The village of Blossom was known throughout Japan for its beauty. Nestled between two great mountains, Carnation and Fuchsia, the village had known nothing but peace and prosperity for as long as anyone could remember. Although Blossom was not a rich village and several generations lived together in a single house, life could not be described as cramped or uncomfortable; most villagers would call it cozy. The quaint dwellings in which they lived were creaky wooden structures with thatched roofs that swayed when the wind picked up.
Yet the real beauty of the village lay not with the charming homes or mostly mundane people (carpenters, farmers, fishermen), but with the change of the seasons. Each year as the weather grew warmer and the snow began to melt away into streams of swiftly flowing water, the hundreds of cherry blossom trees surrounding the village would bloom, giving birth to a breathtaking array of pale pink and white petals, visible from high up in the surrounding mountains. And every spring when the trees bloomed, the people of Blossom would voyage up Mount Fuchsia to bestow a great honor upon one of their village’s protectors.
            Known as the Angels of Blossom, these warriors were venerated by daimyo throughout the countryside as the most skilled to ever touch a blade. Their reputation for swordsmanship was legendary throughout Japan and was what gave Blossom its mystical reputation. However, on the rare occasion an outsider attempted to further inquire about the Angels, they would be met with blank stares and shrugs of bewilderment from townsfolk throughout Japan.
            Despite their mythical status, few knew how the band of fighters functioned. To be an Angel of Blossom, warrior candidates would receive intense and cutthroat training on the peak of Mount Carnation from the moment they could grip a wooden sword. Unlike Blossom, which was a welcoming village home to fertile and lush farming lands, the landscape on this mountain was barren and rocky, the air was thin, and no one besides the Angels and the elders of Blossom were allowed to set foot on it. Led by the sage Hana, the elders of Blossom put each and every candidate through a lethal gauntlet of trials, ensuring only the strongest would survive. Those who lived through the initial years of training would be sworn to secrecy, never to reveal the nature of their training to the rest of the world. It was then, and only then, that one would be named an Angel and commence their everlasting journey to protect the village and maintain its peace.
            One spring season as villagers of all ages began their journey up Mount Fuchsia, rumors began to swirl about who would receive the title of Meiyo, or honorable Angel, from the elders. The honor was bestowed upon one Angle each spring and was deemed the highest title one could achieve. Names were thrown around and wagers as great as two goats were placed amongst the people, but the only serious contenders for the title were the two newest Angels, Ichiro and Kenji. The two men were twins, although it was impossible to tell by looking at them. Ichiro was tall and lean, with long black hair that was always tightly arranged in a smooth bun resting gently atop his head. His dark, stormy blue eyes always seemed to be scrutinizing whatever lay in his path, their unfriendly gaze accentuated by his habitually furrowed brow. In terms of personality, Ichiro had a reputation amongst the Angels for being a cold perfectionist, always holding himself to a higher standard, regardless of what it meant for others. Due to his severe and occasionally hostile aura, Ichiro was usually alone. However, if this isolation bothered him, Ichiro never showed it.
            Kenji, on the other hand, had a much more pleasant manner. Shorter than Ichiro by a head, Kenji made up for his lack in height by packing on an extra few pounds of muscle, giving him a much bulkier physique than his slender brother. And while Kenji’s shaved head was monk-like, nobody would entertain that idea after catching a glimpse of his eyes. Sky-blue and full of life, Kenji’s eyes were surrounded by smile lines and always seemed to glisten with a playful twinkle as if laughing at a joke yet to be told. 
            Another stark contrast between the brothers was their work ethic. Although, on the rare occasion he chose to socialize, Ichiro was known to lecture about achieving perfection. Kenji, on the other hand, was actually putting his brother’s words into practice. Due to his work ethic, Kenji quickly gained a reputation as one of the strongest fighters around. He consistently tested himself by sparring with the other Angels, picking up their tricks and moves to improve himself. Ichiro tried this as well, yet he never had as much success as his brother. Despite beating each and every one of his opponents, they would never clue him in on their techniques or help hone his skill as they did with Kenji. And to add insult to injury, Ichiro failed to beat his brother in the only sparring match they ever had, eight years prior.
