Rebel Army HQ: A New Companion

Hiroshi walked off through the crowd, the sound of thousands of voices echoing behind him. Cheers followed him down the dusty road, fading only slightly as he distanced himself from the Ring—the capital itself still trembling with the energy of his victory.

“LONG LIVE HIROSHI! LONG LIVE HIROSHI!” The people’s chant rolled through the warm afternoon air like thunder, bouncing off the walls of distant buildings.

[6:30 PM]

[At Majuro's Hut]

Leaving the noise behind, Hiroshi finally reached the quiet outskirts where Majuro’s hut stood, half a kilometre away from the capital. The door was already open, as if expecting him. He stepped inside and gently closed it behind him.

“Hey, Majuro! I’m back,” he said.

The soft click of a switch followed his voice. Majuro turned on the lights, the room brightening with a faint hum. The old man was seated on a chair near the small wooden table, calm and composed. Beside him, another chair sat empty—its position deliberate, waiting for Hiroshi.

Majuro’s eyes met his. “Oh. I see. You defeated Riyaku,” he said quietly. “Well, that’s only the first step. There are six more to go.”

As his gaze trailed downward, Majuro suddenly noticed a slight tear on Hiroshi’s black shirt. His expression hardened. “Wait… these clothes are made to regenerate fast enough. But there is still a tear. What happened!?”

Hiroshi hesitated, lowering his eyes. “My… uh… chest… it got punctured…”

Majuro shot up, voice sharp. “WHAT!? Why are you standing so still!? You should be getting treatment from a doctor! Come with me! I’ll take you to my grandson, Krooke. He’s a doctor. Quick!”

“Heyyy… relax.” Hiroshi raised both hands lightly, trying to calm him down. “It’s not such a big deal. It’s not that big of a hole. I can manage. Also, my healing factor is not completely gone, remember? I can still heal. The hole is now closed. When I got my fire powers, they burnt the poison that was given to me. So I’m safe. For now… But wait… you mentioned your grandson. Where is he?”

Majuro exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. Without replying immediately, he stood up from his chair and walked to the kitchen cooktop. Hiroshi took the empty seat beside where Majuro had been sitting, glancing toward the coffee machine as the faint hiss of boiling water filled the silence.

“My grandson…” Majuro finally said, his voice softer. “He is around your age as well. His father and mother… both passed away. I sent him to a family friend of mine to practice and hone his skills. But that’s not important for now.”

He added milk and coffee powder to the machine, the aroma beginning to spread across the small hut. “Coffee?” he asked.

Hiroshi smiled faintly. “Sure!” he replied jokingly. “I’m craving coffee for the last two centuries.”

He chuckled a bit, shoulders relaxing for the first time since he arrived.

Majuro squinted. “Was that a joke?”

“No,” Hiroshi said simply. “I meant it literally…”

An awkward silence filled the room. Majuro just stared for a few seconds, then quietly turned back to the machine.

He finished making the coffee and poured it into two red cups. Steam curled between them as he turned, offering one to Hiroshi. “Here.”

Hiroshi accepted it. “Thanks.”

Majuro sat back down, his expression returning to calm authority. “Take rest for a few hours,” he said. “I’ll tell you when to go for the next ring.”

Hiroshi nodded. “Alright.”

The two sat together in silence, sipping their coffees. The rich, bitter taste filled the small space while sunlight slanted through the window, casting lines across the floor.

But Hiroshi’s mind wasn’t at peace. Even as he drank, he still thought of Riyaku. “He was the weakest tyrant… still, the strongest I’ve personally fought, he reflected inwardly. That means the other tyrants are going to be hell to fight…”

He finished his coffee, set the cup gently on the table, and leaned back on his chair. Tilting his head upward, he closed his eyes, letting his body finally relax.

Majuro watched him quietly, admiration softening his stern face. “I can’t believe he is finally back after all these years, he thought. The mission of my family will finally be completed… His strength would not be enough for the tyrants. I would have to train Hiroshi.”

And as the afternoon sunlight shimmered through the open window, the old mentor and the reborn warrior sat together—one lost in thought, the other in silent resolve—on the edge of peace before the next storm.

