The sun rose gently above Temple Suwa, painting the mountains gold and filling the air with birdsong. The horror of the prior day’s attack felt distant, almost dreamlike, as if the night had washed it clean. There was still a feeling of intention in everyone’s movements, of anticipation, something of foreboding; and yet there was also a sense of purpose and direction.
Decisions had been made, a course charted.
Samurai moved through their morning rituals, checking weapons, adjusting armor, preparing for a day that promised no immediate danger though wary one might arise. Monks swept paths and tended gardens, their movements a meditation made physical. The familiar sounds of training filled the air—the crack ofbokken, the rhythmic breathing ofkata, the occasional bark of correction from a master or the snap of a reed against skin.
It felt almost normal.
Almost.
Kaneko walked beside me as we strode toward the training yard. I couldn’t stop stealing glances in the morning light. He’d borrowed another of my robes and this one fit even worse, pulling tight across his chest and arms every time he moved.
“Stop glaring,” Kaneko murmured.
“I’m not glaring. You wear the practicekimonowell,” I said through a snicker.
“You’re glaring at that first-year who’s staring.”
“He should stare elsewhere,” I snapped.
“Jealous much?”
“Protective,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”
His laugh was warm and easy, so different from the shadows I’d glimpsed in his eyes the night before. Whatever had been troubling him seemed lighter this morning.
We joined my training group in the circle. Daichi shot Kaneko a look that promised retribution for the throat-grab. Kenta cracked his knuckles meaningfully. Even Teshi seemed wound tighter than usual.
Master Hachan led us through breathing exercises designed to calm and empty the mind, but I could feel the tension. Everyone wanted to see what would happen when we moved to combat training.
They didn’t have to wait long.
“Bokken,” Master Hachan commanded as meditation ended. We moved to the weapons rack and selected our practice swords. “Standard forms to begin.”
We fell into the familiar patterns, but I couldn’t focus. Kaneko stood watching at the edge of the ring, his presence tugging at my attention like a lodestone. After the third time Master Hachan’s reed found my shoulder for sloppy footwork, I decided to take a chance.
“Master,” I said, bowing. “I request permission to spar.”
“With whom?” Though his tone suggested he already knew.
“With him.” I pointed to Kaneko. “We have a score to settle.”
A smile played at my lips, and Kaneko’s answering grin was pure challenge.
“From childhood?” Master Hachan asked.
“From yesterday,” Kaneko said, stepping forward. “He claimed I only got lucky when we were young. I’d like to prove otherwise.”
The other students perked up. This was far more interesting than repeating akatawe’d performed a thousand times.
Master Hachan considered, then nodded. “Very well. First to three points.”
As Kaneko selected abokkenand entered the ring, I saw other masters gathering. Word was spreading. Prince Haru’s mysterious companion was about to fight.
Kaneko rolled his shoulders, loosening up, and that’s when I first noticed it—reallynoticed it. The way he moved was completely different. Gone was the rough fisherman’s shuffle I remembered. This was something else entirely. His movements were fluid and dangerously beautiful.
We stepped into the ring and circled each other. He spun thebokkenin his hand with casual expertise.
“Ready to eat dirt, Yosh?” he asked pleasantly.
