On the third day of wooden sword class, the wind on the field was a little fiercer than it had been the previous two days.
The cloth tails on the short wooden swords hanging from the rack fluttered lightly in the wind. Loose dirt rose from the target range before quickly settling again. As the children lined up, their hands still empty of swords, the fire in their eyes—where had I lost last time, and where could I win it back this time—was already burning. Once someone had tasted the struggle for rhythm in sparring, it became difficult to see it as mere movement practice again.
Yamashiro Takuma did not explain many new rules today. He only reminded them, "Who has changed and who hasn't—don't just watch other people. The moment your swords touch, your own old habits will show themselves before your mouths do."
The moment he said that, Che felt his heart settle.
Because he knew the most interesting part of today would not be whatever brand-new thing the teacher taught them. It would be whether the flaws pointed out over the past two days had truly changed, even a little, along the sword line. Especially for him and Keisuke. One always wanted to write out the second half too soon, while the other tended to throw his entire body in whenever he saw an opening. If neither of those things had changed, the third day's sparring would only repeat the same old scene. But if both had shifted even a little, then the moment their swords met, the gaps in many of their relationships would change with them.
The first round allowed them to choose partners freely. The teacher only told them not to always pick the opponents they felt most comfortable with.
Kiyo immediately edged half