The marine base buzzed with energy as the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of gold and blue. Two hundred fresh recruits, dressed in crisp uniforms, stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the training grounds, their eyes fixed ahead, hearts pounding with the weight of new beginnings.
But Haru was not among them.
Instead, the thirteen-year-old boy stood alone in front of the towering wooden doors of the base commander's office. He carried no nervousness, only calm. His long pink hair was tied neatly into a ponytail, and on his left hip rested Honjo, a sleek katana forged with meticulous care. Slung across his back, sheathed in deep crimson lacquer, was his odachi, a longer blade whose edge shimmered faintly even in shadow. These were not mere weapons—they were legacies.
He knocked twice.
"Enter," came the firm voice from within.
Haru stepped into the spacious office. Commander Hina stood by the window, arms folded. But it was the tall woman seated beside her who commanded the room's presence—Vice Admiral Gion, known as "Momousagi." Her long white coat flowed like silk, and her piercing eyes took in every detail of Haru in a heartbeat.
"So… you're Musashi's boy," Gion said.
Haru bowed deeply. "Yes, Vice Admiral. My name is Haru. I was raised and trained by Rear Admiral Miyamoto Musashi. He forged both my blades—this odachi and Honjo—and passed on his two-sword style to me."
Gion arched an eyebrow, interested. "He made your swords himself?"
"Yes, ma'am. They were his final gifts to me. I've also been trained in Armament Haki. I can apply it fully to my body and blades, but I haven't blackened them permanently yet."
Gion exchanged a glance with Hina, her curiosity fully awakened now. So this is the boy Tsuru wanted me to mentor.
"Well then," she said, rising from her seat. "Let's test your skill. Hina—send for Rokan."
The Duel
The courtyard filled quickly as word spread: the Vice Admiral was overseeing a test duel.
Haru stood in the center of the ring, the morning wind tugging at his coat. The crowd watched in hushed anticipation. Onlookers ranged from curious recruits to seasoned officers leaning on the rails.
Opposite him strode Lieutenant Rokan—a tall, muscular man in his late twenties. He wore his rank proudly and bore a smirk that dripped arrogance. His biceps bulged beneath his coat, and two iron gauntlets encased his fists.
"So this is the prodigy, huh?" Rokan sneered, cracking his neck. "Didn't realize we were sparring kids now."
The crowd chuckled. Haru remained calm. He unstrapped his odachi and katana in a single smooth motion. The blades gleamed as they were drawn, the metal whispering like wind through leaves. The katana—Honjo—was slightly curved, beautifully balanced. The odachi, however, was a longer, broader blade, nearly as tall as Haru himself.
Rokan laughed. "Big swords for such a small body. You sure you can even swing those things?"
Gion raised her hand.
"Begin."
Rokan didn't waste a second. He surged forward, both fists coated in dense Armament Haki, aiming a heavy right hook toward Haru's temple.
But Haru was gone.
In a blink, he slid to the side, the odachi intercepting the blow with a metallic clang. His body turned gracefully, and with a fluid spin, Honjo lashed out like a silver serpent, tapping Rokan's ribs before he could counter.
Rokan stumbled back, blinking in disbelief.
"What the—?"
He roared and charged again, fists flying like hammers. Haru moved like water—his footwork elegant, precise. Every movement was rooted in discipline, each dodge was the product of thousands of hours spent in training under Musashi's watchful eye.
Haru's dual blades danced. The odachi swept in powerful arcs while Honjo flickered with surgical precision. One blade defended, the other struck. Again and again, Rokan's strikes were blocked, redirected, and punished with lightning-quick counters.
The crowd fell silent.
This wasn't just swordplay. This was art.
Rokan growled, frustrated. "Enough dancing, brat!"
He slammed his fists into the ground, sending a shockwave of haki through the floorboards and leapt forward in a full-body tackle.
Haru didn't flinch.
He bent low, haki shimmering along both blades, and then—
CLANG.
The odachi met Rokan's fists mid-air. The shock reverberated through the courtyard.
Then, in one seamless movement, Honjo swept upward, colliding with Rokan's chestplate and sending the lieutenant crashing to the ground, breathless.
He groaned, coughing in pain.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then Gion stepped forward, her voice ringing with authority.
"Match over. Haru wins."
The crowd erupted in gasps and murmurs. Some clapped. Others simply stared, stunned by what they had witnessed.
Commander Hina chuckled. "That was impressive."
Gion looked down at Rokan. "You relied on brute force, like a wild animal. He fought like a warrior."
Then she turned to Haru.
"You say Musashi trained you. I see his style in every movement. You may not have his strength yet, but you have his control—and that's rarer."
Haru bowed deeply, sweat glistening on his brow.
"I'm honored, ma'am."
Gion nodded, satisfied. "You're no regular recruit. From this moment on, you are no longer a trainee. You are an ensign in my squad."
The crowd murmured again.
"But—" Haru started, stunned.
"You've earned it. Tsuru was right. With guidance, you'll be one of the strongest swordsmen in the Marines."
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome aboard, Ensign Haru."
Later That Night
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the base in a warm amber glow. Haru sat alone on the watchtower, his blades resting beside him. His fingers traced the hilt of Honjo, memories of his grandfather's hands shaping the blade flashing before him.
He looked out toward the sea.
"This is the first step, Grandpa," he whispered. "I made it."
Far below, the waves crashed against the rocks.
And within him, something stirred—not fear, not uncertainty, but a quiet resolve.
The world was vast.
But so was his will.
And Haru—blade of Musashi—was ready.