The world really did seem so much smaller when I was a child. All the fond memories I have of Kumogakure and only now that I return as a man do I realize how little of my own home I really knew. Back then, if things weren’t relevant to the small bubble I called my life I paid them no mind. No wonder I’m having such difficulty deciphering these directions that were given to me. One would think that someone who spent the majority of their lives in one city would have a better understanding of the main roads and thoroughfares. At least well enough to be able to approximate the location of a training dojo.

After about 20 minutes of circling the same few blocks, I was finally able to find the training location that was recommended to me back in the capital. To tell you the truth, I never really did intend to come here. I figured being back home to train in the shinobi arts, the last thing I needed was more lessons from someone affiliated with the military academy, especially if they were just going to make me go through the old drills that I’ve done countless times already. I thought that at least about my kenjutsu, but even I have to admit that I’ve grown too reliant on that one style. My western swordsmanship has grown embarrassingly dull and rusty. I can’t possibly rely on it in any combat situation in my current state.

Of course I would prefer to do my training on my own, uninhibited by outsiders or unnecessary restrictions, but that’s simply not an option in this case. When it’s not merely a matter of polishing already existing skills, but completely rebuilding the foundation of a knowledge base the most effective method of learning is to find an instructor who is well-versed in the skills and information you seek to give you guidance and keep you from falling into bad habits. The last thing I need is to develop some inefficient tick in my swordsmanship that hinders my progress down the road. There are no shortcuts to mastery of a skill. Practice does not make perfect. Practice makes permanent. Perfect practice makes perfect.

As I pushed open the door to the establishment, an old bell rang, presumably to alert the owner of the dojo of a visitor. Within a moment, a small, older man came shuffling slowly from the back, greeting me as the instructor and asking what business I had with him. I paused for a moment, confused at how the situation had unfolded. Surely this couldn’t be the sword master I was told resided here. He was certainly a far cry from the instructors back at the academy, even if only in stature alone. I had my reservations, but considering I had come here seeking help, it wasn’t like I was in a position to be nitpicking. After reaching into my pocket to retrieve the recommendation to train there, I handed him the folded paper and waited for a response.

---

520~

What followed was what I could only describe as an eternity of awkward silence as I awaited any hint of a reaction or acknowledgement of the message’s contents. There was however, none to be found. Silently I waited, and was intent on waiting there as long as it took. There was training to be done and there were an infinite number of reasons for the silence as the elderly man faced down at the letter. Perhaps he had difficulty seeing, as was common in older people, and he didn’t exactly look young and spry. Maybe it was as simple as him not being a strong reader. He was recommended for his combat skills after all, not necessarily his wisdom or sagely insight. The last thing I needed was to offer him assistance with something as simple as reading a letter, being wrong, insulting him, and being cast out of the dojo before I received any instruction at all.

The seconds on the antique clock hanging on the wall to my left kept ticking away, stretching the limits of my patience further and further with each passing moment. Was this some kind of test? That had to be it. Surely he was testing my discipline with this long, anxiety inducing, and extremely awkward pause in the conversation. It was without a doubt some kind of test, drawn from countless years of experience and wisdom meant to measure the capacity of a prospective student to show the patience necessary to spend years developing an unshakable foundation in the art of combat as Ryuusei had. Wait, is he fucking snoring?

I’m going to go ahead and stop the story here for a moment to go ahead and attempt to explain to the audience how absolutely fucking furious I was in this moment. Have you ever been so livid that you actually think you felt something pop inside of your brain? Like, you as a human being lose signal for a second and get the grey static screen displayed on old television sets when there is no channel available. Now imagine the signal returns a moment later, but everything in the world is blood red and drowning in a sea of fire, dying a slow agonizing death. Not imagine that 10 times worse and you’ll understand why I was about 5 seconds from setting fire to this narcoleptic old man’s home with him still in it while he slept like an inconsiderate little…

Wait, no, what? Get it together, Ryuusei. There is a point to this story: a brief recounting of the events that transpired during your training with the old man. After all, it all turned out alright in the end. So we can just look past the fact that he seemed to have absolutely no issue with wasting your time after you had spent the better part of the last hour searching up and down the streets for his run down, hole in the wall studio… completely ignoring any semblance of etiquette or respect for one’s guest… You know what? Continue.

