The training hall was electric with tension, the air thick with anticipation as each trainee stood in a rigid line. The instructor, standing in the center, cut through the murmur like a blade through silk. His sharp gaze swept across the group, and the weight of his eyes made every person feel as though they were already under scrutiny.
"Listen closely, Kageshiki," he began, his voice cold and unyielding. "Training is over for now. Three hours—done. But before you rest, there's one final test. A fight. A simple test of strength, endurance, and skill."
A murmur ran through the hall, the excitement palpable. Some trainees exchanged glances, their hearts already pounding, while others felt the gnawing sense of unease. This wasn't just any sparring match—it was the last test of their worth.
"You will fight each other. If you can land even a single scratch on your opponent within ten minutes, they lose. The pairing will be decided randomly."
A moment of silence fell over the room, then the instructor's voice echoed again, sharp and final.
"Trainee No. 8 will fight Trainee No. 12."
Reika's breath hitched. She had been watching the trainees with keen eyes, observing their every move, their every weakness. No. 8—a boy with sharp eyes and a deadly grip on his sword. No. 12—taller, more confident, but with a shadow of caution lingering in his stance. They were evenly matched in their own ways.
She clenched her fists, stepping forward to take her place, her blue eyes narrowing with a mix of calculation and anticipation. This was a fight she would not miss.
The arena fell silent as No. 8 and No. 12 squared off. No. 8's hand tightened around the hilt of his blade, a flash of focus in his eyes. No. 12's gaze flicked between his opponent's movements, his posture calm but his mind moving faster than his body. They both knew how this would end—one would win, and one would fall.
Reika studied the rhythm of their movements as they clashed. Each strike was more than just a simple swipe of a blade; it was a statement. A testament to their resolve.
No. 8 attacked with the precision of someone who had perfected his craft, while No. 12 dodged and countered, his movements just as smooth. The room seemed to fade into the background as their swords met with violent clashes, sparks flashing like lightning in the storm.
No. 8 lunged again, but No. 12 anticipated the strike, sidestepping with a fluid grace that betrayed his confidence. The audience held their breath, eyes locked on the battle unfolding before them.
"They're evenly matched," Reika muttered under her breath, her mind whirring. No clear advantage yet—both were dangerous in their own right, and neither would give up easily.
On the sidelines, Daigo's voice cut through her thoughts. "I hope both of them lose. Imagine the drama." His laugh rang out, light and carefree, though there was something hollow in it.
Ishigo shot him a sharp look. "Do you ever stop? You sound like a fool."
Daigo simply grinned, unaffected. "Ah, you're no fun, Ishigo. Lighten up a little."
Reika rolled her eyes, but her focus remained fixed on the arena. The fight between No. 8 and No. 12 was reaching its peak, their movements growing faster, more frantic.
Their sweat mingled with the dust that rose from the floor with every strike. It was no longer just a match—it was a battle for survival, a battle of pride.
Then, with a shift in the air, the fight took a turn. No. 8 miscalculated, pressing forward with too much force, giving No. 12 the opening he needed. The taller trainee ducked low and swept his leg, aiming for No. 8's balance. The room gasped.
For a moment, it seemed as though the fight was over. No. 8 stumbled, his footing lost.
But then, with a flash of steel, No. 8 twisted in mid-fall, his sword slicing through the air.
The sound of the blade cutting through flesh was unmistakable.
A single drop of blood appeared on No. 12's hand, his sword falling from his grasp. His wide eyes stared at the cut, disbelief written on his face as he looked at the blood that now stained his skin.
Reika's heart clenched. In that moment, she could feel the weight of failure pressing down on him. The agony of being bested, the shame that would ripple through his soul. No. 12 stood motionless, his breath shaky as he processed what had just happened. He had been so close. So damn close.
The instructor's voice broke the silence, cold and unforgiving. "You lost."
No. 12 knelt slowly, the weight of his defeat heavier than any physical blow. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he struggled to swallow his pride. His chest heaved with each breath, but he refused to let the tears gather at the corners of his eyes. He would not let himself break.
Reika watched the defeated trainee, her own thoughts turning inward. How would I feel in his place? Her mind flashed with images of herself, vulnerable, lying at the mercy of another's strength. Anger?
Pain? Or... would she feel nothing at all? Would the world feel cold, distant, as if it were all a mere game?
She exhaled slowly, turning her gaze away, unable to shake the uneasy knot that formed in her stomach.
As the trainer called for the next fight, her thoughts were interrupted. "Trainee No. 17 and Trainee No. 5, step forward."
Her eyes snapped to the two names just called. Daigo and Ishigo.
She froze. Her heart skipped a beat.
Daigo's usual playful smirk had disappeared, replaced by a thin line of tension across his lips. He turned to Ishigo, his gaze sharp but something softer flickering beneath. It was rare for Daigo to show anything other than confidence, but there was a heaviness now, something neither of them had prepared for.
For the first time, his voice was quiet, hesitant. "Bro... maybe it's time to separate."
There was no mockery in his words, no teasing. Just raw honesty. Reika could see the weight of the unspoken between them. They were friends—no, more than that. They were brothers, bound by a connection deeper than words. And now, they had to fight each other.
Ishigo hesitated, his grey eyes flickering with something that wasn't there before. "You'll win. You're the better man," he said, standing to face Daigo. But even his words couldn't mask the hesitation, the tightness in his stance. He didn't want this fight. Not with Daigo. Not with someone who was as close to him as his own blood.
Reika's chest tightened. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with unspoken fears and lingering emotions. Will this fight break them? she wondered. Can they really go back after this?
Her breath caught as she watched them face off, a storm about to break. There was no turning back now. The battle had begun. And in the end, one would walk away victorious. But the cost of victory would be far greater than either of them could ever imagine.