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CHAPTER ONE
eleven years later
Swallowing the tears that were lodged in his throat, Ryuichi watched as the others prepared for the celebration he’d been banned from attending because he wasn’t good enough. Smart enough. Deserving enough.
Wasn’t wanted.
Didn’t come from the right family or have the right heritage.
I should be used to it.
He wasn’t. No matter how many times he heard those cruel words, they still stung.
Know your place . Do as you’re told. Don’t complain, and have no thoughts other than what we give you.
Be a mindless sponge.
That was all anyone ever said to him as they shoved him into corners or elbowed him aside. It was the only life he had ever known. At the rate it was going, he feared that one day he might very well become as invisible as they all treated him.
Today they were holding a celebration on the anniversary of his birth—and he’d been given stable duty. He wasn’t even allowed to attend.
Not that they were celebrating his birth. No one cared that he was on this earth, or that his mother—whoever she’d been—had gone to the trouble of having a son. All he knew about his parents was that his father had been a warrior who’d died in battle, and his mother a noblewoman.
But the sad truth was that his parents had been of so little note that no one had even bothered to remember their names.
Like him, they’d been unremarkable. Utterly forgettable.
“You’re lucky we even allowed you to attend this academy, given the fact you have no family to claim you.” That was all any of his teachers or Yoshi-sensei ever said to him. “Had your father not been a warrior with a retainer to speak for you, you’d be working in a field. Or worse, dead. Be grateful we even tolerate you here.”
His classmates barely acknowledged him, and when they did, it was only to insult him.
To make himself feel better, Ryuichi made up lavish stories about his parents. His father had been the illegitimate brother of the mighty Oda Nobunaga—one of his bravest and fiercest samurai, able to take down an entire army single-handedly. And he’d been madly in love with Ryuichi’s mother, a proud, undefeated onna-musha like Gozen Hangaku, the famed woman warrior who’d led an army. In his mind, his mother had died with honor, in battle—just as his father had done. A beautiful flower who had sacrificed herself to protect them all.
Indeed, he could see her now, in battle, handing him off to one of their warriors as she lay dying, her last words. “Protect my son.”
That was the dream he held so tight.
In his heart and soul, Ryuichi knew he had to be the son of such masterful warriors. He could feel their ki resonating through his very blood. It simmered and snapped, sometimes wanting out so badly that it was all he could do to contain it.
But if he ever tried to tell that to anyone else, they laughed at him.
“There’s nothing special about you .”
You’re no one.
Nothing.
So he kept to the shadows, where he felt at home, and tried to be as invisible as the others made him feel.
“O genki desu ka, Ryu-chan?”
Ryuichi glanced up from his work to see the old barefoot woman in a mismatched kimono. Gray-haired Keiko. He had no idea where she lived, but it must be nearby. She always appeared whenever he felt glum, as if she magically knew his mood.
“Ohayō, Keiko-san.” He bowed politely.
She glanced toward the hall, where everyone was heading. “You’re not going the right way.” She took him by the shoulders and turned him around. “That’s where the party is.” She urged him forward.
In spite of his heartache, he laughed before he turned back to face her. “I’m not allowed there. I have other duties today.”
She looked horrified. “No! No! How can they have a party without the great Ryu-kyou? Do they not know who you are?”
“Apparently not, as I was told to go mind the horses for Lord Hiero’s guests.”
Her mouth fell open. “This will not do. It won’t do at all! Do they not know who you are?”
Ryuichi loved the way she made him feel. Like he mattered.
He gave her another smile. “It’s okay. The horses are probably better company anyway.” Given how most people treated him, he actually preferred the horses.
With a polite bow, he left her tsking and headed off to the stables to attend to his duties before he got into trouble again, which seemed to be his natural state of being. But it’d been good to see the old woman for a moment.
Keiko wasn’t mean-spirited. Nor did she make him feel bad whenever their paths crossed.
Never had he seen her be cruel to anyone. Yet others avoided her as if she were pox-ridden. He had no idea why she chose to remain in their village when she had no family here. If he had his freedom, he’d leave and never return to this godforsaken village.
Yet Keiko stayed for reasons only she knew.
He’d always wondered what had happened to her family. She never spoke of them, and no one else seemed to know anything about them either. It was awful to be alone in the world. That made him ache for her, and it was why he went out of his way to be nice to her whenever their paths crossed.
With a ragged sigh, he darted into the shadows as he saw Uchida Hitoshi and Niwa Kin heading toward him, laughing together in their finery. Like two evil little oni out to menace whatever innocent victim they could find. He even imagined them with horns growing out of their heads.
While they were the same age as him, they thought themselves his superior in every way. And everyone else’s, for that matter.
Even though he knew that neither of them was nearly as good with a sword or even chopsticks as he was. Something proven every day when they trained, and he knocked them on their rumps and they screamed that he’d cheated—which he never did. He didn’t have to, as they were just that incompetent.
