I stepped into the ring, the hard-packed dirt crunching heavily beneath my boots. Across the circle, Tsume was already waiting. His stance was textbook perfect, the heavy oak bokken gripped tightly in his hands, but I could see the look in his pale eye was completely feral.
He didn't just want to win this spar; he needed to completely crush someone to prove he wasn't weak.
"Don't be nervous, bow, show respect," Ayashi's voice commanded, cutting through the tense morning air.
I dipped my head in a respectful, traditional bow. Tsume barely offered a rigid jerk of his chin before instantly sinking into a low, terrifyingly aggressive guard.
"Begin!"
The word had barely left Ayashi's mouth before Tsume exploded forward. The sheer, blinding speed of his advance kicked up a thick cloud of dust. He closed the gap in a fraction of a second, his wooden blade whistling violently as it arced in a brutal, overhead strike aimed directly at my skull.
"He's actually trying to take my head off!"
I scrambled backward, desperately throwing my bokken up horizontally to block, using the Borokku technique I'd learned from Grandpa for all those years. The impact cracked like a gunshot. A numb, violent shockwave traveled straight up my forearms, rattling my teeth as I desperately dug my heels into the dirt.
Tsume didn't give me a single second to breathe. He immediately pivoted on his back foot, using the rebound of our colliding swords to spin into a vicious, horizontal slash aimed directly at my ribs.
"Cortar," he said viciously.
I barely managed to drop the tip of my bokken in time to parry, but the sheer, raw force behind his swing sent me stumbling backward. My boots skidded across the loose soil, kicking up small clouds of dust.
From the edge of the sparring ring, Ging watched the brutal exchange with wide eyes, his stomach tying itself into a tight, anxious knot.
"Harasayuki's fast," Ging muttered nervously, pushing his cracked glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Way too fast. Shujinko is just playing defense. He can barely keep up with him."
Next to him, Saki stood perfectly still, her arms crossed and her glowing red eyes tracking every single movement with terrifying precision. "Tsume is fighting with raw emotion, not discipline," Saki observed, her deadpan voice cutting through the sounds of clashing wood. "He's angry, and he's trying to compensate for his cowardice last night. It makes his strikes fast and heavy, yes, but it also makes him entirely predictable. He's wasting energy on wide arcs."
Ging swallowed hard, a sudden, horrifying realization dawning on him. He slowly turned his head to look at Saki. "Wait a second... if Sensei is making us do in-squad sparring sessions... and those two are fighting right now..." Ging's voice cracked slightly. "That means I have to fight you next."
Saki didn't even look at him. She just kept her eyes on the sparring ring. "Try not to cry when I break your nose, Ging."
Ging let out a soft, pathetic whimper, his shoulders slumping in absolute defeat.
Back in the ring, my situation was rapidly deteriorating. My arms felt like they were made of lead.
Every time I blocked one of Tsume's furious strikes, the bruised ribs from yesterday's ambush screamed in protest. Tsume's pale eye was wide and manic, his lips pulled back in a furious snarl as he relentlessly battered my guard.
"Is this it?!" Tsume yelled, his wooden blade crashing down on mine again. "Is this all the kid who stood up for everyone last night has to offer?!"
I gritted my teeth, trying to push him back, but my footing slipped on the dry dirt. That was all the opening he needed.
Tsume's eyes flashed. He abruptly shifted his weight, feinting a high strike before instantly dropping low.
It wasn't anything I've ever seen before, Grandpa Kyoto never taught me about anything like this. Before my brain could even register the change in his momentum, Tsume brought the blunt edge of his bokken hard against the back of my knees, completely taking my legs out from under me.
As I tipped backward, weightless for a split second, Tsume brought the pommel of his sword down squarely into my chest.
All the air vanished from my lungs in a violent rush. I hit the hard-packed dirt back-first with a sickening thud, a cloud of dust exploding around me. My vision immediately blurred, a ringing sound filling my ears as agonizing pain flared through my battered torso. I gasped like a fish out of water, my wooden sword slipping from my numb fingers and rolling away into the dirt.
Tsume stood over me, his chest heaving slightly. The frantic, feral energy radiating off him suddenly vanished, instantly replaced by his usual, suffocating aura of aristocratic arrogance. He lowered his bokken, resting the tip on the ground as he looked down at me with absolute disgust.
He didn't move to finish the match. He just stood there, letting his guard drop completely as his ego rapidly reinflated.
"Pathetic," Tsume spat, a cruel, mocking smirk spreading across his face. He glanced over at Ayashi, who was standing silently at the edge of the ring. "Call the match, Sensei. This peasant is done,"
He said, as he began cruelly laughing.
