Chapter 2: Blood on the Diner Floor

Life in the underground is about ending hate with violence, and then trying to stop the violence with more violence. If you can’t finish it, you just keep going—sooner or later, someone’s gonna get you anyway.

It’s a cycle older than the hills—one I’d seen play out a hundred times. But Caleb, stubborn as he was, refused to play by those rules. He made me question them, even when I didn’t want to.

Caleb, though, thought killing was wrong. He believed everyone should just get along.

He’d say things like, “Coach, what if we just talked it out?” I’d roll my eyes. Still, sometimes I caught 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—how’s that supposed to work?

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.

I always thought the kid was 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. Why aren’t I the only person in the world? Why are there so many people? Then I figured it out: one person’s not enough. 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 looked embarrassed for a second, but kept going.

He said it with this wide-eyed wonder, like he’d stumbled onto some big secret. I just shook my head, but deep down, I wished I could see the world the way he did. There was a kind of hope in him I couldn’t kill, no matter how hard I tried.

I snorted. “There’s only so much out there, 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? All that talk about caring is just hot air.”

I leaned back in my creaky old chair, swirling the last of my drink. The world, to me, was a zero-sum game—if you weren’t taking, you were losing. Always wanted to see if he’d crack. I couldn’t help but push back, just to see if he’d crack.

Caleb shook his head and said, “No, people are different, and what they want isn’t always the same. Helping each other isn’t impossible. You don’t have to fight to be happy.”

He said it so simply, like it was obvious. I almost laughed, but there was something about the way he said it that made me think, just for a second, that maybe he was right. Maybe.

I never really got his logic, so over the years, we’d argue about it.

Sometimes we’d sit out on the porch, the mountains fading into dusk, and debate until the stars came out. He’d quote philosophers and old coaches, I’d counter with stories from the underground. We never agreed, but we never stopped talking.

But the kid was sharp with words. I couldn’t outtalk him, so I’d pretend to draw my sword and challenge him. He hated fighting, so he’d clam up.

Whenever I got tired of losing an argument, I’d just stand up, put a hand on my sword, and grin. “Wanna settle this the old-fashioned way?” He’d roll his eyes, mutter something about cavemen, and stomp off. It became our little game.

Even though we were opposites, we stuck together. Ten years in that mountain cabin.

The winters were long, the summers sticky and hot, but we made it work. We grew into a strange kind of family—two lost souls clinging to each other in a world that didn’t care.

Maybe it was just that being alone gets real lonely.

Some nights, the wind would howl through the trees, and I’d remember what it was like before Caleb. The silence back then was heavy, suffocating. With him around, the place felt alive, even when we fought. Funny, how much a kid can change a place.

So we stayed together for a decade, until the day I got two letters and decided to head back down the mountain, taking Caleb with me into the underground again.

I still remember the way the mailbox creaked. Two envelopes, thick with trouble. I read them by the fire. Caleb watched me with that worried look he always got when the past came knocking. I knew it was time to go back.

“Pack your stuff, we’re heading into town.”

I rapped Caleb’s head with my sword sheath. Old habits.

He yelped, rubbing the spot, but didn’t complain. It was our old routine, a weird kind of affection. “You serious, Coach?”

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

His voice was half-hopeful, half-dreading. He always knew when I was up to something, but he never pressed too hard.

“To grab a burger,” I said, tucking my blade under my arm. “And then to take care of some unfinished business.”

I tried to keep it light, but my tone must’ve given me away. Caleb’s eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in. I could see the wheels turning in his head.

Damn, I shouldn’t have told him about the business part.

I could already hear the questions coming, but it was too late to backpedal. The kid was sharp—he’d figure it out soon enough.

On the drive down to Maple Heights, the kid started in on me again. Begging me not to use violence to solve things.

He went on and on, voice earnest, hands fidgeting in his lap. The trees zipped by outside, and I gripped the wheel tighter, trying not to snap. I could feel my patience wearing thin.

“If you say one more word, I’ll show you some violence right now,” I said, flipping my hand and holding my sword across Caleb’s neck.

He froze, eyes wide, and finally shut up. Sometimes, a little drama went a long way.

He zipped it. Just like that.

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 walked into this big diner in Maple Heights and took a window booth. I tapped the table. “Order whatever you want, eat as much as you like. If you can’t finish it, that’s fine. Just try what you want.”

The place smelled of coffee and fried food, neon lights flickering above chipped linoleum floors. Caleb looked at the menu like it was a test, eyes darting between the options and my face.

“Wasting food isn’t right…” He started, but I glared, so he changed his tune. “Coach, you got enough cash for this?”

He tried to sound casual, but I could hear the worry in his voice. Kid had always been a stickler for doing things right.

“I don’t, but we’re not paying for this meal.”

I leaned back, crossing my arms, watching the confusion play out on his face. I could tell he didn’t like where this was headed.

“Why not?” Caleb looked confused.

He glanced around, voice dropping to a whisper. “Coach, you planning something?”

“You’ll see.”

I gave him my best mysterious grin, just to mess with him. He sighed, resigned, and started ordering.

So we ordered a whole spread—burgers, fries, wings, milkshakes. The food came fast. We dug in.

The waitress raised an eyebrow at our order, but didn’t say a word. Caleb eyed the mountain of food, but I just shrugged. Sometimes, you gotta live a little.

While we were eating, a commotion broke out at the booth behind us.

The air shifted. Voices rose. I glanced over my shoulder, already guessing trouble was brewing. In a place like this, it didn’t take much to set someone off.

“What the hell, bringing out coffee this hot? You trying to burn me?”

The guy’s voice was loud enough to turn heads. I saw the waitress flinch, her hands shaking as she tried to explain. There was a hush, the kind that comes before a storm.

A customer was yelling, the waitress stammering apologies.

She kept her eyes down, voice barely above a whisper, but the guy just got louder. The whole diner seemed to hold its breath.

But the guy wasn’t having it. He slapped the waitress, swore at her and her family, and said she should get down on her knees and beg, or he’d make sure she never worked again.

The slap echoed, sharp and ugly. People looked away, pretending not to see. That’s how it goes—everyone minds their own business, until someone stands up. Cowards, all of them. Or maybe just scared.

The waitress, shaking and covering her face, was about to kneel.

Her knees started to buckle, tears in her eyes. I felt my jaw clench, but before I could move, Caleb shot up from his seat.

Caleb jumped up, grabbed her shoulder, and stopped her.

He moved quick, voice steady and loud enough for everyone to hear. "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?”

He stood between the waitress and the angry man, eyes blazing with that old stubbornness. The whole diner watched, waiting to see what would happen.

My apprentice stood up for her. Righteous as ever.

I felt a strange mix of pride and worry. He always had to be the hero, even when it put him in danger.

The man sneered. “Who the hell are you? I’ll make things hard for whoever I want.”

He puffed up, trying to look tough. Caleb didn’t back down, not an inch.

“You hit and cursed her. If you don’t apologize, you’re not leaving this diner today!” Caleb said, dead serious.

His words were calm, but his hands were clenched at his sides. I could see the tension in his shoulders—he meant every word.

The man laughed. “She deserved it! What, you want to get hit too?”

He stood up, fists raised, daring Caleb to make a move. The whole place went quiet, forks pausing mid-air. You could hear a pin drop.

He clenched his fists, ready to swing at Caleb.

I could see the fight coming, plain as day. The guy was all bark, but I knew from experience—sometimes bark turns to bite real quick.

Couldn’t help myself. “You carrying that sword for show?”

I raised my eyebrows, giving Caleb the green light. He looked back at me, uncertain, but I nodded. Sometimes, you have to fight for what’s right.