The bell rang before the sun cleared the walls.
Koujin was already awake.
He stood with the others in the Kukuru yard, bare feet on packed dirt still cold from the night. No one spoke. The air smelled like old wood and sweat that never quite washed out.
"Line up."
They moved.
Koujin took his place without looking, second row, two steps from the end. Someone bumped his shoulder while adjusting position. He didn't react.
The instructor paced once, then twice.
"Run."
They ran.
By the time the sun rose, Koujin's legs felt hollow.
They were made to circle the perimeter wall again and again, gravel cutting into skin, breath tearing at lungs. When someone slowed, they were struck across the back of the legs with a bamboo rod.
Not hard enough to break anything.
Hard enough to remind.
Koujin kept his eyes forward. He counted steps in his head without numbers, measuring distance by breath instead.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Step.
When his chest tightened, he shortened the breath. When his vision blurred, he lowered his gaze.
The run ended when the instructor decided it did.
Two children collapsed immediately.
One didn't get back up.
No one was told to help him.
Maki woke up late.
Not because she slept in — because she'd trained past midnight and her arms felt like they didn't belong to her anymore.
She rolled off the futon and hit the floor with a quiet grunt, then pushed herself upright. Her glasses were half off the rack where she'd thrown them.
"…Great."
She wiped the lenses on her sleeve and shoved them on, squinting. Her shoulder protested when she lifted her arm.
She ignored it.
By the time she reached the yard, the instructor was already there.
"You're late," he said.
"I know," Maki replied.
She took her stance anyway.
The spear felt heavier than yesterday.
That annoyed her.
She adjusted her grip and thrust forward, feet digging into the dirt. The target shuddered but didn't split.
"Again," the instructor said.
Maki reset.
Again.
Her arms burned. Sweat slid down her neck and soaked the collar of her uniform. She bit the inside of her cheek and drove the spear forward harder.
This time the wood cracked.
"Too stiff," the instructor said, bored. "You'll hurt yourself like that."
"Then I'll get stronger," Maki shot back.
The instructor shrugged. "Or you'll break."
Maki didn't respond.
She pulled the spear free and kept going.
Back in the Kukuru yard, Koujin knelt in the dirt.
They were holding low stances now, thighs burning, backs straight. Anyone who shifted got struck lightly across the shoulders.
Koujin's muscles trembled.
He adjusted his breathing.
Slow.
Even.
The tremor settled into something manageable. Pain didn't disappear, but it stopped demanding attention.
The instructor stopped in front of him.
Stared.
Koujin kept his eyes forward.
After a moment, the instructor moved on.
At midday, they were given water.
One cup each.
Koujin drank slowly, not letting himself gulp. He rolled his shoulders gently, careful not to stretch too much. Bruises bloomed under his uniform like ink spreading in water.
A boy next to him whispered, "How are you still standing?"
Koujin didn't answer.
The boy laughed weakly. "Yeah. Right."
Maki sat on the grass during break, spear across her knees.
Mai wasn't there.
That was normal now.
Maki pulled off her gloves and inspected her palms. Blisters had torn open. Blood dried in thin lines along her fingers.
"Tch."
She wrapped provisioning tape around her hands and stood up again before the break ended.
The instructor raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.
Evening came.
The Kukuru Unit trained until the shadows stretched long and the air cooled. By then, Koujin's body felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.
They practiced formation drills.
Advance.
Hold.
Replace.
When the boy in front of him stumbled, Koujin stepped forward automatically, blade up, position filled. The instructor nodded once.
That was all.
Maki trained until the yard emptied.
She didn't notice at first. She was too focused on correcting her footing, on keeping her weight centered instead of leaning forward too much.
When she finally stopped, her chest was heaving and the sky was darkening.
"…Already?" she muttered.
She leaned on her spear and stared up at the clouds, jaw tight.
They crossed paths near the outer corridor.
Koujin was carrying practice weapons back to storage when he saw her sitting on a low wall, legs swinging slowly, spear resting beside her.
She noticed him when he was already close.
"Oh," she said.
"Hi," Koujin replied.
They stood there.
The evening breeze stirred dust across the stones.
"…You eat?" she asked.
"Yes."
She nodded. "Good."
That was it.
Later, when the estate was quiet, Koujin slipped into the eastern yard.
The moon hung low, pale and thin.
He raised the wooden sword.
One breath.
One movement.
The cut was shallow, controlled. The silver trace faded almost immediately.
[Moon Breathing – Form 1 Stability: Incremental Increase]
He lowered the sword and waited for the ache to fade.
It did.
Slowly.
Across the compound, Maki trained alone.
She didn't bother with targets anymore. She moved, adjusted, corrected. When her foot slipped, she fixed it. When her grip faltered, she tightened it.
She stopped only when her arms shook too badly to continue.
"…Stupid," she muttered, not sure who she was talking to.
She stayed anyway, leaning on the spear, breathing hard until the shaking passed.
Koujin returned to his room quietly.
