The sun was slowly rising over Chronos, the majestic capital where golden rooftops glowed orange beneath the first light of dawn. The morning air was still cool, filled with the shouts of merchants setting up their stalls, the clatter of horses' hooves, and the voices of early customers haggling over the price of fruit.
In a lively district, above a small café not yet open, a young man leapt out of bed, his blond hair a tousled mess.
"Shit, I'm late… again!"
A young man with sharp eyes and delicate features, his blond locks casually falling in front of his face. Despite the rude awakening, he still carried that natural seductive calm, that lazy charm that made heads turn.
He quickly threw on a dark blue shirt, purposefully leaving the top two buttons undone, revealing his slightly toned chest. A katana, sheathed in a black and sky-blue scabbard, was slung across his back with practiced ease. He adjusted his round, orange-tinted sunglasses on his nose, checked that his earring caught the light just right, and rushed out of his apartment, skipping steps four at a time.
In the crowded streets of Chronos, he weaved between passersby, greeting some with a wave or a wink as they recognized him. The shops were gradually opening, and the air was filled with the smells of fresh bread, exotic fruits, and spices.
An old lady standing by a vegetable stall called out to him:
"Dante, here!" she shouted, tossing him a small bag.
He caught it mid-run without stopping.
"Eat in the morning or you'll faint, you idiot!"
"Thanks, Miss Biene!" he replied with a charming grin before disappearing around the corner.
Slightly out of breath, half a piece of bread in his mouth, Dante finally reached an old wooden-and-stone building: the Kazan Dojo. He pushed the door open with his shoulder.
"Heeey, gorgeous!" he called out to the cleaning lady sweeping the hallway.
She looked up, already exasperated.
"You're late again. And still flirting, huh?"
He flashed her a dazzling smile.
"Not my fault you light up my mornings. Dinner tonight? I know the perfect place for—"
He didn't get to finish.
"DANTE."
A deep, calm voice cut the moment short.
In the shadow of the hallway stood an old man with steel in his gaze. The dojo master.
His back slightly hunched, he still radiated authority. His white beard reached his chest, carefully groomed, and his hair, tied in a low bun, revealed a bald spot on the top of his head. His dark blue kimono with sky-blue trim was plain, but worn with pride, carrying the weight of his past.
His gray eyes pierced through the young man.
"You're late. Again. Do you think your students are just waiting around for nap time?" he said in a firm tone, without raising his voice.
Dante straightened up, crossed his arms, and replied with a mocking smile:
"C'mon, old man, you gonna bust my balls this early in the morning? Yeah, I'm late. I get it. I'm sorry, okay?"
The old man raised a brow but said nothing. He sighed slowly and turned away.
"They're in the courtyard. Go join them. And try teaching them something more useful than your flirting techniques."
Dante shrugged, winked at the cleaning lady, and made his way to the training yard—katana on his back, breakfast still in hand.
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