The first light of dawn painted the secluded forest clearing in hues of gold and orange.
Makoto and Daisuke stood opposite each other, their breaths visible in the cool morning air. Makoto, warming up by himself, moved with speed that belied his years.
They then began with basic warm-ups and sword drills, their wooden swords continually clashing as if magnetic.
"Your form is impeccable," Makoto said, noting the precision in Daisuke's movements. He deflected a swift strike and countered with a series of rapid thrusts.
"Thank you, father," Daisuke replied, eyes focused, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.
Makoto increased the pace, trying to push himself and Daisuke to their limits. Each movement appeared a flash, a testament to Makoto's enduring speed. But he knew that against Raidon, speed alone wouldn't be enough. His age meant he would tire faster, and his strength wasn't what it used to be.
