The day of the Final Selection had arrived.
The first pale light of dawn had just appeared on the horizon, and the air on Mount Momoyama was chilly and damp.
Jigoro Kuwajima called Sasuke and Zenitsu to the dojo.
Two neatly packed bundles had already been placed by the door.
The atmosphere was unusually solemn.
Even the normally boisterous Zenitsu sensed the gravity of the moment. He anxiously twisted the hem of his clothes, his head lowered, not daring to speak.
Kuwajima did not lecture them as he usually did.
He merely took out two small, cloth-wrapped objects and handed one to each of them.
Sasuke reached out to take his and unwrapped it.
Inside was an iron tsuba for a Nichirin Blade.
Its design was simple and old-fashioned, with only a single, simple lightning pattern engraved on it.
It was identical to the one he had handed Zenitsu.
"Take this with you to the selection."
Kuwajima's voice was low and hoarse.
He looked at the two boys before him. One was a boy he had picked up in the Entertainment District, timid as a mouse yet extraordinarily gifted; the other had come to his door of his own accord, bearing a deep blood feud, like a sharp blade drawn from its sheath.
A trace of complicated emotion flickered in his eyes.
There was worry, hope, and a hint of sorrow that was difficult to detect.
He had seen far too many hopeful young people set off for Mount Fujikasane full of confidence, only for not even a single intact bone of theirs to be recovered.
A thousand things he wanted to say finally condensed into a single sentence.
"Whatever you do, survive."
Those words were like a needle, instantly piercing Zenitsu's taut nerves.
"Waaah!"
Unable to hold back any longer, he let out an earth-shattering wail and lunged forward like an octopus, clinging desperately to Kuwajima's sole leg.
"Please, Master! I don't want to go! I'll die! I'll definitely die!"
"There must be so many terrifying demons there! I'm so weak, I'll just be a snack for them if I go in!"
"Please, Master, let me stay! I promise I'll practice hard from now on and never slack off again! I'll look after you in your old age and see to your funeral!"
Zenitsu wept streams of tears and snot, soaking Kuwajima's trouser leg.
Sasuke, meanwhile, simply put the tsuba away calmly, tucking it inside his clothes.
Then he walked up to Kuwajima.
There were no unnecessary words.
He gave the old man a formal, flawless swordsman's bow.
His back remained perfectly straight, but his head bowed deeply.
"Master, thank you for your instruction."
His voice was quiet, but it reached Kuwajima's ears clearly.
As Kuwajima looked at the boy before him, countless emotions welled up in his heart.
He knew Sasuke had not truly understood the "sword of protection" he had spoken of.
Perhaps his calling him "Master" was merely an expression of gratitude for teaching him Thunder Breathing during this time.
But that was enough.
The seed had been planted; one day, it would sprout.
Kuwajima reached out and gently patted that black-haired head.
"Go."
With his permission, Sasuke straightened up.
He did not look at his master again, nor did he pay any attention to his senior fellow disciple, who was still rolling on the floor and bawling.
He simply picked up his bundle, slung it onto his back, turned, and walked out of the dojo.
"Hey! Sasuke! Where are you going? Don't leave me all alone!"
Seeing Sasuke about to leave, Zenitsu hurriedly let go of his master and tried to follow.
But Sasuke's steps did not falter in the slightest.
He descended Mount Momoyama, setting foot on the only mountain path leading to the outside world.
The morning light stretched his shadow long, very long.
His proud, solitary, resolute figure seemed to declare that he had bid a brief farewell to everything here.
From this day on, he would once again embark on a solitary hunt.
Only this time, his hunting ground was called Mount Fujikasane.
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