In the heart of Kure City, nestled between high-rise buildings and ancient temples, stood a quiet neighborhood where time seemed to pause.
The tourists saw only narrow alleys, forgotten shrines, and stone lanterns cracked by time. But those who belonged — those with the right blood, the right history — knew this place pulsed with something more.
Martial energy.
To the average citizen, martial arts were just sport, tradition, or exaggerated action movies. But deep beneath modern life, the ancient Sects still thrived — secret families, clans, and houses with power passed down through generations. Their children were trained in silence. Their names whispered only among those who understood the balance of the world rested on unseen fists.
Tatsuro Academy was one of the last remaining gates to that world.
Ten years ago, a boy with messy black hair and patched sandals swept petals in a courtyard few noticed.
His name was Arin Vyom — orphaned, average, and unknown. He lived in a servant's quarters behind the academy walls, tending to the halls where legends were raised.
No one trained him. No one taught him.
But he watched.
That spring, the cherry blossoms were late to bloom. The trees around the east courtyard stretched upward like guardians, their bark dark from the rain. Arin knelt beneath the largest one, broom in hand, quietly admiring the single pink blossom that had fallen early.
"Oi, servant boy."
He flinched.
She always called him that — never by his name.
Akane Elune.
Daughter of the Elune clan. Ranked top of the youth division. Ten years old and already out-dueling instructors. Rumors said her family's techniques came from a now-lost celestial scroll. Her eyes glowed in certain lights. She once broke a stone wall with her voice.
She stood with her wooden blade slung across her back and a popsicle in her mouth, chewing like she owned the planet.
"Why do you always sweep this one tree?" she asked, her voice casual, but her eyes sharp.
Arin blinked. "It's… peaceful here."
Akane tilted her head. "Weirdo."
She stepped forward, dropped her popsicle stick onto the path, and waited.
Arin stared at it.
"…You want me to clean that?"
"Duh."
He muttered something unheroic and swept it into the pan.
Then she said something strange.
"Do you want to learn?"
He looked up. "Huh?"
"To fight," she said. "To be strong. Like me."
His breath caught.
Of course he did. Every night he trained in secret — imitating stances from the shadows, copying footwork with clumsy feet. But no one noticed. No one ever offered.
Except her.
"I…" he swallowed. "I'm not from a clan. They'd never let me in."
Akane shrugged. "So? Make your own."
Arin blinked.
She sat on the edge of the courtyard stone, legs swinging. "When I'm strong enough to lead mine, I'll change the rules. You'll be the first outsider to enroll. But only if…"
She looked down at him, grinning.
"…you become strong enough to stand beside me."
He stared at her — this strange, powerful, chaotic girl — and something inside him lit up.
"Then…" he said slowly, "when I'm strong enough… I'll marry you."
She blinked. Then smirked. "Deal."
She held out her pinky.
They linked fingers.
A promise made beneath a late-blooming tree — in a courtyard the world had forgotten.
But time has a habit of twisting things.
Ten years passed.
And while Arin still remembered that day every time cherry blossoms fell…
He hadn't seen her since.
Until now.