They left the estate in silence.
The evening air felt heavier than it had any right to be. Servants closed the gates behind them with quiet finality, the sound echoing down the stone path.
War? Did they just invertedly cause a war?
Ichigo didn't speak until they were well away from the manor.
"You're not a martial apprentice," she said.
Tadakatsu flinched.
She stopped walking, looked up and turned to face him. "Not 'weak for an apprentice.' You're not one at all."
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"Apologies… I was going to tell you," he said finally.
"When?" she asked. Not angry. Just tired.
He exhaled and looked away. "When… I became one?"
Ichigo stared at him. The pieces clicked into place with uncomfortable ease.
"You were sent to the academy to learn your path after enrollment?" she said slowly.
He nodded once. "The tutors I've had at home didn't really help much."
Ichigo pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's insane."
"What's insane?" he replied weakly.
"Picking a fight with not one but SEVEN Martial Apprentices." She jumped, putting him in a headlock.
"…Apologies," he said weakly.
She let go and sighed, then jerked her head toward the side street. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"There's a public dueling yard near the west quarter. If you're going to keep getting into trouble with me, I need to know what you can actually do."
He hesitated. "Ichigo—"
"I'm not asking," she said, already walking. She turned her head back, "We might get sent to war, Tadakatsu."
———
The yard was mostly empty at this hour, its packed dirt scarred by old footprints and shallow gouges. Weapon racks lined one side, the clan's insignia burned into the wood. Practice dummies stood at uneven intervals, battered and repaired haphazardly.
Ichigo grabbed a staff from the rack and tossed it to him.
"Show me what you know."
Tadakatsu caught it clumsily, then adjusted his grip. He took a stance—wide, defensive, cautious to a fault.
She circled him. "Attack."
He attacked.
It was… bad.
His swings were technically correct, but slow. Each strike stopped just short of commitment, as if he were afraid of following through. When he missed, he overcorrected. When he connected, it was with the dull hesitation of someone pulling their own blow.
Ichigo blocked once, then twice, then stepped inside his reach and tapped his chest with the flat of her blade.
"Dead," she said.
He grimaced. "I know."
"Again."
They reset. Same result.
"Dead."
After the third attempt, she stopped him. "You're fighting like someone using techniques they read in a novel."
He frowned. "I mean, it's a staff. It's a defensive weapon!"
"...Maybe that's the problem."
She walked to the rack and began pulling weapons down one by one—a short spear, a saber, a hooked blade.
"Try them."
He did. Each time, the same thing happened. His swings were slow as he aimed. His movements shrank instead of expanding. Every weapon looked wrong in his hands.
Tadakatsu sighed. "Do you think my tutors have never made me try this?"
Then she noticed it.
There was a weapon he hadn't touched yet… almost deliberately left out.
Ichigo picked it up and held it out to him. "This one."
Tadakatsu stiffened. "It's just a staff with a point."
"Exactly," she said. "So what are you afraid of?"
Reluctantly, he took it. His grip was wrong at first—too tight, too close. Ichigo adjusted his hands without ceremony, nudging them apart.
"Don't swing it," she said. "Thrust."
He tried.
It was awkward.
"Again," she said.
The second thrust went farther—but he overextended, stumbled.
She didn't correct him immediately.
"You use the staff mainly for defense, right? Avoid. Deflect. Defend. You barely ever rush forward, do you?"
He shook his head.
"Do it again," she said.
Tadakatsu inhaled and continued his pitiful thrusts.
Ichigo kept inspecting his form each time he struck… he was slowly improving.
She remembered back in Owari. Father had introduced a bunch of weapons to the siblings, wanting them to discover their own weapons at a young age. Mikan immediately took the throwing daggers, she herself took the katana, but Ringo didn't seem to like any weapon. She remembers how Father tried to sell her the spear:
"A spear carries your heart forward," she whispered.
Tadakatsu's eyes widened as he stopped mid-thrust.
Then he readjusted his stance, stepped forward, and thrust.
THUD.
It wasn't fast. It wasn't powerful.
But it was honest.
Ichigo felt it—not in the air, but in him. The way his shoulders aligned. The way his weight followed instead of lagging behind. Something clicked, not like a switch being flipped, but like a door finally pushed open.
His eyes widened—not in triumph, but recognition.
Ichigo lowered her arms and smiled.
"There," she said softly. "That's the first real strike you've ever made."
Tadakatsu froze, breath caught halfway out. His hands were still shaking. Slowly, he lowered the spear.