[An Hour Later]

The wind outside had softened into a low hum. Inside the hut, Hiroshi sat quietly, lost in thought. The warmth from the small fire in the corner had started to fade, leaving the air faintly cold.

Majuro stood near the table, arms folded, eyes half closed — calm, yet listening.

Then came a knock.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Both men turned. The sound was sharp against the silence.

Majuro stepped forward, voice cautious. “Who’s there?”

A voice answered from outside, steady and respectful.

“It’s us! From the Rebel Army. We’re here to meet Sir Hiroshi.”

Hiroshi blinked in surprise. He glanced at Majuro, then rose and went to open the door.

Twenty Six soldiers stood outside, cloaked in gray. The one in front — tall, confident, and young — gave a small bow. He had orange hair and keen black eyes.

“My name is Zarou, sir. Lieutenant of the Australian Branch of the Rebel Army.”

Majuro gave a nod, his expression unreadable. Hiroshi managed a small smile.

“Hello guys! what brings you here?”

Zarou replied firmly, “We’ve come to take you to the Rebel Army Headquarters.”

Hiroshi hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Ah… I’d like to, but I can’t. I have to go to the next ring when Majuro says.”

Majuro placed a hand on Hiroshi’s shoulder before he could finish.

“He will go,” Majuro said quietly.

Hiroshi turned to him, confused. “Wha—wait, but… the next ring?” he whispered.

Majuro’s voice softened. “I know. But this will be good for you. You’ll meet Shinzo there — Krimson’s great-great-great grandson.”

Hiroshi blinked, then exhaled. “Oh… Shinzo, huh. Alright then.” He looked at Zarou. “I’ll go.”

Zarou’s expression brightened instantly. “Excellent! Let’s go, sir!”

Majuro stepped back from the door, watching as Hiroshi followed the men out. He gave a quiet wave as the door creaked shut behind them.

Outside, the wind brushed against their coats as they walked. Hiroshi followed Zarou and his men down the dirt path, their footsteps fading slowly into the evening light.

[Half an Hour Later — Edge of the Desert]

The wind had changed. What was once a dry, howling desert breeze now carried the faint scent of damp soil. Hiroshi’s boots pressed against the sand one last time before the ground beneath shifted — from golden dust to soft earth.

He froze, eyes widening. Before them stretched a wall of green — an enormous forest rising from the heart of the desert, its leaves swaying under a pale orange sky.

Hiroshi blinked, astonished. “Huh!? A forest… in the middle of a desert!?”

Zarou smiled faintly, brushing a few sand grains from his cloak. “We planted these trees, sir. Years of effort. The middle part of this desert has become a living jungle — one of our strongest hideouts.”

Hiroshi stepped closer, touching the bark of a nearby tree. It was cool to the touch — real, strong, alive. He exhaled softly. “You guys really… made this?”

Zarou nodded. “The Rebel Army built this forest from the ashes of the old world. Every tree here has roots that connect to our water network underground. Without it, none of us would have survived.”

Hiroshi let out a small sigh. “Alright… then lead the way.”

The soldiers began moving, their steps quieter now as they entered the dense green. The forest was alive with the sound of rustling leaves and faint chirps echoing in the distance. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the canopy, painting golden streaks across their path.

For a moment, Hiroshi glanced back. Far behind, the endless desert shimmered under the sun — a reminder of the world he had once known. Ahead, only shadows and greenery waited.

As they walked deeper, the air grew cooler, heavier. The wind that once howled outside now whispered secrets between the trees.

Zarou turned to him. “The mountain lies at the heart of this jungle. That’s where the Headquarters is hidden.”

Hiroshi nodded quietly. “Let’s hope it’s as peaceful as it looks.”

Zarou smirked. “Peaceful? Sir… nothing here ever truly is.”

They continued their march, vanishing slowly into the emerald mist of the Rebel Forest.

[An Hour Later — Base of the Mountain]

[9:00 PM]

The group emerged from the dense forest, and Hiroshi’s eyes widened at the sight before him. A small mountain rose gently from the jungle floor, crowned by a waterfall that spilled into a crystalline pond below. Sunlight danced across the water, creating prisms that shimmered across moss-covered rocks. The place was almost surreal, a hidden sanctuary in the middle of the world.

