Screw the Omega

Chapter 1: The Cold Purple Flame

 A strong wind brushed the streets as the young man made his way down an empty sidewalk. It's late, too late for anyone to be out without a good reason. He sees empty shop after empty shop, peeking at his phone periodically to suss out the route. Nothing should be open now except the shop he's looking for. It was cold, dry, but cold. The kind of cold spring only gets when the clock crawls past the witching hour. Why is he even here? There was class tomorrow, homework hadn't been done, and he'd already lost enough sleep from other tasks he'd carried out for this "side job". Surely there's no real reason to be out this late, especially not off some tip from an errant forum post. Problem was, if it wasn't just a prank, if this was real, if this was what he was looking for, then fuck a sleep schedule.

He finally makes his way to his destination. "Takarajima Antique Shop" just like the post said. It was a tiny place, but it was very visually distinct from the outside. Bright lights on the displays of ancient-looking vases & fineries. As the boy makes his way inside, he's met with a gruff elderly voice greeting him in Japanese.

"Irashaimase!" Said the shopkeep. "Welcome! You are here very late! Almost time I close!" The shopkeep let out with a laugh. His accent was definitely forced, his command of English was better than he was letting on. Probably to ease Japanophiles into a sense of comfort.

"You're open very late." The young man responded with a wry smile.

"How can I help you? We have very good deal on authentic samurai armor, yes? You like samurai?"

"Oh yes, I do. I'm actually here for something that belonged to a Samurai. My ancestor." The young man responded.

The shopkeep looked confused and began to let out a chuckle. It made sense for him to do so, our young man didn't look like your average descendant of an asian warrior; He was a black teenager with dreadlocks.

"Heh heh, my friend, you have Japanese ancestry?". "Never knew they let Yasuke have kids". He muttered in Japanese.

"You're wrong there, he never took a wife, but he got plenty of castle girls pregnant." The young man retorted dryly, facing away from the shopkeep to look at the displays.

"You speak Japanese?" asked the shopkeep, his eyes narrowing as he began to drop the jolly old ojii-san act.

"A little" the boy said while tinkering with a set of Kunai.

"Pardon my shock. Plenty of young boys like you come into my shop and play with swords. None of them have the gall to say they're descended from a Samurai". The shopkeep's accent had all but evaporated. Still unmistakably Japanese, but much less cartoonish.

"Young boys like me? What do you mean by that exactly?" The Young man was slowly making his way through the sword collection as he spoke. "How many of those boys swing by at 3 in the morning?"

"You'd be surprised how much business I get at this hour. Mostly people who trade in black market materials. Not so many black people though" They both chuckled. "This sword you are searching for. Its name?" The shopkeeper asked.

"Hyoukiri" The Young man responded blankly. "I heard from a source that you have it."

A silence took the room. The kind that happens after a tasteless joke.

"I'd like to know what kind of source that is." The shopkeep said, his gaze unbroken, affixed on the young man as he perused. "The name of that blade-"

"-Isn't something one of those other 'boys' would know about is it? Name your price, oyaji" The young man interrupted as he turned to face the shopkeep.

"It's not for sale. Not unless I know you're not lying about your lineage" The shopkeep said sternly. "Truth be told I only have the thing because the post-war government sold every antiquity they could find. It's been in my family's care for 60 years. If you truly are a samurai, I will relinquish it gladly."