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If there was ever a question Masaru hoped he'd never be asked again, it was if his last name was really Machsix. To his knowledge, yeah, it was, unless his mother was a liar, but he was pretty sure that wasn't true. He didn't know his father, but according to ol' mom he had been a gladiator, and that was what had first brought Masaru into the Shock TV circuit. He'd gone to them straight out of high school, a good-looking kid with a lot of time time playing soccer and some pretty above-average kendo skills. He'd been on the fast-track to a decent match, odds were, and what a match his first one was. Not for the reason one might expect, mind, it had actually been pretty one-sided. No, it was a good match for one reason and one reason alone: His father had been there, in the crowd.

Once he'd kicked the shit out of his opponent in the ring, Masaru pointed his sword right at the old man and yelled at him. "Miguel Machsix! I've got a score to settle with you!" And with that the crowd went silent. Everyone had found this kid interesting, charming even, and he looked like he might go far. But this upstart didn't know his place in the pecking order, and that was a mistake that had killed men before.

With a raised eyebrow and a confused tilt of the head, Miguel leaned over the guardrail and examined Masaru closely. "The hell are you tryin' to prove, kid? You think using my name as your stage persona'll impress me?"

The words bit deeply into Masaru. How dare he? Didn't he know? Shouldn't it have been obvious? Did he care that little? "You think this is a persona? Are you retarded, old man!? I'm Masaru Machsix, your son by Oriko Harima!" The silence in the crowd was broken by a collective gasp, followed by several "ooh"s throughout. Masaru had expected a shocked reaction, maybe even a knowing one. But neither was what he got.

"Yeah, that's great, real interesting. You think that makes you special? I've got kids God knows how many places. Get the hell out of here, punk." Miguel couldn't care in the slightest. He simply shrugged and brushed a lock of flowing black hair behind his ear. "Nobody here gives a shit about you."

"...Oh. I see." Masaru trembled for a second, and without thinking, the first words that came to mind blurted from his mouth. "Then I'll make you care. Get down here, if you're man enough!"

A grin twisted its way across Miguel's face, a horrifying smile that conveyed far too much happiness for what was really happening here. "Your funeral, kid."
_____

Masaru covered his face with his hands. The pain was blinding, and everything was just a dull red color. His eyes, it was his eyes. Despite the pain, he put a finger to one of his eyes and cried out. It had been cut clean through. He could only assume the bridge of his nose was cut as deep, but that could be fixed. Eyes, eyes couldn't just heal that easily. Through the ringing in his ears and his own sobs, he heard his father sigh, followed by a clattering of metal in front of him. "You've got guts if nothing else, kid. I like you. Take that. Learn to use it. Come back when you're ready." He heard footsteps, slowly getting quieter. Masaru reached out carefully with his free hand and grasped the sword in his hand after a bit of searching. He would master that blade if it took him the rest of his life. And he would come back.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

If there was ever a question Masaru hoped he'd never be asked again, it was if his last name was really Machsix. To his knowledge, yeah, it was, unless his mother was a liar, but he was pretty sure that wasn't true. He didn't know his father, but according to ol' mom he had been a gladiator, and that was what had first brought Masaru into the Shock TV circuit. He'd gone to them straight out of high school, a good-looking kid with a lot of time time playing soccer and some pretty above-average kendo skills. He'd been on the fast-track to a decent match, odds were, and what a match his first one was. Not for the reason one might expect, mind, it had actually been pretty one-sided. No, it was a good match for one reason and one reason alone: His father had been there, in the crowd.

Once he'd kicked the shit out of his opponent in the ring, Masaru pointed his sword right at the old man and yelled at him. "Miguel Machsix! I've got a score to settle with you!" And with that the crowd went silent. Everyone had found this kid interesting, charming even, and he looked like he might go far. But this upstart didn't know his place in the pecking order, and that was a mistake that had killed men before.

With a raised eyebrow and a confused tilt of the head, Miguel leaned over the guardrail and examined Masaru closely. "The hell are you tryin' to prove, kid? You think using my name as your stage persona'll impress me?"

The words bit deeply into Masaru. How dare he? Didn't he know? Shouldn't it have been obvious? Did he care that little? "You think this is a persona? Are you retarded, old man!? I'm Masaru Machsix, your son by Oriko Harima!" The silence in the crowd was broken by a collective gasp, followed by several "ooh"s throughout. Masaru had expected a shocked reaction, maybe even a knowing one. But neither was what he got.

"Yeah, that's great, real interesting. You think that makes you special? I've got kids God knows how many places. Get the hell out of here, punk." Miguel couldn't care in the slightest. He simply shrugged and brushed a lock of flowing black hair behind his ear. "Nobody here gives a shit about you."

"...Oh. I see." Masaru trembled for a second, and without thinking, the first words that came to mind blurted from his mouth. "Then I'll make you care. Get down here, if you're man enough!"

A grin twisted its way across Miguel's face, a horrifying smile that conveyed far too much happiness for what was really happening here. "Your funeral, kid."
_____

Masaru covered his face with his hands. The pain was blinding, and everything was just a dull red color. His eyes, it was his eyes. Despite the pain, he put a finger to one of his eyes and cried out. It had been cut clean through. He could only assume the bridge of his nose was cut as deep, but that could be fixed. Eyes, eyes couldn't just heal that easily. Through the ringing in his ears and his own sobs, he heard his father sigh, followed by a clattering of metal in front of him. "You've got guts if nothing else, kid. I like you. Take that. Learn to use it. Come back when you're ready." He heard footsteps, slowly getting quieter. Masaru reached out carefully with his free hand and grasped the sword in his hand after a bit of searching. He would master that blade if it took him the rest of his life. And he would come back.