The courtyard of the Shimotsuki Dojo was alive with chatter. For the first time in years, the quiet rhythms of the village had been broken by the lively presence of outsiders—Hyogoro's students from the capital. Their uniforms were cleaner, sharper, and their bearing carried the confidence of those raised in the bustling heart of the nation.
At first, the mingling was polite. Students bowed, exchanged greetings, and shared awkward smiles. But it wasn't long before egos and pride began to seep into the air.
"You train out here in the countryside?" one capital student said with a faint smirk, eyeing the wooden posts and worn tatami mats. "No wonder your blades look so… weathered."
Zoro bristled immediately, stepping forward, but Urashima placed a hand on his shoulder before he could start something. "Our swords are weathered," he replied calmly, "because we actually use them."
That stung. The capital boy's grin faltered, and a few Shimotsuki students chuckled.
Not far from them, Denjiro had already drawn attention. Taller than most boys his age, with sharp eyes behind his glasses and an intensity that made others wary, he carried himself with a quiet confidence. He didn't waste time with mocking words—he simply picked up a wooden bokken and demonstrated a quick kata, each swing fluid and precise, his control undeniable.
"Whoa…" one of the village students muttered under his breath.
Denjiro caught Zoro watching and gave him a short nod, not of arrogance but acknowledgment, as if silently declaring: You. We'll cross blades sooner or later.
Meanwhile, Hyogoro himself noticed the empty spot among his ranks and gave a sigh. "That fool… wandering off again."
One of his older disciples leaned close. "Should I go fetch him?"
"Yes," Hyogoro said, shaking his head with a trace of amusement. "He'll lose his way entirely if someone doesn't drag him back. That boy has strength, but just likes causing trouble ."
The Shimotsuki students perked up at this, curious. Someone stronger than Denjiro? The thought alone unsettled some of them. Whispers spread quickly: the capital students' strongest warrior was still missing.
Koushirō, noticing the tension, raised his voice. "Enough talk for today. We are not enemies, nor are we rivals outside of this match. Share a meal, spar lightly if you must, but remember—discipline above all."
The tension lightened, if only a little. Some began comparing sword grips and training scars, others argued over which school's techniques were superior. Denjiro, however, remained quiet, watching Zoro from across the courtyard like a hawk sizing up prey.
As the sun dipped lower, laughter began to rise, the children's energy softening the edges of rivalry. But it didn't last long—because at the very edge of the courtyard, Zoro suddenly shouted.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"
One of the capital students had taken Zoro's hand in theirs, tugging him toward the group meal with a grin. "We were told to keep an eye on you," the boy teased. "They said you're always getting lost, so—don't want you disappearing before the fun even starts!"
Zoro's face went red. "I don't need a babysitter! Let go!" He yanked his arm free, fuming, while the other students burst out laughing.
"Seriously though," Urashima said, laughing loudly
"maybe it's better if someone does hold his hand. Today's too important to waste searching for him."
"I'M NOT A KID!" Zoro barked, stomping off, while the laughter followed him into the evening.
Yet beneath the laughter, a quiet truth remained: the strongest of the capital students had not yet arrived. And when he did, Zoro's path would change forever.