While Jin practiced alone in the dojo, imagining an opponent, he overheard nearby chatter. As the training session approached, students casually gathered in a large circle at the dojo's center, buzzing with anticipation. Then, the first bell sounded—a deep chime echoing through the room, easing the atmosphere.
Suddenly, Sensei Makoto entered, a tall figure dressed in dark indigo robes. He exuded a calm, mysterious presence, his face revealing little. The wooden shinken—a practice sword—at his side was clearly not just for decoration. Rumors suggested he once defeated a cybernetic attacker with just a folded fan, speaking volumes about his skills.
"Seiretsu!" he called, his commanding voice reverberating through the dojo.
In an instant, the students sprang into action, forming impeccable rows with discipline ingrained through rigorous training. The sound of bare feet shuffling across tatami mats created a wave of synchronized movement, each student finding their designated position with military precision.
With bare feet firmly planted on the mat, Jin stood at the sparring area's edge. The woven straw fibers pressed against his soles, grounding him in the tradition of countless warriors who had stood here before. Though he felt curious gazes lingering on him, he had long mastered enduring such scrutiny.
"Attention! Jin Tsurugi," the sensei announced, invoking a name that carried significant weight in these hallowed halls—though not always the kind of renown Jin desired.
"Is that… him?" a soft voice questioned from the back, barely rising above the thick silence that had enveloped the dojo.
Mina, a fellow student, strained to hear, leaning closer with intrigue. Her dark hair was tied back in a practical ponytail, but several strands had escaped to frame her face as she craned her neck for a better view.
Lucien adjusted his glasses, activating his neural interface, releasing streams of information that danced across his enhanced vision. "Tsurugi Jin," he murmured, fingers subtly moving through the air as he manipulated the holographic display only he could see. "His mother came from Japanese nobility. As for his father—well, that remains shrouded in mystery. Rumor has it he disappeared when Jin was just seven years old."
Mina's eyes widened, her hand instinctively covering her mouth. "You mean the Tsurugi family?"
Lucien nodded, brow furrowed as he continued sifting through details. "Lady Reika Tsurugi—the former heiress of the Tsurugi Zaibatsu. One of Japan's oldest and most secretive noble houses, with origins tracing back to the samurai lineage. She was once expected to lead the family business, which encompassed arms development, AI philosophy, and martial tradition. But she chose love over obligation."
The weight of this news was palpable. Though everyone had heard the story, it remained something people avoided discussing openly. Lady Reika, with her intelligence and beauty, represented the perfect blend of tradition and innovation, making her a natural leader for her clan.
"He doesn't exactly seem imposing," Arjun remarked, his voice devoid of disdain, revealing only genuine curiosity about Jin. His athletic build and confident stance suggested he was no stranger to the dojo himself.
Jin smoothly stepped onto the gleaming mat, moving as if in sync with an invisible dance. His bare feet made no sound against the tatami, each step perfectly placed as if following an ancient pattern. His shinai felt almost weightless in his hand, the bamboo perfectly balanced and ready. With focused dark eyes, he gave a respectful bow that packed years of tradition into one simple gesture.
Arjun leaned closer to Mina, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "What's your impression of him?"
Mina tilted her head thoughtfully, scrutinizing Jin with a penetrating gaze. "He seems… weak," she replied slowly, uncertainty hinted at by the slight wavering in her tone, suggesting she wasn't completely convinced by her own assessment.
Nearby, two second-year students whispered to each other, their eyes fixed on Jin.
"I heard he defeated three seniors last month," said the first, a tall girl with blue-streaked hair.
The second shook his head. "Impossible. He's just a first-year. Probably just rumors."
"I don't know," the girl insisted. "My roommate saw it happen. Said he was flowing with his opponent."
In the dojo, a new figure stood out, taller than Jin with broad shoulders exuding confidence. He moved like a seasoned student who had never known defeat. The dream's fog made it difficult for Jin to see his face clearly, but he could definitely feel the man's arrogance.
This opponent was Park Jimin, a Korean exchange student who adjusted his stance as if preparing for a showdown. Jimin wasn't just any student; he excelled at Haidong Gumdo with impressive accolades, including a scholarship from the renowned Samsang program. As Jin's senior, he had numerous tournament wins to prove it. In his grip was a shinai expertly crafted from ebony wood, its dark surface gleaming under the dojo's lights.
"Are you ready to be humbled?" Jimin asked, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he eyed Jin. His stance was wide, leaving openings obvious to any experienced practitioner—a sign of his overconfidence.
Jin met Jimin's gaze directly, his shinai positioned perfectly in a chudan stance. "I'm ready to learn, Park-senpai." His tone was respectful but firm, neither submissive nor challenging—simply stating his readiness to engage.
At that moment, Sensei Makoto raised his hand, signaling for silence in the dojo. The ambient sounds faded, leaving only the soft hum of climate control systems and the distant buzz of Neo Tokyo beyond the dojo's walls. The scent of sandalwood incense seemed to intensify, creating an atmosphere of sacred tradition.
"Hajime!" the sensei announced, marking the match's start.