Chapter 7: Clash of Titans

The sun cast long shadows across the training grounds as the hashiras gathered for a rare session under the watchful eyes of the Koura siblings, Yoshiki and Yamana. These sessions were a test of their strength, skill, and discipline, but they also served a deeper purpose.

Yoshiki surveyed the group, his sharp gaze taking in each hashira. "All here, except for one," he said, his voice carrying a hint of disappointment.

"Suiren, again," Yamana muttered, shaking her head. "Let's proceed without her."

The hashiras stretched and prepared, their unique personalities already on display.

Masaki stood off to the side, arms crossed. "You all seem eager to beat each other senseless. I'll sit this one out." He gave a smirk and began to walk toward the tree line.

Akemi, already warming up, shot him a glare. "What's wrong, Masaki? Afraid someone will fry your thunderous pride?"

He stopped and turned, an easy grin on his face. "I'll let you dream about that, Akemi. You're better at talking than sparring, anyway."

Akemi scoffed, muttering, "Coward," as he disappeared into the woods.

The hashiras paired off and began sparring under Yamana's direction. The air was soon filled with the sound of clashing blades, the ground vibrating under the force of their strikes.

Shinra's graceful movements with her dual scythe captivated Arata as they exchanged blows. She danced around him, her strikes calculated and swift, her every motion as fluid as a phantom.

"Too slow, Arata," Shinra teased, deflecting his blade with a spin.

Arata smirked, adjusting his stance and unleashing a flurry of strikes. "Not slow. Just warming up!"

Rikuya's aerial agility was on full display as he faced Akemi. The sky hashira dodged her fiery attacks with ease, his movements as light as the breeze.

"Come on, Akemi," Rikuya called out. "I thought flames were supposed to be dangerous!"

"You want dangerous?" Akemi growled, her strikes growing fiercer, her blade leaving scorch marks on the ground as Rikuya continued to dodge with infuriating ease.

Meanwhile, Kousei sparred with Souta, their match a display of precision and strategy rather than raw power. Their blades clashed in sharp, controlled movements, each testing the other's resolve.

All matches paused when it was time for Tatsuya and Miyako to spar. The tension between them was palpable, their rivalry well-known among the hashiras.

"Ready to finally admit I'm stronger?" Tatsuya taunted, his grin cocky.

Miyako gave him a cold look, her blade already drawn. "You can talk all you want. It won't change the outcome."

Their blades met with a resounding crash, the sheer force of their strikes sending shockwaves through the air. Tatsuya attacked with relentless aggression, his movements heavy and forceful, his blade carving deep gouges into the ground.

Miyako, by contrast, was swift and unpredictable, her strikes appearing from unexpected angles. She moved like a shadow, disappearing and reappearing in an instant, keeping Tatsuya on the defensive.

"Stop running and fight me head-on!" Tatsuya roared, swinging his blade with enough force to split the ground.

Miyako dodged effortlessly, her movements almost taunting. "Is that all you've got? No wonder you're always second place."

Tatsuya's frustration grew, his attacks becoming more reckless. The other hashiras watched in awe as the fight escalated. Sparks flew as their blades clashed, the ground beneath them cracking under the intensity of their movements.

Miyako countered Tatsuya's strikes with calculated precision, her blade a blur as she struck his side, drawing first blood. Tatsuya gritted his teeth, refusing to back down.

The fight grew so intense that even the usually unshakable Kousei raised an eyebrow. Shinra and Rikuya exchanged worried glances, while Akemi muttered, "Someone should stop them before they kill each other."

Rikuya shook his head. "Let them be. This is more interesting than my match."

Tatsuya lunged forward with a powerful strike, but Miyako sidestepped and delivered a spinning kick to his chest, sending him stumbling back.

"Pathetic," Miyako said, her voice calm but cutting.

With a roar of determination, Tatsuya surged forward again, his strikes faster and stronger than before. Miyako met him blow for blow, her movements a perfect blend of offense and defense. The clash of their blades echoed across the training grounds, drawing gasps and cheers from the other hashiras.

"Enough!" Yamana's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

Miyako halted mid-strike, her blade mere inches from Tatsuya's neck. Tatsuya froze, breathing heavily, his pride visibly bruised.

Yamana stepped forward, her gaze hard. "This is training, not a battlefield. You're supposed to improve, not destroy each other."

Miyako sheathed her blade without a word, her expression unreadable. Tatsuya glared at her but knew better than to argue.

"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath as she walked away, leaving Tatsuya seething.

Masaki walked away from the training grounds, his steps light but purposeful. His usual carefree demeanor was gone, replaced with a sharp focus. He knew exactly where to find Suiren.

The water hashira had made a habit of avoiding these gatherings, and it didn't sit right with Masaki. Something about her absence wasn't just laziness or disdain-it felt heavier, like a weight she refused to share.

He found her near the edge of a small stream, seated on a flat rock. The serene flow of water mirrored her calm exterior, but Masaki's sharp eyes caught the tension in her shoulders.

"Suiren," he called out, his voice breaking the peaceful silence.

She didn't turn around but acknowledged him with a soft sigh. "Masaki. Shouldn't you be sparring with the others?"

"I should, but I noticed someone wasn't there." He stepped closer, his arms crossed. "You're dodging these sessions more and more. What's going on?"

Suiren remained quiet, her gaze fixed on the rippling water. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady but distant. "Not everything is about clashing swords and proving strength, Masaki. Some battles don't need an audience."

"Fair enough," he said, crouching beside her. "But you're not fighting alone, Suiren. Whatever's going on, you've got eight other hashiras who'd have your back-if you let them."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "It's not that simple."

Masaki tilted his head, studying her. "You're hiding something. I don't know what it is, and I'm not here to pry it out of you. But skipping out won't solve anything."

She turned to him, her calm mask slipping for just a moment. In her eyes, he saw a flicker of pain, quickly hidden again. "You're persistent, Masaki."

"Comes with the thunder," he said with a faint grin, standing up and dusting off his haori. "Just... don't shut us out. The Corps needs every hashira at their best. And for what it's worth, you don't have to carry whatever this is on your own."

Suiren didn't respond, but her silence felt less like dismissal and more like contemplation. Masaki took that as a small victory.

"See you around, little stream," he said, walking away with a wave.

As he made his way back to the training grounds, Masaki's thoughts lingered on Suiren. He didn't know what burden she was carrying, but he hoped she'd let someone in before it became too much. For now, though, he had his own part to play.

When he rejoined the others, his smirk returned, masking the unease that lingered in his chest.

As the hashiras began to disperse, Masaki reappeared from the woods, his usual smirk in place.

"Miss anything interesting?" he asked, though his eyes lingered on the scorched and cracked ground where Miyako and Tatsuya had fought.

"You missed the show of a lifetime," Rikuya said, clapping him on the back.

Akemi chuckled. "Or maybe he just didn't want to embarrass himself."

Masaki chuckled, unfazed. "You're obsessed with me, Akemi. It's adorable."

She rolled her eyes, muttering, "Coward," under her breath.