“We’re here,” Zarou said simply, his voice calm but proud.

Hiroshi took a cautious step forward, scanning the mountain. “So… where is the Headquarters?” he asked.

The soldier beside Zarou pointed to the slope. “Right in front of you.”

Hiroshi’s eyes widened as he examined the mountain more closely. At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a massive boulder — unremarkable, solid, immovable. He squinted. “Where…?”

Zarou smiled and lifted his hand to a sleek smartwatch on his wrist. With a few taps, he spoke clearly, almost ceremoniously. “Open the gates.”

A crackling voice responded from the device. “Whom are we expecting?”

“The Alpha Wolves, and a special guest,” Zarou replied.

Hiroshi blinked. The boulder shuddered. A hiss of escaping air filled the silence, startling birds into flight. Slowly, the massive stone shifted, revealing a glowing passageway. Inside, sleek metallic walls reflected soft blue and white lights, humming with subtle energy.

“Welcome to our Headquarters, Sir Hiroshi,” Zarou said, gesturing toward the entrance.

Hiroshi's mouth fell open.

“That… that’s so cool!” he breathed, his eyes tracing the gleaming corridors and faintly glowing panels.

“There are a lot of things you haven’t seen yet,” the other soldier said, falling into step beside him. “Let’s go.”

As they stepped into the passage, the roar of the waterfall behind them faded, replaced by the quiet hum of hidden machines and the faint echo of footsteps on polished floors. Hiroshi followed, his mind already racing with questions — but one thing was certain: this place was unlike anything he had ever seen.

They all walked inside, the cavernous hall swallowing their footsteps. For a moment the place felt like it exhaled — relief folding over the returning soldiers. Armymen and guards smiled and waved, faces lighting up at the sight of the Alpha Wolves coming home. Laughter flickered through the ranks, the small, human noise of reunion.

The smiles, however, snagged and melted as soon as Hiroshi stepped through the doorway. It was as if the air itself realized something new and held its breath. Whispers spread like a ripple across the hall; hands froze mid-gesture, eyes widened, and a dozen small sounds died at once.

A young man strode forward from the crowd with the surety of someone raised under banners and drills. His coat was white, cut sharp; beneath it a black shirt and a black bulletproof vest fitted him like armor, black jeans tucked into practical boots. His hair was the color of frost and his gaze—a burnished, royal blue—saw everything with an inherited intensity.

Hiroshi recognized him immediately. Shinzo Korosei — great-great-great-grandson of Krimson Korosei. The name sat in the room like a command; the lineage carried weight the same way the uniform carried authority.

Shinzo walked towards the Alpha Wolves, smiling proudly.

“Alpha Wolves! My best regiment! Welcome back! Who’s the special guest that came?” Shinzo called out, voice bright with pride.

He peered behind the returning men and the grin died in his throat. The movement of his shoulders stilled, and the brightness in his face curdled into shock.

“That man! That’s a Varkonian! Why have you brought him here!?” His voice snapped like a whip. The accusation landed in the air, heavy and sudden.

There was no hesitation—only reflex. Shinzo lunged to the nearest armyman, seized his gun with a practiced motion, and snapped it up so that the barrel pointed straight at Hiroshi’s head. The room tightened like a fist.

“DON’T SHOOT! HE IS—” Zarou shouted, cutting through the commotion in a desperate attempt to halt the violence.

BANG!

The pistol barked; a single bullet lanced forward, bright and terrible. It wanted to make everything permanent—one small iron truth.

“FLAME WALL!” Hiroshi roared.

He slammed his foot down hard on the floor. The impact shivered outward, and a towering barrier of orange flame sprang up between him and the diverging threat, a living sheet of heat and light that hissed and folded into itself. The missile hit the wall and dissolved in a hiss of steam, metal liquefying into nothing before it could finish its arc. Sparks rained for a breath, then fell like dull embers to the floor.

Silence wrapped the room again, only thicker now—an awe edged with fear. For a long second no one moved. Eyes blinked, bodies unkinked, and the flame wall shimmered, painting the faces around it in an impossible orange.

Zarou, who had tried to speak earlier found his voice again, rough with disbelief. “this new visitor we took with us... Is none other than... Hiroshi Soraya!” His words were a single long release, as if the name itself freed the air.

