Chapter 2: Blood on the Diner Floor

He’d say things like, “Coach, what if we just talked it out?” and I’d roll my eyes, but sometimes I’d catch myself wishing it were that simple. He was stubborn, but he had a point, even if I’d never admit it out loud.

Peaceful coexistence? Give me a break. That’s not how things work down here.

I’d seen what people do when they think nobody’s watching. Out here, peace was just the pause between storms. Still, he kept trying, never giving up on the idea that things could be better.

Honestly? I always thought the kid was just too naïve.

He reminded me of how I used to be, before the world knocked it out of me. Sometimes I envied him, sometimes I pitied him. But I never tried to change him, not really.

Once, he looked at me with those big brown eyes and said, “Coach, I’ve been thinking. There’s gotta be a reason there’s so many people in the world... not just one. When people come together, they can help each other and do great things. That’s why we’re here—not for fighting and killing, not to turn the world into a bloodbath.”

He said it like it was simple. Like he’d solved a riddle the rest of us gave up on.

I snorted. “There’s only so much in this world, and everyone wants it. So of course they fight. Just like the old thirty-seven sword schools—everyone wanted to be the best. Out here, everyone’s out for themselves. Who’s really helping anybody else? Just talk, that’s all it is.”

Eli shook his head. “No, people are different, and what they want isn’t always the same. Helping each other isn’t impossible. Happiness doesn’t have to come from fighting. Or killing.”

He sounded so sure. I never got his logic.

But the kid’s quick with words. So I’d just pretend to draw my sword. He’d clam up, and that would be that.

Even though we were nothing alike, we stuck together in that mountain cabin. Ten years. Mentor and apprentice.

Maybe it was because sometimes I felt being alone was just too damn lonely. Guess that’s why I kept him around.

So we stayed up in the mountains, just the two of us. Ten years, just us. Then two letters came.

The mountain air was crisp that morning. I knocked on Eli’s head with my blade’s sheath. “Pack your stuff. We’re heading down.”

He rubbed his head. “Coach, what are we going for?”

I tapped him on the head with my sheath. He yelped, rubbing the spot, but didn’t complain. It was our old routine, a weird kind of affection. “You serious, Coach?”

“We’re going to a diner. Gonna eat.”

I tucked my long blade into my coat. And then, we’ve got business.

Probably shouldn’t have said that out loud.

On the way to Silver Hollow, the kid started in again. Trying to talk me out of it.

“Say another word, and I’ll solve you with violence.” I flipped my hand, holding my sword across his neck for show.

He shut up quick.

He stared out the window, lips pressed tight, probably stewing over what he’d say next. I almost felt bad, but the silence was a relief.

We went into a big diner, grabbed a window booth. I tapped the table. “Order whatever. Try something new. If you can’t finish, it’s fine.”

The place smelled like coffee and frying oil. Neon lights flickered over chipped linoleum. Eli scanned the menu, then looked up at me. “Coach, you sure you’ve got enough cash for this?”

“Nope. But we’re not paying for this meal today.”

“Why not?” Eli looked confused. You’ll see. Just eat.

“You’ll see. Just eat.”

So we ordered a mountain of food—burgers, fries, wings, shakes. The plates kept stacking up like a dare. Just the way I like it.

As we ate, Eli’s attention got caught. A commotion behind us.

“What the hell, bringing out coffee this hot? You trying to burn me?” a customer barked. The server mumbled apologies, but the guy got louder, slapping the server and cursing her family. Said she should get down on her knees and beg, or he’d make sure she never worked again.

The tension in the diner thickened. Everyone was watching.

The server, shaking and covering his face, was about to kneel.

Eli darted over, grabbed the server’s shoulder, and stopped him. Voice steady, but pissed off. “Hey, that’s enough.”

“Aren’t you going too far? The coffee’s just a little hot. Just get a new cup—why make her life hell?”

My apprentice stood up for her, righteous as ever.

The man sneered. “I’m pushing him around, so what? I’ll make things hard for whoever I want.”

Eli didn’t flinch. Calm. But hard. “You hit and cursed him. If you don’t apologize, you’re not leaving this diner today.”

“She deserved it! What, you want to get hit too?”

He balled his fists. Looked ready to swing.

I couldn’t help but call out, “That blade just for show, kid?”

Hearing me, Eli finally drew his blade, pointing it at the man. Steady in Eli’s grip.

“I said, apologize. Or you’re not leaving.”

“Just you? They call me ‘Iron Fist Rick’ for a reason!”

The man lunged, swinging at Eli.

Eli sidestepped. Met the punch with his blade. Rip—tore the guy’s shirt.

The man froze, still mid-punch, when Eli chopped his hand at the guy’s gut. The man doubled over, gagging.

Eli sheathed his blade. “Apologize to him.”

The man, wheezing and pale, stammered out an apology. He trembled as he apologized.

Eli patted the server’s shoulder, about to return. I stopped him with a shout.

“Finish him,” I said.

The whole diner seemed to hush. Even the forks went quiet.

Eli froze, pointing at the man. “Coach, you want me to kill him?”

“You’ve trained with me for ten years and never killed anyone. Today’s the day. Use him to try your blade.” I took a sip of black coffee.

“Coach, he took a hit and apologized… There’s no need to end his life.”

“Don’t you always talk about equality? Guys like him—arrogant, cruel—they don’t change. A lesson’s not enough. Only killing him will stop him for good. You’ve got the strength now. Why not use it?”

“Coach! Killing’s too much—it’s not right, Coach.”

His hands shook, knuckles pale against the table. I set down my mug. Stared at him.

“You’ve called me Coach for ten years. I’ve never forced you to do anything. Now I’m telling you: kill him. Eli, are you going to defy your teacher?”