{Jin's POV}
*******
I was panting hard as I sat down on the flat stone, sweat trickling down my temples and stinging my eyes.
The wooden practice sword rested beside me. My arms ached, legs burned, lungs worked overtime trying to catch up with the oxygen debt I'd accumulated.
I'd been out here for hours, running through forms, practicing strikes, pushing my body through.
"Not bad, not bad."
I looked up to see Chief Zen walking toward me, his distinctive limp—the old injury that had ended his military career making itself known after however long he'd been standing there watching me.
"I'm impressed," he said, settling himself onto a nearby log bench with a slight wince. "Did you really create that sword style by yourself?"
I nodded, wiping sweat from my face with my sleeve.
"My brother helped though, he's much better with a blade than I am." I lied smoothly.
Victor never did anything except beat the shit out of me during sparring and call it 'training.'
