The next morning, Shunya woke up to the unfamiliar sound of birdsong outside his rented room. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the cracked ceiling. The air smelled faintly of soap from the bar he had bought yesterday, as if his purchase had already blessed the space with the aura of hygiene.
"Day two of living like a cultivator," he muttered. "And my greatest achievement is clean laundry."
After a quick breakfast of bread that was harder than his pillow, he made his way to the training grounds behind the NGCO branch. The place looked like a half-forgotten courtyard: patches of grass fighting for space with trampled dirt, a few wooden dummies leaning like exhausted old men, and a rack of practice weapons that had seen better centuries.
Naomi was already there, stretching with the casual grace of someone who lived for this. Her twin blades gleamed in the morning light.
"You are late," she said without looking up.
