Silence.

Heishuro bit his lip, wondering the thoughts running through the minds all in attendance. Despite knowing little of the deceased, Maruchi had to crease his brow to stem the wet apathy in his eyes. It was almost as if he were too beaten with emotion; too knocked down to get up again.

Death was something Maruchi knew he’d have to come to terms with. He knew that it would find him someday, and—in any scenario akin to the fighter’s—it wouldn’t be of old age. Yet this death had winded him. Instead of melancholy; instead of misery, there was a severe lack of the reverse. In a sense this is the emotion itself; yet it was a dry emptiness for Heishuro.

Forcing his mind onward, the martial artist looked around for condolences; only finding various people in need of the same reassurance that he was.

I suppose everyone reacts to tragedy in a different way… he obligated to himself, trying to justify his unique reaction.

Realising his hand was over the upper left of his chest, Maruchi began to move it, before deciding against it.

“Johnny Bones…” Heishuro began in a hoarse voice. “Maybe we’ll see each other in the next life... that gives me something to look forward too, at least.”

They say the show must go on.

But after this... can it still?

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