Rakan was beginning to feel like his life had been flipped upside down, but what was worse—he had no idea who or what was behind it. That was the way of things with Mazanka, wasn't it? One moment, you were standing still, and the next, you were dragged into something so absurd, you had to wonder if the universe had a strange, malicious sense of humor.
The morning started like any other: hot, sticky, and too bright for his liking. Mazanka, of course, was nowhere to be found when Rakan stepped out of his home, just when the sun was making its unreasonably bright debut in the sky. The only thing that greeted him was the irritating knowledge that he'd be dragged into some "training" that Mazanka wouldn't explain properly.
Rakan barely had time to tie his shoes before Mazanka appeared, as if materializing out of thin air, lounging in a chair across the street, his messy mop of hair tipped over his face like usual. His legs stretched lazily across the sidewalk, and when he saw Rakan, he gave a low whistle.
"You're late, Rakan. I was about to start training without you, but then I remembered you'd probably cry. I can't bear the thought of you crying, so here I am. I'll give you another chance," Mazanka mused dramatically, sitting up as if he were some sort of deity bestowing mercy upon a humble servant.
Rakan stared at him with the flat, unimpressed look that Mazanka had become all too familiar with. "What are we doing today?" he asked, his tone edged with a mix of skepticism and exhaustion.
"Oh, you know, just the usual. Getting you to understand that you don't know anything. You need to get better at everything—except maybe your ability to complain. That's coming along quite nicely," Mazanka replied, his grin a little too wide for Rakan's comfort.
"Don't I get a say in this?"
Mazanka stood up, grabbing Rakan's arm with the kind of casual force that made Rakan feel like he was being led to his own execution. "Of course you do. You can say, 'I want to be the best,' and then you can follow me around like a puppy, getting stronger. But for now, just shut up and follow me."
With no time to protest, Rakan found himself being dragged through the bustling streets. Mazanka, of course, had no problem with the noise of the city, weaving through people, dodging carts, while Rakan struggled to keep up. They passed by shops, food stalls, and vendors, all of them seemingly oblivious to the strange, wild man pulling Rakan along with a jovial disregard for the teenage boy's dignity.
"Where are we going?" Rakan grumbled, unable to shake the feeling that he was walking into a disaster.
Mazanka grinned slyly. "Well, let's see. I thought I'd teach you to focus while we're in public. Your Ka'ro isn't going to wait for you to hide in some quiet little room. It's everywhere, you know. And I'm not sure you're aware, but—"
He was cut off mid-sentence by a loud crash from behind them. A man, face red with rage, had tripped over his own feet after watching Mazanka barrel past him. Rakan, looking over his shoulder, saw the dishevelled, angry man gather himself up in the middle of the street, spitting out what sounded like a curse.
Mazanka, however, didn't seem to notice or care. He kept walking.
"Focus, Rakan," he continued, his voice laced with a playful tone. "You need to be aware of everything around you, like that man over there. What a clutz. He's part of your training now. What are you going to do if someone were to attack you with a shopping cart? Humans can be such barbarians."
"Are you serious?" Rakan muttered, narrowing his eyes. "Why is this part of my training? Shouldn't we be doing something more… direct?"
Mazanka paused for a moment, tapping his chin. "Hmm. You're right. This is getting boring. But we need to test you out." He snapped his fingers as if a brilliant idea had just struck him.
Rakan followed his gaze to the sidewalk, where a woman with a cart of vegetables was innocently pushing her way forward. Without warning, Mazanka tugged him toward the cart, grinning like a devilish child.
"Come on. Let's make a point," he whispered, pushing Rakan toward the cart.
The woman, startled by the sudden movement, gasped as Rakan tripped over her cart, sending vegetables sprawling across the pavement. Tomatoes exploded in a cloud of red, and the sound of carrots skittering across the ground filled the air.
Rakan's face turned red as he stood up, glaring at Mazanka who was snickering loudly beside him. "This isn't training," Rakan hissed, trying to gather his bearings. "You're just messing with me!"
Mazanka clapped him on the back. "Exactly! That's the first rule of Ka'ro training: don't take anything seriously unless you absolutely have to. You'll survive because you're prepared for chaos, and you'll adapt."
But there was someone watching them. Unbeknownst to Rakan, a Kenshiki by the name of Teruko had been tailing them for the past few hours, her eyes narrowed with a quiet intensity. She knew that something was off—something was different about this boy. He wasn't a mere human. Ka'ro hummed under her skin, and she was certain it was stronger than anything she'd seen before. She was done with observinggn him, and now, she had found an opening.
She gritted her teeth as she watched Rakan and Mazanka wreak havoc on the streets, chaos unfurling wherever they went. Every time she attempted to sneak closer, the older man—Mazanka, who she knew was the ex-One-Eye—seemed to sense her presence, though he never acknowledged her. It was as if he were playing some ridiculous game, one that she was losing at.
Her jaw tightened as she watched the man nonchalantly upend a barrel of fish, throwing them into the air, just to make Rakan duck and weave in confusion.
"I'm not an idiot!" she muttered under her breath, irritated by his playful antics. "I will not let him get away with this."