Still, everyone thought they were great, and that he was nothing.
Because of the honor and reputations of their fathers.
Last thing Ryuichi needed right now was another encounter with either of their scathing tongues. Or worse, their fists.
“I wish they’d trip.” Those whispered words had no sooner left his lips than Hitoshi’s sword slipped and tangled with his feet. He gasped and fell into Kin. Entwined, they both landed in a disgraceful lump on the ground.
Ryuichi gaped at the sight as their sensei hastened forward to scold them for their clumsiness. “Dishonor on you both! Get up and clean yourselves before someone sees you!”
Still, Ryuichi stared at the fulfillment of his whispered desire. What were the odds?
It’d happened just as he wanted...
So focused on them and what had happened, Ryuichi wasn’t watching his own steps, which carried him straight into someone else.
“Excuse me! Hello?”
Stunned, he realized he’d collided with an incredibly beautiful girl. One with dark brown eyes that were filled with intelligence and humor. Her black hair was in a geiko shimada similar to a samurai’s chonmage... except the top of her head wasn’t shaved.
She also smelled like cherries and almonds.
When she smiled, two deep dimples flashed in her cheeks. “Are you all right?”
Ryuichi could barely think to answer. “Um... yes.”
“Then may I please have my arm back?”
It was only then he realized he’d grabbed the girl’s dark blue kimono when he’d stumbled and was still holding on to her.
“I’m so sorry!” His cheeks burned. Embarrassed, he quickly let go and stepped away.
“It’s fine.” Moving back, she straightened her kimono sleeves and the small suji kabuto that she carried. From the number of stripes on that helmet, Ryuichi knew she was from a rich samurai family. A grown man having it would be impressive.
The fact that it was made for someone their age...
Ryuichi swallowed in fear of what he’d just done. Accident or not.
Bowing, he prayed he hadn’t offended her by touching her.
Most of all, he prayed she wasn’t from one of the more respected samurai families. She could have him whipped for his clumsiness. “Forgive me, my lady.”
She bowed to him. “Nothing to forgive, my lord. I should have been more careful and looking where I was going too.” She flashed that impish smile again. “I’m Hattori Takara.”
Of course she was. Of all the people to run into!
Ryuichi groaned inwardly at his ever-rotten luck. She wasn’t just connected...
She was the daughter of one of the most prominent samurai families, renowned for their fighting prowess. And for their intolerance of those who broke tradition and protocol.
The leader of their clan, who was probably a close relative of hers, was called a demon by everyone.
Feared by all.
And he’d just run her over. By all the stars above, he’d be lucky if they didn’t disembowel him for the affront.
“Takara!”
She turned as one of the elder lords called for her.
Grateful for the distraction, Ryuichi wasted no time running for the stable and removing himself from her sight.
Maybe she’d forget he’d been there.
Everyone else thought he was invisible. Hopefully, she would too.
As fast as he could, he skittered around the door and pressed himself back into the shadows so that he could watch Takara.
“Boy?” She glanced about for him.
“Takara! Come here now!”
Grimacing, she glanced about one more time before she headed toward the man calling for her.
Ryuichi’s heart pounded as he watched her go. In his mind, he imagined for a moment that he was Hitoshi, or one of the other boys at the party. One who had a family name to give her that would equal her own, so that they could be friends. He would love to learn swordsmanship from a member of their clan. To have the honor of riding beside a Hattori. Surely, it must be glorious...
But that was only a dream.
Sighing, he headed into the barn.
Suddenly, he heard a horrific sound. High-pitched and unholy, it cut through his ears and made him flinch. Covering them, he looked about for the source. What could make such a screech? A sick owl?
The horses stamped and neighed in their stalls, trying to flee. Not that he blamed them. If the ear-piercing shriek wasn’t bad enough, the place smelled as if Hitoshi had farted after eating rotten cabbage.
Ryuichi headed for the first stall, wanting to calm the horse before it injured itself. Yoshi-san would have his head if something happened to his favorite steed.
But before he could reach him, a blur ran past his feet.
“Watch it, bonebag!” the blur shouted.
Something else flew past his head.
“ Stop !” a boy shouted from his right.
What in the world?
Ryuichi turned—and was assaulted by all manner of things exploding around him. Even the very straw seemed to be alive. The pitchforks were fighting the saddles, and brooms were attacking bridles. Everything was moving. Some of the things ran so fast that he couldn’t even tell what they were.
“Yōkai!” the boy shouted. “Watch yourself!”
No kidding! As if he hadn’t figured that out, given the number of obstacles flying at his head and feet. Ducking, he held his hands up to shield his face, while trying not to trip over the things fighting in the straw.
Scared, Ryuichi growled, as he felt a weird wave rush through him. Hot and searing, it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. His skin sizzled. His ears rang. It felt as if electricity flowed through his entire being.
One moment, chaos reigned, and in the next...
The pitchforks nearest him were blasted back into the wall.
Harmless now, they fell to the floor.
