Chapter Text
"Now, Arata—what is your oath?"
"I will train my heart n' body for a…firm spirit."
"And?"
"I will puh—uhm…"
"Pursue."
"Puh-sue the meaning of the true martial way."
Slowly but surely, the little boy recited the oath that had been drilled into his head since he could walk. Being three years old, he stuttered a few times and couldn't pronounce some of the words. Some he skipped completely. It didn't seem to matter. His gramps was looking down at him with a smile so warm, it felt like a hug.
Once done, Arata stepped forward at Gramps's beckon. He could feel every eye in the dojo burning into his back. He probably looked so cool! So he puffed out his chest and held his head high. Giddy, he sneaked a glance at his smiling parents, but his ma ushered him to pay attention. Barely able to hold still, Arata yanked his eyes back to Gramps, who was presenting a white obi.
"You are now officially a student of the Ōyama Dojo." Crouching, Gramps tied the sash around Arata's gi. "Remember your oath, protect your loved ones. Train hard, and train well."
Unable to contain his excitement, Arata leaped forward and wrapped his little arms around Gramps's neck. Everyone in the dojo collectively chuckled, even as Gramps pried Arata away and made him stand straight. One of the older students held up a camera, and the Ōyama family quickly gathered to take a photo.
Should he pose? Arata mulled this over. It'd be cool, wouldn't it? So he jumped in the air, jabbing a fist out. When the photo had finally developed, his family groaned at the tiny smear in the center of the picture.
The next two days were boring. Arata kept asking when he'd get to kick stuff, and Pops kept telling him to wait. Ma was fussing over clothes he'd never worn before.
Then, Gramps led him out of the family home, saying there was a "play date." Or something. Arata didn't care about the what or why; he got to spend more time with Gramps, and he loved Gramps and thought he was the coolest ever, so he was happy. Even if he had to wear those heavy, itchy clothes.
He wasn't expecting to be brought to a really tall building, and looked at by a bunch of really tall people. But he wasn't scared, he was strong! So he stuck his chin out at them and they laughed. Before he could tell them just who he was, he and Gramps were brought to a room.
It was the biggest room Arata had ever seen. The ceilings were taller than the tallest tree (that Arata knew of), and the weird, fluffy stuff on the floor stretched out forever. Carefully, Arata touched the floor with one foot. It was soft as blankets, nothing like the tatami mats at home.
But more importantly, there was a kid there, too. Super white hair (was it fake?), with blue eyes (those had to be fake). He was sitting really still (Arata thought he was a statue), with his hands folded in his laps. He looked like he was in pain.
And that's what Arata asked, more or less: "Is he hurt?"
Gramps patted him on the shoulder. "No."
"Oh. Okay."
Arata stood at the edge of the room with Gramps. On the other side was the kid, and a person behind him who was probably his mom, but also looked nothing like him. She had her head bowed. Arata ignored her; he watched the other kid, but after about five seconds he groaned and looked around. Not a single toy in the room.
"Can we go home? He's not sayin' anythin'!" he huffed with crossed arms. "Is he shy?"
Gramps sighed. "Maybe he wouldn't be, if you'd say hello."
Oh. Okay.
Ma always laughed when he did something funny. Maybe this kid's the same? So Arata stepped forward a bit. A little bit more. With a big, cheesy grin on his face, he jumped up with his arms and legs splayed out.
"Hello!"
The kid stared at him. Arata stared back. Then the kid's lips wobbled. Then he started crying, and a bunch of people came from nowhere to usher him out of the room, leaving Arata and Gramps alone. Well then.
Arata turned to Gramps. "He's weird."
It wasn't until two years later that Arata saw the weird kid again. He was a new student at the Ōyama Dojo, tailed by people called "servants" that wouldn't let him even touch a punching bag. When Arata was paired with the kid for sit-ups, that was when he learned that his name was Prince Samir-raja Swareet.
"Your name's weird," Arata said, voice strained by the exercise.
Samir shrugged, holding Arata's feet down. "So's yours."
Back at home, Arata asked Ma what Samir meant by that, but he was just scolded for being rude. Later that evening, Pops told him how when Gramps was really, really young, he moved from his home country to this kingdom. He brought martial arts with him, and taught the Swareet family what he knew. Arata fell asleep to bedtime stories of Gramps proving his strength over and over again.
A week later, Arata got to see Samir at the dojo again. And, of course, he got to brag.
"My Gramps's been trainin' your family for ages!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms out wide. "He's super, super strong! Isn't that cool?"
"I guess."
"One day I'm gonna be strong as him! And I'll be so cool!"
Shin-kicking drills were when Arata got to show just how cool he was, and how strong and…and tough he was. He got paired with Samir that day, but was explicitly told not to hit him. Samir, on the other hand...
"Ow!" Arata exclaimed after Samir landed a good kick. Scowling, he yanked his shin away. "What gives?"
Samir blinked at him, as if he was more confused than anything. Without warning, he kicked again. Pain shot up Arata's leg, making his knee wobble. Instead of crying out, he wrinkled his nose and walloped Samir's shin as hard as he possibly could.
People swarmed them almost instantly. Arata was half-dragged, half-carried away from Samir by someone he didn't know, while Samir was ushered out of the dojo. Arata could barely hear Samir's crying over the cries of the servants. Plagued by guilt, Arata tried to run after them, but the one that was carrying him shoved him against the wall.
"You do not hit the prince!"
For the first time, and certainly not for the last, Arata was struck by an adult. Sniffling, he cradled his cheek and looked at the head of the dojo. Gramps simply stared back, stone-faced.