Just as she tried to circle around them, preparing to make her move, Mazanka suddenly froze. His eyes scanned the crowd with a glimmer of something Rakan couldn't quite read. The older man let out a soft, knowing chuckle.
"Are you done following us yet, Teruko?" Mazanka called out, voice loud and deliberately casual, causing Rakan to jerk his head around in confusion.
Teruko's eyes widened for a brief moment before she clenched her fists, frustrated that Mazanka had caught on to her presence once again. Her entire plan for the day was crashing around her, and she had no idea how much longer she could keep up this charade of pretending to be invisible. But Mazanka… he knew.
The realization hit hard. He wasn't oblivious. He was always one step ahead.
But how did he know her name?
Rakan, still none the wiser, pulled on Mazanka's sleeve. "What are you talking about? Who's Teruko?"
Mazanka shrugged, a smile spreading across his face. "Oh, your new imaginary friend at best. Glad to see you're keeping your ears open, kid. The world's full of little games, and my one's a particularly fun one. Heh. You should be proud of your new friend, though."
Rakan blinked. "Wait, that's what this was all about? Seeing if I would focus? What kind of—"
But Mazanka cut him off with a wink. "Exactly."
And with that, they continued on their way—leaving Teruko fuming in the shadows.
Her irritation only grew as she watched them. They were nearing a small bakery, and Teruko thought she might have found her opening. It had been a while since she'd let herself get close enough to actually strike. Maybe this time, she could do something—anything—to unsettle them, make Mazanka slip.
But just as she took a step forward, Mazanka did something so absurd, she nearly screamed in frustration.
He knocked over the bakery's display window with a mere flick of his wrist.
"Whoops, butterfingers," Mazanka chirped, as if the shopkeeper's death glare didn't even faze him. The tiny glass jars of sweets shattered onto the street in a sparkling chaos of frosting and sugar. The scent of cinnamon and baked goods lingered in the air, but it was quickly replaced by the sound of an enraged baker shouting at Mazanka, his face red and trembling.
Rakan, who had been walking behind Mazanka, stopped dead in his tracks. "What the hell, Mazanka?" he yelled, looking from the angry shopkeeper to Mazanka, completely dumbfounded.
"Ah, don't worry about it, kid. It's all part of the plan," Mazanka replied cheerfully, unfazed. He waved at the baker, who continued to shout profanities at him, before casually tossing a coin over his shoulder. It missed by a good foot and landed in the gutter. The shopkeeper stopped yelling for a brief second to stare at the coin as if it were a strange token of some unholy kind.
Behind them, Teruko clenched her teeth, her fists trembling at her sides. She had been so close. Every time she thought she had the chance to strike, Mazanka turned the situation into something absurd. This wasn't a training session—it was a nightmare.
And it was working. Rakan had no clue what was going on. He was too busy glaring at Mazanka, frustrated to the point of no return.
"Explain to me again why we're breaking things today?" Rakan demanded, his patience clearly gone. He rubbed his temples, the weight of the situation starting to press down on him.
Mazanka, meanwhile, looked over at him with a glint in his eye. "Ah, you're finally getting it! That's the perfect question to ask. But not right now. Not until we break one more thing."
"Are you kidding me?" Rakan snapped. "We just—"
But Mazanka had already moved on, not even giving him time to finish the thought. He grabbed Rakan's arm and dragged him into another store, this time a small apothecary with rows of delicate glass bottles filled with all sorts of mysterious, scented liquids.
It wasn't enough to just keep making a mess. No, Mazanka had to push it further.
"Watch closely, Rakan," he said, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. He kicked the door open with a loud bang that echoed through the narrow aisles of the shop. The startled apothecary looked up in shock just in time to see Mazanka knock a shelf loose with a casual nudge.
Rakan, mortified, stammered, "Mazanka! What are you—"
But before he could finish, Mazanka grinned and waved at the flustered apothecary. "Sorry about that. Just a little accident. Do you have any Ka'ro-induced oils? I think my friend here could use a lot of them. Like, a lot."
The apothecary blinked, flabbergasted. He glanced from Mazanka to Rakan, clearly confused by the whole scene. "Uh… Ka'ro oils? You're mistaken, sir…"
"Oh, no," Mazanka interrupted, already bored, "you see, this kid has all the Ka'ro in the world. But none of the control." He paused dramatically, then flicked Rakan's forehead as if he were a petulant child. "Which is where I come in."
Teruko, watching from the shadows, fought the urge to scream. This went against everything the Kenshiki taught. He was dragging humans into her. This insufferable—The chaos was unbearable. Every time she thought she was making progress, Mazanka turned the situation into a farce. And worse, Rakan still didn't understand the game they were playing.
She ground her teeth, watching them go farther down the street, the sounds of clinking jars, furious bakers, and shattered glass following them like a trail of breadcrumbs.
But she couldn't give up now. She wouldn't.
Soon, Mazanka would slip. She just had to wait for the right moment.
And that moment… would be soon.
She was going to kill him and would take pleasure in it. Annoying idiot.