---

515 | 1035~

In a comical fit of rage, I would immediately grab the giant zanbato on the wall beside us, yanking it off the wall and swinging it, flat-surface down, right at the old man, as if trying to crush him in a single swing. My attack would prove to be unsuccessful however, as the loud clanking of the sword hitting the floor was suspiciously devoid of any of the sounds that typically accompany a crushed human man. “Oh, so now he’s awake,” I think to myself as I noticed he had taken a single step to the side and out of harm’s way. But I wasn’t done there. There was no way I was letting such an insult go without punishment. Again I swung, this time horizontally, only for the old man to bend at an almost impossible angle backwards as if he were playing limbo. Further irritated I would swing again, this time a low strike aimed at his ankles, only to have him perform a small, single hop over the blade.

At this point I was visibly irate, now foregoing these single, deliberate slashes in favor of rage-fueled flurries, all of which he dodged with minimal movement and seemingly no effort. Obviously this only served to anger me further, but wielding that giant weapon had left me somewhat exhausted. I had some training in the use of great swords and large weapons, but none were that heavy. And besides, I was always kind of pushed towards the katana as a primary weapon anyway, to which I have no qualms. They are light, sharp, and balanced. I have no idea how anyone is going around wielding a monstrosity like the blade I was holding and not being fatigued and inconvenienced from the sheer mass of it, let alone trying to hit an opponent who isn’t standing still.

I stopped my assault for the time being, just barely holding the heavy weapon above the ground as I took a moment to catch my breath. In all that time the old man had still not moved a muscle. It was abundantly clear to me that wildly swinging my weapon was not going to get me anywhere with this man. He may have been a fool, but his ability to completely avoid taking any damage and staying composed as if he had not had to move at all was impressive. I could now see why he came so highly recommended by the capital. There was more to this old man than it appeared.

It was time I admitted defeat. My efforts would bear no fruit against a master like him. I was out of my league… for now. “Alright, you win,” you admitted with a sigh as I let the weapon drop from my hands, thudding down loudly against the hard wooden floor,“I acknowledge your abilities. My bukijutsu is not a match for you. Now since you’ve received the letter of  recommendation for me to train here from the capital, what is your response?”

---

509 | 1544~

1500/1500: Swordsmanship Training.

Panting from exhaustion and defeated, I bowed my head to the school’s master and awaited his response, only to be met with another moment of awkward silence. Obviously this had to be some kind of cruel joke, right? Was the old man now mocking me after watching my inability to so much as touch him despite all of my efforts. Maybe this was his intention from the start, to feign sleeping to draw a reaction from me. Once I was provoked he would proceed to demonstrate how vast the skill gap between us was and his silence was his final attack on my pride. How cruel. As it stood though, I was in no position to object or complain about the circumstances. I had lost.

With a sigh I lowered my head and conceded defeat. In that moment however, the old man would raise his head quickly, apparently startled. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he began with a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his head, “I have the habit of dozing off from time to time. I guess that it’s just one of those things that happens when you get to be an old man like me. Nothing a young person like you needs to worry about I’m sure. You said you had a message for me?”

What was there for me to say? I could have gotten angry again, but that really wouldn’t have accomplished anything. Perhaps this was just one of the old man’s quirks that I would have to deal with if I was serious about my training. I now saw why his name was so highly spoken of back at the capital. The whole ordeal make me furious, but I couldn’t also help but be somewhat impressed. It wasn’t like I wasn’t really trying to land a blow on him, he just avoided them all. In his sleep too, apparently. Is this what they refer to as the instincts of a master warrior? If he was capable of that unconsciously on instinct alone, I needed to see the extent of his skills when he was willingly making his actions. My time coming here might not have been wasted after all.

