"Namu Amida Butsu, Om Hrih Hrih Om, Shōji jōju, Heiwa no tame ni, Tenshi no hibi ni, Mugen no koti uda..."
The elder monk's resonant voice sang the concluding lines of the afternoon prayer, officially wrapping up a gruelling day of calligraphy and scripting lessons.
"Tch. Why do we even have to waste our time learning these mundane strokes?" Mai spat, thoroughly uninterested as she tossed her brush aside and strode out of the classroom. "I mastered these exact characters when I was a mere child."
"Exactly. It's an education meant for the illiterate common folk," another high-born student chimed in haughtily, gathering their silks. "I still don't comprehend why the great clans would even grant those gutter-born peasants a chance to sit in these halls."
"So, Watanabe… is your hair going to stay stiff like that forever?" Gabimaru asked, a loud, mocking laugh bursting from his throat as he gestured toward the boy. "Look at you, Shiraga!"
The insult hung in the air.
(Shiraga, a term mocking those whose hair turns grey prematurely from sheer, pathetic stress, a stinging jab for an elite youth.)
"You are one to talk, you freaky Tokage," Watanabe retorted smoothly, shooting a sharp glance over toward Gabimaru's arm.
Watanabe's eyes lingered on Gabimaru's hand. It had miraculously returned, appearing completely pristine, as if the flesh had never been severed in the first place.
But beneath his outward bravado, a cold sweat broke across Gabimaru's neck. 'I may be laughing and joking on the outside… but this damn Watanabe is significantly stronger than he was before,' Gabimaru analysed internally, his newly restored hand tightening into a rigid fist. 'What the hell actually happened to them when they deployed to that island? The rumours say they clashed with an incredibly high-tier monster out there… Was it the one that made all those people turn?!'
A fierce, desperate ambition flared behind Gabimaru's eyes as he recalled his own crushing defeat during the Deity Gate incident. 'I can't let him surpass me. Not him. I will adapt and grow stronger through any means necessary... I will never allow myself to be completely overwhelmed like that ever again.'
'Yeah, it makes sense. I have never witnessed craftsmanship quite like it,' Yorimitsu mused internally, his sharp eyes lingering on Gabimaru's limb. 'I can perceive a subtle, intricately woven flow of Reiryoku radiating from it. To a normal person, it would look exactly as if his arm had simply grown back naturally.'
Standing up from his seat, Yorimitsu began to spin with future tactical possibilities. 'I wonder if I can eventually convince him to forge a similar treasured tool for Father.'
The moment he rose, Shion, clad securely in her male disguise, stood up fluidly, maintaining her silent vigilance as she followed a half-step behind him.
'She is relying on that male disguise again,' Yorimitsu noted quietly to himself as they navigated the crowded corridors. 'I suppose she is hiding her true identity from someone powerful within these walls.'
They made their way toward the dusty courtyard of the training grounds. The remainder of the afternoon bled away seamlessly, spent in a blur of intense, clashing sparring matches until the fading light signalled the approach of the evening meal.
As the other students began to pack away their practice blades and disperse, Yorimitsu remained perfectly stationary. His gaze was locked firmly onto the expansive skies above, watching in silent fascination as the celestial colours slowly shifted from a brilliant blue into a bruised, deep crimson and a fiery, bleeding orange.
"Taisho, aren't you coming to the mess hall?" Gabimaru called out, pausing in the courtyard as he noticed Yorimitsu standing there in a completely daze-like state.
There was no response.
"Taisho…?" Gabimaru called out once more, his brow furrowing slightly.
"No, you go on ahead. I have somewhere pressing I need to be," Yorimitsu spoke smoothly, finally turning away from the fields and directing his steady footsteps back toward the grand, imposing architecture of the Chōdō buildings.
'Hmm… what exactly is going on with him?' Watanabe thought, watching his leader depart. 'He seems remarkably distracted these past few days.'
With a quiet shrug, Watanabe turned and began walking forward toward the dining halls, flanked closely by Shion and Gabimaru.
Meanwhile, as Yorimitsu walked completely alone through the quiet, lengthening shadows of the Chōdō district, a sudden voice fractured the eerie silence, calling down to him from above.
"Minamoto-kun."
Yorimitsu's footsteps instantly froze. He snapped his head upward, his eyes widening. Perched with absolute, weightless grace atop the tiled roof of one of the grand administrative buildings was Lord Yasamusa.
"Ha?!" Yorimitsu breathed, thoroughly taken aback as the legendary commander looked down at him through the twilight.
Yorimitsu pushed off the ground, executing a fluid, weightless leap that carried him seamlessly up onto the tiled roof to join Yasamusa.
"Is it truly appropriate for an esteemed instructor to be idling atop rooftops like this?" Yorimitsu asked, adjusting his posture. "Isn't this precisely the kind of poor behaviour you are supposed to be teaching us not to do?"
"Tch. What are you, a lecturing old man?" Yasamusa retorted, lazily turning his head toward the youth.
"No!" Yorimitsu responded quickly. Internally, his pulse spiked. 'Shit, he completely startled me.'
"Well, if you aren't an old man, then why be such a strict stickler for the rules?" Yasamusa chuckled, looking back out over the sprawling school. "Young people should be rebellious. That's the only way the stale status quo ever actually changes."
"Yeah, yeah… whatever you say," Yorimitsu replied, waving his hand dismissively as he sat down on the angled ceramic tiles. His gaze instantly drifted toward the small arrangement Yasamusa had set up: a warm bottle of sake, two pristine ceramic cups, and a small assortment of side snacks.
"So… were you waiting up here for someone?"
"Yeah," Yasamusa responded flatly.
"Who?"
"You."
"Ha! You don't say..." Yorimitsu muttered aloud, while his mind raced with apprehension. 'That shouldn't be possible. How could he have known with absolute certainty that I was coming to find him tonight?'
"So, have you finally come to a definitive decision?" Yasamusa inquired, lifting the ceramic bottle of sake and handing it across to Yorimitsu. He raised his empty cup slightly, gesturing with an unspoken command for the youth to pour. "Will you accept my request?"
Yorimitsu took the weight of the bottle in his hand, leaning forward to respectfully fill Yasamusa's cup first before pouring a measure for himself.
"I haven't… not yet," Yorimitsu admitted.
"Not yet, huh…?" Yasamusa echoed, his tone dragging out the vowels with amused patience.
"Yeah, not yet," Yorimitsu confirmed, staring directly into the clear liquid of his cup. "But I am highly inclined to do so, provided you answer a few of my questions first."