"Let's get out of here, together!" the young man declared, his voice a whisper of desperate hope as he sat before the woman. The small room was lit by the soft glow of candles, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls, a single bedding laid in the corner. His eyes sparkled with determination, searching her face for an answer that could change everything.
"You know we can't," the woman replied, her golden eyes catching the candlelight in a soft, sorrowful glow. She had a delicate beauty, her soft brown hair spilling down her shoulders, the dim light giving it a rich, amber sheen. Her kimono was loosely draped around her neck, revealing the pale skin of her shoulders, accentuated by the makeup that marked her as a woman of her profession.
"Why not?" he demanded, his eyebrows drawing together in worry. He reached out, his rough, calloused hand enveloping her small, fragile fingers. "Don't you love me?" His voice softened, vulnerability mixing with confusion as he looked at her, pleading for an answer.
"I do, but…" Her voice quivered, the words sticking in her throat as a dozen dark images flashed through her mind: shadowed figures pursuing them, her own heart racing as they ran through empty streets, only to be captured and dragged back. She pulled her hand away, her fingers trembling. "If I escape… if I run away with you, they'll hunt us down. They'll never stop until they find us."
"Who cares? I'll take them all on!" he said, his hand tightening around hers, gently yet firmly, his face set with fierce resolve. She met his gaze, feeling his determination like a fire; it was what frightened her most.
"No matter how strong you are, you can't run forever! Especially with a bounty on your head. I–"
"I don't care about that!" He interrupted, his hands reaching her shoulders, grounding her as if afraid she might vanish. She gasped at the intensity, yet his touch was gentle. "You and me, let's build a life somewhere far away, a small village where no one knows us." His voice cracked with emotion, his grip loosening slightly. "Please… I can't bear to watch you waste your life here, Yuri."
Yuri looked down, tears brimming in her eyes. His voice was like a balm to her fears, his concern piercing through her hardened walls. "O-okay… let's go."
On a bright, sunny day, Shou's mother knelt in the quiet living room, her face etched with worry. The sunlight streamed through the window, casting golden rays across the floor, yet the warmth did nothing to ease her anxious heart. A soft sigh escaped her lips.
"That boy…"
________________________________________
"No, no, no—you've got it all wrong!" Mirai groaned, holding his katana firmly in his grasp, his eyes sharp and focused. His stance was solid, every slice and movement fluid, as if he were dancing with the blade itself. His sword cut through the air, every swing precise, each stance practiced over countless hours until perfection was second nature.
"You do it like this!" He turned to young Shou, whose intense gaze took in every detail. "See? You grip the hilt as if your life depends on it, then use your entire body to drive the blade into your opponent!" He demonstrated again, his movements seamless, then stepped back, sinking onto a log with a dramatic sigh to let Shou try.
"Like this?" Shou asked, imitating Mirai's moves with almost perfect form. Sweat gathered on his brow, his gaze steely with concentration. He stumbled a bit at the end but managed to keep his balance, earning a nod from Mirai.
"Right, right! Just like that!" Mirai's face softened with pride, watching Shou dive back into the sequence, practicing over and over until the blade moved as if it were part of him.
"Hey… why'd you ask me to help you anyway? You're not planning to shank anybody, are you?" Mirai asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern, wondering what had driven Shou to learn the ways of the sword.
"Mmn," Shou shook his head, looking back with a bright, unwavering smile. "It's just… I know one day I'll have to protect my mom from some really bad guys."
"And when that time comes, I want to be ready, you know?" His smile faded, replaced by a quiet determination. He looked down at the blade, the weight of his father's legacy resting in his grip.
"Damn, so serious. What's with kids these days?" Mirai muttered, pretending to grumble as he leaned back on the log where they'd had their first lesson.
"I mean it!" Shou protested, an annoyed look flashing across his face, making Mirai sit up in mock surprise.
"Huh? Really?"
Shou nodded, his gaze unwavering as he returned to the practice Mirai had shown him. "My father told me… before he left, that my mother was connected to some really dangerous people—people who want her back." Shou's jaw tightened, each move sharper than before, beads of sweat mixing with the blood from newly formed calluses as he gripped the blade. "I refuse to let her go back."
A heavy silence fell between them before Mirai let out a soft chuckle, moving to stand beside his young pupil.
"Well I knew you wouldn't do anything too crazy, you're not like that aren't you shou?" Mirai grinned.
"You hardly know me–"
"I'm a great judge of character." Mirai reassured, waving his hand dismissively at the boy's statement.
"Alright, from now on, you call me 'Master,' understand?" A grin broke across his face as Shou's eyes brightened.
"Yes, Master!" Shou said with a wide smile, bowing before him, his face alive with hope.
"Alright! First things first, let's work on your balance." Mirai took his stance, standing firm, his center grounded. "With this, even the strongest force couldn't move you."
Shou tried to push him but found Mirai unshakable, his mouth dropping open in a silent awe. He tried more and more, even trying running into his gut which causes him to flinch in pain but still he did not fall nor stagger.
"Ok- that's enough of that." He mumbled getting out of his stance and looking towards his pupil.
"Now, you try," he folded his arms, watching as Shou set his stance. But no sooner had he planted his feet than Mirai nudged him lightly with the hilt of his katana, sending him tumbling to the ground.
"Wrong—"