The blinding flash of steel vanished as quickly as it had appeared, sheathed with a sharp clack. Tsume quickly swiped the same stray tear from his cheek, desperate to erase any sudden trace of weakness.
He sharply turned his back to us, fixing his eyes strictly on the distant podium.
I stood there, stunned. The same arrogant prince who had tried to humiliate me at the docks—and had literally just threatened to make my life hell—had actually cracked.
He had shown real emotion. But, of course, he had to mask it with another death threat. Shaking my head, I followed suit and turned back toward the stage.
Kyo Harasayuki continued to announce the remaining squads and Senseis. The Grand Hall buzzed with the residual energy of his pronouncements, a nervous hum that tasted of ozone and the metallic tang of anticipation.
Minutes bled into hours. By the time the sunlight streaming through the high cathedral windows shifted into the deep orange of dusk, the ceremony finally reached its end.
"To conclude the annual Elemental Swordsman Academy Ceremony," Kyo's voice boomed, projecting with absolute, unwavering authority. "It should be considered the highest honor to train here. You are learning from the best of the best, from history's greatest active warriors. Most people will never glimpse this privilege. I suggest you remain on your best behavior this year and prepare to elevate everything you think you know."
He paused, his cold eyes sweeping over the massive crowd one last time. "When you are dismissed, meet with your assigned Sensei and group, and proceed to the Armory to retrieve your forged training swords. Tomorrow marks the official first day of the Academy. Be ready."
Kyo's final command sent immediate ripples of movement through the assembled students. The recruits began to disperse, their thousands of footsteps bleeding into a low, chaotic rumble against the polished marble.
We found ourselves swept along with the tide. I clutched the worn hilt of my wooden practice sword, relying on its familiar, rough texture as a small comfort against the overwhelming pressure of the Grand Hall.
Clumped up right next to me was Tsume. His earlier moment of vulnerability was completely gone, replaced by a dark, intense irritation that seemed to grow by the second as recruits bumped into him.
"Move out of the way, morons!" Tsume suddenly yelled at a group of crossing students. "Can't you recognize greatness when it's walking right behind you?"
The recruits instantly scrambled to clear a path, their eyes widening at the overseer's son. "Sorry, Harasayuki-Sama," they muttered, bowing their heads.
Tsume stepped directly in front of our squad, flashing a smug, arrogant smirk. He dramatically placed his left hand behind his back and swept his right arm toward the Armory corridor. "There. Now we can go."
Beside me, Ging was hyperventilating again, his glasses completely fogged over with nervous heat. Saki, ever stoic, maintained her rigid posture, her glowing red eyes scanning the chaotic hall with unnerving, analytical intensity.
"Jeez, is it always this loud?" Saki muttered flatly, her deadpan voice somehow cutting right through the roar of the crowd.
"That's what I'm saying," Ging squeaked in agreement. .
Suddenly, Ayashi lazily shuffled past Tsume, easily taking the lead position with a wide, obnoxious yawn.
"Let's get moving. Don't wanna be the late snake," Ayashi drawled, looking back at us with a sleepy chuckle.
Complete silence fell over our squad. We all just stared at him.
Ayashi let out a heavy sigh. "You guys are no fun." He shoved his hands back into his pockets and continued ambling toward the Armory. We fell into step behind him.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better," Ging offered, jogging slightly to catch up and giving Ayashi a timid thumbs-up. "I thought it was pretty funny."
Ayashi glanced over his shoulder. A genuine, warm smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the deep, dark bags under his eyes clearly visible in the dimming light.
The Armory was a cavernous space, heavy with the sharp, metallic tang of polished steel and the faint, lingering scent of a swordsmith's forge. Racks upon racks of forged training swords—identical in their simple, unadorned design—lined the high walls. As we approached our designated section, Ging suddenly stopped in his tracks, letting out a strained, breathless squeak.
"Shujinko... look."
Following his trembling finger, I saw a familiar behemoth of a man. Standing near a rack of greatswords, his own recruits trailing respectfully behind him, was Uchimoto Matatsugu. Even with his arms politely crossed behind his back, the scarred Tier 1 swordsman commanded the very air around him.
"It's Uchimoto," I whispered.
"Exactly! I finally get to see him up close," Ging stammered, his fanboy energy practically vibrating off his skin and echoing through the quiet Armory.
Ayashi leaned against a weapons rack, lazily scratching his cheek. "Hey kid, you do realize your actual Sensei is standing right here, right?"
"Oh, right, sorry, I forg—"
Before Ging could finish, a violent wave of dizziness crashed over me. The sterile, metallic scent of the Armory suddenly twisted in my sinuses, replaced by the choking, acrid stench of smoke and something foul—like rust left too long in the rain.
The polished floor beneath my boots warped. The endless racks of swords blurred, rotting away into the splintered, flaming remains of my childhood cabin.
Fire. The sickening copper tang of dripping blood. The suffocating ash of charred wood, and the shattered pieces of a family torn apart.
"Shujin, come here!"
The voice was desperate, cracking through the thick, black smoke. Mom. I saw her running through the flames, dropping to her knees and pulling me into a bone-crushing embrace. Her tears soaked through my clothes, hot and heavy, dripping onto the scorched floorboards.
