Backstory: Kohta was, much like countless others of his age, an orphan. One whose luck was somewhat worse than others as his parents had left him to fend for himself at an age where he couldn't even remember them, nor their names. Not that it mattered anymore, as after a few years of scouring the streets, learning and promptly forgetting how to pickpocket, search through garbage, and do cheap jobs for whatever little money he could possibly get, his life took a turn for the better. During a midsummer day, at the age of ten, Kohta stumbled upon a syndicate of hobos whose cases were much like his own. A syndicate that, much to his surprise, took him in with open arms. Eagerly adding him to their midst despite him being so much younger than any of the other members. At which point they began to teach him of their values- their insistence on not stealing from anyone no matter who they may be, to always do good and help out whenever he could, and to think first with his head, and then with his heart. As the years went on by, their love for their newfound member grew and grew as he proved to be eager to learn and experience all that they had to offer, as well as how he found himself adoring his newfound family for what they were. A bunch of stinking, almost rotting- lovely hobos that fully accepted him as one of his own. However, as a result of their creed, the syndicate he was a part of had a reputation for being a bunch of pushovers. Easily deceived and take advantage of, neighboring groups of the same nature as his began to greed for the territory that they occupied. Causing them to grow sick with worry as they anticipated the occurrence of a dreadful series of fights as others grew eager to make use of the space they occupied. Their worry of each other, especially young Kohta, had them begin to prepare themselves as best as they could. To a point where their preparations reached even the twelve year old child- at which point they would begin to train him with them, teaching him how to protect himself and anticipate as well as avoid blows while striking at the core of whomever he was fighting after looking long enough to realize whatever weaknesses they possessed. Finding him to have an admirable talent for the spear, syndicate pooled up a good amount of resources that would then be used towards making him a weapon worthy of being called his very first, proper birthday present. A concealed yari- one that could be used as a walking stick or bo-staff for everyday use and the usual walloping that needed to be given, as well as to truly harm a person should Kohta decide that someone was in dire need of being harmed. Or, hopefully, to protect himself more efficiently as well as possibly scare off whoever might want to pick a fight with him. As time went by, Kohta proved to be more and more of a prim and proper combatant- almost fearfully so as he, despite his age, began to go toe to toe with some of the syndicate's more powerful members as well as help to defend their group during turfwars. Proving himself to be, at long last, an asset to them just as he'd always wanted to. However, during one particularly rough battle between his group and another, disaster struck. In attempt to push back one of the older, slower members and take a blow for him, the difference in height between him and the man he tried to protect proved to be enough for the blow that was supposed to hit the man's chest to almost fatally cut through his neck. Catching all three of them by surprise as he immediately took a hold of his neck in a desperate, almost useless attempt to slow down the horrid bleeding that quickly turned the rags he wore a dreadful shade of red. Causing the man he protected to fly into a rage as he went to avenge him while he limped away from the battle, holding onto his spear all throughout his slow trudging as he almost outright strangled himself while he walked. His eyes growing hazy and weak up until he stumbled upon a stranger while he gurgled an incomprehensible plead for help before falling unconscious in front of him. Only to wake up hours later in a daze as he looked around. In an unfamiliar place and bed, Kohta felt a strange mixture of both pain and relaxation as he laid atop the first proper bed he'd come into contact with in years. Sensing his intimidation, the man quickly decided to begin explaining just what it was that was going on. How he'd managed to save him just in time from bleeding out and drowning in his own blood, albeit at the cost of his vocal chord as it was, sadly, damaged beyond repair. Leaving him to wrap his head around the newfound information as he sat and looked around, familiarizing himself with the strange surroundings that proved to be much more comfortable than anything he'd ever had the pleasure of experiencing, despite being fairly modest in nature still. After a good half hour of trying and failing multiple times to try and get up, Kohta would give up as the man entered with a tray of food that, much to his embarrassment, left his stomach growling aloud and earned him a laugh from the stranger as he handed it to him. While he ate, the man introduced himself to him as mister Fritz. The gentleman that saved his life then went on to explain in detail just what it was that occurred- how he found him bleeding half todeath before he saved him through exhausting a fair portion of the pension that he'd saved up for emergencies. Which, he decided to add, was just the case here. Furthermore, he insisted that Kohta doesn't move an inch up until he recovers to a point where he deemed him well enough to be sent back into the wild where he belonged. The strange, albeit somewhat familiar act of kindness sparking in Kohta a desire to reciprocate it however he could, as well as make up for all the time, effort, and money he spent on him by proving to the man that he was well worth the investment, just as he did with the family that now believes him to be dead. And so, Kohta agreed to stay, at which point the man, delighted, began to spend most of his time with him. Whether it be to converse, where they'd silently write to each other as though they were passing notes in class, to feed him or take his opinion on the most mundane of things, or to educate him in hopes of making up for the clear lack of knowledge he had because of his unfortunat circumstances. As time went by, Kohta's wound and body healed exceedingly well thanks to Fritz's constant, unwavering care. At which point he'd eagerly begin taking a much more active role- cleaning, cooking, washing- all forms of chores that proved to be an unerring nail in the side of the old man were quickly done away with by Kohta with crystal clear care behind them. Allowing him to begin properly making up for all the effort that'd been put into him as his relationship with mister Fritz only grew more and more affectionate. The care they both put into one another no matter what proving to bring them closer and closer up until Fritz simply began to refer to him as his son- which Kohta had not objected to in the slightest. Yet he felt too guilty to take away from him the possibility of figuring out the true circumstances behind why he was left to fend for himself and just who his parents were to adopt him as his own after having only met him since he was around fifteen years old at the time.And so, time passed with them growing closer and closer- the two more knowledgeable and experienced as their relationship grew to be mutually beneficial and a delight to behold as in the span of one year, Kohta had both become his best friend and the son he had so desperately wished he had. Within that year, other than help him out whenever and however he could, Kohta made sure to remember all the years of training he'd undergone with the syndicate that he'd missed so dearly. Vowing to one day return to them and end the constant fighting that left them in such a state of disarray- until then, he would train day by day until he was ready enough to do just that. As well as to be capable of protecting mister Fritz whenever the need arises as he gave him his concealed spear to use as an overblown walking stick wherever they went, just in case. Alas, once more, everything good must always come to an end. As one day, mister Fritz had come to him with news of the finality of his recovery. Telling him, with eyes welling with tears, that it was finally time for him to go as he'd become healthy once more. Albeit not out to the streets, he hastened to mention- but rather, to a boarding school that would accommodate his inability. One where he'd be free of prejudice and all sorts of nasty mannerisms that he'd have to suffer through otherwise. Knowing full well that he was getting too old to take care of a child as young as Kohta, as wonderful as his company was and how obedient and wise he'd become after the time they'd spent together, it was simply too much for a man who was growing to be as old as he was. Furthermore, he was determined to make sure that Kohta was given the chance at life and a prim and proper education that someone of his ilk had deserved. Sensing the finality behind his words, and taking note of the stack of papers in his hands, Kohta had realized that it was already done- and that it was far, far too late to do much of anything about it anymore but accept it, as much as he wanted to vehemently refuse so he could spend his days with him as he did. Nor could he try and return back to the syndicate, not yet- not until he was powerful enough and capable enough to do what he was intending to do when he got to meet them once more. And so, with a passionate hug and a fair few silent tears between the both of them, Kohta went to pack and prepare himself for the daunting new environment that he was about to enter headfirst, with immense determination to make the closest he's ever had to a father proud of him and to prepare himself for his reunion with the family he was forced to leave behind.