Chapter 222

To my surprise Sensei offered me a ride in his little Mahir Supron. The van was not exactly the sort of vehicle I would expect from a man with so many Tyger Claw connections, but it was kinda… Fitting?

 

In the back there was a ton of junk from the Dojo, extra shinai and stuff.

 

The only stop we’d made was at my Quadra to pick up my actual Katana.

 

I had a feeling something odd was happening, but… Well numbers gone up made everything pretty happy in Motoko brain right now.

 

Blade 10.

 

It wasn’t so much a huge jump in knowledge this time. There were no further sword stances, or ways to swing a blade, it was more… Instinct.

 

Swinging a blade, was a way to kill, being able to sense such a thing, was… I wasn’t sure if it was Ki, magic, or just some strange instincts, but I was willing to bet more towards instincts. I could register the smallest changes to sense when I was about to be attacked. The senses needed to tell when a bullet was being sent my way.

 

The senses needed to know when a blade was drawn.

 

Sensei was quiet as we drove out of Watson, and then up into the hills above Westbrook. North Oak was something I knew about well enough, I’d often end up driving up here when Hiromi and I were just driving around.

 

And then we stopped in front of a landmark I knew well.

 

“The Shrine?”

“Yes.” Sensei responded back with a monosyllable.

 

Fine be that way. I huffed as I stepped out and followed the man into the shrine. The monks noticed us of course, but not even the fact I was carrying a blade made them approach as Sensei simply walked under the Torii and then into the main shrine. There was a monk there, an older man, probably about the same age as Sensei, who nodded at our approach and then turned, guiding us even further inside.

 

Weird.

 

We entered the main shrine which was supposed to be more private I thought. Wasn’t this where the Kami of the Shrine was meant to live, and so no one was supposed to really enter?

 

I mean… I wasn’t the most caught up on Shinto beliefs, but I think that’s what I remember from too much anime.

 

Fuck don’t tell the monks all my knowledge of their religion comes from anime.

 

We stepped inside, and to my surprise there were two other monks inside, the two of them sitting seiza facing the door.

 

The monk that guided us walked across and joined them all three seemingly not even looking at us.

 

Sensei moved in slowly, seemingly guiding me, and I followed before taking a seiza seat before the three of them.

 

“Hmm.” The middle monk made a noise, an old man, with eyebrows practically flowing off his face, but it was the chrome that stood out to me.

 

The guy…

 

He wasn’t meat. That was a full borg, an FBC, a gemini, but not really hiding what it was, which was a bit weird.

 

I took this in instinctively. He was in a Gemini, but there were still traces of chrome appearing, his Neural Link was beefy and he had a Sandy, but…

 

Yeah. That was a Gemini. I was sure of it.

 

But then I felt it, a prickling lightning shooting up my spine, a shift in the wind, a smell in the air, the flash of light glittering off a bit of dust flowing through the room.

 

My action was instinct, blade drawn and raised to guard my right side as suddenly there was a shriek of a blade on blade.

 

The old man had moved so fast there was no registering it at all.

 

In his left hand was a small Wakizashi? Tanto? One of those types, and it had swung out. He’d simply leaned forward and swung at me, and I’d blocked it.

 

I was going to step back, to make another action but…

 

“Satisfied?” I asked instead. He hadn’t returned his blade, hadn’t readied a counter.

 

He had no intention of swinging at me again.

 

“Do you know the meaning of this shrine Kusanagi Motoko?” The old man asked and I had to blink as I shook my head. “Ah, you see. This Shrine worships a Kami unlike those you will find back in Japan. We are Chram Denya Jinja, the Shrine of Chrome, Night, and Electricity. The Shrine of the modern Kami.”

 

Wait… Was this literally a Shinto Shrine to Cyberpunk?

 

Fucking Cyberpunk, fucking Pondsmith. That’s actually kinda funny.

 

I don’t know how that actually worked with actual Shinto, whether it was just something silly that was decided on or not, but I liked it.

 

“And you? You have reached enlightenment. One with the Blade, in this electronic world.”

 

How do you respond to something like that? I just shrugged, even as I resheathed my Katana.

 

The old monk chuckled, smiling. “You know, and yet are unsure. It is fine. Be proud of your accomplishment. It is something that men strive lifetimes for and still fail to achieve.”

 

I scratched at my cheek a little. It was kind of embarrassing to be talked up so much when it was just because I’m a Gamer.

 

“You are the youngest in our records to ever achieve this. This shrine documents all those that achieve this within the city. We, the Elders of the Chram Denya Jinja, acknowledge a new Kensei has been born.” The three all bowed to me, and I felt even more awkward.

 

This felt like something big or something, and I really had no idea what was going on. Can I just go back to doing my own thing please crazy old guys?

 

“Okay?” I asked, because I just didn’t get it. Didn’t really understand, but the old Monk chuckled again.

 

“Ah, of course, youth. Have no fear Kusanagi, this is simply the tradition of old men. But there is a benefit to you. A Katanakaji will forge for you a blade worthy of a Kensei.”

 

I just nodded slowly… So… I’d get a new sword? Okay that’s kinda cool, I gues?.

 

“Come, we request only one thing, for our traditions.” And then from beside the monk on the right a box was laid out, and paper and ink?

 

“Please.” He offered, and the main Monk nodded as well…

 

“What do I do?” I asked, half whispering to Sensei who sent me a look like I was totally going to be swinging a Shinai for a few hours in punishment.

 

“Calligraphy. They wish to understand a new Kensei’s view of the blade.” When I just looked at him blankly for a while there was the tiniest of sighs. “Simply take the brush and write out Sword. The Kanji is there.” He pointed to the markings on the top of the box…

 

I nodded cause I knew what calligraphy was but… I didn’t know how to do it!

 

I sighed and looked at the brush, ink, and paper…

 

I closed my eyes. I hate when weird stuff like this is asked of me, I always feel like it’s embarrassing. It’s going to look terrible, and then they’ll judge me for something that in their eyes is important, but honestly is just some weird stupid tradition, or thing they care about.

 

I hate when people judge me for stuff like this. So what if I didn’t know how to write well? Or my Calligraphy was bad. I’ve never done this, and it’s not important in my life!

 

Fuck it. They want it? I’ll give it to them. I breathed.

 

In.

 

Out.

 

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Cold Blood crushed every inch of thought and feeling. I even stopped my heart for all that it was possible.

 

I reached out, took the brush and swiped twice.

 

Less using a brush and more cutting the stupid paper with a sword.

 

There.

 

I breathed once more, and my heart beat, and warmth returned to my soul.

 

“Okay. If that’s everything? I kinda want to leave now.” I decided and rose up before anyone could say anything. No way I wanted to look at some old men’s faces as they critiqued my Kanji. As if I even knew how to fucking write in Japanese.

 

I only knew English, and worse English.

 

No one stopped me as I headed out of the interior shrine, and then through the next building and out into the main paths. The sun was warm, there were people around, and that weird oppressive feeling of something happening around me I didn’t properly understand washed away.

 

Whatever.

 

This wasn’t important, I still had a bunch of stuff to do today, and I really wanted to go find Malcolm or something.

 

I bet he’d shoot at me, if I asked him. I totally wanted to see what deflecting a bullet was like.

 

Thankfully before I got too antsy and just called my ride Sensei stepped out from the shrine and motioned towards his car.

 

Great. Glad that’s over.

 

—–

 

Old Monk

 

“Teenagers.” He remarked amused as the girl fled. And yet.

 

The eyes of them all were on the paper.

 

The brush had done more than just mark the paper with ink.