Chapter 8: The Bully’s Last Breath

Hiroshi sat quietly in his room, his katana resting on the stand beside him, glinting faintly in the low light. The village had settled into an uneasy calm after the battle, but the tension remained, like a storm waiting to break. The air was heavy, filled with the scent of burning wood and faint traces of the blood that had soaked into the earth during the last encounter with the monstrous creature from the portal. Despite the victory, Hiroshi's thoughts were elsewhere.

His fingers traced the edge of the hilt of his sword, his mind wandering back to a time before all of this—before he had been given the power of the Samurai God, before the portals had opened, and before the world had changed.

There was a name that lingered in his mind. Keiji.

Hiroshi's former classmate, his worst bully.

For years, Hiroshi had endured torment at Keiji's hands. He was the leader of the pack—the one who orchestrated the beatings, the one who humiliated him in front of everyone. Keiji had made Hiroshi's school life hell, and no one, not even the teachers, had lifted a finger to stop him. They either ignored it or joined in the verbal abuse.

Hiroshi could still remember the laughter, the sneers, the cold eyes that watched him suffer. It wasn't just Keiji who bullied him, of course, but Keiji was the ringleader—the one Hiroshi hated the most. Back then, Hiroshi had been powerless, too afraid to fight back. His body was weak, his spirit broken, and every day had felt like a battle just to survive the cruelty of those around him.

But everything was different now.

He had power. He had strength. And most importantly, he had the will to use it.

The Samurai God's awakening inside him had done more than just give him new abilities. It had awakened something else—a cold, dark resolve that had been buried deep within him for years. The old Hiroshi, the one who had cowered in fear, was dead. In his place stood someone who would no longer be a victim—someone who would take revenge on those who had wronged him.

Hiroshi stood up, strapping the katana to his waist. Tonight, he would begin his journey of vengeance.

The village was quiet as Hiroshi made his way through the narrow streets. Most of the warriors were resting, recovering from the battle with the monstrous creature. But Hiroshi wasn't thinking about the creatures that came from the portals. Tonight, he was thinking about Keiji.

Since the portals had opened, the world had been thrown into chaos, and many of the people Hiroshi once knew had scattered, fleeing in fear. But Keiji had stayed behind, as cocky and cruel as ever. He had taken advantage of the chaos, using it to further his own selfish desires. Hiroshi had heard rumors that Keiji had aligned himself with a group of bandits, using his newfound strength to bully and extort the weak.

It seemed Keiji hadn't changed at all. But Hiroshi had.

As he approached the edge of the village, Hiroshi's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of drunken laughter. His eyes narrowed as he saw a small group of men gathered around a campfire, their faces illuminated by the flickering flames. Among them, sitting on a crude wooden stool, was Keiji.

Hiroshi's heart pounded in his chest as he watched from the shadows. Keiji looked almost the same as he had back in school—tall, muscular, and full of arrogance. But there was something different about him now. He carried a large axe at his side, and his demeanor was even more dangerous, more reckless.

Keiji laughed loudly, taking a swig from a bottle before throwing it carelessly into the fire. "This is the life, boys!" he shouted, his voice slurred. "No rules, no consequences. We take what we want, when we want."

The men around him cheered, their faces twisted with greed and cruelty.

Hiroshi clenched his fists, feeling the familiar anger rise within him. He had waited for this moment, fantasized about it for years. And now, it was finally here.

He stepped out from the shadows, his katana gleaming in the moonlight.

Keiji's laughter died as he noticed Hiroshi approaching. His eyes narrowed, a sneer forming on his lips. "Well, well, well," he said, standing up and resting a hand on the hilt of his axe. "If it isn't little Hiroshi. I heard you got yourself some fancy new powers. What's the matter? Still trying to play hero?"

Hiroshi said nothing, his expression cold and unyielding. The wind rustled through the trees, and the fire crackled quietly between them. Keiji took a step forward, his sneer deepening. "You think just because you've got a sword and some tricks, you're different now? You're still the same weak little worm you've always been."

Hiroshi's hand tightened on the hilt of his katana. His voice was steady, but laced with ice. "You're wrong. I'm not the same anymore."

Keiji laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. "Oh really? So what, you're going to kill me? Is that it? I always knew you were a coward, but now you're just delusional."

The men around the campfire stood up, sensing the tension in the air. They were armed as well, but they seemed hesitant, unsure of what was about to happen.

Keiji, however, was anything but hesitant. With a sudden roar, he lunged forward, swinging his axe in a wide arc, aiming to cleave Hiroshi in half.

Hiroshi moved swiftly, sidestepping the attack with ease. His katana flashed in the moonlight, and before Keiji could react, Hiroshi slashed at his arm, drawing blood.

Keiji let out a furious growl, clutching his wounded arm. "You bastard!"

Hiroshi remained silent, his expression unchanging. The anger and fear that had once consumed him were gone, replaced by a cold, calculated resolve. This was no longer about fear. This was about justice. About revenge.

Keiji swung his axe again, this time with more force, but Hiroshi was faster. He ducked under the blow, delivering a swift kick to Keiji's side, knocking him off balance. Before Keiji could recover, Hiroshi's katana struck again, this time slicing across his chest.

Keiji staggered backward, blood dripping from his wounds. His eyes were wide with shock and pain. "You…you're actually going to kill me," he said, his voice filled with disbelief.

Hiroshi stepped forward, his katana raised. "You deserve worse," he said quietly. "For everything you've done—for all the pain you've caused. This is the end, Keiji."

Keiji's expression twisted with rage and desperation. "You think you're better than me?" he spat. "You think killing me makes you a hero?"

Hiroshi shook his head. "No," he said softly. "I'm not a hero. But I'm not your victim anymore."

With a final, swift movement, Hiroshi drove his katana through Keiji's chest, the blade sinking deep into flesh and bone. Keiji gasped, his body trembling as blood poured from the wound. His hands grasped weakly at the blade, his strength fading fast.

For a moment, there was silence. The other men stood frozen, watching in stunned horror as their leader fell to his knees, blood pooling around him.

Keiji's eyes met Hiroshi's one last time, filled with a mix of hatred and disbelief. "You…you'll regret this…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Hiroshi pulled his katana free, and with one final, gurgling breath, Keiji collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

The men around the campfire stared at Hiroshi in stunned silence, their faces pale with fear. None of them dared to move. Hiroshi's gaze swept over them, his expression cold and unfeeling. He sheathed his katana, blood dripping from the blade.

"Leave," he said simply.

Without hesitation, the men scrambled to their feet and fled into the night, leaving Hiroshi alone with Keiji's lifeless body.

Hiroshi stood there for a long moment, staring down at the body of the boy who had tormented him for years. The boy who had made his life a living hell. And now, that boy was dead.

There was no satisfaction in it. No sense of triumph. Only a cold, hollow emptiness.

The world had changed, and so had Hiroshi. He was no longer the weak, timid boy who had been bullied and beaten. He was something else now—something darker, more dangerous.

And this was only the beginning.

As Hiroshi walked away from the campfire, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the promise of more bloodshed, more battles, and more revenge.

The portals would keep opening. The monsters would keep coming. But Hiroshi's path was clear now. He had taken the first step in his journey of vengeance, and there was no turning back.

The Samurai God's power pulsed within him, cold and unrelenting.