A short, 5'6" brunette boy strode down the dōjō hallway.
His footsteps echoed against the polished wooden floors,
each step sharp and deliberate.
"Ichiro Yatsuro!"
An old man's voice thundered through the halls, slicing through the silence.
Ichiro froze mid-step and spun around, irritation flashing across his face.
"What do you want, old man?" he muttered.
the old man walked steadily down the hall,
his posture straight, his presence commanding.
"That's Master Yamato to you, and I'm only middle age." he said firmly,
his voice booming like a sergeant addressing his troops.
"Anyway," Yamato continued,
"I'm leaving on a business trip.
You're going to watch over the dōjō while I'm gone."
Ichiro's eyes widened.
"No way! I've been trying to leave this place and become the best,
but you won't even give me a real sword!
And now you want me to babysit this place? Over my dead body!"
"I've already explained this," Yamato said, unwavering.
"You're not ready for a Seikō… one with Tōshi in it.
It's not just a wooden blade anymore."
Ichiro's fists tightened.
"I don't care! If I want to be the greatest swordsman ever,
I need a real sword with Tōshi, not just some stick!"
Yamato studied him silently, then nodded.
"Fine. If you really think you're ready… spar with me.
Land three hits, and I'll give you a Seikō
and explain what Tōshi truly is."
Ichiro's eyes lit up.
"Oh yeah? Then bring it on!"
The two entered the training hall.
Yamato grabbed a pair of wooden swords, tossing one across the room.
Ichiro caught it, stance tightening.
"I'm not going to go easy on you," Yamato warned.
"I'd expect nothing less," Ichiro shot back, grinning.
Yamato chuckled lightly
then vanished.
SWISH!
Before Ichiro could blink, Yamato appeared in front of him,
striking him in the gut with the hilt.
Ichiro flew backward, crashing into a case of swords.
He coughed, gripping his stomach, but stood back up.
Again.
Yamato was gone.
He reappeared in front of Ichiro, blade raised.
This time, Ichiro was ready.
He swung up, deflecting the strike
then kicked Yamato square in the stomach.
Hit 1.
Yamato stepped back, surprised.
"Well, aren't you full of surprises?"
Then, in an instant, Yamato disappeared again.
Ichiro blinked.
"What? But he was just-"
Before he could finish,
a wave of pain erupted across his body, one strike after another.
THUD.
Ichiro hit the ground, clutching his chest.
"When did he- oh… I see…
He hit me while dashing forward…"
His vision blurred. Then
darkness.
"You fought well. Better than expected,"
Yamato murmured, lifting Ichiro and carrying him to his room.
Two and a half hours later, Ichiro woke up in bed.
A cup of tea sat beside him on the night stand.
He took a sip- and immediately spat it out.
"What the hell is in this?"
"Herbal tea," Yamato said from nearby.
"Took me ten minutes to prepare."
Ichiro jumped, startled.
"Wh–when did you get here?!"
"I've been here the whole time," Yamato replied,
a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"With more experience, maybe you'll learn to mask your presence too."
"Yeah, maybe if you gave me a real sword," Ichiro muttered.
"Well," Yamato said, crossing his arms,
"It's a good thing I'm about to."
Ichiro froze.
"Wait… what? You're serious!?"
Yamato nodded.
"Your performance impressed me.
You've exceeded my expectations.
Follow me."
Yamato led Ichiro into the Seikō Hall,
a long chamber filled with swords displayed in perfect rows.
"Listen carefully," Yamato said.
"I'm not letting you just pick a Seikō.
Close your eyes.
Let the one that calls to you- find you."
Ichiro hesitated, then obeyed.
He shut his eyes, walked forward, and stopped.
His hand brushed against one sword.
It felt… warm.
He opened his eyes.
A Seikō rested before him-
a golden kashira, white tsuka,
and a silky white ribbon tied at the base.
He unsheathed it, revealing a radiant, gleaming blade.
Ichiro's eyes widened.
"This is it… this is the Seikō I want!"
Yamato tilted his head.
"Interesting choice. That Seikō has almost zero Tōshi."
"Zero what now?"
"Tōshi," Yamato explained, stroking his beard.
"The energy within a Seikō, its fighting spirit.
It's what allows us to perform Seikō techniques."
Ichiro blinked.
"Wait, wait. Fighting spirit?
You're saying swords have… spirits?"
Yamato chuckled.
"Not swords, Seikō.
You've been calling them 'swords' this whole time, haven't you?"
Ichiro frowned.
"So they're just… living swords?"
"In a sense," Yamato said, nodding.
"A Seikō's Tōshi reflects the will of its wielder.
Only those with strong spirit can awaken their blade's true potential."
Ichiro groaned.
"So mine has zero fighting spirit?! Great."
Yamato smiled.
"Well, that's your Seikō now. Name it."
"Over my dead body."
"Oh? I wonder how you plan to be the greatest swordsman
with a Seikō like that," Yamato teased.
Ichiro clenched his jaw.
"Just you wait! I'll become the greatest swordsman the world's ever seen-
you'll see!"
Yamato turned to leave, waving his hand.
"Then prove it.
By the time I return from my trip,
I expect you to have developed at least one technique.
Or you're not going anywhere."
Ichiro stomped his foot.
"Ha! By the time you get back, I'll have five!"
Yamato chuckled to himself as he stepped outside.
"That kid… he might just surprise me yet."
A day passed.
Yamato was gone.
The dōjō was quiet.
Ichiro spent the morning training out back,
swinging his Seikō and muttering under his breath.
He still didn't really understand what made it "alive."
A sword's a sword… right?
That's when he heard it—
footsteps.
Someone was inside.
Ichiro grabbed his Seikō and crept toward the sound.
A dark-haired boy about his age was wandering through the halls,
hands tucked in his pockets, eyes scanning the room.
"Hey! You lost or something?" Ichiro snapped.
He lunged forward, swinging fast—
but the boy dodged easily,
deflecting the blade and sweeping Ichiro's legs out from under him
with his sheathed sword.
Thud!
Ichiro hit the ground hard.
"Wha—what the hell?!"
The boy drew his sword,
its edge hovering inches from Ichiro's neck.
"Wh–who are you?" Ichiro stammered.
"Kaede Hayashi," the boy replied coolly.
"Master Yamato sent a letter to my dōjō.
He requested a skilled student to help watch over this place while he's away.
And well…"
He smirked slightly.
"That's why I'm here."
Ichiro blinked, still flat on the floor,
mind spinning.
"Wait… he what?"