He went home and to his room ignoring that he should eat.
Just…thinking about stuff.
Day after,
There needs no explaining just how college has felt today. Like always it was noisy, chaotic at times, quiet when classes began.
Imura had an interest in human anatomy. And anatomy of animal life in general. Something about the functions of different organs in the body always seemed to intrigue him in a way, it was a quiet passion that he couldn't just let go of that easily. Maybe in the future—he'll become a doctor? A scientist? Something related to biology he thought. Becoming a doctor seems like a hard task for him, though. Maybe he'll go for…marine biology.
He's also liked the bottom of the sea. Especially those unique animals that appear to inhabit those oceans below and beyond. The chaunacops, those star fishes, axolotls….
"Imura…Imura?"
The bubble burst again.
He looked up and saw P.Nakahara, with his rectangular glasses, a small beard, while standing with folded arms. By the way he looked, it's like he's been calling him for a long time. The others were staring at him, like they could break into a giggle.
The professor shook his head, saying, "Guess college is just too boring for you, huh, Imura?"
Some broke into laughter. Imura tried to reclaim his situation, laughing slightly, "…My apologies, sir…"
"You better be. I'll be handing out the test papers now." He cleared his throat, slamming the papers repeatedly on the desk before saying even louder, "You got thirty minutes! No talking, no whispering, no phones, no looking around. And obviously," his eyes narrowed skeptically to Imura, "no getting stuck on thinking like Imura."
Some chuckled again. That was a bit mean.
It's what people do. It is human nature to insult sometimes. Human nature to laugh at the others, make them look like a clown in another person's life. Or some type of loser-figure. Some type of…comedy relief in front of the others.
When the papers were given and Imura just stared at it, he felt like he couldn't recognize these questions at first. But soon enough he did. He turned the sheet around, looking on the back, a diagram of the solar system. Then he turned it back around, placing it beside him, locking it with a pencil box on its forehead in place. And then, he began to write. He wrote like he was just going through the motions, and that thinking was a part of it.
In the next hour, the class dismissed. And schooling was over.
Pick up your bag, walk out, and go home quietly. That's all Imura did again. Even if some people would glare at his face, he'd pretend as though these people weren't there. He ignored them, and went by the motions of simply walking his way home. Amidst the chit-chattering amongst the crowd, and the playful banters of eachother.
He felt someone tap his left arm.
Lo and behold, it's Keisuke Okada. "'Sup?" he said with a teeth-wide grin.
Imura wouldn't say he was all the way glad to see the man…But a conversation with him wouldn't hurt. "Fine, you?" he smiled back, though it didn't look sincere.
"Good as I'll ever be," said Okada. "Hey—ah, so, you up to go there now?"
"Go? Go where?"
"The karate club…?"
Imura forgot that he said he'll take a look around in it today. He told him that on their stroll yesterday. "Oh!" he said, he was protesting in his mind— not sure if he really wanted to after what he went through tomorrow…But before anything he could say, Okada pointed at his bruised face with realization rushing in. He said in a low tone, "Wait—what happened to your face….?!"
Imura quickly replied, "Oh it's…nothing really. Just got into a little accident, ahah…" he chuckled. "It's no big deal. Don't worry 'bout it."
"…Are you sure?" Okada wasn't believing it. "Yeah…" Imura insisted.
Okada hung at him with child-like curiosity, hidden deep beneath those narrowing eyes. He nodded slowly, "Alright…" then he turned back to the conversation, "So? You up for it?"
Imura hummed, snapping his head to the other side to think. Then he said, "I'm not really sure."
"Well, we've got this teacher coming in to take a look around the club," said Okada, "word is he's here to teach us a few things while he's here to visit. Fourth Dan so…Are you up for it?"
He wasn't in the mood for sparring today, honestly. Not when his mind was so occupied. But he didn't have much else to do either. Having to stick at home all alone with those thoughts…It truly didn't feel right. Truly didn't feel normal. So,
"Alright, let's go."
Keisuke flashed a quick thumbs up. Smile wide enough to feel lively, like a kid bonding with his new friend. He rushed him over to the club downstairs, weaving through the crowd like sprinters on a mission. Once they reached there, the wide rectangle of a poster greeted them outside. 'KYOUKUSHIN KARATE' it read in bold white text, with a simple black background.
