“The council cannot proceed without you. The generals are waiting.Yourmotheris waiting.” He looked at me with barely concealed disdain.
Something dangerous flickered in Haru’s eyes. For a moment, I thought he might refuse, might tell this pompous minister exactly where he could shove his war council. Instead, he drew in a breath, and I watched him don his mask—the same neutral expression I’d seen on my father’s face when dealing with difficult lords.
“Of course,” he said. “One moment while I—”
Two servants shot forward, one with a ceramic bowl filled with water and a towel draped across his arm, the other carrying golden robes, perfectly folded and ready for their master’s shoulders.
Haru glanced back at me and muttered so quietly I barely heard him. “Sorry, but no lesson is worth angering my mother. We both have gods we fear.” He chuckled, but I heard only bitterness. Then his head lowered as he said, “We’ll continue this later. You’re doing well, Yoshi, better than I had hoped. Keep practicing what we worked on today.”
He rested a hand on my shoulder, squeezed once, and then pressed abokkeninto my palm. “Use this. It’s got better balance than that stick of yours.”
“But—”
“Keep it. Consider it a gift.” He smiled, lopsided and genuine. “From one speed-cursed idiot to another.”
Then he turned and strode away, his training clothes somehow looking regal despite their simplicity, the Grand Minister, servants, and guards falling in around him like pond water closing over a tossed stone.
And just like that, I stood alone in the ring, holding a prince’sbokken, power still vibrating through my veins. For the first time since my curse had awakened, I felt like I might actually master it, like I might become strong enough to make a difference. Kibo’s face flashed unbidden through my mind. She’d been twelve years old when stolen away. I imagined her eyes, wide with terror, as rough hands dragged her toward ships.
“I’ll find you,” I whispered to the empty training ground. “I swear it, Kibo. When I’m strong enough, I’ll find you.”
Across the yard, the crack of wood drew my eye.
Kaneko and Esumi had resumed their training. I’d been too lost in my own world to notice. Now, watching them, I understood why Haru had been so curious.
Kaneko moved nothing like the other students at Suwa. Hells, he didn’t even move like the Kaneko I’d grown up with.
He was faster, yes, but not magically so. What made him different was the economy of his movements. There was no wasted motion, there were no flourishes, only brutal efficiency. He struck from odd angles, used his smaller size to slip inside Esumi’s guard, and when Esumi pressed him, he didn’t retreat in neat, controlled steps like we’d been taught—he melted away, then reappeared in places he shouldn’t have been able to reachthat quickly, hisbokkenfinding gaps in Esumi’s defense that shouldn’t have existed.
It was stunning and terrifying in equal measure.
They broke apart, both breathing hard, and moved toward the water barrel. I followed, my legs still trembling, Haru’sbokkenfeeling strange and precious in my hands.
“That was intense,” Kaneko said, using a ladle to pour water over his head. Droplets caught the morning light as they ran down his face. “You weren’t holding back.”
“Neither were you.” Esumi accepted the ladle, drank deeply, then fixed Kaneko with a look that held too much knowledge.
“I had a good teacher.” Kaneko shrugged, his face blank.
“Very good.” Esumi’s tone held no judgment, just observation. “A teacher who knew how to kill efficiently rather than honorably. The way you dropped your shoulder before that strike to my ribs—that’s ashinobitechnique, meant to make your opponent expect a high attack while you go low.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Kaneko.” Esumi’s voice was gentle. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just . . . curious. How does a fisherman’s son learn to fight like a trained assassin?”
The silence stretched. The yard suddenly felt like the most uncomfortable place in the Empire. I wanted to defend him, to tell Esumi to back off, but the truth was that I’d been wondering the same thing. Not the whole assassin thing, exactly—Kaneko would never turn to darkness—but something was off about his story. It had never felt right, if I was honest with myself.
“I trained in the capital,” Kaneko said finally, the words coming slowly and carefully. “There are places in Bara where they teach different skills, different ways of fighting.”
“To people like you?” Esumi asked.
“To people who want to survive.”
Esumi nodded slowly, accepting the non-answer for what it was. “Fair enough. Just know that if you ever want to talk about it—”
“I don’t.”
Another silence stretched, this one even more uncomfortable than the last.
