The floor of the dojo creaked beneath their bare feet as they stood in perfect formation—shoulders squared, backs straight, fists clenched at their sides. The rising sun now filtered through the slats of the wooden walls, casting angled shafts of golden light across the floor. Dust floated in the beams like glitter suspended in time.
Ronin stood still as a statue, arms crossed over his chest, gaze unreadable. His mismatched eyes scanned them like a hawk examining prey.
"Today's focus," he said, voice calm but with the weight of iron, "is on endurance. And discipline. Two things you've all been sorely lacking."
Hiroshi shifted ever so slightly.
"I saw that," Ronin muttered, not even turning his head. Hiroshi straightened instantly, sweat already prickling at the back of his neck.
Ronin took a step forward, the wooden floor groaning beneath his weight.
"You want to survive what's coming?" he continued, his tone like a storm cloud before the lightning. "Then you train like you're already at war."
Midori let out a quiet breath. Riku didn't move. He could feel it already—this wouldn't be a normal session. There was something different in their master's demeanor today. A pressure in the air, like the calm before a blade is drawn.
Ronin reached to the side, grabbing a long bamboo staff from a nearby rack. He twirled it once, effortlessly, then pointed it toward them.
"First up. Reaction training."
The three students tensed.
"You know the rules. If you can't dodge, you feel it."
Before they could brace, he was already moving.
Crack. The bamboo sliced through the air, a blur of motion.
Riku ducked instinctively, feeling the wind of the strike pass just inches from his head. Midori rolled to the side, but Hiroshi wasn't so lucky—Ronin's staff smacked him square in the ribs, the thwack echoing like a gunshot in the quiet dojo.
"Gah—!" Hiroshi doubled over.
"Too slow," Ronin said without even looking at him, already swinging again.
This time the strike came for Midori. She pivoted, but her balance slipped. The staff clipped her shoulder and she staggered.
"You're still hesitating," Ronin said flatly.
Then the staff was aimed at Riku. He narrowed his eyes.
Now.
He sidestepped, barely avoiding the swipe. Ronin didn't pause. The next attack came low. Riku jumped, flipping back with a crackle of motion. Lightning sparked briefly at his heel, involuntary.
Ronin's eyes narrowed.
"Control your output," he barked. "You won't always be able to rely on power."
"I know," Riku said through gritted teeth, barely dodging the next strike. He didn't have time to think. His master was on him like a storm—relentless, precise, not holding back even slightly.
Behind him, Hiroshi and Midori were catching their breath, watching carefully as Riku was forced to respond to strike after strike.
He's pushing harder than usual, Riku thought. What's gotten into him today?
A sharp jab nearly caught him in the stomach. He twisted, bringing up his arm just in time, deflecting the staff off his forearm and sliding back across the floor.
"Not bad," Ronin muttered.
Then, without warning, he threw the staff to the side.
"Pair off. We're doing combat drills. No abilities. Strictly hand-to-hand."
They didn't hesitate. Hiroshi and Midori faced each other, already falling into their rhythm from countless previous spars. Riku turned toward Ronin.
But the master held up a hand.
"You're with me today."
Riku blinked. "Wait—me?"
"You heard me."
Midori and Hiroshi glanced over, surprised. It wasn't common for Ronin to spar directly. Especially not in the morning sessions.
Without another word, Ronin stepped into the center of the floor, motioning for Riku to approach.
Riku swallowed the tightness in his throat and stepped forward.
"You've improved," Ronin said calmly, lowering into a stance. "But improvement isn't mastery."
Riku mirrored the stance, watching him carefully. "Then teach me."
Ronin's eyes sharpened.
"I intend to."
They clashed.
Fists and feet moved like blurs. Riku tried to find openings, but every strike he threw was parried with elegant simplicity. Ronin's technique was impeccable—efficient, no wasted movement, and yet somehow aggressive, like he was testing every one of Riku's limits.
Riku tried a sweep kick. Ronin hopped over it and countered with a spinning backhand that clipped Riku's jaw.
He stumbled but stayed on his feet.
"You're relying too much on prediction," Ronin said. "Fight in the now."
Riku surged forward again, throwing a feint to the left and then coming in low with a right hook. Ronin caught it with one hand, twisting and using Riku's own momentum to throw him to the ground.
Pain flared across his back as he hit the wood hard.
"Again," Ronin said.
Riku groaned but stood up.
Behind them, Hiroshi and Midori were going back and forth in a fast-paced bout of their own. Hiroshi had the advantage in brute force, but Midori was more agile—each evading the other with precise footwork. A few times, Hiroshi slipped and caught a jab to the stomach or the side, earning a triumphant smirk from Midori.
"You've gotten faster," Hiroshi panted, rubbing his side.
"You're still predictable," Midori shot back, wiping sweat from her brow.
Back in the center, Riku threw a straight jab, and for once—once—Ronin didn't fully block it. The strike grazed his shoulder.
Ronin paused. His gaze locked on Riku.
Then he smiled. A rare thing.
"Finally," he said. "Now again. Harder."
They clashed once more. This time, Riku wasn't trying to land a perfect hit. He was just trying to keep up. Ronin wasn't toying with him—he was forging him, sharpening him like steel under pressure.
The room echoed with grunts, footsteps, and the occasional gasp of pain. The floor grew slick with sweat. Their muscles burned, but none of them gave in.
Hours passed in a blur of movement.
When Ronin finally stepped back, signaling the end of the spar, Riku collapsed to one knee, panting hard. His shirt clung to him, soaked with sweat, bruises already beginning to form on his ribs and arms.
Ronin nodded once.
"Better."
Riku looked up at him, exhausted but satisfied. "Thanks, Master."