“Yes,” I replied, “You’re holding it.”

“Oh, how embarrassing,” he answered before looking down at the paper once more to begin reading. Another long silence followed, prompting me to raise my hand to his ear and snap my fingers loudly with a decidedly grumpy look on my face. He would awake startled once more, confirming my suspicions that he had fallen back asleep. Somehow I managed to prevent the rather nasty comment I had thought of from slipping out of my mouth and feigned a smile to allow him to finish. “Oh right. Yes, yes, yes. You’re here for training, right? Recommended by the daimyo’s office themselves. Someone has some rather far reaching connections, hmm? Sorry to have you come all the way out here for nothing. I’m currently not taking in any students, letter from the capital or not.”

---

516 | 2060~

(560 remaining)

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I thought to myself, rage bubbling forth from my very soul, though my external appearance revealed nothing but shock at the rejection. The man’s complete disregard for manners or etiquette was more than enough of an insult to someone with an upbringing like me, but then to be turned away by such a man? This would not stand. This could not stand. I had not made the trip all the way here just to return empty handed without even so much as an explanation. A teacher had the right to decline students, but he would turn away a prospective student even at the request of the capital. What did he want? Money? I’ll pay him if I have to. Money could always be earned, but instruction from a master and training were invaluable to both shinobi and samurai alike. There had to be something.

“And might I ask why?” I replied reluctantly, fighting back my urge to shout in frustration, “This is a school after all. The sign outside says as much, although it doesn’t appear that you get very much traffic. You would turn away a student even with a personal recommendation from the military academy in the capital. Are you not associated with them? They seem to think very highly of you. If this is a matter of payment, I don’t expect to receive your efforts with nothing in return. If it’s money you want, I can pay.”

The old man sighed as he crossed his arms behind his back. “All of you ‘prospective students’ from the capital are always the same,” he began, his previously serene expression turning stern along with his tone, “The fact that you call yourselves students of the art of bukijutsu is nothing short of a joke. The education and training they provide at the academy is excellent. I would know, I designed the curriculum. I have yet to encounter a single one of you graduates who is not skilled. However, I have no interest in teaching ladder climbers who have no aspiration for their skills other than personal glory and status. That is not what I signed up for when I agreed to teach at the academy over sixty years ago. That’s why I left. You all come here and think that your money or family name can buy my time. Your arrogance is the reason I will never teach another student recommended by that academy. You don’t truly desire to be trained, you desire another shiny addition to your resume. As long as your pride is the only thing driving you, you shall never be a student of mine.”

The mood in the room had done a complete 180 in almost an instant. This previously jovial and almost comic relief of a man had suddenly changed his very aura. Despite his diminutive stature, the presence he was now giving off made him seem like the largest man in the room. With each word he spoke that thundered through the dojo, I felt smaller and smaller.

---

519 | 2579~

(1079 remaining)

“I see,” I said in a hushed tone, humbled by the old man’s words and daunting presence. While I did not share the sentiment he believed that all graduates of my academy did, seeking guidance from him only to improve their status and prestige with his name recognition, it was not lost on me that never once in this whole situation had I stopped to consider the interests or feelings of any party involved in this other than myself. I fully expected my family and the recommendation from the capital to take care of everything for me, just like it had for these past eight years. I expected even a venerable master such as he to simply comply without ever considering what the situation might be for him. How foolish I had become in these past eight years.

I would then spend a moment or two pondering my next course of action silently, although given the way things had progressed, those few moments of silence felt like an eternity. Given how his response was previously and just how strongly he seemed to feel about his stance on the academy and its graduates, it didn’t appear that there would be any chance of him changing his mind. Also, he was not incorrect about the politicking nature of those children whose father’s held a seat in court and used any opportunity they could to climb the social ladder. Years of experience had likely taught him that the young men who approached him under these circumstances being like that was a virtual certainty. It was unlikely that any kind words would convince him otherwise.

