The Hinomoto Rebellion (3 page)
Daimyo Yasakuto’s dark, beady eyes flashed in the low light of the office as a smug grin crossed his face. He adjusted his navy blue tie and sat up, flashing a glance over to one of the many framed pieces of art that hung around the room and checking his reflection in it. Slowly, he reached across the massive desk and pushed the intercom button on the black plastic phone.
“Oh?” His voice was dripping with cold confidence. “By all means, send him in.” He ran a hand through his dark brown, spiked hair as he spoke, adjusting some in the black leather high-backed chair. The window behind him had the curtains pulled back, letting golden sunlight spill in to the office and color everything warm colors in the late afternoon light.
A few moments later, the double kaya-wood doors to Yasakuto’s office slammed open, nearly toppling the two potted trees that sat on either side of the doors. A tall man with graying, short hair and silver-framed glasses stormed into the poshly decorated room and stalked directly across the bamboo tatami rug that was laid over the dark wood paneled floor. His hair was short at the back, but several inches long in the front and cut to frame his forehead except for a small piece that always flopped to the middle of his forehead and wouldn’t be tamed to one side or the other. He moved between the two leather upholstered chairs on the visitor’s side of the desk as he approached Yasakuto, his hands clenched at his sides. His black suit didn’t fit quite right on his tall frame, as though he had lost a lot of weight and hadn’t yet bought new clothes. His tired eyes flashed angrily as he pointed at Yasakuto, and the black tie around his neck wasn’t tightened all the way, giving him an ever more ragged look.
“Daimyo! This has to stop! I cannot continue on in this fashion any longer! You are robbing this government of its dignity and taking freedom from our citizens! I won’t stand for it any longer,” he said as he stopped in front of the desk, glaring at Yasakuto and trying to keep every inch of his slightly wrinkled face stern.
“I’m talking about the way this country is being run! This is not the turn of the millennium, Daimyo, it’s 2532! The people should be free, not given the illusion of freedom while the police kill innocent people on the street! This government was set up to give the people a hope for the future, not to persecute them and use them to line the pockets of you, your crooked politicians, and your dirty policemen!” Shogun Kunota bit his bottom lip, looking like he’d suddenly realized what he was doing.
Yasakuto straightened the collar of his jacket and stood, placing his hands on his desk and leaning forward. “Shogun, how are your wife and children?”
Yasakuto’s dark eyes narrowed, making Kunota’s stomach twist into a knot of dread. “If you want them to stay that way, I would suggest you relearn your place in life. You are not the one with power, Kunota. I am. Democracy and freedom are such tired, useless ideals. People don’t want to have a say in what gets done. They want to be ruled!” Yasakuto slammed his hand down on the desk. “And if you come in here like this again...” he paused for effect, “Well... I’d hate to see what becomes of your lovely family.”
Kunota took a step back, looking as though he had been hit in the face. His warm eyes widened some, then shut as he hung his head. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the office.
Yasakuto grinned as the Shogun left. He had figured it was only a few days until Kunota came to him once again. It happened every few months or so, whenever Kunota’s righteousness overruled his senses and he thought that he could intimidate Yasakuto into changing. He was early this time, which made the Daimyo make a mental note to work harder at keeping him in line.
Once he was alone again, Yasakuto sat back down in his highbacked chair and picked up the phone on his massive desk. As he raised the receiver to his ear, he hit one of the speed dial numbers.
“It’s me.” he said as he moved some pens around idly on his desk. “Remember that bar in the South Sector that we’ve been trying to bust for weeks now? Yes, that’s the one. One of my men tells me that their big tournament is tonight- go there and arrest everyone.” Yasakuto listened, then grinned. “I know they’ll resist. That’s why I give your men plenty of ammunition. Shoot them all if you have to, just shut it down.”
Yasakuto hung up and turned his chair around to look out the picture window behind him. The sky was turning bright orange, pink, and purple. Yasakuto grinned evilly. “Finally, Tony. Tonight is the night that I close your doors for good.”
The streets of Shibasaki were dark except for the dingy glow of street lamps that hummed and threw circles of light down every few yards. The neon signs of the open bars colored passers-by as they stumbled along the sidewalks that framed the narrow streets. Some were drunk, some homeless, and some were just crazy, but all were making the rounds of their favorite bars. The occasional car would wind it’s way down the street, but they were few and far between in this part of town, known everywhere as the part of the city you didn’t take anything you didn’t want stolen from you and that the police wouldn’t enter without good reason and lots of guns.
Liter blew past people standing on the street corners: hookers, drug dealers, beggars, and kids that either had no where else to go or worked for the criminals. All of them had one goal in mind, making enough money and enjoying a hot meal and a long sleep once the sun started to rise. The children, usually the orphans of the illegal fighters that had been killed or arrested, often banded together under an older child for protection, but many of them wandered alone, abandoned by society.
Kanjou, his brown hair spiked up inside his red headband, walked along the sidewalk with Roni next to him. They left the small comfort of the street lamps and headed into a narrow alleyway that was dark and cramped. A sign marked “Tony’s Place” hung over the short flight of stairs. A shower of paint chips fell to the concrete as Kanjou pushed open the worn door to the bar.
Loud music, yelling, cheers, and clouds of rancid smoke met Roni and Kanjou from the opposite side of the door. Kanjou’s head disappeared in the cloud of smoke, and Roni coughed several times. Kanjou leaned down and yelled loud enough for her to hear, “Let’s go sit at the bar and watch!”