Okada looked over his shoulder, jabbed his head toward the door wanting him to follow. Then, he pulled it open, revealing a different place than just the college ground.
Inside was peacefully quiet. Save for the sound of roars and foot slamming onto the ground with each kata and movement. For each 'BEGIN!' and seperation commands during each spar.
When opponents dueled, Imura couldn't help but think of this as some type of boxing. He noticed just from those few people around the corner sparring— that they barely…or never..struck the face. Instead, it was something else.
They tussled it out with endurance, strictly aiming for the torso for each fist attack. Interesting, then for kicks they'd sometimes aim high for the sides, the temples. But never the face itself. Okada pat his shoulder this time. He looked at him, then he looked at where he was pointing. Right on the center.
An old man with white hair…a black belt and a simple gi. Unlike many of the students here with proper gi design with kanji letters onto it, this man stood out like a sore thumb with just his simple, all white karate gi. "That's Takizawa Itadori. He apparently recently got his spotlight into the public eye."
Imura looked back at him with intrigue, "Spotlight…?" he repeated. Okada shook his head, acknowledging just as it sounds. "That guy…" he began:
"Was part of a fight club that no one could easily find."
"Ohhhh…" Imura's intrigue sprouted even more. He wasn't a public figure per say then…Only until now he's a proper civilian. Anyway, he was still staring at him from behind. Saying something to the people with green belts that he couldn't clearly hear. Okada meanwhile dashed by after saying, "Let me change up." Leaving Imura to himself alone.
"KARATE, IS NO LONGER AS CAPABLE AS IT PROMISES."
The teacher howled out to the entire room suddenly, obviously reminding everyone of what it is, or letting the new ones know what it is. It caught the attention of everyone, including the ones who sparred for practice, like a ripple effect. "The karate as we know is only a style of forgotten techniques and less effectivity. Nowadays, the kind of karate that you will see, are the kinds that're only the worn down versions of what the founders have made." Imura happened to find himself walking closer just to listen to him.
"Grapples— forgotten. Katas, forgotten. Did any of you know that there were katas that nowadays we no longer teach in many schools? And I thought I was crazy," it was mocking as he said that. Deliberate so. It came out as a chuckle afterwards. "when a martial art loses its techniques, how are you supposed to complete it to its very limits? That's what I ask you all." He challenged everyone to answer with his gaze around them all. Then when he thought he has waited enough for the crowd to answer, he said, "You don't!"
It was just a hunch. But he felt as though he needed to look behind his back. When he was about to turn back around, he snapped back. Looking at this one young man standing in school uniform. Bruised but bandaged. That young man greeted him with an awkward smile, he nodded to him—and yet he didn't stop looking. It was as though he's seen him somewhere before.
Beneath those injuries, there was that face. One clearly inherited from a mother for the majority. Then there were those eyes, hazel pupils…
A small crack in the older man's demeanour. His eyes moved a bit up. But Imura didn't seem to have heard of this man before. "What's your name, kid?"
"Kashiwada Imura…" replied him. But the old man didn't seem to care about that name much. Apart from his identity—
because he was absolutely, surprised. It's really him…
"Itadori Takizawa."
"So I've heard."
"You know who I am, kid?"
"No. Not in particular…"
Mr.Takizawa's gaze sharpened even more towards him. He approached the younger male closer as if to whisper. Then he said almost quietly, "What's with those wounds?"
Imura didn't know how to respond to that. His one hand instinctively shot up to a swollen skin. "These…"
As if he already knew the answer, "You've fought before. Why did you?" he asked him for that reason instead. Like he knew from first glance that this man was a fighter. The way he spoke, the way he looked at him—and the way did everyone else, it all made it too hard for Imura to answer right away. As if if he did, it'd only make matters worse somehow. "I…" he hesitated, "It was self defense. That's all.."
Takizawa seemed skeptical.
"Whatever." He looked as though he was done. That was until he hovered a hand over one wound on his face—
and pressed it.
