Chapter 9 – A Piece of Junk

I knew yesterday was a mistake.

The weight of the broken sword felt cold against my back. I had it tucked into my belt, hidden beneath my worn-out tunic. Walking home, I took a different route, a longer one. It didn’t matter. It was like they had a map of my fear.

The alley smelled the same. Old garbage and regret. Kael stood there, blocking the exit, that same lazy smile on his face. Goran and Pip flanked him like the two dumbest gargoyles in the world. They were a wall I could never seem to break through.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Kael took a slow step forward, his boots crunching on the gravel.

“We were just talking about you.”

Pip let out his usual stupid giggle. Goran just cracked his knuckles. The sound echoed off the brick walls, a familiar overture to pain. My hand drifted back, my fingers brushing against the cracked leather hilt of the sword. The touch sent a weird warmth through my palm. It felt different from the cold steel. It felt…ready.

I stayed silent. Answering was always a mistake.

“What’s the matter, Reiji?”

Kael’s voice dripped with fake honey.

“Forget to bring your little drawing book today?”

His eyes zeroed in on my hand. He saw where it was resting. A flicker of curiosity crossed his face, followed by that ugly, familiar smirk.

“What’s that you got there? Finally bought yourself a real toy?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He never did.

“Goran, go see what our little artist is hiding.”

The big oaf lumbered forward. His shadow fell over me, blocking out the sliver of gray sky. He reached a beefy hand for my shirt, aiming to shove me against the wall like always.

But this time, my body didn’t shrink away.

My arm shot out before I could even think.

My hand clamped around Goran’s wrist, stopping his thick arm mid-air. The motion was fluid, fast, and totally alien to me. Goran’s eyes went wide with shock. He grunted, trying to pull back, but my grip was like iron. My fingers, the ones that were always trembling, were now rock steady.

“I said, what do you have?”

Goran snarled, his face turning red with effort. He tried to yank his arm free again, but my hand didn’t budge. It was like watching someone else’s body.

I twisted my wrist.

A sharp crack echoed in the alley, followed by a high-pitched scream. Goran stumbled back, clutching his arm to his chest, his face pale with a mix of pain and pure disbelief. He stared at me like he was seeing a ghost. Maybe he was. The kid who used to tremble at his shadow was gone.

“You little brat! You broke his arm!”

Pip shrieked, his voice cracking. Kael’s smile had finally vanished, replaced by a look of genuine anger. He hadn’t seen fear yet. That came next.

“Get him!”

Pip charged, his fists flailing wildly. I didn’t move, not really. My body just…reacted. My right foot slid back, and the broken sword was suddenly in my hand. The blade was short, snapped in half, a piece of junk. But the way it settled into my grip felt perfect.

I didn’t swing. I just sidestepped.

Pip’s momentum carried him past me. My foot shot out, hooking his ankle. He went down hard, his face smacking into the grimy cobblestones with a wet thud. He didn’t get up. Two down. My heart wasn’t hammering. My hands weren’t shaking. I felt nothing at all, except a strange, cold calm.

“What… what are you?”

Kael had backed up against the far wall, his tough-guy act completely gone. He was looking at me, but his eyes were wide with a terror I knew all too well. It was the same look I saw in my own reflection. Now, it was his turn to wear it.

I took a step forward.

The sword felt impossibly light. The wave-like patterns in the steel seemed to shimmer, even in the dim light of the alley. Each step I took was perfectly balanced, my feet silent on the gravel. This wasn’t me. This couldn’t be me. I was the kid who drew heroes, not the one who became one.

“Stay away from me!”

He scrambled sideways, trying to crab-walk away from the dumpster. It was pathetic. He looked just like a cornered rat. My own thoughts felt distant, muffled under a layer of cold, sharp focus. A voice that wasn’t mine whispered in my head. He is weak. End this.

I lunged.

The movement was a blur. I closed the distance in a single heartbeat. The tip of my broken blade rested against his throat before he could even let out a scream. The cold steel pressed against his skin. He froze, his body trembling violently. Tears welled up in his eyes, mixing with the dirt on his cheeks.

He was the wall. And I was finally breaking him.

A different kind of blur slammed into my side.

I was thrown against the brick wall, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. The sword flew from my grasp, skittering across the pavement with a sharp, metallic scrape. Pain flared in my shoulder. The cold calm that had filled me vanished, replaced by the familiar ache and confusion.

A boy stood between me and Kael.

He was tall and wore a simple, clean tunic. He hadn’t been there a second ago. He moved with a stillness that was more intimidating than any of Kael’s posturing. It was the boy from the other day, the one who had scared Kael without even touching him.

“That’s enough.”

His voice was even, calm, and held more power than all of Kael’s shouting combined. Kael didn’t hesitate. He scrambled to his feet and ran, helping a dazed Pip up as they both fled the alley like their lives depended on it. Goran was already gone.

I pushed myself up, my body screaming in protest. I looked for my sword. The boy was already bending down, his hand reaching for it.

“No! It’s mine!”

The words tore out of my throat. I stumbled forward, my hand outstretched. I needed it back. Without it, I was nothing again.

He picked it up.

He moved so fast I barely registered it. One moment he was holding the sword, the next he was right in front of me. A hand pressed gently against my chest, and an invisible force pushed me back. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. It was like hitting that wall of solid air from before.

He looked down at me, his expression unreadable. His eyes were focused on the broken blade in his hand, not on me. He held it with a reverence that made no sense. It was just a piece of junk from a scrap heap.

He turned his gaze back to me, and for the first time, I saw something in his eyes. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t pity. It was a strange, analytical curiosity.

“It seems the sword the Master made chose you.”