            This thought plagued Ichiro’s mind as he sighed, examining the clamorous scene below him. From his vantage point on an outcropping halfway up Mount Fuchsia, people of all ages were scurrying around the cluttered dirt streets of Blossom like rats, making their final preparations for the upcoming celebration. As a gentle breeze blew through his hair, Ichiro contemplated going down to help speed up the process, but after a second of thought, he decided it would be better to reach the ceremony grounds first. After all, this celebration was going to be for him. He was going to be the Meiyo, the most honorable Angel.
            After following the trodden grass path beneath his feet for some time, Ichiro reached his destination. Looking around the grounds for the first time since the previous year’s ceremony, Ichiro soaked in the beauty of the plateau that lay before him. To his right was the grandest cherry blossom tree he had ever seen; it was much larger than any of the others further down the mountain. Slightly to the left of the tree, no grass grew. Instead, beneath the pink canopy of petals there was a large ring of rocks, too small to be called boulders, but too large for a single person to pick up. Inside the ring, the ground was lower than the surrounding area, dry, flat, and filled with fallen petals from the great tree. It was here that a single Angel would be honored. Ichiro felt a wave of excitement pass over him as he pictured himself standing on that sacred ground in his long, silky black robe, katana at his side as the whole village looked on with admiration.
            “It will be me,” he thought to himself, “There is not a single Angel more deserving, not even Kenji. It was me, not Kenji, who fought off the bandits that attempted to ransack Blossom during the harvest. Thanks to my abilities, the villagers never learned they were in danger, and the peace was maintained. Sure, Kenji helped me, but his role was trivial. Today, I will finally best him. I will prove without a doubt, that I am superior.”
            Ichiro only needed to wait a little while longer until the entirety of the village reached the summit. Masses of people began to appear at the crest of the hill, just as the sun was starting to set. As the sky bled into a pinkish hue that matched the cherry blossoms, Ichiro grew giddy with anticipation.
            “It is nearly time,” he muttered quietly, “All of my hard work will soon come to pass.”
            A firm hand clasped Ichiro’s shoulder followed by a booming voice, “I wish you luck this evening. May honor shine—”
            Ichiro spun around and let his reflexes take over as he grabbed the sheathed blade that rested on his hip. Before he could draw it, however, he met the eyes of the speaker and relaxed. Kenji’s mischievous sparkle had always irked Ichiro, but he didn’t let that get to him today. Nothing would spoil his day of celebration. Ichiro, instead of reminding his twin not to touch him like normal, simply shrugged off Kenji’s hand, glared down at him, and sauntered arrogantly toward the base of the cherry blossom tree. It was here that all the Angels waited anxiously, surrounded by the townsfolk, while the village elders prepared to announce the Meiyo in the arena below.
            As the great elder Hana hobbled into the ring of rocks, guided by a polished wooden cane, Ichiro felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine. Although blind, that old, wrinkled woman had tormented him for years. Her lectures about honor and prestige had nearly driven Ichiro mad, not to mention it was Hana who had allowed Ichiro to spar with Kenji for the first time, sparking a lifelong rivalry.
            “We, the elders, would like to start off by stating how grateful we are to receive such protection each year from the Angels of Blossom.”
            The ancient woman’s raspy voice filled the evening air as she droned on about gratitude and respect, and although he should have paid attention, the sound of Hana’s voice consumed Ichiro. Rubbing his hand over the hilt of his blade, Ichiro’s mind drifted back to his training days. Back then, he hadn’t despised his brother as he did now. No, it wasn’t until the elders started the practice fights that the small, unconscious annoyance grew into an intense loathing. Being a competitive twelve-year-old, Ichiro’s pride had demanded that he spar with Kenji; he simply had to see who was best.
            While the other elders turned down this request for fear of the issues it might cause, it was Hana who authorized the fight. She was just as curious as the brothers to see who would prevail. But once the fight began, the answer became clear. Ichiro still remembered dragging himself off the ground over and over again, only to be pummeled right back into the dirt of Mount Carnation. He would never forget the feeling of humiliation after Kenji beat him or the sound of Hana’s raspy tuts of disappointment after he failed to even touch his brother. From that day forth, Ichiro vowed to grow stronger so that he would never have to face such embarrassment again. In his mind, death was more welcome than the dishonor he felt that day.
