A Dragon's Curse

8. Hidekazu

3

Hidekazu

Each of Hidekazu’s professors admonished him for arriving at the Academy more than halfway through Monkey’s month. In turn, they observed his injured hand with a hint of satisfaction. A worthy punishment, they agreed. No permanent damage. Now, he needed to choose between falling further behind in his classes to heal or catching up and continuing to harm himself. A sadistic paradox, more like.

The academy gave him no real choice: Hidekazu could not go the day, let alone the rest of the month, with only one hand.

In Martial Ki Fighting, Tano Natsuko sidelined Hidekazu, limiting him to watching his classmates practice in the courtyard to her instructions. “You will not participate for a jun, so you best take notes,” she told him.

The professor to his Military Strategy class refused him entry to the classroom, citing how a dedicated strategist would not arrive late to battle. Hidekazu would join them in Rooster’s month, assuming he continued reading the textbooks on his own. Otherwise, he might as well not come back at all. In Advanced Kigou, Hidekazu’s pride had him attempt calligraphy with his injured hand, despite his ambidexterity and his swollen, sensitive joints.

“You write like a child,” Nakayama Kazuki, Hidekazu’s professor, said. “You will not become a bushi if your kigou are illegible. How will you cast spells?”

Hidekazu kept his head low, accepting the punishment of doubled writing homework for the entire semester with grace. It wasn’t his fault, he wanted to tell everyone. But he didn’t voice the lie. He chose to disobey his father time and time again.

Hidekazu was no one, nameless, worthless. The more he reminded himself, the closer he came to believing the mantra as truth.

The gold rings on his palm served as a reminder. Touching them irritated the burns tainting his flesh, but the sensation grounded him. This was his reality now. He would become a bushi or stay nameless. Classwork would not defeat him.

Upon entering Advanced Linguistics, his professor, a round woman with greying hair, barraged him with questions in formal Sānlóngguón. By the end of her interrogation, she declared him prepared for the class. She gave him no extra homework, only the expectation that he would finish all the assignments, whether they were late or not. He left feeling uplifted instead of brought down further.

Hidekazu’s last class for the day, Advanced Practical Defence, was in full session when he arrived. He slid the doors open, peering into the spacious room. Four rows of about fifteen students total knelt at their low wooden desks, their brushes gliding as the professor drawled on at the front. Tanaka Yoshi, a former shugo and military defence strategist, assuming Hidekazu’s notes were correct.

Like the other classrooms, two sheer curtains decorated with a yōkai symbol flanked each row; the desks for oni, tengu, and kappa were full. The embroidery on Hidekazu’s uniform was a dragon, and the seating in the appropriate section was empty.

Yoshi stopped speaking. “Ah, our mysterious missing student.” His hair was collected into a loose topknot that bounced as he directed his attention to Hidekazu. “Arrogant enough to skip a jun of classes and shameless enough to arrive half an hour late. Name?”

Hidekazu lowered his chin in preparation for yet another public reprimand. He would take it, like all the rest. And like all the rest, he would not announce his namelessness.

“Hidekazu.”

In the back of his skull, Naoji’s cold presence slithered about, preparing a sarcastic remark. Hidekazu stiffened in anticipation. His first day of classes had been horrible enough without the warlock’s interference. However, this time, Sayuri’s presence rose to silence Naoji before he made a sound. The two spirits fought against each other for dominance, sending ripples of energy through Hidekazu’s mind until Sayuri won and, at last, the coldness dissipated.

In thanks, Hidekazu pressed a hand to the concealed wooden knot of his shrunken staff where she resided. She acted as the only barrier between him and Naoji, but he always sought to suppress her. And since he was an ancient warlock, and she only a shishajya spirit, he beat her out most of the but. Without her, Hidekazu stood no chance of resisting Naoji’s constant chatter about the Book of Inochi long enough to reclaim the Genshu family name.

“Hidekazu,” Yoshi said. “You are here in time to demonstrate the focus of today’s class: the Siphoning Wind Shield.”

Any other day, Hidekazu might have completed a siphoning wind shield in his sleep. His burnt fingers throbbed to remind him this was no regular day.

The assembly murmured, but in the cloud of Hidekazu’s mind, he only registered a general sense of disbelief. Taking these lessons on defensive ki was a formality; by most accounts, he had mastered the art during his training as a shugo.

“I would be happy to assist you in your demonstration, sensei.” Hidekazu managed to keep his voice level, an inaccurate portrayal of the steady panic rising inside him.

When he reached the front, he retrieved his staff and welcomed the feel of Sayuri’s serene energy as he extended the weapon to full length. Yoshi regarded him with curiosity, not quite vindictive as Hidekazu expected, but that observation did little to ease his impending humiliation.

He held his staff with his offhand, keeping his injury hidden in the shadow of his sleeve.

“I take it you are familiar with the spell,” Yoshi said.

“I am, sensei. Would you like me to give the class an overview of the history and prerequisites as well?”

“Please do.”

“The Toku family developed the original Siphoning Wind Shield, and this signature spell enabled the clan’s climb to prominence in the expertise of defence. However, as defensive ki theory expanded, spells evolved, and the needs of Seiryuu changed.

“Although no longer one of the Toku clan’s guarded secrets, and now common amongst defence specialists, Siphoning Wind Shields are still considered advanced spellcasting because they require dual concentration—that is, the ability to both attack and defend simultaneously.” Hidekazu fell into the comfortable rhythm of reciting his knowledge from memory. Around him, the sound of moving brushes wiped away any hint of the students’ prior mockery. “Siphoning Wind Shields enable a majyu to use less personal ki to cast more spells, as the essential kigou steal the momentum and ki from an opponent and use their energy against them. Often, they serve to absorb and redirect attacks instead of completely blocking them.”