"…That was strange," he said.
"Strange how?" Ichigo asked.
"It felt like… skipping flat stones on a pond. And my stone just skipped more than three times."
Ichigo said nothing.
He let out a small, awkward laugh. "That sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?"
"Yes," she said with a laugh. "That's ridiculous."
The word made him flinch harder than any blow she'd landed on him before.
He looked down at the spear.
"The spear carries my heart forward, huh?"
His form steadied as he thrusted again, this time with a more powerful THUD.
Ichigo watched as each thrust improved—faster, cleaner, more like a martial artist.
"…That's it," she said.
She was quiet for a long moment.
"Good," she said. "Now, think of what kind of man that weapon asks you to be."
He stared at his spear, breathing hard.
"…What do you mean?" he said.
She sheathed her katana.
"My katana wants me to be quick. It wants me to strike at lethal points with precision," she said, inspecting her blade. "It wants me to temper myself alongside it."
"And you know this how?" Tadakatsu asked with a raised brow.
"It just comes to you," she said as she walked up to him.
She went up on her toes to reach his shoulders and gave him a pat, "Keep at it, okay?"
He grimaced. "I will."
Glad to be of help—or at least glad the week was finally over, Ichigo left the huge man and drifted toward the sword halls alone. She herself needed more training if she was to join a war.
———
The academy breathed differently at this hour. It was quiet. Just the dull thrum of wood meeting steel somewhere in the distance. Students passed in ones and twos, tired, satisfied, limping slightly.
She should have gone to rest.
Instead, her feet carried her toward the long hall with the open eaves.
Inside, a single figure moved.
A girl—about her age, maybe younger—stood barefoot on the polished floor, sword drawn. Alone.
Ichigo stopped.
The girl's stance was narrow, weight light on the balls of her feet. Each step slid rather than landed, toes brushing the floor as if testing it. Her blade moved in clean arcs—small, efficient, never wasting distance.
The girl cut, resheathed, moved—again and again. Her hips turned fluidly, shoulders relaxed, spine straight. Maneuvering and defense were woven so tightly into offense that Ichigo couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
Ichigo immediately felt the familiarity. It was her—the girl from the Iaiashin estate.
Her fingers tightened around her own hilt. The blade at her hip hummed faintly—not sound, but pressure. Like it wanted out. Like it recognized a conversation it hadn't been allowed to join.
She exhaled slowly.
Annoying katana.
Ichigo stepped inside the hall.
The girl noticed immediately—paused mid-motion, eyes flicking toward her reflection in the polished floor before turning fully. Calm. Curious.
"Oh," she said. "I didn't know this hall was taken."
"It wasn't," Ichigo replied. "I was just… watching."
The girl smiled, polite but guarded. "Then I must have been sloppy."
"You weren't."
That earned a blink. Then a slight tilt of the head. "You're blunt."
"So I'm told."
A beat of silence settled—not awkward, just measured. Suddenly, the girl's eyes widened as she pointed toward Ichigo.
"You're that girl who beat the Oni trash," the girl said, eyes dropping briefly to Ichigo's sword. "You were at our place this morning, right?"
Ichigo raised a brow. "Yes… and you are?"
A soft laugh. "Is it obvious?"
"No."
They stood there, two blades at rest, neither willing to admit they'd already started measuring distance.
"I'm Inyen," the girl said at last. "I train here when the hall is empty."
"Ichigo."
Another pause. Inyen glanced at Ichigo's sword again. "You look like you want to say something."
"I do," Ichigo admitted. "But it'd sound rude."
Inyen smiled wider. "Try me."
"Your footwork leaves an opening on the third step," Ichigo said. "Right side. Just before you resheath."
The smile didn't fade. Instead, Inyen drew her blade halfway and stopped. "You must be tired, as I hold no weaknesses."
Ichigo didn't hesitate. She drew.
The sound rang sharp and clean in the empty hall.
They didn't bow or announce rules. They eased into distance, blades low, eyes locked.
Ichigo and Inyen circled each other, blades low, eyes locked.
The first exchanges were careful. Light taps of steel, sliding blocks, feints and subtle shifts. Ichigo measured distance, testing Inyen's reactions. Inyen mirrored her movements, precise, deliberate, minimal wasted motion.
A faint twist of the wrist. A low slash aimed at the leg. Ichigo sidestepped, blade grazing the polished floor. Inyen's eyes flicked briefly to her opponent's posture, adjusting. Their swords met again with a crisp CLANG, echoing through the empty hall.