            A strong gale whipped through Ichiro’s hair, pulling a strand out of his neat bun, and bringing him back to the present. As Ichiro fixed his bun, more petals began to fall from the tree, painting the ceremony ground below in a sea of pale pink blossoms. Listening briefly to Hana who was now preaching about virtues like honor, Ichiro lost interest again. Instead, he turned his gaze in the direction of the wind, where off to the east, dark clouds were gathering in the night sky.
            “Hurry up,” Ichiro grumbled softly; he didn’t want to be caught in a storm during his ceremony. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Hana was finally ready to reveal the Meiyo. Ichiro’s body began to tremble with anticipation, and the world around him faded into a dull void until all that was left was the rasping of the old woman.
            “There is only one warrior who embodies all of the qualities of the Meiyo,” Hana proclaimed, “and that is first year Angel… Kenji Ito!”
            Every person on the ceremony ground exploded to their feet with loud cheers for the newest Meiyo. Every person except for Ichiro. His heart stopped for a brief second before it restarted back up at a furious pace. The crowd’s roar of applause faded away until Ichiro was drowning in the all-consuming sound of his own trembling breath and rapid-fire heartbeat. Too stunned to take in his surroundings, Ichiro missed his brother being pushed joyfully toward the center of the celebration with a look of pure joy on his face. It wasn’t until Kenji bowed to the village elders in the center of the stone ring that Ichiro’s senses came rushing back to him, along with the realization that he was once again bested by his brother.
            Wind swept across the plateau, stronger than before, and it knocked new strands of hair out of Ichiro’s bun. Instead of fixing them, Ichiro began to shake, his body filled with rage.
            Slowly, Ichiro quelled his tremors and rose to his feet, glaring at his brother down in the ring below. His hand instinctively drifted to the leathery handle of his katana and gripped it tightly. Ichiro took a step forward. Then another step. Then another. Again and again, Ichiro pushed past the celebrating citizens, ignoring the words of consolation from those who recognized him. The wind, now accompanied by a heavy rain, blew fiercely, causing Ichiro’s robes to flap wildly around his body. While vaguely aware of the once far off storm clouds that were now right above him, the majority of Ichiro’s attention remained on Kenji.
            The evening air crackled with electricity as lightning flashed before the assembled village, followed by a thunderous clap, drowning out the sounds of celebration. Shouts filled the air as the villagers scrambled for shelter in crevices along the mountainside. The rain was so loud now that it was impossible to communicate without yelling. Ignoring the storm, Ichiro continued to slowly make his way towards his brother, step by step. Kenji, unaware of the predator now stalking him, was preoccupied with helping get the village elders to safety. Ichiro studied his twin with narrowed eyes as Kenji began guiding the elders towards a crevice in the mountainside. Instead of following, Ichiro made his way to the top of the ring. Looking down onto the ceremony grounds, Ichiro only saw one person remaining out in the storm: Hana.
            Ichiro’s face remained expressionless as he dropped into the circle, his feet splashing into a pool of cold rainwater and fallen cherry blossoms. His eyes locked onto the woman who had been the root of so much mental anguish over the years. With each passing step, Ichiro’s fury grew. His hand closed around the cool leather hilt of his katana, and once he was within striking distance, he quietly pulled the pure steel katana out of its sheathe.
            “You,” he growled at Hana, “This is all your fault.”
            “Ichiro?” she rasped, a look of surprise crossing her wrinkled face, “Is that you? Enough of this nonsense, your brother deserved the honor more than you. Your time will come, trust me. But it is not time now. You must first learn to control your emotions.”
            Those words were the final straw for Ichiro. With a guttural cry, he brought his sword down with a lethal stroke, silencing the voice that had plagued his mind for years. Ichiro could hear his heart pounding in his chest, shocked by what he had just done. Yet despite his action, Ichiro felt no remorse. If anything, he felt… relieved.
            “Is everything okay?” Kenji shouted over the wind as he dropped back into the arena, “I heard a screa—” Kenji froze. The scene ahead of him was too much to comprehend. Ichiro was standing over Hana’s lifeless body, breathing heavily like a hunter who had just slaughtered his prey. The wind blew furiously, ripping apart the bun atop Ichiro’s head, allowing his hair to tumble past his shoulders. Ichiro slowly turned around, his long black hair thrashing wildly in the wind, and pointed his unsheathed katana at Kenji. Lightning lit up the night sky, and through the storm, Kenji stared in disbelief and horror at his brother.
