Master Omi had lived in Fuyuki for over a decade, visiting Ryuudou Temple monthly without fail. He and the abbot were close friends.
Usually, he came alone, but this time he brought others. The abbot was surprised and asked the reason.
Omi said calmly, "Nothing, it's just that my time is coming to an end, there are things they need to take over."
The abbot froze, stunned by the casual mention of death, unsure how to respond.
Omi chuckled. "Don't worry. I'm almost ninety. Life and death are natural. Just as a man discards old garments for fresh raiment, so must this mortal shell be left behind, for the eternal soul knows no end." He smiled and continued "No need to dwell on it"
The abbot bowed. "Your words carry wisdom. I feel ashamed as a monk."
"Please, I spoke out of turn."
They exchanged greetings and went inside for tea.
…..
"Listen up; all of you, go home!" Taiga, now a grown young woman, scolded her family's men in her usual childish tone.
"If Grandpa asks, say I don't need you! Honestly, how overprotective can he be?"
The dozen burly men in black exchanged embarrassed glances. They were ordered to protect her, but she was sending them away. They couldn't upset Raiga or Taiga.
"You've worked hard. Please tell Grandpa Fujimura I'll look after Sis," Haru said, stepping out after cleaning his room. "He can relax."
"Th-thank you, Young Master Haru! Now the boss can rest easy, and we can report back…" The men left, almost tearfully grateful.
Taiga rolled her eyes. "Stop treating me like a kid. I'm the senior sister!"
Haru smiled, used to her. After chores, he wandered the temple, stopping at the main hall when he heard a familiar voice.
"I've been here for years but never visited one. I had some hopes, but now I feel I wasted my time."
The cold, sharp critique reminded Haru of a certain silver-haired girl.
"Don't be rude, and keep it down!" another girl chided, though her voice was louder.
"You've been in Japan for eight years and never visited a shrine?"
"Religious reasons… I don't care, but someone does. In order to prevent him from being grumpy, I have to act like a good daughter and act like a good girl."
The silver-haired girl waved dismissively. "Adults are easy. As long as children act cute, they will believe anything."
Her face darkened, smiling. "The world's full of fools who judge by looks. But that's fine… it's useful."
The other girl shot back, "Your gloom doesn't match your pretty face."
She was right. The silver-haired girl, expressionless, radiated a holy aura; like a virtuous nun. But she was a bundle of negativity.
"Oh, sounds like you're calling me fake," she chuckled. "You know me well, Rias."
Rias puffed her cheeks. "Caren, drop the act. I know your real self."
Now a beautiful young woman, Rias's ponytail added to her charm.
Caren eyed her. "So, you asked me out, not just for the temple right? Are you ready to face me? After eight years of fear, what gave you courage?"
"Hmph, Caren, your arrogance will cost you." Rias smiled confidently, thrusting out her chest. "I measured yesterday; I've grown better than you!"
Caren's eyes widened. "What?"
Rias beamed. "I forced myself to drink milk all these years, and it paid off. Your only edge is gone. I'm not scared anymore!"
Caren's expression shifted, ending in a sigh. "Ah, the gap isn't there, but–" she pointed to her head.
"What!" Rias looked ready to snap.
Caren bowed to the Buddha statue. "You wouldn't fight here, would you, Rias?"
Rias fumed but held back.
Outside, Haru watched, deciding not to greet them. "They're a handful together… But what are they even talking about? Better avoid them."
He thought, 'I'll check the back mountain. Maybe catch some cute… tasty animals.'
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The abbot left for duties, leaving Omi alone in the tea room. He sipped tea, gazing at the forest, his mind drifting; rare for someone of his mastery.
Over a decade ago, on a clear day like this, he came to Fuyuki. Drawn by Mount Enzou's spiritual energy, he wandered the woods. There, he met his greatest foe.
Hard to believe, but it wasn't human, just a shadow dancing with a sword.
Not even a ghost, just an echo of a past swordsman, preserved by the land's power.
At first, Omi dismissed it as harmless. But it's swordplay, pure as water, noble as the moon captivated him.
Before he knew it, he was dueling it.
As a top nine-dan master, facing a mindless shadow, he should've won easily. But he lost.
Completely.
Although he was superior in strength, speed and skills, he couldn't match the brilliance of his opponent.
For the first time, his swordsmanship felt foolish; like a monkey yelling at the moon. No matter how he swung, the moonlight stayed untouched.
Though unharmed, he couldn't leave. He settled in Fuyuki, learning when the shadow appeared. So he went there every month on specific dates to wait for the shadow.
Over the years, he lost countless times. Not only did his Kendo's not improve but they showed signs of decline.