The second clash was sharper. Ichigo pressed, striking left to right, forcing Inyen to pivot on the balls of her feet. Inyen's defense was elegant, almost too relaxed. She moved like she expected an opening to reveal itself—like a predator confident in her prey.
Again they engaged, a back-and-forth of blades testing timing and intent. Ichigo's strikes were deliberate; she flowed from defense into offense naturally, her movements difficult to follow due to her footwork technique.
Then Inyen paused, eyes narrowing. She lifted her sword higher, shoulders settling into a stance she rarely used. A subtle wind stirred across the hall, the faint hum of power gathering in her blade.
"Silent Sword Style: Sword Gale," she murmured, voice quiet but certain.
A torrent of wind and force blasted forward in a wide arc, pushing the air itself with lethal intent.
Ichigo froze for a heartbeat—but only a heartbeat. She vanished in a flash, Misty Step sliding her sideways and slightly back. The strike tore through where she had just been, cutting nothing but the echo of empty air.
Inyen's eyes widened. She adjusted instinctively, raising her sword to block—but the afterimage fooled her. The swing clipped the edge of her blade, forcing her to scramble backward a step she hadn't planned. Breath quickened.
Ichigo's mirage remained faintly visible, blade low, eyes steady. The duel ended not with a strike but with the realization that Inyen's supposed overpowering technique could be countered.
"That was an impressive technique," Ichigo said, sheathing her katana slowly. "...But it seems my eyes weren't wrong after all."
Inyen straightened, expression a mix of pride and irritation, fingers still gripping her hilt. "Not bad," she admitted. "Your movement… it's tricky. Like a rabbit. Hopping around left and right."
A vein appeared on Ichigo's forehead. "If anyone here is a rabbit, it's you. You are so so small."
Inyen's expression darkened, but she surprisingly sheathed her blade. "For now, this duel ends. I will remember this lesson."
As Ichigo walked outside the combat hall, she spoke up. "Want to train together tomorrow? We can share blade techniques. Wait… you are a student, right?"
"I AM!" Inyen shouted, then immediately composed herself. "Ehem... See you tomorrow, then."
———
The next day, Ichigo wandered through the dojo hall, eager. The polished floors echoed under her boots. Sunlight streamed through open eaves, dust motes drifting lazily. The dojo was lively as ever.
She froze mid-step.
Inyen was there, blade in hand, moving with her usual fluid grace. A rare smile flickered across her face.
"You came," Ichigo said, heart lifting.
"I told you I was a student, didn't I?" Inyen replied. "Also, someone from another clan is visiting… set to teach in one of the dojo rooms. Come on!"
Before Ichigo could protest, Inyen grabbed her wrist and pulled her along. They sprinted past half-empty rooms, peeking in briefly.
"He appeared out of nowhere," Inyen said while running. "A monstrous genius. Already a peak martial apprentice at barely the age most of us begin. Rare to see one so young rise so fast… I'm an even better genius, though."
Ichigo's excitement bubbled. Although the Martial Artist didn't seem to be a swordsman as they came from another clan, she was ready to learn from someone powerful.
Finally, they arrived at a crowded hall. Martial artists of all levels ringed the edges, bruised and beaten from some prior test.
And in the middle stood a boy.
He looked… familiar.
Her chest constricted. Her steps slowed. His black hair, face… everything about him pulled at memories she had almost buried.
When his eyes lifted, locking onto hers, her heart spiked. Black eyes. Endless. Empty yet infinite.
Ichigo dropped her katana without thinking, earning the stares of everyone.
"Ichigo?" Inyen asked her newfound friend.
"K-Kyoho?" Her voice trembled. She ran forward, breath catching, desperate to confirm he was alive. "Kyoho, you're alive… where have you been?"
She reached for her precious little brother, arms wide.
Then the world twisted.
A violent force slammed her to the ground. Pain exploded in her arm as a sharp crack confirmed broken bones.
Air rasped from her lungs as she tried to push herself up. Every movement sent agony through her shoulder and wrist. She was still in shock, unable to process what was happening.
He knelt beside her, calm.
Closer now, his presence overwhelming. She looked into his eyes, and it was like staring into herself: endless, reflective, impossible to look away from.
"I don't know who you are," he said, voice soft, measured. "But do call me by my name."
Shock froze her. Words caught in her throat.
"Tokugawa Ieyasu."