With someone of such mastery, Haru knew the truth—Tanzegtsu could end him within minutes if it came to close combat.
A single slip, a single opening, and it would all be over.
That sword wasn't just sharp—it was precise, unforgiving, and wielded by a prodigy who could cut through the very essence of a person.
And yet, Haru stood. Silent. Bleeding. But unshaken.
Tanzegtsu reminded Haru of Matsamaru—a name that described a swordmaster.
Another swordmaster. Another prodigy. Another monster.
Matsamaru didn't need to reveal his full form; even restrained, he could end Tanzegtsu in moments. His clan, infamous sword merchants, weren't known for selling blades—they bred killers who became the blade.
And Tanzegtsu… he had that same presence. Calm. Focused. Efficient.
So far, Haru hadn't even seen Tanzegtsu's real strength. And yet, he already knew—if Matsamaru could kill A beast in minutes… Tanzegtsu might only need seconds.
Haru remembered a word Matsamaru once told him…
Just as Tanzegtsu vanished into the void below, his haori whipping behind him like a shadow swallowed by darkness—
—his memory flashed.
---
NIRI VILLAGE – BAEK TRAINING GROUND
The vast training field lay still beneath a pale morning sky.
The sand was untouched, smooth like silk, only the breeze brushing across its surface.
Wooden training dolls stood motionless at the far ends, lined like silent witnesses. The arena was bare—empty seating, no voices, no footsteps—just the creaking of the wooden archways and the distant clink of metal.
A rectangular combat zone was etched clearly into the sand, marked for sparring—its lines faded, but never forgotten.
Then, slicing through the silence—
A clean sword strike.
And a sharp grunt, sharp and focused. Behind the far edge of the arena, amidst the dummies—
CLACK!
The training dummy split apart, splinters flying midair like feathers.
Matsamaru stood still, arm extended, his blade glowing faintly under the amber sunset.
The light caught the edge perfectly, making it gleam like fire held in metal.
The wooden doll collapsed in slow motion,
shredded into precise, clean fragments.
Matsamaru's expression didn't change.
He simply exhaled, lowering the sword with quiet discipline,
its glow fading back into the steel like a secret never spoken.
Matsamaru raised his sword again, poised to strike with flawless precision.
But then—he froze.
His gaze locked onto Haru, standing silently nearby.
Wrapped in an oversized robe, his face wrapped in bandages, emotionless and unreadable.
The blade slowly lowered, the stance relaxing.
A heavy silence settled between them.
Neither moved.
Haru's cold eyes never wavered,
and Matsamaru simply held his ground, silently acknowledging the moment.
Matsamaru smiled, raising the sword-hand in a casual wave.
"Oi, Haru-san!"
Suddenly, he noticed the blade still in his grip.
He blinked, then dropped the sword with a soft clatter.
Haru said nothing.
His cold gaze lingered for a few more seconds before turning away.
Without a word, Haru walked toward a nearby training doll.
Matsamaru's brow furrowed in confusion, silently watching his every move.
Haru reached out, grabbed a towel hanging on the doll's handle, then turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Matsamaru stood frozen, still processing what had just happened.
That night, he wandered through the village, carrying a wooden basket wrapped in a worn robe.
The village buzzed softly — villagers chatting, footsteps echoing on cobblestone streets, lanterns glowing like fireflies in the dark.
He blended into the crowd, just another face among many.
Suddenly, his eyes caught a figure perched silently on a rooftop — Haru, watching the world below.
Matsamaru whispered under his breath, "Haru-san…"
But before he could call out, Haru's sharp gaze locked onto him.
Startled, Matsamaru quickly turned away, staring at the rooftop again — but Haru was gone.
Shaken, he looked ahead and froze — there, standing right before him, was Haru.
The surprise on Matsamaru's face was unmistakable.
Haru's voice broke the silence, low and calm.
"What's your name?"
Matsamaru blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question.
He hesitated, then answered quietly,
"Matsamaru."
Haru's eyes studied him for a moment, unreadable, before he nodded once.
-----
The lanterns flickered softly as people passed by, their quiet chatter filling the night air.
Haru and Matsamaru sat side by side on a wooden bench, their bodies angled away from each other.
Breaking the silence, Matsamaru cleared his throat nervously.
"Umm... I can't believe you actually spoke to me. You never talk to any of us... We're in the same squad, but I guess that doesn't matter much, right?" He chuckled awkwardly, glancing at Haru's unreadable, stone-like expression.
Haru finally turned to him.
"During your fight with Tami... you did something."
Matsamaru's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and pride.
"You... you noticed? That was the Dragon Tail—a technique I invented a few months ago. I tried using it today... glad you caught it."
Haru's gaze shifted to the passing crowd, his voice steady.
"How did you get so good with the sword, even against such a strong opponent?"
Matsamaru smiled faintly, eyes dropping to the ground.
"Well, as a swordsman, there are things you have to understand... Sure, you hold the advantage at close range. But what if your opponent insists on keeping you at a distance, like Tami did? Then you have to uncover their weakness."
He looked back at Haru, serious now.
"Tami's strength wasn't just his long-range attacks—he could exploit my weakness. And that weakness... was my hand."
"My hand betrayed me—it gave away my next move, letting him predict even from long range. He controlled the flow of battle by reading my body and movements."
"But if you want to outsmart your opponent, you have to do the opposite."
He paused, locking eyes with Haru.
"Let him think he knows your next move… while you're planning something completely different."
"That's how you take control."
Matsamaru smiled faintly, eyes on the ground.
"One thing about it that made it sweet is that… it's totally unavoidable. Once you're caught in the trap—game over."
Haru stood up slowly.
"…It is avoidable."
Matsamaru looked up, puzzled.
Haru continued, eyes cold, voice flat.
"If your enemy wants you to think you've caught him… if he's following your steps just to lead you deeper into your own trap—then you've already lost."
He turned away slightly, the lantern light casting a sharp glow across his cheek.
"You don't know his next move. You're just dragging him into yours. That's not strategy. That's carelessness."
He glanced back over his shoulder.
"You'd be dead… before you even realized he never played your game."