"Hey Haruka, I'm willing to have a sword fight with you," the voice said, the smooth words cutting through the crisp morning air like a cold blade and catching Haruka entirely off guard.
She turned around slowly, her balance perfectly centered as her dark eyes locked onto the figure standing at the edge of the training floor. Shishio Minamoto stood there, his broad shoulders squared, a sharp, arrogant smirk playing across his jawline. He was the son of her master, yet he carried none of the elder Minamoto's measured wisdom.
Haruka was completely dumbstruck for a fraction of a heartbeat. She had never expected Shishio to target her so directly, nor had she anticipated his intense fixation on her family lineage. Her mind methodically calculated the political fallout of a confrontation inside the dojo walls, leaving her momentarily unsure of how to respond without fracturing the estate's peace.
"I do not know how you claim to know my brother," Haruka said, finally finding her voice. It was a flat, unhurried monotone, completely caked in her signature Lan Wangji-style emotional permafrost. "But whoever you may be, I am not willing to engage in a reckless sword fight with you today. And more importantly, I do not wish to waste my valuable time on your personal grudges."
Shishio threw his head back, letting out a loud, harsh laugh that echoed off the cedar rafters. He began clapping his hands together with slow, mocking deliberation. "Wow. Look at that. You are truly filled to the brim with arrogance, aren't you, girl? Well, it doesn't matter what words you hide behind because you are exactly the same as your brother... weak, pathetic, and fundamentally cowardly. Do you know what the first thing I hate the most in this world is? It was your brother Kazuo. And so, it is only natural that I hate you too."
A sudden, violent flash of raw anger surged through Haruka's veins, threatening to crack the iron gates of her emotional suppression. The slander against Kazuo's memory burned like scalding oil.
But before she could lose control of her mask, Yasumi stepped forward aggressively. He positioned his body directly between Haruka and his older cousin, his fists clenching tight as he shouted back. "Enough, Brother! You cannot use such vile, disrespectful words against Sister Haruka! She is my personal mentor, and she is anything but weak! She is so incredibly strong that she never allows herself to falter, even at her hardest times! You have absolutely no right to use such words against someone of her caliber!"
Shishio's smirk faltered for a microsecond, his sharp eyes narrowing as he glared down at his younger cousin. "Yasumi, you are my blood cousin, a member of the Minamoto house, yet you are still blindly standing on her side. Why?"
"Brother, whatever I said is the absolute truth," Yasumi replied, his voice firm and unyielding as he held his ground. "I am not taking sides based on bloodlines. I am simply supporting the truth. And the definitive truth is that Sister Haruka is neither weak nor cowardly. She is very strong."
Shishio looked past Yasumi, his arrogant gaze locking back onto Haruka's blank features. "If she is truly that strong, Yasumi, then why is she actively backing away from my challenge? Why is she so visibly scared of facing my steel? This hesitation symbolizes exactly how cowardly she is..."
Haruka could not control the volcanic fury rising in her chest any longer. She stepped around Yasumi, her posture shifting into an authoritative, lethal stance. Her hand locked onto the tsuka hilt of her sword.
"Enough, Shishio Minamoto," she said. Her voice trembled slightly with a cold, terrifying anger that sent a shiver down the spines of the gathering dojo students. "I was offering you respect because you are the Master's son, but now I have absolutely zero respect left for your character. And yes, if you desperately want a fight with me, then I am fully ready. At first, I didn't want to waste my movement on you, but now I will personally show you who the true coward is."
The environment inside the training yard went dead quiet. The silence was so profound that one could hear the soft, shifting movement of the winter wind through the bamboo screens. They took their formal combat positions, their eyes locked onto each other's throats. Simultaneously, with hyper-focused attentiveness, they drew their katanas from their sheaths in a synchronized, metallic shring.
The fight began.