“I apologize,” I began, breaking the silence and looking the old man dead in the eyes, “In my eagerness to train I seem to have committed a faux pas.” I bowed my head slightly to him as I continued. “In my selfishness I did not for one moment stop to consider what your position on this might be. I simply assumed that the letter from the capital would sway you. I did not believe previously that they would have sent me somewhere to train that would have turned me away because of the very letter they wrote me. I can’t speak for the other graduates from the academy that you’ve encountered, apparently that number is quite large, but I also can not dismiss your claims about the nature of people in the capital in general as false. I didn’t move to the capital until I was already old enough to decide what kind of person I wanted to be. I never subscribed to the politicking and brown nosing that went on within the academy, much to the chagrin of many an instructor. If your concern is that I’m simply here to use your name for my own personal prestige, I assure you it is not. I will deny ever having come here and you can deny ever having taught me a thing with a clean conscious. My only ambition for coming to you is to become stronger.”

---

515 | 3094~

1500/1500: Swordsmanship
1500/1500: Onojutsu (Complete)

(94 words left)

From the look of his face alone, it didn’t appear that my words had any kind of effect on the old man’s attitude. He still stared at me sternly with that same, unimpressed, unsympathetic expression that had emerged after he read the recommendation. “Of course you believe that you are somehow different,” he began in reply, “Each one of you is special and worthy of anything they desire, aren’t you; you kids from the capital. Do you think that you are the first person who has been turned away only to reply with what they think I want to hear? How arrogant you are. I’ve been alive for a long time, young man. I’ve met more than enough people who use pretty words to mask ugly intentions. Simple words will not convince me of anything. They cost you nothing to say, but stand to gain you everything you wish. If you do not even understand this, then you aren’t ready to learn here even if I had agreed to train you.”

This was proving to be more difficult than I had anticipated. Obviously I should have known that someone who was obviously jaded and fed up with requests of exactly this nature by people in my position was not just going to take what I had to say at face value. He was right. He’d probably heard it all before, over and over again by people like me that were lying through their teeth just to try and get their way. My words were truthful, but words alone would not be alone to sway his opinion, and I couldn’t blame him for that. I respected his position, but I was determined not to let this stand. Even if I did not receive the training I came for, I was not going to let my name be associated with the type of person he believed I was. My honor was at stake and I needed to conjure up a way to convince him that I was not who he thought I was, but words would not be enough. I needed to show him I was different.

It was at that moment that the idea hit me. He believed that I was no different than so many in my position that had sought him out before me. He believed me to be arrogant and self-serving, allowing my pride and ambition to dictate my actions on a path to improve my status and personal image at any cost. Add that to the fact that no words I could speak would shake his resolve and the only choice left was a demonstration of why it was that I was different. I would need to sacrifice my own pride. With a deep sigh I would close my eyes, never once turning away from him as I waited a moment, putting side a momentary feeling of doubt that had begun to creep in. There was no time for that. There was only what needed to be done. Saying nothing further I would prostrate myself in front of the man, a symbol of reverence and humility. One that I had not used in a very long time.

---

539 | 3633

(653 remaining)

An extremely long period of silence followed my taking that prostrated position, just as one seemed to follow every moment of tension in our interaction. I did not bother to raise my head to gauge his reaction based on his facial expression. He would say something eventually. He would need to. Otherwise I would just spend the rest of my day here on this floor or however long I needed to in order to convince him of my dedication to training and my character. There was no guarantee that this would get him to agree to train me, but it was humiliating, and should have been enough at least to make him rethink his rushed opinion of me.

The old man looked down at me surprised, then curiously, and then sternly once more. “What are you doing?” he asked. At that point I wasn’t sure if he was trying to provoke me or what, but the answer to his question should have been obvious. We both knew what I was doing and how difficult doing something like this was for a person with even an ounce of pride. Was it some manner of test? If him trying to bait me into saying what I was doing out loud was meant to be an irritant, he had succeeded.

