Got it — this
Jiro told them to pack light.
No explanation.
No destination.
Just three words spoken at dawn.
"Follow me."
They didn't question it.
By now, they had learned that when Jiro spoke like that, explanations came later—if at all.
The boat was small. Old. Weathered by salt and years of use. The kind of vessel no one would look twice at. Jiro handled it himself, steering with calm precision as the shoreline of Gosa slowly disappeared behind them.
Neither Ryu nor Kenji spoke.
The sea was quiet.
Too quiet.
They traveled for hours. No landmarks. No islands they recognized. Just open water and a sun that crawled steadily across the sky.
Ryu felt it long before they arrived.
A pressure.
Not hostile.
Not threatening.
Just… heavy.
Like the air itself had weight.
"Where are we going?" Kenji finally asked.
Jiro didn't look back. "Somewhere you need to be."
That was all he said.
---
The island appeared without warning.
A jagged stretch of rock rising sharply from the sea, its shoreline broken and uneven. No signs of civilization. No docks. No smoke. Just stone, trees twisted by wind, and cliffs that rose like teeth toward the sky.
Jiro guided the boat into a narrow inlet and tied it off.
"Out," he said.
They climbed onto the rocks.
The moment Ryu's feet touched the ground, his chest tightened.
This place felt… wrong.
Not cursed.
Not dangerous.
Just *old*.
As if it had watched countless battles and remembered every one of them.
Kenji rolled his shoulders. "I don't like this."
"You shouldn't," Jiro replied.
He walked ahead without waiting.
They followed.
---
The clearing was wide and bare, ringed by stone and low trees bent by years of wind. The ground was hard-packed dirt, scarred in places as though something heavy had struck it again and again.
Jiro stopped at the center.
He turned.
"Draw your weapons."
Ryu and Kenji froze.
"…What?" Kenji asked.
Jiro's expression didn't change. "You heard me."
Ryu hesitated. "You said this was training."
"It is."
Kenji slowly drew his red-hilted sword.
Ryu's hands went to the hilts of his knives.
The moment the steel left their sheaths, the air shifted.
Jiro exhaled once.
Then moved.
Ryu never saw the first strike.
One moment Jiro stood still.
The next—
Impact.
Ryu flew backward, body lifted clean off the ground, crashing into the dirt hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.
Kenji barely had time to react before Jiro was in front of him.
A blur.
A strike.
Kenji raised his sword—
Too slow.
The staff cracked against his ribs and sent him skidding across the ground.
Dust exploded.
Silence followed.
Ryu gasped, forcing air back into his lungs.
"What—"
Jiro didn't give him time to finish.
He was already there.
Ryu felt it an instant before it happened — the pressure, the intent, the inevitability.
He twisted aside.
Too late.
Jiro's elbow clipped his shoulder, sending pain screaming through his arm.
"Get up," Jiro said calmly.
Ryu staggered to his feet, heart pounding.
Kenji did the same, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.
"You didn't even warn us," Kenji growled.
"This is the warning," Jiro replied.
He stepped forward.
They attacked together.
Ryu moved first, blades flashing. Kenji followed, sword cutting in from the opposite side.
Their timing was perfect.
Their coordination clean.
It didn't matter.
Jiro stepped between them as if they were standing still.
Ryu felt his strike deflected without resistance. Kenji's blade was caught mid-swing and twisted aside effortlessly.
Jiro struck once.
Ryu hit the ground.
Jiro struck again.
Kenji followed.
They didn't even see the blows.
They just felt them.
Pain bloomed everywhere.
"You're slow," Jiro said. "Both of you."
Ryu struggled to his knees. "We're faster than before!"
"Yes," Jiro agreed. "And still nowhere near enough."
He moved again.
This time, Ryu tried to *feel* it.
The shift.
The intent.
He caught it—just barely.
He moved.
The strike missed.
For a split second, hope surged.
Then Jiro's knee drove into his stomach.
Ryu collapsed, retching.
"Observation without resolve," Jiro said calmly. "You hesitate."
Kenji roared and charged.
Jiro turned.
Their weapons clashed.
Kenji pushed forward, muscles straining, Armament coating his arms instinctively.
Jiro didn't retreat.
He met the force head-on.
And won.
Kenji was thrown backward like a doll.
The ground shook when he landed.
Ryu forced himself upright, vision blurring.
"Why?" he shouted. "Why bring us here just to—"
"To show you the truth," Jiro cut in.
He stood in the center of the clearing, untouched.
"You think you've grown because the world stopped punishing you," he said. "You think awareness and strength make you dangerous."
He stepped forward.
"They don't."
Ryu clenched his knives, blood dripping from his knuckles.
"Then what does?"
Jiro's gaze hardened.
"Perspective."
He moved.
Ryu reacted on instinct.
This time, something changed.
The moment stretched.
The space between motion and impact widened.
Ryu felt it — truly felt it.
Not thought.
Not fear.
Intent.
He moved.
And for the first time—
His blade met Jiro's staff.
The impact rang out across the island.
Jiro's eyes widened slightly.
Kenji saw it.
So did Ryu.
For one heartbeat, they had touched the same moment.
Then Jiro pushed through.
Ryu flew backward again, skidding across the dirt.
But he was smiling.
He felt it.
Just for an instant.
He had hardened.
Not fully.
Not cleanly.
But enough.
Kenji stared at his own hands.
He could feel something too — not strength, not force, but *timing*.
The moment before Jiro moved.
The space between breaths.
His eyes widened.
"…I see it."
Jiro looked at them both.
And for the first time since the fight began—
He smiled.
"Good," he said.
Then he raised his staff again.
---