Sword Master

Sensei Fujima Sento

Note: The past timeline - Three years before Ryoto and team rescues Aem and friends. ❤️ - represented by this symbol

The present timeline - Ryoto and team rescues Aem and friends. 🟥 - represented by this symbol

The future timeline - one year after Ryoto and team had rescued Aem and friends. ♦️ - represented by this symbol

***

❤️...

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the training grounds of the Fujima Sento. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the sounds of grunts, clashing swords, and heavy footsteps. The team of young warriors moved with varying degrees of grace and determination, their swords flashing in the dwindling light. Above the din, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Your stance is wrong!" The voice belonged to Master Fujima, a stern figure whose very presence demanded respect. His eyes were like steel, and his expression, one of unwavering authority.

The trainees froze, adjusting their positions under his watchful gaze. But no sooner had they corrected one mistake than another critique rang out.

"Your posture is wrong!" Fujima's voice was relentless, each word a hammer blow designed to forge them into true warriors.

"That's not how you hold your sword!" he barked, his sharp eyes catching the smallest deviations. The students' hands trembled as they adjusted their grips, the weight of their swords suddenly feeling ten times heavier.

"Fight while concentrating. But don't think!" Fujima's paradoxical command left them bewildered, struggling to find the balance between instinct and focus.

"You can't be this bad at sword fighting!!" His frustration was palpable, the disappointment in his voice cutting deeper than any sword.

One by one, the trainees faltered under the intense scrutiny. Remeshi with a lean build and determination that had been steadily eroding throughout the grueling session too began shaking with tiredness. His limbs felt like lead, his muscles screamed in protest, and every breath was a battle.

"Come on. Get up. Start working out. We are not done yet!" Fujima's voice rang out once more, demanding more than what seemed humanly possible.

Remeshi could take no more. His legs gave way, and he crumpled to the ground, the cold earth a small solace to his exhausted body. With eyes shut tight, he murmured, "Come on, Master. One small nap, please?!"

Fujima's brows furrowed, and he looked down at the prostrate figure of his student with a mixture of sternness and faint amusement. "No," he replied, his tone brooking no argument.

Nearby, Ayeta couldn't help but chuckle at the exchange. "Ah. The Fujima Sento is insanely... strict..." he remarked, his laughter a brief, light-hearted break in the otherwise severe atmosphere.

The rigorous training continued, with Master Fujima driving his students harder, pushing them beyond their limits.

Approximately Eight to ten hours earlier.

"Perry! Where are you, Perry!"

Hizakun's voice rang out in the fading light, echoing through the quiet village. Her calls were tinged with desperation, each shout growing more frantic as she hurried along the cobbled streets. The sun was slipping behind the horizon, casting long shadows that twisted and grew with each passing moment.