TSS! He was startled back—it stung, he was confused uncomfortable, he couldn't make much of that response. What was that even for? Without much thought, his two fists shot up, like he was trying to take a stance. Was he just now?
Mr.Takizawa seemed to nod to that. He was smiling a bit. "I see," he said. What did he see? What did he understand just now? It left Imura confused. "Fighter's instincts are still there. It means that you're prepared. What's your name again, kid?"
"Kashiwada Imura."
"Kashiwada Imura, hm," he shook his head. "You learnt anything from this place?" he pointed an index to the floor, talking about the club.
Imura shook his head right and left, "No. I haven't."
"Then where?" Itadori asked, "A boxing gym—that's where I do my things."
"A boxing gym, huh. So you're a boxer."
"I guess so…"
Mr.Takizawa hummed to that, moving his jaw out of habit. There was something about his questions like he needed to ask them. He needed to ask and connect a puzzle. At least, that's what Imura thought it seemed like to be. "Anything else?" asked further, Mr.Takizawa.
At this point, he was just getting more uncomfortable. But he answered anyway, "Muay thai…?"
And that seemed to ring a bell. Just beneath his all white grow beard, this man was now smiling even more. Smiling like he was familiar with him like a park buddy. "Stay here," he whispered to him, before going back to what he was doing. Teaching.
Stay here for what though? Why stay 'here'?
What's he trying to show?
Okada meanwhile, was back from the changing room. Now in his traditional karate gi. He couldn't help but notice something was off about him. Like he's just had a conversation with somebody. He went over his shoulder, and asked, "Is something wrong?"
Imura turned around immediately, smiled, then replied, "No."
"Okay…" Okada said. His mood switched and stepped back a little with his arms spread. "Anyways, how do I look?" he said, with a grin that reached his eyes, and a tone as playful as ever of him. By closer inspections he was a brown belt.
The only thing he could say to Okada at this moment was, "You look great..". That disappointed him a little. He was expecting something more. His shoulders spilled down as a result. Then his eyes drifted to the door, and he saw someone he could never just want to run into fearlessly. Nervous, that person seemed. Unlike the usual extrovertedness he has for the majority of the time…
That was Tachibana, standing right in front of the door step. The way he approached the two was as if he was trying to sneak his way in without anyone else's notice. He didn't seem surprised Imura was here.
"Yo Okada…" he whispered conspiratorially. "Senior…?" Okada replied.
"What?" Tachibana responded to that. He thought he was going to ask him something.
"No— it's nothing…" Okada said. "Then why'd you call me like you were askin' a question for, huh? Idiot…" Tachibana spat, though his voice didn't raise beyond a whisper. He was hunched over, hindingly weakly behind Okada's right shoulder. Was he hiding from someone, none of them could tell.
"Why're you hiding behind me like that?"
"Hiding so I can get the perfect time to blend in…"
"What—?"
"Don't ask."
"What does that even mean?" Okada insisted further, much to Tachibana's annoyance. "Tch…" he clicked his tongue, looking over his neck sharply, "Just shut up, dude…"
When he thought now was the time to move, he rushed inside the changing room with his bag. Strange for him to be that way, Okada thought…
"Anyways—" he was interrupted by Mr.Takizawa's whistle. His head snapped to him quickly. The way Takizawa looked at him was rather like disappointment. 'Come', he said with his hands. He didn't need to use his voice.
Okada glanced at Imura and smiled— and then he obeyyed. Walking ont othe tatami and approaching his new, temporary teacher. Takizawa was murmuring something to him, pointing behind him, Okada nodded and went to a free space around the mat. Doing forms like a machine told to obey.
Now had it not been for what this teacher had said to him, Imura would've had no idea why he was here. That'd be an awkward scenario he imagined. The next thing he saw was Tachibana out of the change room, frustrated with something— possibly his bag. He slung it over to a bench and quickly went onto the tatami mat without a single word nor glance.
Right now, he just felt out place…
Those shouts, thuddings on the mat and commands, all echoed like they were happening all around him. They were like a conversation. A conversation that only came in the forms of 'KIAI!', and thuds. 'HAJIME!', and 'YAME!'. It kind of reminded of the gym in a way. Keichi's gym. Where bags would bang out sounds and gloves would meet with a slight 'SHH' from the mouths with each punch. If Imura had to compare the aesthetics between the two, karate would feel the more quiet but gritty in atmosphere, sporty with grits and bolts in the atmosphere of boxing.