I sighed deeply before working up the nerve to give him a response. “I thought that it would be fairly obvious,” I said reluctantly, face still pointed towards the floor, “But you’re really going to make me say it out loud, aren’t you? Alright then. I’m prostrating myself at your feet. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To see me take an action that involves me sacrificing my own pride and humiliating myself? You can decide not to train me. You can say I’m not worth your time and it will be your right to do so. I will not however, sit idly by as you attack my name and character so casually. That is an offense that I cannot simply let slide and write off as a product of your own negative experiences with people who you perceive to be in my position.”

Having made my demonstration and said my piece, I would raise myself up from the ground and stand opposite of him, face to face (Or rather, as close as we could get with the height disparity). He said nothing in response right away, instead staring me down incredulously, giving me the opportunity to speak my mind. “While I respect your experience and reported skill as a master in your craft, I cannot say the same about how presumptuous you have been with me,” I said while returning his glare, unwavering, “Despite all of your criticisms of young people and graduates from the capital, your perception of how people are is skewed. You’ve allowed your past experiences to taint your sense of reason. You have become cynical and jaded. Is that the type of person who really is in the position to be so critical of others, especially those who come to him for help?”

---

523 | 4156~

(1156 remaining)

Prior to that comment, the old master’s face had been stern, but mostly calm, never showing too much emotion either way. My words however, seemed to have quite the effect on him. His previously unmoving facial expression would instead be replaced by an expression of shock and anger. Just by appearances it seemed that he was not used to being called out himself for his biases. His brows furrowed harshly, causing the noticeable wrinkles on his face to become even more prominent. His nostrils flared wide and his eyes widened, filled with anger. Even his breathing pattern had changed, becoming less natural and more deliberate, an obvious sign that he was becoming agitated.

“Get out,” the old man said, struggling to hold back his anger and maintain his composure, “I will not be spoken to like a child by some insolent brat who knows nothing of the world. You’re far too green to be criticizing my world views, boy. A cheeky brat like you will never have a place in my dojo. Now get out of my sight.”

I would slowly bring myself to my feet, not making any sudden movements as to provoke him further, but also to force him to stand there and look at me for just a bit longer. This man was lauded not only for his combat skills, but by the strength of his character. It was supposedly that strong moral fiber that caused him to disassociate himself with the academy, but life had apparently stolen that from him. It was truly disappointing. What I felt when he rattled off his venomous words was not anger or contempt, but sadness. Few things were more saddening to a warrior than to see a once great warrior fall from grace. Death in battle was historically glorified in many warrior cultures for a reason. Not even the greatest warrior can defeat time. And time is not an enemy that fights with honor. Time is underhanded. It will make your muscles, bones, and eventually even your mind turn against the lifestyle you once led. For one to forsake everything they once stood for. That is truly the worst “death” for a warrior.

“I see,” I said calmly, staring him straight in the eye as I spoke, “My mistake. My words were truly out of line. If I had realized sooner that I had come to the wrong place, we may have been able to avoid a great deal of unnecessary tension. My apologies. I thought this was where I could find the great warrior Sagara Tateyama. A hero of the lightning country. A man as legendary for his strength of character as the strength of his blade. You see, I was very much looking forward to meeting a man who held his own beliefs in such high esteem that he was willing to turn his back on life in the graces of the daimyo. That was a man worth meeting. You are around the age he might have been, so I just assumed that was you. It is now clear to me now though… you are not the man I was looking for.”

---

526 | 4682~

1500/1500 Swordsmanship
1500/1500 Onojutsu
1500/1500 Sojutsu

(182 remaining)

The tension in the air between the two of us could be cut with a knife. Both of us knew full well what I was implying with my rather sarcastic apology and I couldn’t imagine that someone who had previously reacted so strongly against being called out would somehow be ok with it now. Yet again there was silence, but this time it only lasted long enough for me to get a read on his reaction to my comments. Once I had seen that my words were not getting through to him the way I wished they had there was no point in me sticking around to exchange words any further. Neither of us were interested in small talk, especially with each other.