"Tokochi… Papa… They're gone!" I sobbed, my small, terrified hands gripping her dress.
Her fingers, trembling and stained with soot, stroked my hair. "I've got you, Shujin. I'm right here…"
But the comforting warmth of her arms began to rot away into a freezing chill. The flames roaring around us morphed, twisting into the deafening, distorted laughter of the Death Bringers. Black shadows stretched across the room, wrapping around my mother like jagged claws. They ripped her from my grasp, dragging her backward into the suffocating darkness.
"Mommy!" I screamed, reaching my empty hands into the void.
"Shujinko!"
Saki's sharp, commanding voice sliced through the nightmare. Her hand gripped my arm with surprising, bruising force. "Snap out of it!"
I gasped, my eyes snapping open. The fire vanished. I was back in the Armory, my knuckles stark white as I gripped my wooden practice sword, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.
Ging was staring at me, his face pale and slick with panicked sweat. Saki's glowing red eyes were locked onto my face, a rare, subtle flicker of alarm swimming in their depths. The suffocating smell of smoke and blood was gone, completely replaced by the cold, sterile scent of steel.
It was the exact same hallucination I had experienced in the bunks.
"You… you good, Shujinko?" Ging stammered, nervously pushing his crooked glasses up his nose.
Tsume stood a few feet away, his arms crossed and an ugly, irritated sneer twisting his features.
"He's fine. It's just a pathetic plea for attention," Tsume scoffed loudly. "He wants to make a fool of himself to ruin the squad's reputation before we even start."
Before I could snap back, Ayashi stepped between us. He didn't yell, but his quiet presence alone forced Tsume to shut his mouth. Ayashi leaned in close to me, his voice a low, grounding drawl meant only for my ears.
"Hallucinations, kid? Happens to the best of us when the pressure redlines. Especially when you're lugging around that much heavy baggage." He placed a surprisingly warm, firm hand on my shoulder. "But you're here now. And you've got a job to do."
Stepping back, Ayashi clapped his hands together—a sharp, decisive crack that broke the lingering tension. "Alright, Squad Seven. Your swords are here. Pick 'em up, and let's head out."
As we each pulled a forged training sword from the rack, the reality of the cold steel set in.
These weren't ordinary weapons. The steel was meticulously forged to conduct and control the raw spiritual energy our Boru would release when conjuring an element—a feat that would shatter a standard blade in seconds.
At least that's what Sensei told us.
It was far heavier than my familiar wooden blade—perfectly balanced, lethal, and carrying a silent, heavy promise of the brutal training to come.
Ging strapped his new sword to his hip, still throwing nervous glances toward Uchimoto across the room. "He's even more imposing in person," Ging whispered in awe. "Imagine training under a guy like that."
Saki, ever practical, simply shook her head. "Focus on our own parameters, Ging. We have a sufficient amount of challenges with our current Sensei."
Overhearing our hushed murmurs, Ayashi let out a soft chuckle. "Don't worry about Uchimoto. He's a legend too, sure, but he's not your problem. Your problem," he said, his deep eyes sweeping over the four of us with a glint of cruel amusement, "is me. And Tsume, of course."
He clapped his hands again, his lazy deckhand persona suddenly snapping back into place. "Alright, enough dawdling. We've got our steel. Now, let's go get some ramen."
The suggestion hung in the air, a bizarre, jarring contrast to the grim reality of our situation. Ramen? After the crushing intensity of the ceremony, Tsume's death threats, and a literal PTSD hallucination, a casual team dinner sounded completely absurd.
"Ramen?" Ging echoed, his voice cracking in pure disbelief. "Sensei, are you serious?"
Ayashi offered a lazy shrug, plunging his hands back into his pockets. "What? You think this is all there is to being a swordsman? We've got bonds to form and a hell of a lot of training ahead of us. A good meal is the best way to start. Besides," a sly grin spread across his scruffy face, "Ramen Sensei makes the best damn pork broth on this entire island. You'd be idiots to miss it."
Tsume, lurking on the edge of the group, scoffed loudly. "Ramen? With this squad? You must be joking. I'd rather starve."
Ayashi's gaze flicked over to the director's son, a subtle, dangerous challenge flashing in his eyes. "You're part of this squad, Harasayuki. You eat what we eat. Unless you'd actually prefer to starve?"
Tsume's jaw tightened visibly. He didn't dare talk back to the Water Boru Imperative, but his pale eyes shot daggers at me, blaming me for the indignity.
I met his furious glare head-on. The lingering chill of my nightmare—the memory of my father's sacrifice and my brother's capture—settled into a cold, hard weight in my gut. I rested my hand confidently on the pommel of my new steel sword.
"Let's go get ramen," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. I looked over at Ging and Saki, a silent question in my eyes.
After a moment of tense hesitation, Ging nodded, his stomach letting out a poorly timed, traitorous rumble that replaced his panic with curiosity. Saki simply gave a curt nod, her expression unreadable as always.
Ayashi smirked, a genuine, slightly weary smile gracing his lips.
"That's the spirit. Come on, Squad Seven. Ramen awaits."