Takeshi Mori

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long, wavering shadows over the school's outdoor training ground. Golden light pooled across the worn mats and gleamed against the polished wooden weapons scattered across the field. The air was thick with the sounds of practice—sharp kiais of exertion, the rhythmic pounding of feet against the mat, and the crisp clatter of wooden blades meeting in controlled yet fierce exchanges.

But Ash heard none of it.

His focus was locked on one thing—the boy standing across from him.

Takeshi Mori.

The name carried weight, spoken with either admiration or resentment depending on who said it. A prodigy of the Mori family, Takeshi was the kind of opponent who didn't just win—he dominated. Broad-shouldered, fast, and precise, he had a reputation for breaking down his opponents piece by piece, making them doubt themselves long before he delivered the final blow.

And now, he stood before Ash, eyes gleaming with a familiar mixture of arrogance and amusement.

The smirk was the same as ever, but this time, Ash felt something different stir within him. A tension in his chest, a heat coiling in his core—not fear, not uncertainty, but something else. Something restless.

His body still ached from the morning's fight with the thugs. The bruises along his ribs throbbed, a dull reminder of how close he had come to losing. But that wasn't what fueled him now. The pain wasn't what burned in his veins.

It was something deeper.

Something that refused to let him back down.

"Pair up!" the instructor called, cutting through the murmurs and idle chatter.

The tension thickened.

Ash didn't move at first, watching as Takeshi stepped forward with casual confidence. The smirk deepened, sharp as a blade.

"Still standing after this morning?" Takeshi mused, his tone dripping with mock surprise. "Impressive. Thought they would've beaten the fight out of you by now."

Ash said nothing. Words were pointless here. Instead, he stepped forward, lowering his head in a respectful bow. His expression was calm—calmer than he felt inside.

Takeshi returned the bow, but the arrogance never left his face.

Then, the match began.

Takeshi moved first. As expected.

Fast. Precise. Relentless.

His attacks came like a storm—calculated and brutal, meant to overwhelm and force Ash onto the defensive. The clash of their training weapons echoed through the grounds, each strike sharper, heavier than the last.

But Ash was faster.

Somehow.

His body moved as if it knew what to do before his mind could register it. His muscles reacted without hesitation, weaving through the onslaught with a precision he hadn't known he was capable of. He dodged the first strike, then the second, his senses sharpening with each passing second.

And then he saw it—just for a moment.

A flicker of surprise in Takeshi's eyes.

The smirk wavered.

Ash pressed forward. His instincts screamed at him to take the advantage, to push harder. He countered—striking swift and clean. The impact sent a jolt through Takeshi's arm, forcing him back a step. The onlookers fell into a stunned silence.

Ash's breath came steady, his heart pounding with something electric.

He had done it. He had thrown Takeshi off balance.

For the first time.

But Takeshi wasn't finished.

The air around them shifted.

Something in Takeshi's posture changed—lower, more dangerous. The amusement was gone, replaced by something colder. A flicker of irritation, maybe even anger.

Then, a blur of motion.

Ash barely saw the kick before it slammed into his ribs.

Pain detonated through his body. His breath hitched as the force sent him staggering. He fought against it, tried to regain control, but Takeshi was already moving—faster than before, relentless.

A second strike swept his legs out from under him.

Before Ash could react, he was on the mat.

The impact drove the breath from his lungs. His vision blurred for a split second as the sky spun above him. He struggled to suck in air, his chest tightening, his body burning.

"Point. Takeshi wins."

The instructor's voice rang out, impassive.

A murmur rippled through the spectators. Laughter, hushed whispers. Some expected it. Some were surprised. But all of it faded into the background as Ash lay there, staring up at the sky, feeling the ache settle deep into his bones.

Takeshi stood over him.

Not gloating. Not laughing.

Just watching.

"You're getting better," he muttered, almost reluctantly. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

Ash remained on the ground for a moment longer.

He could still feel the impact of that final blow, the ache in his ribs. The sting of defeat.

But something else lingered beneath it.

Something sharper.

He had almost beaten him. Almost.

And for the first time, defeat didn't taste like failure. It tasted like a challenge.

A slow grin pulled at the edges of Ash's lips as he forced himself to sit up, ignoring the pain screaming through his body. He wasn't done.

Not by a long shot.

He was getting stronger.

Not strong enough. Not yet.

But soon.

And when that time came, Takeshi would find out just how far Ash had come.