The PE teacher blows his whistle sharply, the sound cutting through the noise on the field. "Alright, everyone, gather 'round! It's time to test your sword skills!" he announces, hands on his hips like a drill sergeant. The class groans but slowly shuffles toward him.
"Let's start with a demonstration," the teacher says, pointing at Muichiro. "Tokito, front and center. Show the class how it's done."
Muichiro steps forward with his usual calm expression, completely unfazed. He unsheathes his katana with a smooth, fluid motion, the blade gleaming under the sunlight. His posture is relaxed, almost casual, but there's a quiet intensity in his eyes.
The teacher gestures to a wooden dummy standing a few meters away. "This is your target. I want you to cut it down in under five seconds. Think you can manage that?"
Muichiro glances at the dummy and then back at the teacher, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Five seconds? I won't need that long."
A ripple of whispers spreads through the class. Some of the boys scoff, muttering things like, "Show-off," while others just watch in awe. The girls, on the other hand, can't take their eyes off him. Akatsuki, standing near the back, feels her heart racing. He's so freaking cool!
Without another word, Muichiro moves. One moment, he's standing still, and the next, he's a blur. The air shifts as he executes a Mist Breathing technique with almost supernatural grace. His katana slices through the dummy with breathtaking precision, splitting it cleanly in half. The pieces collapse to the ground with a dull thud, and by the time anyone blinks, he's already sheathed his blade with an audible click.
The class is silent for a moment, stunned. Then someone blurts out, "Holy shit, that was insane!" and the group erupts into applause. "Damn, he's like a freaking samurai god!" another student yells.
Muichiro remains unfazed, his expression calm and detached as he glances at Akatsuki. He catches her staring and raises an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. Akatsuki's face turns bright red. Oh my god, he totally saw me drooling over him!
"Alright, enough gawking! Your turn!" the teacher says, clapping his hands. "Go grab a sword and let's see what you've got!"
The students scatter toward the weapon rack. Akatsuki hesitates before picking up a katana, but the moment she tries to lift it, her arms shake like she's holding a hundred-pound barbell. "What the hell is this thing made of?!" she mutters.
Muichiro, who's been casually watching from nearby, walks over with an amused look. "Need some help?" he asks, his voice calm but with a teasing edge.
Akatsuki groans. "No, I've got it—okay, maybe I don't. This thing is ridiculous."
Muichiro chuckles softly. "Here, let me show you." He steps behind her and places his hands over hers on the hilt of the sword. His grip is steady, and his fingers lightly brush hers, sending a jolt through her body that she tries to ignore.
"Relax," he murmurs, his voice low and close to her ear. "You're holding it like it's a rabid animal."
Akatsuki lets out a nervous laugh. "Well, it feels like a rabid animal."
Muichiro laughs, his breath warm against her ear. "Spread your feet a little more. And stop leaning back like it's going to bite you. It's a sword, not a death trap."
"Yeah, tell that to my arms," Akatsuki mutters under her breath, making him laugh harder.
"Alright, try lifting it again," Muichiro says, adjusting her stance. This time, with his help, the sword feels a little less impossible to hold.
"Okay, not as bad," Akatsuki admits, though her arms are still shaking slightly.
Muichiro smirks and leans in just a bit closer. "Good. Now swing it like you mean it. Imagine it's someone who really pisses you off. Maybe me."