I did not even bother saying goodbye before I turned away from the old man and moved towards the front door. It may have been bad manners, but my better judgement told me that he had absolutely zero interest in observing niceties with me at the moment. As agitated as he looked just before I turned my back on him he might have been just as likely to take a swing at me as he would be to have any kind of civil dialogue. It seems that I had struck a nerve – not that I didn’t intend to. It was always an easy target, a warrior’s pride. For an old man who had discarded prestige in favor of his personal code, his pride and his honor might have been all he had. There was no easier way to get a point across than by using that.

As I pulled open the door, the small bell hanging on it rung aloud, serving as the only sound cutting through the dead silence that hung over the room like a shadow. I would then walk straight out the door, fully expecting to never return to this place. It was more than obvious I was no longer welcome. It was a shame, really. After all, whether or not the old man agreed to it specifically, the need for me to work on my skills and train would not just disappear. I needed to find a new place to train. I took a single glance back at the dojo that I had gone so far out of my way to locate, accepting that it was not the place I expected it to be, which was unfortunate. The only thing left for me to do at that point was head home and do some research of my own to find a substitute dojo to continue my weapons training.

---

438 | 5120~

(120 remaining)

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Shit,” I grunt incoherently as I struggle to roll over onto my left shoulder. This was without a doubt the worst part of the day – being woken up by this obnoxious little device. My right arm would swing over to the nightstand which the alarm clock was sitting on, my finger desperately searching for the small, black, plastic rectangle that existed solely to be the bane of my existence every morning. Carefully, or as carefully as it was going to get at this time (Not very apparently, because I was sure I knocked over half of what was previously sitting on my nightstand before even reaching the alarm clock), I ran my fingertips over the wood until I eventually found the top of the alarm clock where the buttons were located. At that point, all that care I was taking and that soft touch went out the window and my only course of action was to ball my hand into a fist and begin slamming down on the top of the alarm clock until the beeping stopped.

“Why are alarm clocks even made to be so obnoxious anyway?” I thought to myself as I rolled over once again and let my eyes close, “My mornings would probably go so much smoother if I didn’t have a fire alarm going off right next to my ear every morning. Something more mellow would be nice. Maybe some nice instrumentals or some smooth jazz… or one of those “Sound of Nature” tapes. Yeah, that would be good….zzz.”

At that time, my eyes would grow heavy once more as my consciousness began to drift back into sleep. I was so relaxed… until my alarm went off again less than 5 minutes later. Apparently I hadn’t turned off the alarm clock when I was banging on the machine. I had only hit the snooze button. Great. I never did like getting up in the morning. No, perhaps a more accurate description would be that I fucking hate getting up early. Years of being forced to do otherwise, however, was hard to shake, as evidenced by the fact that now that I was up, I would find himself unable to return to sleep. My body was used to getting up early for training, apparently, and now even after that ship with the old man’s dojo had sailed, I was up like I had something to do.

I laid in bed for a moment, seething at the idea of having to get up and find something to do to occupy my time this early in the morning, but ultimately forced myself out of bed and proceeded with what was a largely uneventful morning. I jumped in the shower, got dressed, made myself some coffee, put on some music and sat down at my kitchen table to plan out what I needed to do for that day. The first thing that came to mind was the fact that I needed to get in contact with someone who could point me in the direction of a new place to train since the last recommendation was a dead end.

---

527 | 5647~

My previously peaceful morning would soon be interrupted, however, by a knock at my front door. My immediate reaction was one of sheer annoyance due to how early in the morning it was. My second reaction was that something must have happened that required my urgent presence. That was the only reason I could think of for anyone to be knocking at my door before 7am. My mind immediately jumped to my parents back in the capital and hoping that nothing was wrong. Putting my coffee mug down I hurried to the front of the house to answer the door, making no effort or showing any concern about my appearance. Whatever this messenger had to say, he could say it just as well if I were in a suit or in my pajamas. All that mattered was that I got the message.

