Sanemi sneered from the side. "Hmph, you can't even master basic Water Breathing. You're nothing but a half-ass."
Obanai whipped his head around, a chilling coldness erupting in his golden eye, like an enraged venomous snake. "If you want me to cut you down right now, go ahead and say another word, Shinazugawa."
"Come on, then! I'll slice you to pieces!" Sanemi drew his wooden sword without backing down.
"Both of you, shut up." Rokuya tapped a finger lightly against the stone table.
The sound was quiet, but the two instantly fell silent like cats grabbed by the scruffs of their necks and stood obediently at attention.
Rokuya rose and walked over to Obanai, gazing deeply at the boy. He knew Obanai's talent very well. This child had grown up on the serpent demon's altar, surviving for years by contorting his body in an extremely cramped, dark dungeon. His bones and muscles had long since adapted to bizarre ways of exerting force that ordinary people could not comprehend.
More importantly, there were Obanai's mismatched eyes. Because of a slight discrepancy in his vision, the world he saw differed from what ordinary people saw, which also gave him an unusual sense of space and distance.
"You're right. Water Breathing really doesn't suit you." Rokuya suddenly spoke, a meaningful smile curling his lips. "If the existing Breathing Styles don't suit you, create your own."
"Create my own... Breathing Style?" Obanai froze, his eyes full of disbelief. "But I..."
"No buts." Rokuya turned and walked to the center of the courtyard, drawing an ordinary standard-issue wooden sword with a backhand grip and pointing it at Obanai. "What do you think you resemble?"
Obanai fell silent for a moment. The terrifying serpent demon on Hachijo Island surfaced in his mind, along with his own