Shota Isekai (7) - A Fool's Gamble (Patreon)

A gold coin was huge wealth in the hands of someone who had never held anything higher than a dirty copper. Next time, he'd ask Cassie if she could give him the equivalent in silvers and coppers; it'd be less conspicuous.

And as much as he wanted to immediately spend it all on food and lodgings, he didn't know how the general population would react to a homeless boy possessing such wealth. 

Raven had resorted to petty theft to survive over the years, he didn't know if he had built a poor reputation, or if someone else was holding a grudge. 

In hindsight, he knew that no matter what he did, he'd always have the paranoia that someone was out there to get to him. 

There was no police here, only interests. The guards wouldn't certainly side with a street rat. And he didn't know how to money launder a fucking gold coin in a world even the original Raven knew very little about. 

He was scrawny, alone, and weak. Even Raven himself would steal from Raven, if he ever saw himself walking down the street clutching a shiny piece of freedom.

So, what now? 

The fastest way to gain recognition and a foothold in this city was to become an Adventurer. 

It was like an immigrant getting citizenship. 

Raven's journey to his destination was met with many scorns and disgusted frowns. 

He really was like a rat to these people. 

A gaggle of street urchins eyed him and silently followed him. A pack of dirty little bastards with eyes like glass marbles.

Two became three, then five.

The gold coin grew heavy in his sweaty palm. There was nowhere safe to put that coin into, certainly not in those tattered clothes of his.

His jaw unlocked, and he pushed the gold right under his tongue. It was a cold flat stone against the roof of his mouth. It tasted horrible.

Their eyes stayed on Raven's hands for one more step. Then two. But they found air. Empty palms. Nothing but grime. They didn't talk among themselves but their shoulders kind of slumped all at once. Then their little flow broke. One by one their eyes dropped from him.

Then they peeled away back into the cracks they belonged to. Just gone.

Raven heaved a sigh of relief. He might've not been afraid of getting his hands dirty, but a one versus five wasn't something he could clutch. 

At least, managed to reach his destination without further interruptions or mini heart-attacks along the way. Once he confirmed he was alone, he spat back the coin. 

The dojo wasn't much to look at—to be fair, most buildings weren't much to look at when you took Marcus' memories of New York buildings into account. Beyond the fantasy setting, that was, anyway.

It wasn't grand like a Guild building, nor as bustling as a market stall. No, it was tucked away at the edges of the district, and that was where Raven found it.

He looked at the sword.

Rusty, like a copper teardrop suspended by an aged wire from the door.

It didn't even look like someone had bothered to keep it clean.

And yet, the sign still read, proudly, and rather illegibly, in the local script: 'Nova's Dojo'.

Despite appearances, the place was rather impressive, though mostly because it was large, its foundation stable. You could tell that this place's been here for quite a while, judging from the time-worn architecture.

Raven stood at the threshold, his sneakerless toe millimeters from the wooden door. He peeked past the doorframe, curious, then paused as his mind wrestled with two conflicting voices.

One that wanted to bolt because he had seen one too many strangers' fists up close for a lifetime, the other instead urged him onward.

He was about to enter, possibly, a world there was no turning back from. Raven knew what it'd mean to take up a sword. 

But one coin wouldn't last. Even with the promise of more. 

One too many beatings had taught him that fists solved everything here. Whether it was protecting something—or taking it—a sword wasn't much different.

He couldn't really hesitate, not knowing how much time left he had before Woody or someone else decided his ass needed another round of caning. For all of his confidence earlier, Raven was taking a huge step outside his comfort zone. 

He'd never gone to a gymnasium, or the local school gym, even in his previous life on Earth. 

He was no super athlete. Not even a star of any sport, nor even a dedicated guy like those who trained themselves to the bone, with or without winning medals, and with or without having someone watching or cheering.

None of it mattered. Winning and losing meant a lot of things to a lot of different people. Raven was fairly certain it didn't really change anything fundamental. At best, some ego stroking, and some subsequent self-doubt, along the way.

So, then, what motivated him to be here, outside of a dojo of all places?

Would he even be any good with a sword? 

What if it was all for nought.

Would he be even let in? 

Was it the possibility to improve the odds against Woody and others like him, when a single blade could mean the difference between ending the fight with dignity and having a knife down his throat? 

Or was it good ol' Marcus, whose interest in climbing through this medieval world far exceeded any of the importance it had for Raven's immediate survival.

And maybe there was a sliver of truth to that second thought. After all, what use was having a pair of legs for him, if all he'd done with those was run?

Steeling himself, he shoved the door open on protesting hinges that sounded like a long-drawn-out groan from the building's very bones.

He stepped inside. The sun fell in strips across an empty expanse, and under that beaming light, dust motes burst as if disturbed for the first time in months.

It became shockingly clear that this wasn't a community center. Only the occasional lonely stool was placed at random, unoccupied, around the room. Tidy stacks of straw mats in a corner and more racks of wooden swords along the far wall indicated the possibility that this place was functional.

And in the heart of it, a lone woman occupied the space. A woman, who, upon his intrusion, swiveled a slow glance.

Raven's hair curled as if lightning was about to smite him down right where he stood.

He was as startled by the intensity and brightness of her golden eyes, as he was about the prickling on his skin, the faint scent of ozone, and the metallic tang that'd filled his mouth.

'What the…'

Then there was a sense of... dread, as if he'd stepped on a tiger's tail.

He instinctively shrunk back. An apology almost tumbled out of his lips. This terrifying presence, it was suffocating and made it difficult to breathe. He fought the urge to swallow.

