Ramshackled

Masanori

The first time Masanori Genshu held a sword was ten years ago, at age five. It was also the first time his father told him he would never be allowed to use one.

An intricate, gold-bladed katana rested on a cherry wood stand on the mantelpiece. It had once been a weapon of grace, now a mere decoration. He stared, his desire to take it almost usurping his fear of being caught.

His mother’s sword had been passed down through her family for generations. It must have been hundreds of years old, and she had still used it before giving birth to Masa and his brother, Hidekazu.

The blade was engraved with dancing dragons, enchanted so its edge would never dull. It was a marvel how infrequent Masa succumbed to the urge to touch the weapon.

He picked it up.

Flawless weight balanced from hilt to tip. Perfect in his hands. It’s wasted as an ornament. This katana should be used by a bushi, one of her successors.

His mother.

The warrior whose footsteps Masa would never follow. His mother, whom he knew contradicted every one of his father’s objections.

But Masanori could never use that as an argument.

His mother, Sachi Genshu, was arguably the best warrior in all Seiryuu. Even she forbade him from training with a blade. Especially with this one. She said it was too dangerous—the worst explanation she could ever give a child born into a family of extraordinary warriors and majyu.

But he gave up arguing years ago. His parents still allowed Masanori and his twin brother to train in martial arts for self-defence; just no swordplay.

He slipped the blade into its sheath and tucked it under his arm. I don’t need to become a warrior to learn how to use a sword.

Masa snuck toward his brother’s room and knocked on the door. “Ready to go?” he said. There was rustling inside, then the door opened.

Hidekazu’s ebony hair was a mess, and he was paler than usual, if that were possible. “I didn’t think you wanted to go.” He rubbed his eyes. “Give me a minute.”

His room was almost identical to Masa’s; a spread of tatami flooring with rice paper walls and a single divider next to a futon. On the other side, there was a desk with dozens of books and papers strewn about.

“You could use some sun,” Masanori said, sitting on the futon. The blankets were neatly folded; they looked like they hadn’t been used in a while.

Hide came back a minute later in a fresh montsuki robe and his oversized haori, and a book tucked under his arm. The haori was sky-blue, sporting their family crest of three dancing ravens.

“You’re telling me; I haven’t left the house in days. Father’s been pushing me hard.”

Masa frowned. “Pushing you for what?”

His brother’s mouth opened, then closed, his eyes wide. “Guess I never told you.” He cleared the distance and sat on the other side of the futon, laying back. “Father told me it’s time I took the Majyutsushi Exams.”

“So you can work in the palace?” Masa said. “You do realize that goes against everything he’s taught us, right? Does he realize it?”

Hide sighed. “Yes.” A pause. “I don’t know.”

He was hiding something, but Masa wasn’t in the mood to ask. If it’s important, he’ll come around. Though… that explains why we haven’t been spending much time together.

Masanori wasn’t mad at Hidekazu, but he was mad.

All their lives, their father preached about how they should never fight unless there were no other options. And so, Hide studied to become a majyu, as their family’s legacy required, but wasn’t allowed to learn anything which was explicitly meant to harm another person.

Majyu were weavers of ki, the earth’s lifeblood. Most people could become majyu after years of study and practice, but the Genshu family had a long line of exceptional majyu, some who had changed the course of history. Except for Masa, who was a dud of a majyu and couldn’t access a single strand of ki.

He thumbed the leather cord around his neck, weighed down by the pouch below his collar. That used to be the case, at least.

But he’d still been forbidden from becoming a warrior. He developed his technical skills by studying ki engineering instead—a new branch of ki-studies which sought to establish innovative ways to use ki in everyday life. Yet it didn’t stop the itch inside him that wanted to fight.

But for Hide to take and pass the Majyutsushi Exams, he needed proficiencies in at least three different ki fighting styles. Why would father change his mind? And only for Hide?

Masa’s good mood was ruined.

He stood. “Let’s go before anyone realizes the katana is gone.”

“I can’t mess around the whole day,” Hide said, biting his lip. “I’ve still got to study.”

“You sure? I invited Aihi to come along.”

His brother’s face turned red. “Y-you... what?”

Masa grinned and laughed. “Come on, don’t be embarrassed. Who did you think was going to teach me? If I’m going to let anyone beat the crap out of me, it’s sure got to be her, since she does it already.”

But he stopped laughing when he saw that his brother didn’t look embarrassed. Hide’s hands shook before he grabbed fistfuls of his haori, sweat accumulating around his neck.

“You get into another fight or something?”

Aihi was the Princess of Seiryuu. But because their parents were close, the three had grown up as siblings. And as siblings do, they had their fair share of arguments. Most often, they occurred between Aihi and Hidekazu, since they were the majyu.

“It’s not that...” Hide staggered the words between deep breaths. After a few moments, he shook his head. “Let’s talk later. I’ll be fine.”

Masa, still skeptical, nodded. He would be sure to press Hide on the subject when they weren’t running late.