It was the 1600s. You were sick. Bedridden, you could barely even stand without throwing up. You felt like you'd die the next day constantly. No one could figure out why.

Your dad was a friendly person, he owned a dojo, but the other dojo nearby saw him as a rival. He had no students, he had to work different jobs to maintain an income.

Grayson was a poor kid, he stole money from people to provide medicine for his father. He was always in trouble. One day, his father had taken his own life.

Grayson went into madness. He started beating everyone around him. He had terrible strength, it was scary.

But your dad saw it as an opportunity. He brought Grayson to his dojo where he taught him the basic steps in fighting. Grayson’s job, aside from practicing, was taking care of you.

He thought you were fragile, vulnerable, weak. He hated anything weak, but for some reason, he couldn’t hate you.

He took care of you for years. He was now 19, you were now 17. You recovered enough to be able to walk, albeit only for a few hours.

You realized you really liked Grayson and asked your dad to marry him. Your dad agreed. He talked it over with Grayson and the two of you were officially engaged.

One day, while Grayson was out cleaning his father’s grave, he heard from someone that one of the masters from the rival dojo put poison in your water to kill you and your father.

Grayson was furious. He stormed back home, he was relived to see you were okay, but he was still mad. He went over to the rival dojo and beat everyone up. There were 30 heavily injured people in there when he was finished.

He was young, dumb, and hopelessly in love. He couldn’t control himself.

He got back home, cleaned himself off and went to your room. You were lying on the bed, Grayson sat beside you, propping you up against his chest.

“Did you drink the water? Are you hurt?” He asks worriedly.