When I opened the door, to my surprise, there was no one there. “Strange,” I thought to myself as my eyes darted side to side, searching for any clue as to who might have been at my door previously. The sound of someone clearing their throat would break my focus on my surroundings and draw my attention towards my feet where the old master from the day before stood. I had no idea what the hell could have possibly brought him to my place of living, especially at this time in the morning, but the disgruntled look on his face made it clear that he still wasn’t happy with me. How did he even get my address, anyway?

We stared at each other for a moment, in complete silence once again (some things never change), this time not necessarily to get a read on each other. He had knocked on my door at an unreasonably early hour, not even 24 hours since banishing me from his dojo. I wanted an explanation and wasn’t budging until he started talking. I wasn’t exactly sure what he was waiting for, but for whatever reason he didn’t seem too keen on explaining himself on his own. I would not be bailing him out of this situation though. I had no reason to do him that favor, but since he wasn’t interested in explaining himself I would just assume he had nothing to say and turn back into my house to begin closing the door.

---

397 | 6044~

1500/1500 Swordsmanship
1500/1500 Onojutsu
1500/1500 Sojutsu
1500/1500 Kyuujutsu

(44 remaining)

Before I could shut the door completely thought, it would come to a stop. Something had wedged itself into the doorway to obstruct its path. “W-wait,” the old man called out from behind me, prompting me to turn around and look down, only to see it was he who had got into the doorway and was holding it open, “Don’t just turn around and walk away. I came here for a reason. I have something to say.”

The first thing I noticed when he spoke was how drastically his facial expression had changed. Gone was the stern look he had been sporting since the day before, instead replaced by the one he had when they first met. Or rather, as close as it could have been to that first day with the fact that the old master was doing anything he could to avoid looking me directly in the eyes when he spoke. “Well, at least it seems like he’s in a better mood today than he was yesterday,” I thought to myself as I continued to look straight at him, my facial expression unimpressed with his explanation, “I suppose I should at least hear what he has to say.”

“Well,” I began in a tone that made it all too clear that I was not in the mood for small talk or beating around the bush – it was far too early for that, “Considering that you made it clear yesterday that you had no intention of training me at your school, much less chatting it up like old friends. I’d say I’m justified in walking away before any further problems ensue. You said you came here for a reason, didn’t you. Out with it. If you have something you want to say to me that couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour, then speak up.”

The old man seemed somehow disheartened by my obviously standoffish demeanor. Amusing considering that he was offering me an even more aggressive attitude only the day before. I suppose that little cue should have given me an indication that he felt some modicum of guilt about how things had transpired the previous day. “It’s a bit chilly,” he replied, rubbing the back of his head nervously as he forced a laugh “Early morning in the mountains and all. You wouldn’t want an old man like me to freeze to death out here, would you? My body isn’t as resilient as it used to be.”

…

I glared at the old man harshly, clearly irritated with whatever games he was trying to play. “Fine,” I answered bluntly, turning away from him, “I suppose you’ve already disturbed me while most of the village is still sleeping. You might as well come in.” Once inside my home I would step to the side by the door, waving my hand to invite him inside in a way that clearly showed my irritation with him. Once he trotted inside on his stubby little legs I would close the door behind him and direct him to the kitchen.

---

517 | 6561

I would very casually pull out a chair from the table as I passed by, letting it rest wherever my hand happened to be with little concern for where it was placed, and pointed at it to direct him where to sit as I made my way behind the counter. Pulling out a second mug from the cabinet to my left, I would begin pouring coffee into it as well as refilling my own mug. “You drink coffee, right?” I asked in a disinterested manner, but still conscious enough of my manners to offer something to drink to my guest as a host.”

