I'll Remember All Your Faces!
"I'll remember every one of your faces! Just you wait!"
Silver Axe barely escaped the brutal beating and fled, spitting out that tired old line. He didn't even think to grab the gun he'd dropped on the ground—the beggars' fists must've hit hard.
"I was about to step in myself."
"Even dogs defend their own turf. Can't be worse than a dog, right?"
Gustaf burst out laughing at my words. Somehow, it felt like I'd just been painted as worse than beggars and dogs.
...This bastard—was he throwing it back at me for always calling him a beggar?
"Gustaf's here."
As I stared at the laughing beggar, one of his crew approached and handed over the gun Silver Axe had left behind.
"Hmph, it's in shitty condition."
True to his mercenary past, he handled the pistol like a pro, unloading the bullets and tossing it to another beggar nearby.
"Take this scrap to the junk dealer and trade it for some booze."
The other beggars jeered with a chorus of boos, but the one who'd caught the gun scampered off with glee. He'd probably just get the cheap stuff anyway, but whatever—he vanished down the street in seconds.
"Need a bullet?"
The beggar eyed one of the rounds he'd pulled from the pistol and suddenly offered it to me.
"...You charging?"
"Hahaha! Rom must've put you through the wringer."
He got the point of my question right away—probably been on the old man's bad side himself back in the day—and laughed his ass off.
"Here, freebie. That was funny."
"......"
Did these guys have a group fetish for humor? I couldn't figure out why they kept rewarding laughs. The old lady too, and now this one.
I pocketed the bullet he'd handed over, and he shooed away the rowdy beggars milling around.
"Damn, we dropped a lot of 'em."
As the beggars scattered, Gustaf headed toward Gustavo, who was fixing his clothes a short distance away. Gustavo rubbed at his neck, red from being grabbed by the collar, and smirked at the beggar's comment.
"Never was great at the rough stuff anyway."
"Not talking skill—your attitude."
"...Can't go back to the old days anymore."
"That's retirement for ya. Ain't the same as before."
I slipped into their conversation casually, and both shot me looks—like a young punk like me knew shit about retiring. I just shrugged it off coolly. Even kids could know about retirement. Sure, I'd never actually retired myself.
"Still, thanks. You were gonna jump in earlier, right?"
"Nah, the beggars handled it. Pretty vicious."
I shuddered just thinking about that swarm of beggars charging in. It was that horrifying.
"They owe you meals, so this is just paying the tab."
"I was just tossing scraps I didn't wanna waste..."
"Plenty of folks would rather dump it than feed beggars. So yeah, you're golden."
Chuckling, Gustaf started walking, and Gustavo and I naturally fell in step behind him.
"Speaking of, what's that?"
"Oh, this?"
Gustavo eyed the plastic tucked under my arm.
"Sword... well, practice blade."
"......?"
"Bought it for training."
"That nightly workout you mentioned?"
"Uh... not for me."
I scratched my head, hesitating, then figured since it was his kid, he deserved the truth.
"Blanca's gonna use it."
"Blanca?"
"She wants to learn swordsmanship."
Well, blade arts, technically. Calling it "swordplay" felt classier than "knife-fighting"—nuance matters, right? Learning "swordsmanship" sounds way different from "chopping practice."
"Wait, you were serious about using that thing?"
"Why carry it if not?"
Gustaf had jumped in, so I snapped back curtly. He looked flustered.
"'Cause it looks cool...?"
"Jesus..."
Couldn't he at least pretend it was a sidearm? I shook my head in pity, and he shut up with a grumble.
"Figured she was just peeking at your nighttime routine out of curiosity..."
"If she doesn't wanna, tell her no."
I believed in letting people chase what they wanted, as long as it wasn't against basic human decency. But their family might parent differently, so I left it open. Maybe he didn't want his kid learning to kill.
But Gustavo just slowly shook his head.
"Nah, it's not a bad thing. Let her do what she wants. Good exercise, at least."
"More chill reaction than I expected."
"Long as she doesn't get into trouble. ...Was shocked when she quit school, though."
"Anyway, got your okay on the way back with the materials. Figured no point bullshitting, so I laid it out straight."
"What'd he say?"
"Something like, 'Not bad for a workout.'"
"Huh. And you made it yourself?"
"No shop sells these, so yeah."
I pointed to the pile of plastic shavings in the rooftop corner, and Blanca's eyes went wide.
"...You did good."
"Yeah, turned out better than expected."
While we chatted, the neighbor woman approached and held out her hand.
"...What."
"Curious what you're teaching. Mind showing me?"
...What was this? A challenge? Sounded like she wanted a demo—on her. I stared, but she just smiled and wiggled her fingers expectantly. Gimme the blade already.
"You know how to use it?"
"Somewhat."
"...Won't fit your size."
"Doesn't matter. Short one's fine."
I tossed her the shorter blade and stood.
"Never thought I'd get a duel challenge in this world."
"Duel?"
"Yeah. ...No blood, hopefully."
I muttered the last part, and she smiled knowingly.
...Or maybe she was dead set on drawing some.