Why that thought came up to him at all, he doesn't even know. He found himself sitting on a bench just…waiting. Waiting impatiently. One foot shook like it was out of control. His hands clasped together, arms resting on his legs.
Right. That Kanda talked about a 'plan' hasn't he?
When's he gonna call?
Just ten minutes later,
he couldn't look very far. Yet he sensed as though the coach was looking at him with his blurring face. Then he saw him walk to him— he had to make sure. Before he stood up in a response. By closer inspections he was a smaller man. Atleast 5'7. His arms hid behind him with a usual stern face. "Aren't you gonna go?" he asked suddenly.
"You told me to stay here." Imura replied. Mr.Takizawa nodded, as if remembering what he said ten minutes ago. "Right," he said. "Then follow me." He turned his back around and began to walk. Imura followed him without question.
It was fine just until he walked, and walked, and walked…until he reached the tatami mat?
And he was still in his school uniform…
"Imura," Takizawa began, he didn't turn around again. "Can I ask you a question?" his head turned then, one eye peeking around the edges with his dark pupil. Imura didn't respond right away, he froze to listen. Takizawa took that as a yes.
"What's your father's name? Could you tell me?" he was grinning beneath his wrinkly face—beneath his full beard, a kind of excitement like the kind you'd see from a calm fighter. He approached him standing below and close to his chin as he said that, like no one else should hear that question at all.
"Why's that?" Imura asked, making sure why. But Takizawa seemed to refuse, "Just tell me. Who is it?"
He hesitated for a moment there. What does he have to do with his father? Choices swirled around his mind so fast that he couldn't easily pick what. Then, he finally said: "…Katsumi."
"Katsumi, who." He leaned closer. Imura leaned back. "Katsumi Akiya…"
"Oh, so YOU'RE his son!" the old man couldn't keep his excitement hidden any longer. His mouth hung wide, white teeth showing under the light. It was an unusual atmosphere…
Some people watched.
"Mhm," he cleared his throat, calming down like an engine. "It's been a while since I met you, Imura."
'Been a while'? "Pardon?"
The old man chuckled, realizing he doesn't even remember who he is. "Right, you don't know who I am." He said. "Would'ya believe me if I said…I was your father's best ol' bud once?" his voice deepened when he said that.
Imura was a little shocked. Confused even. And that shock only seemed to grow deeply and fast within. This man? With his father once?
What's he talking about?
"It's amazing to see how you're still alive…"
When Mr.Takizawa had said those words, he could only receive flashbacks of what he had seen and done.
The blood of his own. The blood of his mother. Stuck and engraved into his hands like it was his doing. The scene of it all…his eyes a blur— blurred from the tears that swallowed his vision up most. The laughs and mockery coming from a voice. The laughs that echoed in a way that didn't seem human in a way, mockery that couldn't be said any better than the little humanity that man could show…
Imura flinched.
Takizawa slapped him lightly across the cheek, like he could understand what was unraveling within his very mind. "See, I get how it was."
"Hey." Imura hissed. A quiet, hollow, hiss. Dry out of his throat and loud enough to bring attention. Takizawa waved his hands, like he was amused by it while saying: "C'mon now, I didn't look here to start a fight." Imura said, nothing.
Mr.Takizawa meanwhile attempted to loose the crowd back together. He told those who stopped to listen to continue on their things. To not listen. And to not interfere. But it just couldn't stop lingering in most minds. Just what is going on with these two on the first day?
And what's up with Imura, the usually quiet one?
"Here's the thing, boy," Takizawa said, now stepping a bit back. "I wasn't expectin' a guy like you around here. So why don't you show me somethin'?" he unwrapped his black belt. And loosened his gi. It almost spilled onto the ground until he caught it with a forearm. A loose, black shirt underneath revealed itself.
Imura could sense where this was going. But that anger was shortlived enough to make him hesitate to make any other move. "Show me your skills," he heard the old man say.