"Don't thank me yet. We're just getting started."
Ronin turned to Midori and Hiroshi, who were both leaning against the wall, half-dead from their own match.
"All three of you," he said, "outside. We're moving to live combat drills."
Riku's head snapped up. "Live? Already?"
Ronin didn't answer. He just walked toward the exit, his sandals tapping softly against the wood.
Hiroshi groaned. "I knew today felt cursed..."
Midori sighed and stood, wiping blood from her lip. "Come on. No use complaining."
Riku pulled himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. But there was a fire in his chest now. A focus. Ronin's words rang in his ears like a challenge.
They followed their master into the light of the training grounds, where the next phase of their ordeal awaited.
⸻
Even though their master was hard on them, he was really kind at heart and cared for them deeply—but he was also a man who held a deep pain.
They were training to become Shinobi assassins for the Legion of Shadow.
A title that sounded glorious to the outside world. A rank that promised honor, strength, power.
But Ronin knew better.
He always remembered one thing his master had told him.
And he thought back—
Back to the night.
The night he learned the truth of their world.
⸻
Ronin always sat on that hill.
It was just outside the compound, high enough that you could see the entire area beneath the moonlight. A quiet place, untouched by the noise and blood that stained the world below.
Every night, without fail, Ronin would go there to meditate.
No one ever disturbed him.
Until now.
Riku approached slowly, seeing the familiar figure sitting cross-legged at the top, his back straight, his sword resting on his lap. Even in the dim light, Ronin looked like a statue—unshaken, unwavering.
But the moment Riku stepped closer, Ronin spoke without turning around.
"Something on your mind?"
Riku hesitated. Then, without a word, he sat down beside him, hugging his knees to his chest.
For a moment, they just sat there in silence.
The stars above shimmered in a silent canvas, infinite and cold.
Then finally, Riku asked, voice quiet—
"Why does the Legion get to decide who lives and who dies?"
Ronin's posture stiffened just slightly.
That was enough for Riku to know: he hadn't expected the question.
There was a pause before Ronin finally turned to look at him, his eyes—one blue, one green—studying him carefully.
"Why do you ask?"
Riku exhaled, shifting his gaze back to the sky.
"Because Midori asked the same thing."
Silence.
Ronin stared at him for a long moment before finally closing his eyes, tilting his head slightly as if contemplating the answer.
"I see."
He exhaled slowly, the wind brushing through his long, dark hair.
"Do you remember the first time you killed something, Riku?"
Riku blinked.
It wasn't the answer he was expecting.
"What?"
"The first time you took a life. Do you remember it?"
Riku thought back.
Back to the night they snuck out.
Back to the wolves.
When Hiroshi screamed and Riku—without thinking—had called the lightning. When he felt that surge of desperation... and the moment that energy tore through the forest and dropped the beast where it stood.
It was the first time he had ended a life.
Riku swallowed.
"Yeah," he muttered.
Ronin opened his eyes. His gaze drifted toward the moon.
"The first time I killed someone, I was fourteen."
Riku turned to him in shock.
He had never heard Ronin talk about himself like this before.
"It was an enemy," Ronin continued, voice even, distant. "A real one. Someone who had done terrible things. And yet... I still remember the way he screamed before he died."
His hands rested gently on his sword, fingers tightening slightly around the hilt.
"You see, Riku... killing someone evil doesn't make it right. It just makes it necessary."
Riku stayed silent.
"But killing someone innocent?" Ronin's voice dropped lower, quieter. "That's different."
His golden eyes darkened, shadows pooling beneath them like old ghosts.
"That kind of death... it stays with you. It doesn't matter how much time passes, how much you try to justify it. Their screams—" he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "They never leave you."
Riku didn't dare interrupt.
The way Ronin's voice wavered, just for a moment—this wasn't some rehearsed speech.
This was pain.
"People like us... we are given orders. We follow them. We kill because we're told to. Because we believe it is for the greater good. But the truth is, once you take an innocent life, that blood never washes off your hands. It stains you. Permanently."
His jaw clenched. His knuckles went white.
"You carry their voices in your head. You see their faces when you close your eyes. You wonder if there was another way. If there was a choice you could have made to stop it. And you will never—" his voice cracked slightly, then steadied again, low and firm, "never stop hearing them scream."
Riku could feel it now.
That weight.
That ghost in Ronin's eyes.
This wasn't just a lesson.
This was a confession.
So when Ronin finally said, "So, no. The Legion should not decide who lives and who dies. No one should."
Riku felt it like a punch to the chest.
He looked down at his own hands.
These hands, trained to kill. Trained to obey.
"But they do," Ronin added softly, and Riku could hear the bitterness behind the words.
Riku felt a lump in his throat.
"Then why do you follow them?" he asked quietly.
Ronin was silent.
For a long time.
Then, he let out a long breath.
"Because in a world where power is law, sometimes the only way to protect what matters... is to be the one holding the sword."
Riku clenched his fists.
"But that's not fair."
Ronin let out a dry, bitter chuckle.
"No. It's not."
They sat in silence again.
The wind picked up, rustling the grass.
Finally, Ronin spoke again, his voice softer this time, as if he were speaking to someone far away.
"You're still young, Riku. You will learn that this world is not black and white. There are no true heroes. No true villains. Just people... doing what they think is right."
He turned to look at Riku, his gaze steady. Not harsh. Not cold.
But real.
"But when the time comes... and you are forced to take a life... remember this."
Riku met his gaze, heart pounding.
"Make sure it is a monster."
A chill ran down his spine.
"Because if you ever kill an innocent..."
Ronin's voice dropped to a whisper.
"You will never truly sleep again."