**Kazuo PoV**
The clash of steel rang in my ears as I blocked his fist. The impact jarred my arms, but I held firm. Yet even as I fought, my mind slipped back—back to a gentler time, when those same massive hands had guided mine instead of trying to cut me down.
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[Four years old – Makkuroyama, family training yard]
The wooden practice sword was almost too heavy for my small hands. I was only four, but Father said real samurai started young. The sun was just peeking over the mountains, painting everything in soft gold. Birds were singing, and the air smelled like morning dew and the faint sweetness of the plum blossoms by the wall.