A lifetime ago, he used the barrier in an attempt to hush the flames during Lacotl’s attack on Tsukiko, where Hidekazu had been too unskilled to aid Aihi while she tried to rescue Benri Torra. That did not mean he could use it now.

“The difficult part, for most people,” Hidekazu continued, “is maintaining defences while manipulating attacks as they come. The timing must be precise, and grappling with the energy and losing control is often more dangerous than failing to grab it in the first place.”

When Yoshi faced Hidekazu, he looked impressed. “Then let us do a demonstration for the class, yes?”

Hidekazu fell into a familiar kijaku-style defensive stance. He rested on the balls of his feet, staff positioned at a horizontal angle. His breaths came steady and even, ready to make the best of his situation, even if his injured hand would cripple his performance.

Yoshi flung his hand to the side. Inky ki gushed through the room, disturbing the banners hovering around the students. The energy solidified as dark needles and spiralled toward Hidekazu in an unpredictable pattern.

Hidekazu flicked his staff and drew kaze while creating the symbols for the actual shield with the undamaged fingers on his other hand. The swelling made his ligaments stiff and uncooperative. Every twitch sent shockwaves through his hand, a build-up of energy and overexerted nerves that he would pay for later.

Black ki hit the filament of Hidekazu’s barrier as opaque bands lifted around him in time to catch Yoshi’s attack. The temperature in the room dropped as Hidekazu wrestled with the energy, redirecting it through the shield. A monumental feat without his hand to balance Yoshi’s ki as it thundered through the gale. Dragonscales sprung up along the staff as Sayuri attempted to support Hidekazu.

“Maintain your focus,” Yoshi said, almost drowned out by the hurricane.

His stolen voice, the wind, and raging energy brought Hidekazu back to the disaster aboard the Dragon’s Blossom, wood cracking beneath his feet, surrounded by the dying screams of shipmates, transported back to that bleary place with Masanori covered in blood and the dead girl with tiger-lily hair in his arms—

Storm-blue energy shuddered through Hidekazu, ripping him, disoriented, back to reality. Ki numbed his bones, but he raised himself from his catatonia and fumbled at redirecting the spell. He forgot a line in one symbol, misordering the strokes in the next, skipping one kigou altogether.

Not because of negligence, but because of the wreckage of his mind—you better not come back, you better not come back; if only you cared about us as much as... as much as what? If only Hidekazu could remember, maybe he never would have pushed Masanori away—and without the use of all his fingers, his entire technique became impossible.

The ki within the hovering kigou buzzed, colliding against their calligraphic prisons. Hidekazu’s control snapped. Undirected energy ricocheted outward as the shield dispersed. Strands collected in his bruised hand, and he stifled a scream.

If Barame had taught Hidekazu anything so far, it was that he could not let his suffering control him.

He thrust his staff forward, calling to the latent elements in the room to redirect the dangerous ki. The air and earth responded. A subtle breeze coiled around him, a vibration beneath his feet, and the untamed energy collected about the sapphire head. He flicked the weapon, discharging the accumulated power against the wall adjacent to him and Yoshi before it could spiral toward the unsuspecting students.

The ki incinerated the blank scroll. Ash dusted to the floor, but otherwise, a minor disaster averted.

He allowed himself a breath of relief before returning his attention to Yoshi, expecting an extended lecture on using spells beyond his skill level. He used his burnt hand to brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes, ripped free from his braids.

Yoshi grabbed his wrist, dragging Hidekazu nearer. He pushed back the singed sleeve, examining the damaged fingers dangling from swollen joints. It did not take a genius to realize the failed demonstration had not caused the injury.

“Your theory is on point, Hidekazu,” Yoshi said, “though your technique requires refinement. I recommend you acknowledge your limitations and where you might seek external assistance.”

Hidekazu picked a desk, conscious of the stares. Let them be smug in his failure. None of them would complete the first half of the spell, let alone a successful cast.

Yoshi cleared his throat. “An entertaining debut for our newest student, no doubt, but let us return to our initial discussion. The Wind Siphoning Shield will be a critical tool for majyu who...”

Ink dripped from Hidekazu’s brush, one stroke after another, as Sayuri’s energy drained and faded after his moment in the spotlight. While he rebuilt his barrier of will, the pressure of Naoji’s energy increased. Hidekazu pinched his fingers in an attempt to resist the warlock, but that only beckoned for Naoji’s return.

“If you used the Book of Inochi,” Naoji whispered, “you would need no hands at all.”

The lecture ebbed and flowed in the background of Hidekazu’s thoughts. He needed to succeed at this school to attain bushido and reclaim his family name, but the memory of his failures haunted him. It wasn’t only Naoji in his head. In Nagasou, Furahau Mika, Seiryuu’s beloved Shōgun, withered away because of Hidekazu’s indecision. With the promised Book of Inochi, he could save her, as he, Masanori, and Aihi had planned all along.

“Must I remind you of the impending tragedies we face if you ignore me forever?”

Hidekazu willed Naoji to shut up and continued scribbling notes. According to him, the world would descend into the chaos of Masanori’s Nightmare unless Hidekazu claimed the Book of Inochi for himself. The tome that he, Masanori, and Aihi and left Seiryuu for as a last resort to save the dying Shōgun Mika’s life. Hidekazu had found the book, but because of Naoji’s threats, he wouldn’t use it.

At the same time, if Hidekazu did nothing, Mika would die.

In his previous life, he had pushed Masanori away. The only one capable of verifying what would happen if they healed Mika with the Book of Inochi.

Surely, saving her was the right call. She controlled Seiryuu’s military and was a beacon of hope for them all, besides. Yet, Hidekazu’s doubt kept him dedicated to his studies and from using the Book of Inochi at all.

What was so bad about Masanori’s Nightmare?