"Wait, but—"
"Now. Now. I don't wanna hear no…'Waits'!" his teeth bit those words crushed. "You're gonna do as I tell you to do. You're gonna show me what your old man could do."
There's that talk about dad again…This guy. "Show me what he's taught you, boy."
The old man seemed to change. He didn't look old anymore. Instead, he looked like somebody who knows how to throw a strike or two. 'Come on' he said. He wasn't requesting a single thing. He was FORCING him. Forcing Imura. Forcing the boy he still thinks is as little as he was. But he's grown too big and strong it seemed.
This old man took a stance without any further protest, without any further word. His shoulders rounded up, fists below his chin. It's almost like he wasn't trying to fight. "Come onnnnn…."
His legs were bent slightly, backing up the disguise even more that he wasn't trying to fight hard. But to fight lightly. Just to throw a few strikes like pillows.
Okada seemed to notice, he was alert…Tachibana seemed to notice from the other side, equally confused. The two were facing eachother suddenly. But for what reason?
"Okay then—" his toes bit the mat. "HERE I COME!"
Takizawa rushed in like a canonball. His fists barely moved from his sides— he rushed in with a punch aimed to the gut, like he was charging in with a knife. Imura had to respond— the range was too short so he dodged it by inches gap. But the old man wasn't done. He rushed in with more blows, all aimed to incapitate him from his torso. Some landed, some didn't. And when they did— they felt heavy…
As if a wrecking ball were wrecking him CONSECUTIVELY.
Imura had to make a move and fast—but what? His teeth gritted against the pain inside of his tightly shut mouth. Okada for the first time in a while, was yelling for him. Rooting for him. Tachibana did the same, just as he was laughing. But all those didn't matter to him. It was like they were never heard, that's how Imura ignored them.
Takizawa leaped back like a frog when he realized Imura was inches from being out of the mat. Imura wasted no chance on that—
HE QUICKLY RUSHED.
Does this kid not even think straight…? He wondered as he took a powerful teep to the abdomen. Seriously…
Takizawa waited. He lunged in to throw a punch— Imura countered it with a swift jab to the side of his stomach.
A second punch right to the temple. "FOUL!! FOUL!!!" Someone said. Someone rushed in to pull him back. Whereas Mr.Takizawa stopped to recover from that clean blow to the side of his head. It was fast, decently strong. Despite how he looks, he has something that not everyone'd expect from a fighter like him…
Strength.
Those fists don't just have good form. They also have the power to shake someone mentally because they were trained. Takizawa pulled himself up. All he could think of was amazement, that which no one could see from within. Okada seemed to step up to help him. He let his arms hung over, waiting to get a hold, offering to help. "Teach…!" he called.
"I'm fine. Don't worry about it." Takizawa said.
"But—"
"Let me and the boy continue! He can do whatever he wants in this fight!" he urged to everyone. Those who held him, let Imura go. And then step aside. They watched the rest of the fight unfold. "C'mon. I know you can do it."
Normally Imura'd avoid this kind of situation. But not today.
And that's— what he hated the most. At least when he was conscious of his boundaries. But a part of him went unconscious. A part of him went hidden somewhere.
Somewhere in his mind.
I don't wanna lose…I don't wanna lose…I don't wanna lose. I don't wanna lose. I don't wanna lose. I don't wanna lose.
I don't wanna lose..
I don't wanna lose..
I don't wanna lose..
I don't wanna lose..
NOT. AGAIN. He grinned wide. WIDE for the first time in a while. Mr.Takizawa thought he was seeing a reminiscent figure.
This felt like the climax of it all— it probably was. Imura made the first move— a punch— after punch— after punch. A barrage that shook Mr.Takizawa near to the core of him. But Takizawa was enduring. He punched back, and back— and back — and back. He kicked— Imura kicked, punched, then received a punch. It was an onslaught. A slugfest. A true, kyokushin style brawl. Adrenaline shielded the both of them from the gruelling pain of each blow. The crowd could only gasp and root— Takizawa grabbed his shirt with a tight grip as if to tear it off— but then he threw a low kick to the right thigh— staggering Imura for a moment. And only for a moment. Imura shot back with his own kick— one that was aimed lower than the knees.