Having already taken his seat, the old man seemed to react well to the offer, although coffee seemingly wasn’t his thing. “I’m not much of a coffee drinker, myself,” he answered, adjusting himself into the chair that stood much taller than he did, causing his legs to dangle off the side, “I’m more of a tea man myself. I’ll take some tea if you have it.”

I simply looked at him with a dead expression for a moment. After what happened yesterday he intrudes on my morning at an unreasonable hour and is asking me to go out of my way to prepare him tea? Yeah, right. “I have coffee,” I said in an irritated tone as I roughly placed the mug down on the table in front of him before retreating to the counter and leaning back against it.

“Wonderful,” he replied hesitantly, no doubt sensing my rapidly fading patience with him, “Well, this will do just fine then, thank you. How about some milk or sugar to dull the bitterness a bit?”

“No,” I answered immediately, glaring at him from behind my mug as I took a sip of the bitter black coffee that I had served the two of us. This was not a cordial visit, nor did I have any intention of making him feel welcome or at home. He had not done that for me. He would drink what was given to him or he would go thirsty. “So, are you going to talk?”

“Ah, right,” he began looking down at the coffee in his mug as if the words he was looking for were going to pop out of it, “Well, I suppose I need to apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was wrong of me to assume anything of you before I knew anything about you. I suppose I’ve begun to go senile in my old age.”

“You could have sent a letter or made a phone call or visited during a reasonable hour,” I replied, “Why are you here now?”

“Well, I figured the best time to do training was first thing in the morning,” he answered more jovially than before, hopping out of his seat, “I already knew you’d be up at this hour. You take your training to seriously not to be. So if you’re still interested in learning, I’m interested in teaching.”

---

504 | 7065~

“That doesn’t explain why you’re HERE right now,” Ryuusei repeated, placing down his coffee mug on the counter beside him and folding his arms in front of him, “You could have easily messaged me with an invitation back to your school. At least there I know you have adequate space and the proper equipment to get some real training done. I just moved back to this village to continue my training, I barely even have furniture in the house, let alone a private dojo. So tell me, why are we not doing this at the dojo again?”

“Because I’m a man of my word!” the old man said adamantly as he puffed out his chest with pride, “I told you that you are not welcome in my dojo and I stand by my word. That’s why I figured training with you outside of the gym shouldn’t be a problem. If I couldn’t bring you to the dojo, I can just bring the dojo to you!”

“Wait, who is binding you to these imaginary rules?” Ryuusei replied immediately before shaking his head and refocusing his thoughts, “What exactly do you mean that you brought the dojo he- ...” Before he could complete that though however, the old man placed his palm on the ground, creating a seal beneath his palm, and then unsealing it to release a huge pile of weapons, armor, and training equipment in the middle of Ryuusei’d kitchen, breaking the table under all of the sudden weight falling on it.

Ryuusei’s anger could be felt radiating off of him like a heater as he glared at the old man harshly, silently condemning him for his incompetence. His eyes darted downward to see sharp blades sticking out of his hardwood for. Well, at least now he knew that he was not getting his safety deposit back. “Ah, sorry about that,” the old man apologized nervously as he rubbed the back of his head – an apparent tick of his, “I guess it’s been so long that I’ve really been excited about training that I got a bit carried away. But you’re from the capital, so you don’t need me to pay for your damages anyway, right?”

“I’m going to kill this old man someday,” Ryuusei thought to himself as he maintained eye contact with the unnecessarily jovial old master.

“But enough focusing on the negative,” the old man quipped, attempting to change the subject away from the topic of the damage he caused, “Today is a new day and the start of a new leg of training for you to begin.”

Sigh.

“Fine then,” Ryuusei replied with a smirk, “We have an entire day to make up for. Let’s get started.”

---

464 | 7529~

1500/1500 Swordsmanship
1500/1500 Onojutsu
1500/1500 Sojutsu
1500/1500 Kyuujutsu
1500/1500 Bojutsu

-Closed-