It was early morning, and a young man stood in the middle of the garden, a sword held steady in his grasp.
His chest rose and fell in controlled breaths, his eyes sharp and unwavering. Sweat glistened across his forehead, yet not a single unnecessary movement escaped his body as he focused on a lone leaf swaying in the wind.
He waited.
Patient. Silent.
Watching as the leaf trembled, slowly loosening from its stem.
Time seemed to stretch.
Then, the moment came.
The leaf broke free.
And the boy moved.
His steps were soundless, precise. Not a hint of wasted motion as his blade flashed upward in a clean, diagonal arc, swift and sharp as a razor.
The leaf continued its descent.
But now, it was no longer whole.
It had split into three.
The boy let out a quiet sigh, his body easing as the tension left his muscles.
But the next moment, it tightened again.
"That's quite a strong technique you have there."
The voice came out of nowhere.