He slammed into the old man's torso shoulder first. Takizawa recoiled back a little. Imura chased him down with a trap built with a barrage of fists coming at decent speed— one that carried weight with each strike, and were calculated with most strikes that landed. Some around the vitals and even the strongest areas of the body— at this point, it looked like Imura was going to win— against a teacher with a reputation— and the crowd was thrilled to see it happen. Some clenched their fists forward, others throwing punches on the air, translating the thrill out of their minds with roars and surprise gasps.
I can't back down yet— I just can't. That thought came out of pride itself. Pride warned to swallow him. I got beat down like that, I can't have it be that way! I JUST CAN'T!
Imura stopped to take breathes. But more so he was scared. He was scared Takizawa could've done something during that onslaught. He couldn't afford to take any reckless risks. His breathes came in ragged with each crossing thought in his mind. Beat him—beat him, and win. Win this fight and show these people just how strong you are. That's what motivated him now. For now.
Takizawa moved in with a punch wound up before he even got within striking range— his chin slightly closer to the earth below, his spine bent. What looked reckless and out of desperation— Imura didn't hesitate to throw a high KICK—
It SWUNG. But it didn't feel right. Some people made a noise, a noise of seeing something successful occur— something cool happen. But Imura's leg this whole entire time cut through the air like a dull knife. Takizawa ducked under it before it even reached past his face.
He thought it would land…He thought that was it— he wanted to believe that strike had landed clean and without struggle. But he was wrong, that didn't happen. None of which he wanted to happen, happened. None.
Absolutely none.
Takizawa sweeped his standing leg, making him fall like a monolith with its last pillar.
The floor met him rudely.
"You, boy, are as knackful as you can get."
Takizawa said to him that, regardless of whether or not he heard it. In a way that felt fatherly almost.
…The club had gone empty just 20 minutes later after the fight. The only two people that exclusively stayed there were him and Imura— sitting on a bench quietly for a moment. Like waiting for a bus to stop by and ride in. The club advisor and staff have already went out just so these two could have their moment of time for a bit. "Did I hurt you too bad?" Takizawa asked occassionally. Imura shook his head slightly and said: "No." he added, but he didn't look at the older man. "What about you?"
"Fine as I'll ever be, duh," Takizawa replied. "I'm old, but I can still do things." Imura exhaled to that. But did so out of felt necessity.
"What do you have to do with my dad?"
"Your dad and I were friends, I already told you that."
"Alright, but, what kind of? What'd'chu guys do?"
Takizawa sighed to that, bothered by the question. He leaned back in nostalgic. "Well…" he said, "We didn't do much. Him and I were mostly business partners— soon became friends. We did share an interest in martial arts,"
"Business partners, huh…" Imura repeated. Takizawa nodded, "Yeah. Business. Remember the gym he once used to own, kid? I was the one who helped build it for 'em."
Imura was half surprised to hear that. But then again, he never fully remembers seeing a person like— once. So he doesn't understand his point. But as if he could tell from the silence he portrayed, Takizawa explained, "You were a real young kid back in the day. That's why you wouldn't remember me being there."
"Oh…"
"I used to visit it 'til you was what, four? I had a three years gap from seeing you and your pa', so the first time I came was when you were four. And you didn't even know how to throw a punch yet."
Imura nodded to that. Then he asked, "What kind of a man was he to you, teach?"
Takizawa laughed to that, though he seemed like he laughed to the question. First time he ever heard this boy call him 'teach'. The level of politeness was surprising to him. "A cheery guy." He simply said, "That's it?" Imura replied.
"Whatever next I will say'll require a lot of sitting down to do. You got time for that, kid?" he looked at him, smiling.
Imura checked his watch…1:50 PM. Evening was still young. He wasn't sure of it that much— but a look into history wouldn't hurt much…"Tell me about it."
