The clatter of steel filled the air — not wild or chaotic, but rhythmic, like a pulse.
Kieran moved like a machine: calculated, fast, and efficient. Across from him, Tanaka stood his ground, his breathing steady, his grip tight. The two had been going back and forth for nearly half an hour, neither speaking, both locked into the kind of silent understanding that only came from shared frustration — or maybe shared worry.
A final clash. Kieran twisted his blade, forcing Tanaka back a step, and then lowered his sword.
"Again?" Tanaka asked, already adjusting his stance.
Kieran shook his head. "No. That's enough."
Off to the side, Brock leaned against the wall, chewing on a toothpick like he was born to look unimpressed.
"You two going to train until the world explodes, or are we going to feed ourselves sometime soon today?" he called out.
Tanaka exhaled and dropped his stance. "He hasn't messaged you, right?"
Kieran didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked over to the tall column of swords along the back wall. He reached for the one he always used — sleek, worn at the grip — and slid it smoothly back into its place among the others. A quiet click echoed as it settled in.
"Nope", Kieran said finally. "Still absolutely nothing from Roy."
Brock sighed. "Of course. The guy doesn't even bother saying to us, 'Hey guys, brb, getting a girlfriend, rn, soz.' Rude."
Tanaka wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. "Now that I'm thinking about it, I can just see him getting a girlfriend. With his behaviour or attitude like that, it would probably be difficult, huh?"
"It better be? I already bet £40 that he'd make it through his 20s without one," Brock muttered, pushing off the wall. "Let's go eat. Fry Shack?"
Kieran gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. "Sure."
Tanaka grabbed his jacket from the bench. "If they're out of chicken again, I swear I'll burn the place down."
"See? That's the spirit." Brock smirked as the three of them headed for the door.
The clang of swords faded behind them.