            “Put the sword down,” Kenji commanded, gathering himself and his emotions. “Don’t make me do this to you.”
            “Always so confident,” Ichiro said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm, “You have already done enough to me. It’s because of you and that hag behind me that I needed to be the best, Kenji,” Ichiro spat the name out of his mouth. “You think beating me once proves that I am no match for you? Well think again. I should have been the Meiyo, not you. I shall prove it tonight, or I shall die trying.” With that, Ichiro clenched his jaw, dashed forward at Kenji, and brought his blade down hard. Instinctively, Kenji jumped back, avoiding the strike. Lightning flashed again. Moonlight reflected off the polished steel surface of the katana as Ichiro raised it high over his head before bringing it down with all the strength in his body.
            The clanging of metal rung out across the ceremonial grounds. Kenji had drawn his blade, forced into defending himself, and therefore accepting his brother’s duel. The usual twinkle in Kenji’s eyes went out; he was now bound by honor to finish this fight.
            The two brothers clashed in the tempest for what seemed like an eternity. Lightning flashed, rain fell, and blades met. Ichiro felt himself growing tired as the fight wore on. While his own attacks began to weaken, he felt Kenji’s surge, growing stronger with each continuous strike. Ichiro’s robes were in tatters and the injuries he sustained were piling up. Countless deep gashes and slices covered his body, and Ichiro could feel his life slipping away. In pure desperation, he thrust his sword toward Kenji but overextended his reach. Kenji sidestepped the weak jab with ease and knocked the vulnerable blade from Ichiro’s hand. The katana spun in a graceful arc through the night sky before it splashed into the water between the two warriors.
            The rain eased up a bit and the storm clouds parted, allowing moonlight to hit the water, illuminating the beauty of the ceremony grounds amidst the violence. The shallow pool reflected the night sky, and the fallen cherry blossoms danced among the stars. The eye of the storm could be a truly magnificent thing, even if it never lasted long. Ichiro panted heavily, and for a brief moment, he thought he heard the same raspy tuts of disappointment he had heard all those years earlier. The realization crashed down upon him. Nothing had changed. All of that training had been futile, Kenji was still stronger.
            Ichiro dropped to his knees and bowed his head in despair, signaling surrender. “I see now,” he whispered, “You truly are deserving Kenji.”
            A look of relief passed over Kenji’s face when he realized that the fighting was over; he would not be forced to kill his brother. The playful twinkle that had gone out during the fight returned to his eyes, although it was dimmed. “I am going to take Hana’s body to the elders, and then you will face retribution, Ichiro. I pray that you will be granted an honorable death.”
            The rain slowly started to come down harder once more. Before long, the downpour made it impossible to hear anything as Kenji walked past his defeated brother, toward Hana’s body. Then, a bolt of lightning struck again, this time hitting the great cherry tree, splintering it down the center with an earsplitting crack. At the same time, spots danced before Kenji’s eyes, and he fell to his knees. He tried to stand up, but his body disobeyed him, and he collapsed into the pool of rainwater alongside branches of the cherry tree. Kenji tried to call out for help, but when he spoke, no sound came out. Helpless, Kenji let the water and cherry blossoms wash over him as the spark in his eyes went out for a final time.
            Ichiro stood over his brother and slowly pulled the katana from his back. The water at Ichiro’s feet turned red from blood, partially his, partially Kenji’s, tarnishing the ceremony grounds. Then, he began to laugh, his mind utterly shattered. 
            The storm began to subside, and the moon shone once again. Ichiro’s body, like his brother’s, began to fail him. He collapsed into the rainwater on his back and stared upward to the canopy of pink petals. As his eyesight began to dim and as his body grew numb, Ichiro used the last of his strength to turn his head towards his brother. Kenji’s mouth was slightly open, and his normally sky-blue eyes were dark, clouded, and lifeless. The usual twinkle had been extinguished for the final time.
             “All I ever wanted…” Ichiro murmured through labored breathing, “…was to be better than you.” As his vision began to fade, Ichiro locked eyes with his dead brother. Kenji, who was always better than him, Kenji, who was good at everything he wasn’t, Kenji, the one who was the epitome of perfection to Ichiro, lay dead before him. “And now I am,” Ichiro said as his consciousness faded, blown away like a cherry blossom in the breeze.