Roni nodded and let him lead her over to some empty stools at one end of the long counter. The inside of the bar was fairly small, just enough space for 100 people to stand comfortably if everything else in the building was removed. The bar itself was long and curved on both ends so that it came out of the wall in the shape of an elongated U. About twenty stools sat around the bar, most of which were wobbly and needed to be reupholstered. There were shelves behind the bar that showcased the various types of alcohol they sold there, and behind those was a dusty mirror that reflected the bar back in shades of murky brown. To the left of the young girl and the tall man were a dozen round tables, all with wooden chairs in them that were packed with people talking loudly over the music that was emanating from the speakers in the ceiling. More people stood around the walls in booths that were upholstered in cheap vinyl that had torn over the years and been grafittied on by hundreds of those that chose the Underground as their homes. In one corner, Kanjou saw a couple making out in the shadows while a lanky man next to them took money from a muscular
ronin
and handed him a bag full of white powder. He and Roni took stools among the “scum” of Shibasaki– the drinking, drunk, stoned, unconscious, and other dregs of society. And then there were the
ronin
.
In addition to being a bar, “Tony’s Place” was also a host for Martial arts tournaments. Although the fighting arts and tournaments had been outlawed by the government for a century, the draw of the illegal tournaments was powerful and there was no shortage of those who wanted to participate in them. Every bar knew that you could get lots of business by holding underground tournaments. Aside from the bets made on the fights themselves, there was also usually a cover charge to watch the fights, and if the tournament was good enough to draw a crowd then the bar sold drinks. Provided that they could keep a police raid from shutting them down, the business was extremely profitable for anyone with the guts to get involved in it.
At the far end of the room from Kanjou and Roni was a hastilyerected fighting ring. The tournament arena had to be easily collapsible in case it had to be hidden quickly from the police. At the moment, a man wearing black was wiping blood off the floor of the ring with a dirty, threadbare rag that looked like it had been used for this purpose for many years. The guy had barely exited the ring before the loud din of the music died. The graying American man behind the bar suddenly jumped up to stand on the top of it, throwing his arms up for silence.
“I hope you’ve all made your bets carefully for our next match! Now entering the ring, weighing in at one-hundred and forty-seven kilograms, and standing over two meters
1
,” the bartender paused for effect, “Foxfire!” he finished as the bar patrons cheered.
The door that led to the back storage areas of the bar opened, and in walked the biggest man that Kanjou and Roni had ever seen. The dark-skinned fighter appeared to be able to rip a tree out of the ground– roots and all– with his bare hands. He was bald except for a strip of hair that curved around the back of his head, and part that was pulled into a high ponytail that cascaded down to his shoulders. He wore no shirt, only jeans, black leather fingerless gloves, black boots, and a necklace made of big wooden beads and a large circular pendant. He walked toward the ring, waving to the crowd and smiling cheerfully.
thought Kanjou.
The bartender’s voice carried over the bar again, and there was a hint of pride in it as he spoke. “And in the opposite corner, at one and three-quarters meters tall, and weighing eighty-eight and a half kilograms
2
, our current champion,
The Tiger!
” As he spoke the last two words, he jumped back down behind the bar and began taking last minute bets while filling glasses with the patrons’ vice of choice.
The door to the back room opened again and a figure stepped out. Roni let out a squeak of shock. “They’ve got to be kidding!” she said in horror.
1 Equal to three-hundred twenty five pounds, and six feet, seven inches.
2 Equal to five feet eight inches tall, one hundred ninety-five pounds.
muscular she looked like twig compared to the hulking brute that was waiting for her in the ring. She walked slowly and purposefully, not acknowledging the cheering crowd around her. It was hard to tell if she was looking down at the floor or not, because long bangs were casting dark shadows over her face. Her hair looked as though she had gone gray at a young age, and went down to the top of her belt. Her outfit consisted of a white tank top, trimmed in blue, a blue obi, white baggy pants, and blue and white tennis shoes. She entered the ring, the half of her face that could be seen was frozen into a scowl.
“Don’t worry, Roni. I don’t think she could be the current champion if she didn’t have some skill. Let’s see how she does, alright?” Kanjou turned his full attention to “The Tiger”. Something about the way she held herself was telling him that she would give Roni and himself something to remember tonight.
The man who had been cleaning the mat earlier jumped up on the outside of the ring, holding on to the ropes without getting inside with the two fighters. “Alright you two, I know you both know the rules,” he paused, raising his hand before dropping it down, “Fight!”
Foxfire immediately leaped forward, a battle cry escaping his lips as he pulled his fist back. Tiger stood motionless as he ran at her. Just as Foxfire began to uncoil his punch, the girl raised her head. For a split second, Kanjou saw a flash of the coldness and battle-lust in the girl’s ice blue eyes. Then, she was gone, and Foxfire’s fist was hitting nothing but air.
Roni and Kanjou both thought at the same time.
“Otsunami Hadogyaku!”
3
Roni and Kanjou nearly fell off their stools. A bright flash of blue, followed by an incredible blast of force that only made the other martial artists in the room wince came from the ring. When the light faded away, Tiger was standing back in her original spot, and Foxfire was on the floor, blood seeping from his nose. The crowd around the
ring was on their feet in an instant, screaming and cheering, some glad that their fighter had won while others were outraged that they had lost their bets.