He lay on the futon, staring at the ceiling, counting breaths until sleep came.
Outside, the moonlight crept along the wall.
Maki left the yard long after she should have.
Her hands hurt. Her shoulders hurt. Her head hurt.
She didn't care.
She walked back toward her room with the spear balanced across her shoulders, gaze fixed ahead.
The corridor lamps were already dimmed, their light uneven and yellow.
Maki walked past them without slowing, the spear balanced across her shoulders like it weighed nothing.
Each step sent a dull ache through her arms, but she didn't adjust her grip.
Adjusting meant admitting it hurt.
She turned a corner and nearly collided with a servant carrying laundry. The woman bowed quickly and hurried past without looking at Maki's face.
"Tch," Maki muttered, more out of habit than anger.
Her room was quiet when she slid the door open. Too quiet. She dropped the spear against the wall, let it slide down with a soft knock, and sat on the futon without bothering to straighten it. Her hands were shaking now that she'd stopped moving.
She stared at them for a moment.
Then she reached for the tape again.
Koujin woke before the bell.
He always did now.
For a few seconds he lay still, listening to the sounds of the compound waking up—the distant shuffle of feet, the creak of doors, the faint clink of weapons being moved. His body felt heavy, like it hadn't fully caught up with yesterday yet.
He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up slowly.
The bruise along his ribs complained. He acknowledged it and moved on.
By the time he stepped outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten.
Maki finished taping her hands as the first bell rang.
She stood, flexed her fingers once, twice, then grabbed her glasses and shoved them on. The frames sat crooked on her face, but she didn't bother fixing them.
"Whatever," she said to the empty room.
She picked up her spear and headed out.
The Kukuru yard smelled different in the morning.
Cooler. Damp. Like the ground hadn't decided yet whether to be dust or mud.
Koujin took his place in line. No one spoke. The instructor walked down the row once, eyes scanning faces, then nodded to himself.
"Equipment drill," he said. "You're late, you're punished."
No one was late.
They were handed weighted packs and told to move.
Maki reached her yard at the same time.
Today's instructor was new. Older. Scar running from his jaw to his neck. He looked at her once, then looked away.
"Warm up," he said.
Maki didn't need to be told twice.
She ran through stretches quickly, then took her stance. The spear felt steadier today. That annoyed her too.
She thrust.
Adjusted.
Thrust again.
Koujin moved with the pack digging into his shoulders.
They practiced climbing short walls, jumping down, rolling, standing again without pause. Anyone who hesitated was struck lightly with a rod—not enough to injure, enough to rush them.
Koujin hit the ground, rolled, and came up on one knee. His breath caught for half a second.
He slowed it.
He stood.
The instructor watched him longer this time.
Maki's instructor circled as she trained.
"You favor your right side," he said.
"I know," she replied.
"Then fix it."
"I am."
She shifted her footing slightly and thrust again. The spearhead struck closer to center this time.
The instructor grunted. "Better."
Maki didn't smile.
By midday, Koujin's arms felt like they were filled with sand.
They were running again, packs still on. Sweat soaked his uniform, clinging uncomfortably.
Someone stumbled ahead of him and nearly fell.
Koujin reached out automatically, steadying the boy's shoulder just long enough for him to regain balance.
The instructor saw it.
"Don't help," he said flatly. "Replace."
The boy fell a step later.
Koujin moved past him without looking back.
Maki sat on the edge of the yard during break, chewing on a rice ball with more force than necessary.
Her legs were stretched out in front of her, boots dusty and scuffed.
She noticed a new crack in the wood of her spear.
"…Great," she muttered.
She turned it slowly, inspecting the damage. It wasn't bad. Not yet.
She tightened her grip.
The afternoon passed in fragments.
Shouting.
Movement.
Correction.
By the time the Kukuru Unit was dismissed, Koujin's head buzzed faintly.
He bowed with the others, then turned and walked away, posture straight even as his legs threatened to give out.
He didn't go back to his room.
Not yet.
Maki didn't either.
She stayed after dismissal, running through the same sequence again and again.
Her movements were rougher now, edges slipping, but she kept going until her instructor finally waved her off.
"Enough," he said. "You'll hurt yourself."
Maki hesitated.
Then she nodded once and stopped.
They crossed paths again near the outer corridor, neither of them surprised this time.
Koujin slowed. Maki didn't.
"You smell like dirt," she said as she passed him.
"You too," he replied.
She snorted, almost smiling, and kept walking.
That night, the moon was half-hidden by clouds.
Koujin trained anyway.
His movements were slower than yesterday. He shortened the session, stopped before the strain crossed into danger.
When he lowered the sword, his hands were steady.
He sat for a while afterward, breathing quietly, listening to the wind move through the bamboo.
Maki lay on her futon staring at the ceiling.
Her arms throbbed. Her hands stung under the tape. She turned onto her side and shoved her face into the pillow.
"…Tomorrow," she muttered.
[End of Chapter 3]