Ichigo can't Fight

The air inside the dimly lit ramen shack was thick with the scent of simmering broth, soy sauce, and years of spilled sake. Lanterns hung from the wooden beams, their flickering light casting elongated shadows across the cramped space. Patrons hunched over steaming bowls, slurping noodles noisily, their faces half-hidden beneath the brims of conical straw hats.

At the far end, seated on a raised platform covered in faded tatami mats, Pit lounged with one leg propped over the other, idly twirling a pair of lacquered chopsticks between his fingers. His dark yukata was loosely tied, revealing a network of jagged scars across his collarbone—marks of battles fought in the lawless streets of Sakai Port Village. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he savored the taste of his meal, the rich umami of the broth clinging to his tongue.

Then, the ramen shack's noren curtain was ripped aside.

A boy stumbled in—disheveled, caked in dirt, and reeking of sweat and filth. His straw sandals were in tatters, and his kimono was so stained with grime that its original color was impossible to tell. His wild, matted hair clung to his forehead, damp from exhaustion. The moment he entered, the slurping stopped. All eyes turned to him, and the silence grew heavy, save for the low humming of cicadas outside.

Pit scowled, nostrils flaring. His once-pleasant morning was now ruined.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered, setting his chopsticks down.

The boy staggered forward, gasping, "B-Boss... it's me! Don't you remember? You gave me a mission!" His voice cracked with excitement, but he barely had enough breath to speak.

Pit's eyes narrowed. "You? Ah… you're that errand rat I sent off I thought you were dead - I mean ran off. What in the name of the Shogun's rotten sandals happened to you?"

Before the boy could answer, Pit kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling onto the floor. The impact sent up a cloud of dust, mixing with the steam from the ramen pots.

"Ugh." Pit wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You stink like a dead tanuki rotting in the sun. Whatever it is, it better be worth my time, or I'll have the cooks serve you in the next broth."

Still wheezing, the boy clutched his ribs but grinned through the pain. "B-Boss, I did it! I followed them! I found something huge!" His stomach let out a deep growl. He winced. "But, uh… I haven't eaten since I escaped the Twin Mountains…"

At that, Pit raised a brow. "The mountains?" The faintest trace of intrigue crossed his face.

He turned his head lazily and barked, "Hey, old man! Get this filth some food before he drops dead on my floor."

The ramen chef, a frail but quick-handed man, hesitated. He cast a worried glance at Pit, but when the gang boss shot him a glare, he hastily prepared a bowl.

The boy devoured the steaming noodles with reckless abandon, slurping loudly, broth dripping from his chin. It took four bowls before he finally sighed in satisfaction, stretching his thin arms like a well-fed cat.

Pit tapped his chopsticks impatiently against his bowl. "Enough with the damn food. Start talking."

The boy licked his plate clean and wiped his mouth on his sleeve before leaning forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Boss… you won't believe what I found." His eyes gleamed. "It was exactly like you thought. Those men—they're soldiers from the Capital City. But they weren't just here on patrol. They're after something."

Pit leaned in slightly, interest piqued. "Go on."

"They were carrying a map," the boy said, lowering his voice. "An old one."

He paused, then reached deep into his underwear—earning a collective grimace from the watching gang members—before pulling out a crumpled, stained scrap of cloth. Unfolding it, he revealed a roughly drawn map, yellowed with age, marked with symbols no ordinary person could read.

"I stole this," he grinned. "Right before I escaped."

Pit grabbed it, scanning the markings. His lips curled slightly.

"Well, well… This just got interesting."

The boy nodded eagerly. "They paid two brothers to lead them to the mountains. I followed. At first, I thought they were just lost, but Boss…" His voice trembled slightly. "They were searching for something specific."

Pit's fingers twitched. "What was it?"

The boy swallowed. His next words were barely a whisper.

"The Soul Dweller."

A shiver passed through the room. Even the background noise of the ramen shack seemed to dim.

Pit's eyes darkened. "You're lying."

"I swear, Boss!" the boy insisted. "I heard it with my own ears! They called it a relic—one that can absorb and harness a person's fighting spirit."

A low chuckle rumbled in Pit's throat. "So that's why the capital dogs are sniffing around these parts."

"Boss… if we get our hands on it—"

"Enough."

Pit's smile vanished, replaced by a calculating expression. He leaned back against the wall, tapping a finger against his knee. He had spent years fighting to control Sakai's underworld. A relic like that? It could change everything.

Finally, he exhaled. "So, the soldiers are still up there?"

The boy nodded. "They can't get inside the temple. The doors won't open. Some of the guides said it's cursed. But the soldiers—they're not giving up."

Pit sat in thoughtful silence, then finally grinned.

"You're going back."

The boy's face turned pale. "What?! But Boss, if they catch me—"

Pit's gaze darkened. "And if I catch you disobeying me, you'll wish they had."

The boy shrank back, swallowing his protest.

Pit smirked, tossing him a small scroll. "Take a messenger bird with you. Keep me updated."

The boy clutched the scroll, feeling a sinking weight in his stomach. He cursed his luck for working under such a ruthless man.

But orders were orders.

He turned on his heel and left, the shadows of the alleyway swallowing him whole.

Pit chuckled to himself and ran a finger along the rim of his empty bowl.

"The Soul Dweller, huh?" He exhaled, eyes gleaming with dangerous ambition.

"Looks like I just found a new prize to claim."