Training At The Dojo

"Ah…what a beautiful day in the dojo," Erabareshimono said as he stretched his arms and let out a long yawn while still lying on his bed. The soft morning sunlight peeked through the small cracks in the wooden walls, casting warm beams of light across the room. Mono shifted slightly, savoring the peaceful moment before reality reminded him he had to get up.

He was living in a dojo, a humble yet sturdy building tucked away in the bush near the outskirts of Zen'i No Machi. It had two bedrooms, an all-purpose bathroom, a sitting room, and a kitchen, all built from solid wood and reinforced with samurai energy—an invisible force said to strengthen and protect the structure. Outside, the large open compound was dotted with neatly cared-for plants, but there was no gate to guard it. The dojo was an open haven, and the calm surroundings gave it a quiet dignity.

Zen'i No Machi itself was a modest town, home to about 15,859 people as of the last census. Despite its size, it carried the spirit of a village, with simple houses, narrow streets, and a close-knit community. The people lived happily under the leadership of the kind-hearted Mayor, Kurogami Ichiro. Those who visited for the first time were often struck by the warmth and harmony of the town, a place where goodwill seemed to flow effortlessly.

In the dojo, Erabareshimono shared a room with four other disciples. Tsuyoi-Josei was one of them, a lively girl with long hair tied back with a neat ribbon. The ribbon's knot faced forward, giving her a distinctive look that matched her sharp and confident personality. Then there was Tsuyoi-Hito, a muscular boy who was always chasing the goal of becoming the strongest. His shaved head and serious expression made him look like he meant business every second of the day. Sutoraiba, another boy in the group, was often underestimated because he was the weakest, but his determination burned brighter than anyone's. His spiky hair was sharp and slightly untidy, reflecting his persistent and rebellious nature. Sairentokira, the last disciple, was quiet and preferred to observe rather than engage in conversations. His short, neat haircut complemented his calm, introverted demeanor. As for Mono, his spiky white hair was styled to give it a sharp yet balanced shape, the locks naturally uneven but deliberate, and his faint stubble added a hint of ruggedness to his otherwise youthful appearance.

Their teacher, referred to simply as "Sensei," stayed in the second room of the dojo. His name was a mystery to his students, but his discipline and wisdom were undeniable. Under his guidance, the five disciples were honing their skills and growing stronger with each passing day.

Mono sat up and scanned the room. To his surprise, the other beds were already empty. He frowned, rubbing his eyes. "Where is everybody?" he murmured. Then, as if struck by a realization, he turned to the clock on the wall. His eyes widened. "Damn! It's eight!"

He leapt out of bed, racing to the bathroom in a panic. Mono brushed his teeth at lightning speed, splashed water on his face, and tossed his nightwear into the laundry basket. He jumped into the shower, the cool water waking him up instantly, and within minutes he was back in his room, pulling on his training clothes. Mono glanced at the clock once more and gave himself a small nod. "8:08… new record! Damn, Mono, what are you doing?!"

He rushed outside, the wooden door creaking as he pushed it open. The bright morning sun greeted him, but his attention was on the training yard ahead. The other disciples were already there, standing in a loose formation. Sutoraiba was rising from a meditative position, his face calm and focused. Josei stood next to him, stretching her arms as if preparing for the next activity. Hito crossed his arms, his confident posture making it clear he was ready for action, while Tokira stood quietly at the edge, observing everything with his usual reserved demeanor.

"You are late," Sensei said, his voice cutting through the morning stillness like a blade.

Mono winced, bowing his head. "Sorry, Sensei," he said quickly. "I was doing some extra training at midnight. It won't happen again."

Sensei studied him for a moment before nodding. "Very well. Since the meditation session is over, we will move on to sparring. Sutoraiba, Sairentokira, step forward."

The two boys moved to the center of the training yard, their wooden practice swords in hand. Sutoraiba rolled his shoulders, loosening up, while Tokira adjusted his stance with a quiet focus. Mono stepped back to join the others, eager to watch the match.

"Sparring is not just about strength," Sensei said, addressing the group. "It is about awareness, timing, and precision. Pay attention not only to your movements but also to your opponent's. Every action reveals an opening or an intention."

With those words, he signaled for the match to begin.

Sutoraiba charged forward first, his movements quick and aggressive. He aimed a sharp strike at Tokira's side, but Tokira sidestepped gracefully, his feet steady on the ground. Tokira countered with a swift jab toward Sutoraiba's shoulder, but Sutoraiba raised his sword just in time to deflect the blow. The clash of wood against wood echoed across the yard.

"You've gotten faster," Tokira said, his voice calm but with a hint of acknowledgment.

Sutoraiba grinned. "You haven't seen anything yet."

He feinted to the left before swinging his sword toward Tokira's legs. Tokira hopped back, his movements light and controlled, and then lunged forward with a quick downward slash. Sutoraiba blocked the strike, but the impact pushed him back a step.

"Good form, Tokira," Sensei said. "Raiba, stay grounded. Your movements are improving, but your footing needs to be firmer."

The spar continued, with the two boys exchanging strikes and blocks. Sweat began to glisten on their foreheads as the intensity of their movements increased. Their practice swords clashed repeatedly, each sound resonating with the effort and focus they poured into every action.

Mono watched intently, his eyes tracking each movement. "Sutoraiba's speed has definitely improved," he muttered, "but Tokira's control is hard to beat."

"Come on, Raiba, you've got this!" Josei cheered from the sidelines, her voice full of encouragement.

As the duel progressed, Tokira began to notice patterns in Sutoraiba's attacks. He waited for the right moment, studying his opponent's rhythm. When Sutoraiba lunged forward with another strike, Tokira sidestepped and spun to the side, using the momentum to swing his sword upward. The blade stopped just inches from Sutoraiba's chest.

"Point to Tokira," Sensei said firmly.

Sutoraiba lowered his sword, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "You got me this time," he said, patting Tokira on the shoulder.

"You're improving, Raiba," Tokira replied. "You just need to stay calm under pressure."

"Well done, both of you," Sensei said, addressing the group. "Take note of what you've learned today. Growth comes from each experience, win or lose."

The two boys bowed to each other and to Sensei before stepping back into line. Mono felt a surge of anticipation as he watched them. Sparring always pushed him to his limits, and he couldn't wait for his turn.

"All right," Sensei said, turning his gaze toward the group. "Tsuyoi-Hito, Erabareshimono, step forward."

Mono's heart quickened as he realized it was his turn. He gripped his practice sword tightly, stepping into the center of the yard to face Hito. The taller boy smirked, his confidence radiating.

"This should be interesting," Hito said, rolling his shoulders.

Mono adjusted his stance, meeting Hito's gaze with determination. "Let's find out."