The Last Bargain

Chapter III: The Heir's Fear

The sun hung high over the training grounds of the Dassou clan estate, its rays bouncing off the polished wooden floors of the sparring hall. Zento Dassou wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Across from him stood his father, Dassou Kagemori, the current head of the clan and one of the most formidable fighters in the region. Kagemori's expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp, analyzing every movement, every hesitation in his son's stance.

"Again," Kagemori commanded, his voice deep and unwavering.

Zento nodded, swallowing his fear, and readied himself. He knew what was expected of him, what was always expected—perfection. As the heir to the Dassou clan, he was supposed to embody the clan's ideals of strength and speed, a living testament to their ancient lineage. His abilities, inherited from his father, allowed him to defy gravity and inertia, to move at incredible speeds. Yet, despite his gifts, Zento often found himself struggling to meet the expectations placed upon him.

He charged forward, his feet barely touching the ground. With a swift motion, he attempted a high-speed strike, aiming for his father's centre. But in a blur, Kagemori was gone, sidestepping with a speed and precision that made Zento's attempt seem clumsy. Before Zento could react, he felt a sharp pain on his back. His father had closed the distance in a split second and delivered a light, mocking blow with the wooden practice sword.

"Too slow," Kagemori said, shaking his head. "You hesitate, Zento. You always hesitate."

Zento gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling up inside him. "I'm trying, Father," he muttered. "But your speed... it's—"

"No excuses!" Kagemori barked. "Your speed is your greatest weapon, and yet you fear it. You fear the power you've been given, the power that is your birthright!"

Zento felt a knot form in his stomach. His father's words were like a whip, each one striking deeper than the last. He knew his father was right—he was afraid. Afraid of pushing himself too far, afraid of moving at speeds that could kill him. The faster he went, the more dangerous it became. He had been warned countless times that moving beyond Mach 1 would slowly tear his body apart, and yet, as the future head of the Dassou clan, he was expected to master even this.

"I don't fear it," Zento lied, his voice tense. "I'm just... cautious."

Kagemori's expression softened for a brief moment, then hardened again. "Caution is necessary, but hesitation will get you killed. The clan needs a leader who can face any challenge, who can make decisions in the blink of an eye. Not someone who doubts himself with every step he takes."

Zento's eyes flicked downward, unable to meet his father's gaze. "What if... what if I'm not the one meant to lead?" he whispered.

Silence hung in the air for a moment, the words echoing off the walls of the sparring hall. Kagemori's expression darkened, and he stepped closer, towering over his son.

"Do you think you have a choice?" his father said, his voice low and intense. "You are a Dassou. This is your duty, your fate. You must rise to it, or you will be nothing."

Zento felt a surge of emotion—anger, frustration, fear—all mixing into a boiling storm inside him. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to shout, to scream that he didn't want this, that he had never asked for any of it. But he knew it would do no good. His father wouldn't listen; he never did.

Instead, he took a deep breath and nodded. "I understand, Father," he said, his voice tight. "I will try harder."

Kagemori watched him for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. We will train again tomorrow. Remember, Zento, you are the next head of this clan. You must be prepared for whatever the future holds."

As his father turned and left the training hall, Zento felt his shoulders sag with the weight of his words. The future. It loomed over him like a dark cloud, an endless road filled with uncertainty and fear. How could he lead a clan when he doubted himself at every turn? How could he be the warrior his father wanted him to be when he feared his own abilities?