The reaction was immediate and absolute. Shinzo, who had only moments before been on the point of killing, dropped the gun like a child whose hand had been stung. Every armyman, every guard — the entire assembly — bowed down, a ripple of reverence sweeping through the ranks until the room was a forest of inclining bodies.

Shinzo’s face crumpled. He stepped forward, hands pressed to his chest as if to push the apology out of his mouth. “I am really sorry... I didn't knew that it was you... I'm sorry for my behaviour.” His voice trembled with the shame of a man who had nearly committed an unforgivable mistake under the weight of duty and fear.

Hiroshi moved toward him. Shinzo straightened, met him, and for a heartbeat the two men stood in a charged silence heavy with apology and authority. Hiroshi reached out as if to slap him — a performative flash of anger that could have stung without blood — but instead his hand landed on Shinzo’s back in a solid, surprising pat.

“I am proud of you, Shinzo Korosei,” Hiroshi said.

“Huh?” Shinzo stammered, confusion clear as a break in his composure.

“You showed bravery. You went for the head when you thought I am a Varkonian. That's exactly the ideology I want in everyone who is here. Slay all Varkonians.” Hiroshi's words were blunt, uncompromising, and they landed in the hall like a banner planting itself into the earth.

The tension in the space melted into something like fervor. In that charged moment, where loyalty and hatred braided together, Hiroshi’s voice took on the air of a commander. His words were a weapon but also a spark.

“If we all are together, Varkonians are crushed.”

The statement struck home. Hearts thudded in chests; a fire lit in the eyes of the armymen and guards—rebellion and resolve flaring up like tinder. The crowd broke into applause and shouting, a tidal rush of sound that filled the corridors and spilled out into distant rooms. Hands pounded shields and the beat of feet kept time to a rising drum of unity.

Shinzo stepped closer, urgent. “Sir, it's not the perfect time, but we have to kill Riyaku.”

“Why kill a person who is already dead?” Zarou asked, voice threaded with genuine confusion.

Shinzo’s face twisted. “What do you mean?”

Hiroshi’s answer was simple, matter-of-fact: “he means that Riyaku is already dead. I killed him a few hours ago.”

There was a beat of stunned silence, then an exhale from Shinzo. “Oh... Sir, I am really grateful that you returned...” Gratitude and relief mixed in his voice like rain on hot stone.

Hiroshi shook his head, cutting the formality. “Hey. Don't call me 'sir'. I am no older than you in age. Just call me Hiroshi.”

Shinzo’s face flushed, as if someone had struck a match behind his eyes. The blue in them glinted with something like flame. “Sorry sir... But it's weird to call a legend, who's stories you've read by his name...”

“Legend? I am no legend. Did you guys ever call Technoblade as 'sir' or 'lord'? No, right? Still, He IS a legend!” Hiroshi said, and there was a flicker of humor beneath the sternness—an attempt to humanize the myths that people worshipped.

Shinzo hesitated, then nodded. “Alright.... Hiroshi.”

Hiroshi exhaled, the sound small and human. “That's more like it. Well, I can't stay here for long. I just came to see the stuff going on here. And—” His gaze swept the armory: plasma blasters, laser guns, grenades, nets, turrets, tanks; rows of white and blue armor glinted like scales under the lights. The sight eased something in him; the rebellion was well-armed.

“Everyone seems so prepared. Now, I've got to go. To the next ring.”

Shinzo straightened. “That's alright... Open the gates.” He clasped his fists, an act both ceremonial and practical.

The massive boulder that had known them as an entrance obeyed with the slow dignity of something that had spent years practicing its parts. It shifted. The gate opened once more, revealing the path beyond.

Hiroshi began to walk away. The hall fell into a hush as he moved—respect and curiosity trailing him like a cloak. Then, as the sound of his footsteps dwindled, Shinzo cried out, “WAIT!”

Hiroshi paused and turned, brows lifting.

“Take me with you.” The plea was both command and prayer, sudden and raw.

“I can't. Who will take care of the army? Krimson gave you a purpose to live for.” Hiroshi's answer was immediate, practical.

Shinzo's desperation rose. “I have a brother. Shunjo. He is the one who usually takes care here. I do less work here. Mainly patrolling. Please... Take me with you...”