"Well…"
15 years ago,
the old gym was small, it wasn't too big either. It went by a name that rang barely any bells. A name yet to be recognized: 'XXXI Combat'. A simple name, yet it held some intrigue to it. The sign outside would flicker blue and orange-red with that name like an average business store in Tokyo. This was the gym Imura started. Where his career began. It wasn't high budget, but it felt like home almost. Like it belong to the family with the gray color of the training mat, and the dark-brown fancy walls. Most walls were covered with mirrors, weapons like bo staffs and tonfas existed there as well— hanging around the walls just waiting to be used. A total of four doors, apart from the entrance/exit door. Two changing rooms, one bathroom or shower room, and one guest room. The guest room was akin to a kind of house. A table in the middle, with two sofas on both walls. Literature books on bookshelfs, that including novels were present as well. But not everyone gave them a read.
"WHA!" the little boy that was Imura threw a punch one day while looking at the mirror. Sluggish and wobbly, but he didn't care.
"That kid of yours…is it a boy or a girl, Katsumi?" A younger Takizawa asked that question. His hair was shorter, trimmed to small spike length. He looked at the boy, who, by first glance one would beg of his gender. He was noticably androgynous— with hair reaching just halfway his neck.
Then there was his father. A stronger man with a strong build. Arms folded as he watched the boy do kid things, while standing just beside Mr.Takizawa. "It's a boy." He said with a smile playing on his lips. The kind coming out of a softened heart. "Got that face mostly from his mother."
"He doesn't get bullied by the kids?"
"Sure, but I complain back to 'em parents."
Takizawa snorted, "I see."
The boy threw another punch. One after another. Then he lifted a leg up— just trying to do a kick. Eventually, he fell on his back. Just sweeping his arms around on the floor like pushing away snow. Before roolling his way to another direction. Oh, and then coming back.
"He's having fun, huh." Takizawa commentated.
"He'll make anything fun for himself, trust me." Katsumi remarked.
It was just like any day for Imura then at the gym. He comes and play, do a bit of karate punches before doing what he lieks the most. Run around, crawl, and roll around. What his dad likes to call a breaktime.
The next thing Mr.Katsumi knew was Mr.Takizawa approach the boy in the middle of his play. He let him be, and watched the scene unfold. "Hi, buddy," he crouched to the level of his small head. The boy squeaked, "Haih!" Takizawa couldn't help but laugh at that 'hi' he just gave…"What's your name, hm?"
'Imuraaaa!' he said it like that, arms wide and above. It had a heroic edge to it, cute kid. Katsumi couldn't help but giggle at the background. "Imuraaaa! Huh?" Takizawa joked along. "And what else?"
"Kashiwada!" he said that one normally.
"Ahhhh, Kashiwada…Imuraaaa!" he spread his arms out like a bear almost— like he was about to give him a hug. And then they spilled like jello. "You little kid." He tossled the boy's hair, strands flying around like water before the wave stopped. Now his hair was a mess, but he swept it away from his eyes— revealing his tiny forehead. He was still smiling indespite what just happened. He was an easygoing boy.
"This's one fine young man you have, Katsumi," he turned to face him. "A real fine man. He even made me smile."
"Better than I am," he seemed to joke. Though there was something buried beneath it. "Yeah," Takizawa agreed.
"Dad is a good man!" Imura appeared to say. He just couldn't let that slide after he heard that. "Is he, now?" Takizawa turned back to him, kind of amazed. "Yeah!" Imura bobbed his head.
"If that's the case…" he whipped a palm like, flat like paper. "Punch this hand of mine. As hard as you can!"
That seemed to stop him. Just a little. For a while his adversaries have been mirrors and air— but now this time, it was this man. Takizawa adjusted himself, coaxing him gently: "C'mon, throw your punch kid." But that only made the boy hesitated even further.
"Awwww, you ain't gonna do that? Fine." He moved his hand away then. That switched the boy's mood to a faint smile. "Looks like what he said was right for this, Katsumi." he didn't look at him when he said that. Katsumi brushed it off with a dismissive wave and a click of his tongue. A flicker of annoyance in his voice, "Don't be," he said.
'You were somethin' that made you stand out from your dad. Innocent boy with a tough lookin' father. You live up to your image, whereas your dad barely lives upto his. Frightening fellow but with a small face. See he lived up to being a gentleman when you was around him. So was your mom.'
'Why'd you describe just how I was back then, though?'
