Ichigo can't Fight

Sakai Port Village – Outskirts

Beyond the bustling heart of Sakai Port Village, nestled on the quiet outskirts, stood the Takamura Compound—a relic of an era long past. The grand wooden gates bore the mon (crest) of the Ten Tiger Martial Spirit, a school of combat feared and revered across Japan. Beneath the glow of the crescent moon, the compound exuded a solemn tranquility, the kind only disturbed by the occasional whisper of wind through the ancient sakura trees.

Inside, in the depths of the traditional shōji-walled dojo, Master Haido Takamura awoke. A man of unwavering discipline, his instincts had sharpened over decades of training. Even in his sleep, his senses never dulled.

His hand clenched around the hilt of his katana.

Something—or someone—had trespassed upon sacred ground.

He rose without hesitation, his hakama flowing silently as he made his way across the polished wooden floor. A faint scent of aged incense and oiled steel lingered in the air, but beneath it, there was something else. Something familiar.

Stepping into the dojo, his eyes locked onto a solitary figure standing before the wing-chun dummy—a towering shadow, his posture both relaxed and coiled with potential energy. The flickering lanterns revealed golden strands of hair, a broad yet graceful frame, and a presence so commanding it sent a chill through Haido's spine.

No. It couldn't be.

His grip on his sword tightened.

"…Daizen?"

A Ghost from the Past

The figure turned, a slow and deliberate motion. Then came the scoff—low, dripping with mockery. Daizen Haruichi, once his most gifted disciple, now stood before him, changed but unmistakable.

"Master." Daizen's voice was smooth, yet laced with something dangerous. "You haven't changed a bit."

Haido's gaze did not falter. One hand hovered near the tsuka (hilt) of his katana, his body poised in seigan no kamae, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

"What do you want here?" he asked, voice steady but firm. "I told you twelve years ago—"

Daizen cut him off with a sharp exhale, pacing slowly around the dojo like a predator circling prey. His movement was controlled, elegant. Dangerous.

"Twelve years ago," he said, "you cast me out. You told a child that he would never master the Ten Tiger Martial Spirit. You turned your back on me over one mistake."

Haido's jaw tightened. "You didn't make a mistake, Daizen. You took a life in anger. A child—your own peer. There is no place for rage in the ways of the Ten Tigers. Letting you stay would have been a disgrace to my honor… to the legacy of this dojo."

Daizen paused at the words. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smirk.

"Honor?" he whispered, shaking his head. Then, as if amused, he stepped toward the wing-chun dummy, placing a hand on it. His fingers moved in a slow, deliberate dance, tracing the wooden limbs.

"Family is what I called you, Haido." His voice grew softer but no less intense. "After my family was slaughtered, this dojo was all I had. I begged you—for days—to reconsider, to let me stay. But you… you turned your back on me."

Haido remained motionless.

Daizen's hand suddenly flicked—a blur of movement. His fingers struck the wooden dummy in a precise sequence, each strike a whisper of wind, each motion flawless.

Haido felt it before he saw it.

A sharp crack sliced through the silence.

Then—nothing.

For a moment, the dojo held its breath. Then, with a splintering wail, the wing-chun dummy collapsed—shattered into a hundred pieces, reduced to mere wood fragments on the polished floor.

Haido's eyes widened.

He hadn't even seen it.

Daizen had executed the First Tiger Martial Spirit—a technique so precise and devastating that even the most advanced disciples struggled to master it.

But Haido hadn't taught it to him.

The realization settled like a boulder in his chest. Twelve years in exile… and Daizen had somehow mastered it on his own.

Daizen stepped forward, his golden hair catching the lantern's dim glow. His power was undeniable. And yet, there was something else—something chilling.

"I didn't come here for revenge, Master Haido." His voice was dangerously calm. "I want nothing from you. Not your approval. Not your forgiveness."

He paused, then added:

"But your students? Maybe."

Haido's breath hitched.

"I have no need for you, Master. You are a relic. But Japan? Japan is mine for the taking."

And with that, he turned and walked toward the darkness of the open courtyard.

The night swallowed him whole.

A Storm on the Horizon

For a long while, Haido did not move.

His fingers twitched toward his katana, but what good would it have done? Even if he had drawn it, would he have stood a chance?

His eyes drifted back to the shattered remains of the wing-chun dummy.

It was impossible. That level of mastery… efficiency… power.

Daizen had given him an unspoken challenge. Dare to stop me. If you can.

For the first time in decades, Haido felt something foreign coil in his chest. Doubt.

But he would not sit idly by. He could not.

Japan was in danger.

And if Daizen truly sought to claim it…

Then Haido would do what he must—to stop him.

....The Next Morning....

Sakai Police Station

The morning light seeped through the rusted bars of the holding cell, casting long shadows on the damp stone floor. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and stale smoke, remnants of the restless night before.

Ichigo stretched, letting out a long yawn and an uncontrollable fart, an awkward moment for both occupants.

"sorry?!" Mau apologized

"wait, that was me!"

"Oh I know that, I am apologizing for the others, all of that was me," Mau returned proudly.

Ichigo strangely enough, had slept well. A rarity in this miserable place.

Mau leaning against the wall with arms crossed. His sharp eyes flickered with urgency.

"It seems like you slept soundly," Mau said, his voice low but edged with tension. "That's good. But listen, kid—we gotta go. The police don't want us anymore. We're both getting out of here."

Ichigo blinked, still groggy. Getting out? Just like that?

Before he could ask, the clank of metal rang through the cell as an officer unlocked the door. The man's expression was tight with irritation, his uniform slightly disheveled as if he had been up all night.

"What are you two still doing here?" The officer pushed the door open with his baton. "Get out. This station is about to get real busy, and I don't need trash like you two cluttering up the place it's bad for business."

Ichigo frowned. Something was off.

"What?" He rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the drowsiness. "What are you saying? What happened?"

The officer sighed, looking over his shoulder as if to check if anyone else was listening. Then, in a hushed voice, he muttered:

"Gang wars erupted last night. Word is—Futushi Onaga is dead."

Ichigo's eyes widened.

"Wait… what?"

Mau's expression darkened. "Futushi Onaga? The crime boss?"

The officer nodded. "Yeah. Word is, he was killed in a battle. Now every gang in Sakai is at each other's throats, fighting over his territory. The whole city is on fire."

Ichigo felt a chill crawl up his spine. Futushi Onaga was a name that carried weight in the underworld—a man who controlled the streets with an iron fist plus he was a rarity possessing two powerful fighting spirits. If he was truly gone… then that meant one thing.

Someone more powerful had defeated him and now there was a power vacuum.

Mau wasted no time. He grabbed Ichigo's arm.

"We're leaving. Now."

Ichigo hesitated. "But—"

"I don't have time to argue, kid," Mau snapped. "I need to find my brother. Before someone else does."

The officer stepped aside, waving them out. "You better move fast. The streets are turning into a battlefield."

As Ichigo and Mau stepped into the morning haze, the sound of distant sirens echoed through the alleys. Smoke from burning cars twisted into the sky, and the port—once restless but controlled—had become an open war zone.

Rumors flew in hushed voices as they passed by:

"A new boss is coming."

"Must have something to do with that new ship,"

"No one knows who it is, but they're already moving."

"Sakai belongs to the strongest now."

Ichigo clenched his fists. The world had shifted overnight. And there was no turning back.