He knew it was a mental block. Leaving was the smart choice, but his pride wouldn't let him. Deep down, he longed to defeat that presence.
Now, nearing his end, he brought Taiga and Haru, hoping they might fulfill his wish.
If they didn't care, he'd let it go.
"I'm here again. How will you greet me this time?" Omi murmured, smiling as he sipped his tea.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------
For hunting, Haru brought Muramasa. Wildlife laws? If no one catches you, it's not a crime. He planned to kill, cook, and leave no trace.
But after wandering, he found nothing; no rabbits, no animals at all. The mountain was silent, no birds or bugs.
'Did they go to a group meeting? Why is no one here?' he joked.
Haru went deeper and deeper. Before he knew it mist rose, dimming the sun. The quiet grew heavy.
Even Haru, slow as he was, sensed something off. His ahoge didn't warn him, and he felt no murderous intent. After years of kendo, he trusted his gut.
"It doesn't look like a trap….more like a barrier. But there's no trace of mana. A natural spiritual boundary maybe?"
Such barriers were rare, needing perfect conditions.Even with that the chances of it forming were low. Haru stumbling into one was oddly lucky or unlucky.
"Hm, is that… a person?" Ahead, a figure stood in the mist.
"Hey, can you hear me?" The figure didn't respond. Haru approached cautiously, drawing Muramasa. The blade hummed in the foggy air.
"You, too, wield a sword?" the figure said. As the last word fell, a sword light drifted toward Haru.
Yes, drifted, like a fish in the sea; free in the vastness.
It wasn't fast; Haru knew several at the dojo, including himself who could swing quicker. But none matched its grace. It was precise, like weighing a mountain with a feather.
Haru raised his sword to counter it but felt outmatched. He blocked, but the light slipped past, grazing Muramasa's edge.
He couldn't counter; the balance was too fine. With one strike, the figure cornered him.
But eight years weren't wasted. His sword was instinctive to him. Facing the danger, his eyes narrowed. He twisted his blade, deflecting the light.
"Kiai!"
Haru stepped forward, thrusting straight. His longer blade gave him reach. His Taichi was swift, his mind free of distractions and his momentum sharp.
Just as victory neared, the figure dipped and said. "Bamboo Cutter!"
Shoulders shifting, he sheathed and redrew in one smooth motion.
Haru gasped. "Sheathing technique!"
He tensed. When he wielded the sword, he always held back, leaving room to improve. But now seeing this, he poured all his strength into his strike.
Sheathing and drawing were the basics of Kendo but as the saying goes basic methods are the best. Drawing sets the pace; sheathing linked moves. Master sheathing, and attacks flowed endlessly. Fail, and foes found openings.
Haru had devoted countless hours to mastering the art of the sword; each draw and sheath a meticulous dance between strength and restraint. Although he had nearly reached the refined level of Iaido in his sword-drawing technique, the elusive perfection that defined a flawless stroke still lay just beyond his grasp.
He understood that expending every ounce of power in each strike left him no time to recalibrate his stance or perfect subsequent moves. Meanwhile, his opponent, wielding a sword with a fearsome elegance, effortlessly absorbed and countered his attacks, turning the very momentum of his strikes into openings for a devastating counterattack.
So, Haru abandoned chaining, betting everything on one strike. The enemy was too good at transitions.
Muramasa, a rare demon blade, was his edge in this era. A swift, direct thrust maximized that.
The figure had two options: block or dodge. Dodging gave Haru the lead; blocking favored his weapon.
But the figure neither dodged nor blocked. His sleeve fluttered, sword arcing past Haru's neck.
Haru's blade was still half a foot away.
A chill on his skin, darkness in his eyes—he felt weightless.
But the near-death moment faded. He snapped back.
"Impossible! I calculated it, my sword was faster!" He didn't even check for wounds, he was full of confusion.
"Good sword… Although your technique's rough, it's promising. Focus on your feet next time."
The figure sheathed his sword. "Without feet, you can't move. To kill, aim the blade; to protect, mind your stance."
Haru looked down, realizing the distance had widened unnoticed. The figure's footwork was masterful.
With that extra half-foot, the figure struck, bypassing Haru's thrust.
Haru touched his neck; wet, but with water, not blood.
"…Who are you?"
"I am nameless, but you should know… .."
Haru looked up, but the figure was gone, the mist thinning.
He pondered. Despite being close, he hadn't seen the figure's form, only a vague shape. His sword hit nothing, and the figure's strike left only water.
He hadn't even seen the sword's type.
A chill hit him: 'Did I see a ghost?'
....
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