'Just wanted to let you know, kid. Just wanted to let you know. Now here's the thing about your father…'
He was a wild, out-of-control kind of guy. The kind of guy that you couldn't just stop by words. You had to get physical with 'em. And that got people excited. That got people thrilled. At least when he was in that 'fight club'.
"KATSUMI! KATSUMI! KATSUMI! KATSUMI!" They'd say his name like that and root for him to encourage 'em. Ball their fists tight and swing it toward him from out of the ring. And that worked. That…
Really worked.
Fists swung around one night in the middle of a dimly white lit warehouse. The only bulb was lit around the center, and in that center was the duel of thrill. The duel of tenacity and sheer will. The modern art of boxing and martial arts were deeply explored in matches like this.
It was bloody, it was bruising. It was messy. Just two men at it with their fists and legs and elbows. Sometimes even their heads to attack. Sometimes their whole body.
But it varied depending on the style.
"What's up, man? Can't keep going?" this one man with a surgeon's mask on his face. A hoodie mostly worn for winter— was worn for this. For the fight in this abandoned warehouse where air had trouble getting in.
He asked that question to a guy roughly the same size as him and with a similar build. Lean with a boxer's figure, but Katsumi was broader. His opponent huffed and puffed, body desperate for rest— and yet he still stood standing, motivated by pride and ego. Blood around his cheeks from a cut he just got and a burst lip.
Katsumi's clothes were rugged and dirty, and so was his mask. But he looked relaxed despite how messy he really looked. Usual for his façade.
He waved one hand, telling him to bring it on.
'KATSUMI! KATSUMI! KATSUMI! KATSUMI! KATSUMI! KATSUMI!' the words still chanted out of people's throats.
The man lunged with a wild swing— Katsumi crashed him down with a clean punch to the face.
"YEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!", everyone inside rumbled.
But was Katsumi done? Of course not. He walked up to the fallen man triumphantly— kneeled beside his head, looking at him right into his face. "Man you're such a bore," it didn't matter to him if he had heard that or not. He took off his mask— "You're gonna have to try way better than that!"
A grin etched into his face like a grin of a psychopath. Scars running wild around his face, and a glasgow mark on the left edge of his lips.
Every fight is a fight of dominance and passion. And with each fight, Katsumi asserted his own to many he met within the battleground. What drove him psychological, no one really knew. Some say it was money, others say it was fame. Was he insane? People theorized and some eventually came to believe, yes he was. Maybe. Maybe he was. But what's the point of understanding a battle machine who can give them the thrill of a battle?
"You're absolutely…nothing..like your father." Takizawa said to him after a story he just told. "I'm going to say that he was lost. But then again, he kept going again and again, indespite what you or your ma thought. And I guess…that backfired on him."
his voice was oddly mournful now. Mournful at the reminder of the friend he just thought of, the memories he made with him. "But if only he just lived the rest of his life in peace, maybe he wouldn't have gone out like this. Ever." He was saying it more to himself, than to the son of the man he knew personally. He paused to contemplate. Then he sighed, "He was a better man ever since you started talking. A lot quieter and peaceful now, even a good man I'd say…But the only real job for him was throwing fists and keep living the life full of violence and entertain the crowd. Then there were 'those people'. That's all."
"Coming to haunt him and your mother. Idiots."
Imura hadn't talked for a while. He remained quiet for minutes now.
He shifted uncomfortably, Takizawa noticed. Moved a hand around his face like he was cleaning something that wasn't here around his skin. "You good?" Takizawa asked.
"Yeah…" Imura replied awkwardly. His voice fragile and breathy. He turned his head around slightly— not looking at the older man beside him, a hand just holding onto the side of his head, uncomfortably at that.
Takizawa just looked at him. He understood what was going on. "Yeah, right." He said quietly, looking at the door on his left like a man trying to avoid.
Deep down he knew that just behind his head was a young man breaking down with droplets crawling out of his eyes due to the weight that came back to him.
There was no mother to hug, no father to talk to.
No mother of solace, no father for closeness.
Grievance is truly unyielding and sorrowful.
Not even Takizawa could fill up the loneliness he truly felt.