The other boy stared in awe. “What did you do?”
Wide-eyed, Ryuichi shrugged as he stared at the “dead” pitchforks. “No idea.”
“Can you do it again?”
He had absolutely no idea. But he was willing to try. Rolling his shoulders, Ryuichi tried to blast the saddles with his thoughts. Two fell to the ground. One went sideways, and the rest continued to battle.
Well...
He’d almost succeeded. Kind of.
At least that was his thought until the rest of the objects turned toward the two of them. And headed in their direction.
Ah, crap...
Ryuichi swallowed hard. “Um, I think I just made them angry.” He took a step back.
“I think they’re going to attack.” No sooner had the other boy spoken than all the enchanted items rushed at them at once like a huge, angry army—the saddles, the bridles, pitchforks, and other things guaranteed to gouge out their eyes.
Ryuichi tried to use his unseen powers to block again.
It didn’t work. His electricity fizzled, sputtered.
He tried even harder. He held up his hands and growled low in his throat.
Still nothing.
Until the items reached him. Then they blew apart into dust that fell slowly to the ground.
Stunned, he stared at his hands as if he’d never seen them before. What had he just done?
How was it possible?
“Mikito! What are you doing?”
Ryuichi lowered his hands as he realized Mikito was the boy beside him. And the man speaking was a very high-ranking and unhappy samurai.
“Chichiue.” Mikito bowed. “Forgive me. I was fetching the sword you sent me for when I was attacked.”
His father looked around at the mess with a dark scowl lining his brow. “Yōkai were after the sword?”
“Yes, sir.”
As the man moved forward, Ryuichi caught sight of the samurai’s emblem.
Hattori Hanzō. Better known as Oni no Hanzō—the Demon Hanzō—because of his battle skills and bloodlust. It was said that no one could defeat him or even touch him in battle. He was one of the most feared warriors in all of Japan.
Terrified, Ryuichi lowered his gaze. This day just keeps getting better and better...
Mikito gestured toward him. “He helped me fight and stop them.”
Why am I no longer invisible? Of all the times for people to see him, why did it have to be now? Why did it have to be them ?
Hanzō arched a brow, before he swept a disbelieving stare over Ryuichi. “You!”
“Sir?”
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Ryuichi, sir.”
“Your family name.”
Here we go . Pain lacerated his heart. Everything came down to the one thing he had no control over. “I have none. My father was a warrior who died in battle, but no one remembers his name.” Unlike other warriors, his father hadn’t called out his name while fighting and dying.
So he’d been forgotten.
His expression grim, Hanzō gave a curt nod. “Your mother?”
“She died while I was an infant. I was brought here by a renowned retainer who vouched for my parents so that I could be raised by the good graces of my lord, Hiero. No one remembers her name either, sir.”
That caused his frown to deepen. “Yoshi is training you as a warrior?”
Sort of. Most days, Ryuichi felt more like a practice dummy for the others. It was only Lord Hiero’s honor that forced him to train Ryuichi. Had his lord not vowed to the retainer of Ryuichi’s parents that he would make sure Ryuichi was settled in his home and trained, there was no telling what he’d have done with Ryuichi instead. “Yes, sir.”
“Hmph,” he grunted dismissively.
Turning around, Hanzō headed toward the entrance.
Mikito hurried after him.
With that abrupt dismissal, Ryuichi bent over to begin picking up the mess they’d left behind before he got in trouble for it.
Yet no sooner had he done so than he sensed something coming at his back.
Instinctively, he kicked the pitchfork at his feet up into his hands and twirled it to block the stick thrown by Hanzō. He knocked it aside before it struck him.
Hanzō stared at Ryuichi for a long minute, then turned to his son. “You see, Mikito? That instinct is so hard to find, and even harder to teach. Help him clean up this mess and pack his things.”
“Yes, sir.” Mikito bowed as Hanzō strode out, sword in hand.
Confused, Ryuichi looked at Mikito. “What just happened?”
“My father is going to speak to your master. You’ll be leaving here with us.”
That made no sense to him. He was never allowed to leave. “And go where?”
“To Iga.”
Ryuichi blinked, then blinked again at the unexpected news. “Where’s Iga?”
“Three days away.”
It sounded so simple, and yet he still couldn’t comprehend what Mikito was telling him. “Why take me?”
“We have a school there. A very special school,” Mikito said with pride. “Our teachers can help you hone the skills you already have. You should be thrilled. My father never does this.”
Ryuichi stared at the boy as he tried to digest what he was being told. This had happened so fast. He couldn’t believe it.
Hanzō wanted him? Because he could swat a stick?
It just didn’t make sense to him. He wasn’t sure what to feel, and deep down, there was a lump of fear and apprehension.
Well, you always wanted to be wanted.
True, but this reminded him of an old adage. Don’t invite the tiger to replace the wolf. Because that usually comes with a giant dose of regret . Not to mention an even bigger heaping of humiliation.