Shizuka: “Don’t call him ‘the boy’, you sound like an old war veteran.” Shizuka passed Oki a cigarette and lit it for him, then she lit her own. “Seriously though, why are you so adamant about it?” 

Oki: “You wouldn't understand.” Oki puffs on his cigarette. “Let’s walk down to the village, it’s still early enough we can get some street food.”

Shizuka: “Ooooh that sounds fun!” Shizuka squealed in an over the top voice.

Oki: “Your personality does not match your look…” He pauses for a second, “Thanks for the cigarette by the way, where did you get them?”

Shizuka: COUGH “I acquired them… legally.” She said with an innocent smile.

Oki: “I asked where you got them, not how.” He looked annoyed and disgusted again. All of the sudden, an alarm began to sound far off and the faint sound of screaming could be heard coming from the village.

Niwatori put on his hoody and opened up his bedroom window. Climbing out and landing a few feet below, his bare feet crunched against the pine needles and cold soil. He never wore shoes. Wandering off into the night he talked to himself to vent his anger. “Why can’t he just let me try to fight!” He whispered aggressively into the night air. “I know I’m not very strong but it’s because he won’t train me. He says that he doesn't fight like dad did, but he’s so big and strong and he’s got a bunch of scars. I know he’s lying.” He passed by a large hollowed out pine stump and knocked on the wood. “I want to be a fighter, I want the world to know who I am.” He stopped walking next to the stump and held his hands out in front of his face. “I am Niwatori…” The moonlight illuminated his palms and then he clenched his fists, “Son of Moki.” He began to punch the stump as hard as he could and continued for a while until his knuckles hurt badly. “I should go practice climbing on that short maple tree.” He thought to himself as he ran off, filled with excitement and adrenaline. “Everyone is gonna know when I become the greatest fighter in the wo-” His self talk was cut off by a scream. The scream was followed by chaotic yelling far off. It sounded like a struggle was happening in town. Without hesitation he ran through the woods towards the noise. Breaking out of some foliage and climbing over a short wall he found himself on the edge of a dimly lit, asphalt parking lot in front of a small restaurant. When he looked up he saw three people in the middle of the parking lot, surrounded by a spectating crowd.