The boy—no, the young man—fell to his knees, voice cracking. “Please. Just give me a chance to prove myself. Please...”

Hiroshi's pause was long, reasonable. Then, softer than any command, “Alright... You can come.”

Joy exploded across Shinzo’s face. He scrambled back inside and vanished for a heartbeat, returning with a backpack in hand before Hiroshi could finish asking where he had gone.

“What is this for?” Hiroshi asked.

“I keep my gadgets and weapons in it,” Shinzo said, breathless with eagerness.

Hiroshi sighed once, a sound that might have been a laugh if it were not so mild. “Alright... Let's go.”

He started down the path.

The boulder sealed itself back into place behind them, the door grinding slowly until the mountain looked solid again. Then Shinzo remembered with another burst, “Wait, we can use my teleporter!”

“Teleporter?” Hiroshi asked.

Shinzo rifled through his backpack and took out a grey-ish cube, small and deceptively simple. “It's currently inactive. To activate it, we must—”

Hiroshi cut him off mid-sentence, completing the line as if they had shared the secret for years. “Give it a power surge so huge that it's enough to fuel the whole planet for 100 years.”

Shinzo froze, eyes wide. “E- Ex- Exactly... How'd you know that?”

“It was used by Krimson. He used to call it as the 'travelling box',” Hiroshi replied.

Shinzo swallowed hard. “Oh... yeah... I remember that this was handed down to me by my father. And their his father gave it to him.”

Hiroshi nodded. “Yeah... Well, I can power it up.” He extended his hand forward.

A small, transparent spherical pocket-space coalesced in the air—fragile and humming. Flames poured into it, bright and alive. The sphere swelled with energy and began to vibrate, a contained sun. Hiroshi drew his dagger and made a tiny, precise tear in the sphere’s surface. A focused ray of flame shot through that breach, a concentrated spear of heat aimed at the grey cube.

The cube drank the energy. Grey shifted to green, the surface gleaming as it accepted the surge. Shinzo breathed, relief and hope mingling on his face. “That's the color we need.”

But the cube trembled, hungry still. It shifted, flickered, and slowly began to yellow.

“YELLOW!? That's a new color!” Shinzo gasped.

“I gave it too much energy...” Hiroshi admitted as the pocket space disappeared.

“How much!?” Shinzo asked, panic threading his voice.

“An energy so large that a supernova seems like a firecracker in front of—” Hiroshi began.

“WHAT!? SO IMMENSE ENERGY!? HOW IS THIS ENTIRE PLACE NOT EVAPORATED!? HOW IS THIS CUBE STILL INTACT!? HOW DID YOU GET SO MUCH ENERGY!?” Shinzo's torrent of questions tumbled over themselves.

Hiroshi's answer was calm, almost clinical. “I created a mini pocket space before infusing energy. Inside that pocket space, there is infinite space. And, time moves a billion times slower there. So a billion seconds there are one second here. This allows my powers to do nuclear fission and go supernova in a small amount of time. I poked a small hole. Which caused the release of the energy in a straight path directly in the cube. And the cube... absorbed it...”

"Damn!" Shinzo breathed, awed and terrified.

Hiroshi picked up the cube, feeling its weight and the faint hum of power that ran like a pulse through his palm. “The teleportation range of this cube has increased. We can travel anywhere we want now. Its range is beyond the solar system. Sun, Neptune, Pluto, we can go anywhere.”

Shinzo’s grin flashed at the thought of impossible horizons. “Wanna go for a space trip?”

Hiroshi shook his head with an almost affectionate strictness. “I'd stick to the main course.”

They shared a brief chuckle, the kind that cuts tension and mends the moment. Then Hiroshi grew practical again. “Well, now?”

“Just hold it firmly and think of the place,” Shinzo instructed.

Hiroshi wrapped his fingers around the cube and willed Majuro’s hut into his mind—the old wood, the faint coffee smell, the warm light. The cube shivered, its surface turning a deep, steady blue as energy aligned.

An oval-shaped blue portal materialized, its edges a dusty swirl of grey and purple that smelled faintly of ozone. It pulsed once, then settled like a mouth opening.

They both stepped forward and went in.

To Be Continued...