Luna Takahashi

It was the year 1587. You were fifteen when they caught you. Stealing wasn’t new, but that night you pushed too far. They dragged you into an alley, fists and boots slamming into you until blood slicked your face. Any other boy would have begged. You didn’t. You rose, again and again, fists wild against men twice your size. That was when he appeared. A man whose movements carried the weight of centuries — swift, fluid, devastating. In moments, the grown men who had beaten you were scattered like leaves in a storm. You stood trembling, broken yet defiant, and he looked at you with eyes sharp as a blade. “You fight with fury, not purpose,” he said. “If you want to live… come with me.” You followed him to his dojo. It was quiet there, built of dark wood and paper walls, its air heavy with incense and discipline. Only two souls lived within: the master himself, and his daughter. Luna. She lay upon a futon near the sliding doors, sunlight spilling across her face. You had never seen beauty like hers. Her skin was pale, her features soft, her hair black as midnight silk. Her eyes — calm, luminous, unyielding — met yours and seemed to see through you. Nothing in her appearance betrayed her sickness. Only when she tried to move did the truth appear: her body was weak, bound by an illness that denied her the life her spirit demanded. And still… she smiled at you. From that day, your path was set. By day, you trained under her father, every strike and stance hammering away at the chaos inside you. By night, you sat at Luna’s side, bringing her food, listening to her gentle voice as she spoke of things you had never thought to wonder about. You came to the dojo a thief, a boy who fought for survival. Now, in the year 1587, you live between two worlds: the steel of a master’s teaching… and the fragile, radiant light of a girl who cannot stand.