"Just look at him, already finished and it hasn't even been two minutes. He doesn't even belong in the same Academy as me, let alone the same squad."
I lay there in the dirt, staring up at the blinding morning sun. My body absolutely refused to move. The pain was an anchor, pinning me to the ground. Tsume's mocking voice sounded muffled and far away. "Is he right?" I thought, my vision swimming. "Am I just too weak for this?"
Tsume had already beaten me on the boat, and now he was proving a point; he would beat me again, and again, and again. Exactly like he said; I'll never be better than him. And I'll never be as good as my father.
Ever.
But just as the darkness started to creep into the edges of my vision, a strange, profound warmth suddenly bloomed deep inside the center of my chest. It was gentle, steady, and incredibly familiar.
"Get up."
The voice echoed directly inside my mind. It's the same reassuring voice I'd heard just last night.
My father's voice.
"A true swordsman never lets his back touch the earth while he still has breath in his lungs. Stand up, son."
The warmth in my chest suddenly flared into a roaring, invisible inferno. A massive surge of pure, unadulterated energy flooded into my bloodstream, instantly washing away the pain, the exhaustion, and the numbness. My eyes snapped wide open, the world shifting into terrifyingly sharp focus. I could see the individual grains of dust floating in the air. I could hear Tsume's rhythmic breathing.
Tsume let out a haughty laugh, turning his back on me to walk away. "What a waste of my tim—"
Driven by instinct and the lingering presence of my father's spirit, I exploded off the ground like a coiled spring. I didn't even bother grabbing my wooden sword. I closed the distance between us in a fraction of a millisecond. Tsume's pale eye widened in sheer horror as he barely registered my movement over his shoulder.
I planted my foot, rotated my hips, and drove my palm squarely into the center of Tsume's chest with every ounce of that strange, surging energy.
The moment my palm connected with Tsume's chest, it felt like the world held its breath.
A sharp crack echoed across the training ground, followed by the sickening sound of air being forced out of his lungs. Tsume's pale eye widened in pure shock. His body lifted clean off the dirt, feet kicking uselessly as he flew backward like a ragdoll.
I stood there, chest heaving, my hand still outstretched. That strange, burning warmth from my father's voice was still surging through me, but it was already starting to fade, leaving my legs shaky and my vision slightly blurred.
Ayashi moved in a blur. In less than a heartbeat, he appeared behind Tsume, catching him just inches before he slammed into the wooden wall of the training yard. The impact still looked brutal. Tsume's legs gave out the second Ayashi let go, and he dropped to his knees in the dirt, breathing hard.
The entire courtyard went dead silent.
I lowered my hand slowly, staring at him. Dust floated in the air between us. My sword lay forgotten somewhere behind me. I could still feel the echo of that palm strike vibrating up my arm.
Ging's voice broke the quiet first.
"Holy crap…" he whispered, eyes wide behind his cracked glasses. He looked between me and Tsume like he couldn't believe what he'd just seen.
"You turned your back," Ayashi said quietly to Tsume. "On an opponent who never yielded. That's how you die out there."
Tsume stayed on his knees for a long moment, head down, shoulders trembling. His breathing was ragged. When he finally lifted his head, his pale eye burned with humiliation, rage, and something deeper—something almost broken.
He pushed himself up on shaky legs. Dirt and sweat streaked his once-pristine uniform. For a second, I thought he might charge at me again. Instead, he just stood there, fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white.
"Pathetic," he muttered, but the word sounded hollow. He couldn't have been talking about me this time.
Without another word, Tsume turned and walked toward the gate. His steps were stiff, like every movement hurt. He didn't look back. The wooden gate creaked loudly as he pushed it open and disappeared beyond the wall.
Saki let out a short, dry scoff. "Honestly, I'm surprised," she noted, uncrossing her arms to rest her hands on her hips.
"Surprised by what?" Ging asked.
"That he didn't try to make up an excuse or something before leaving." Her glowing red eyes watched the dust settle in the empty gateway. "So, who's going to go talk him off the ledge?"
Ging took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he rubbed his tired eyes. "I guess I'll—"
"I'll talk to him," I interrupted, stepping forward just as Ging hooked his glasses back over his ears.
They both looked at me in surprise, but I kept my gaze fixed on the open gate. "He needs to understand that, win or lose, we're teammates now. We're supposed to be pushing each other to get better, not tearing each other down."
I turned and started walking toward the exit, but before I could take more than a few steps, Sensei Ayashi moved into my path and firmly caught my arm.
I looked up at him, half-expecting another harsh lecture. Instead, a faint, knowing smile had formed on his rugged face. "Don't be too boastful to the kid. Stay humble."
I gave Sensei a reassuring nod as I walked out.