But she didn't even raise a blade, nor was she holding one. She wasn't even particularly close to him. She was just there, and there-ness was enough. That was all she needed. Raven didn't feel this sort of existential self-doubt even from the brutish warrior from that adventurer party, let alone Woody. 

Before he knew it, his mouth had blurted out. "Hey."

Eloquence. The gift that keeps on giving.

The woman didn't laugh, not the least bit fazed, as her attention settled on him fully. She looked around the age of her late twenties, lean and roped with lean muscles, clothed in dark garbs, likely the dojo's own training garb.

The top half was, admittedly, a little revealing in the chest area—if Raven remembered his lingerie store visits correctly.

She had long, dark blue hair tied into a ponytail, with two loose bangs on both sides framing her oval face.

She continued her stare. She hadn't answered, so Raven stood awkwardly before the matriarch. Then, her lips curved up. "You can't read, can you?"

Well, that stung a bit. 

It wasn't hard to guess. He was twelve and raggedy, after all, and he wondered what assumptions were going through her head at that moment, probably judging his entire worth by his tattered, miserable appearance.

"I can, actually." Raven said, his pride bristling.

Her expression went flat. It looked like she didn't believe him.

"Is that so? And what, pray tell, is the most complex word you know how to write?" She sounded only moderately curious, insofar as to challenge a street kid who would be smart enough to bullshit his way through.

"Shit."

"......"

Her lips lifted, eyes creasing up, and finally, she smiled, a modicum of genuine amusement coloring her face. "Quite the vocabulary. Why, that would make a king quite envious indeed." Her grin stretched, adding a little of unnerving vitality to her beautiful, sharp eyes. "What business have you here? I do not think this is a place you should have found yourself, little rat child."

"Do you teach swordsmanship here?" Raven asked.

"I do."

"Will you train me?"

That made her pause. Her amused smile dissolved into a thin, disbelieving line. "And why, pray tell, would I do that? For your pretty, begging eyes? This isn't a charity school."

"I can pay."

He held up the single gold coin Cassandra had given him.

Her eyes flickered to the glint of metal, then back to his face.

That seemed to genuinely surprise her, though she hid it well.

"A gold coin." She muttered, tilting her head. "That's a lot of money for a street rat. Where did you get it?"

Raven's jaw tightened. 'Street rat. Again with that.'

"Does it matter?" He retorted. "I have the money. I want to learn how to use a sword."

Her gaze swept down his frame.

"How old are you?" She asked. "This is not a profession taken lightly. I have yet to even determine if you're capable. It will take many years and discipline to grow even moderately proficient in the ways of the blade, even assuming you have the talent for it."

"I want to learn. I don't have many years. In exchange for the coin, surely you could at the very least see if I'm worth your time."

That made her scoff, like a dragon about to exhale its blighted breath.

"Wealth and haste are not suitable qualities to learn my art."

Raven deflated.

He was pretty damn determined in not giving up. "Give me one week!" 

"Ah, desperation. The coin buys my time, not my expertise. My art isn't something you purchase for a week's worth of instruction."

Raven didn't back down. "I'm not asking for mastery in a week. I'm asking for a chance. One week to prove whether I'm worth your time. If I'm hopeless, you keep the coin. If I show potential... then we can discuss further training."

Nova's golden eyes narrowed. "You think potential can be measured in seven days? I've seen men with twice your years and thrice your strength wash out after a month. They thought their will alone was enough."

"Will is all I've got." He shot back. "And I'm betting it's worth more than you think. What have you got to lose? If I fail, you're richer by a gold coin for watching a street rat collapse repeatedly."

A flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps—crossed Nova's face. She circled him slowly. "You're scrawny. Probably malnourished. Your posture is terrible. You hold yourself like someone expecting a blow, not ready to deliver one."

"I've been expecting blows my whole life." Raven retorted, turning to keep her in sight. "Maybe it's time I learned how to throw some back."

Nova stopped in front of him, her expression unreadable. "And what happens after your week? When I send you back to the streets with no coin and still no skill? What then?"

"Then I'll have learned something valuable." Raven said without hesitation. "I'll know I need a different approach. But at least I'll have tried."

For a long moment, Nova simply stared, her golden eyes seeming to pierce through him. T

"The coin." She commanded.

Raven hesitated for only a second before placing it in her palm. She examined it briefly, then pocketed it without another glance.

"One week."

Raven was quite she didn't chase him away with a broomstick like any regular person. 

"Show me one week of progress. Six days of training, seventh day for assessment. You'll do exactly as I say, when I say it. No questions, no complaints. If you collapse, I leave you where you fall. If you quit, you lose the coin and any chance of returning here. You show a modicum of potential, and perhaps, we can come to an agreement." She offered.

One week was quite tight to be honest. He wasn't sure even a month was enough to gain some degree of competence with a blade, given he started out without any. He knew next to nothing, but there were no alternatives here. If he couldn't hold his own, Woody, and those like him, would be the only future awaiting him.

"A week." He agreed, standing up straight despite the pressure she gave off. "You won't regret it."

That answer seemed to amuse the older woman even further, her sharp grin spreading into something that vaguely resembled Cassandra's. 

"......"

"My name is Nova. Nova Velisia." She introduced herself. 

As per proper etiquette, Raven did the same, lightly bowing his head. "Raven. Just Raven."

No surname.

"Raven, huh? Like the dark-feathered bird of ill-omen?"

"......"

Truly fitting for someone who died and was reborn in misfortune. 

Yet his eyes were more alive than they had ever been.

Nova smiled and pointed at the rack next to him. "Go grab a sword that fits your size, little street rat. The week starts today. If your lessons will stop only after seven days have passed, then I will push your limits from dawn to dusk each and every day during that period."