Shishio lunged forward first, his broad shoulders throwing massive kinetic force behind a brutal, diagonal slash. Haruka didn't try to block the heavy strike head-on; instead, utilizing her blinding, Kenshin-style agility, she deflected the edge with a slick parry, the metal clashing violently. The duel continued at a frantic, unrelenting pace, both of them continuously attacking and defending, moving across the polished floorboards like a storm. The loud, metallic ringing of their clashing swords reverberated so sharply through the estate that it practically woke Yasumi up to a state of absolute, terrified panic. He watched the exchange from the perimeter, his heart hammering against his ribs, thoroughly terrified of the lethal ferocity on display.
At one critical juncture, both fighters disengaged, stepping back by several paces to catch their breath. Shishio adjusted his grip, his eyes gleaming with a malicious sense of superiority. He sneered at her, his voice dripping with arrogance. "The strong always win and the weak always lose, Haruka! And so, I am strong enough to completely defeat you today."
Haruka's face remained a flawless monument of ice. "Let's see who wins," she whispered back, her tone a chilling monotone.
The clashing of steel erupted once more, faster and more violent than before. Haruka surged forward, driving a rapid sequence of slashes toward his guard, but Shishio anticipated the trajectory—he launched his body into the air, flying completely above her sword sweep and jumping off the wooden pillar to create distance. When Shishio instantly retaliated with a plunging strike, Haruka executed a flawless side-evasion, jumping off sideways into the shadows of the veranda. The high-speed cat-and-mouse game continued to push both of their physical limits.
Suddenly, both of them began running full sprint towards each other from opposite sides of the dojo floor, putting everything into a final, decisive clash.
At the end of the devastating exchange, Shishio's eyes gleamed with immense satisfaction as he took a firm step back, admiring the damage he had dealt. Haruka, on the other hand, was violently struggling to maintain her physical balance. Her knees trembled, and her right hand shook uncountably as she clutched the hilt of a broken sword—the blade had shattered clean in half against his heavy armor. She gritted her teeth in absolute agony, completely refusing to give in to the pain or show a single tear.
"You see, Haruka," Shishio said, his voice oozing with a heavy, suffocating superiority as he lowered his blade. "This is exactly why I hate your brother so much. He was weak and fragile, just like you are. Always completely giving up when things get tough and reality strikes."
Haruka's bottomless dark eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits. She knew with absolute mathematical certainty that Shishio was intentionally trying to rile her up to make her sloppy, but she refused to let his petty words break her internal permafrost. She clamped the iron gates of her mind shut.
"You are entirely wrong, Shishio," she said, her voice remaining impossibly steady, cool, and flat. "My brother was not weak. And neither am I. We simply choose our battles with absolute care."
Shishio chuckled darkly, his stance widening. "Ah, the classic, pathetic excuse of a coward. But it doesn't matter what you believe. Today, I will definitively prove to your face that raw strength always wins."
Haruka took a deep, silent breath, steadying her center of gravity as she readied her body for the next oncoming assault. She knew that this was it—the final showdown of the duel. There was absolutely no turning back now.
Shishio lunged forward with terrifying speed, his katana flashing brilliantly in the morning sunlight. Haruka raised the jagged remnant of her broken sword to defend her upper guard, but the sheer force of his impact shattered the remaining steel completely, sending metal shards flying across the floorboards. She stumbled backward heavily, her sandals skidding through the wood, narrowly avoiding his rapid, follow-up thrust by a fraction of an inch.
The gathering crowd of students and servants gasped in profound shock as they watched the brutal scene unfold. Several of them had never witnessed a dojo sword fight of this caliber before—so intensely violent, raw, and unforgiving.
But Haruka refused to take a final step down.
In a singular, blinding flash of motion, her hand drifted down to her waist. She drew her second sword—the short blade she kept concealed beneath her sash—and attacked Shishio with a renewed, explosive vigor. Their swords clashed together in a rapid, deafening rhythm, creating a flawless symphony of metal on metal that filled the entire courtyard.
Yasumi watched in absolute horror as the fight dragged on into deep exhaustion. He knew his older brother was highly skilled, but he had never seen Shishio fight with such demonic, unhinged ferocity. It was as if his cousin was completely possessed by some kind of vengeful war demon, desperate to erase the memory of Kazuo.
But Haruka held zero fear in her soul. She had faced far tougher, more lethal predators in the dark streets of Kyoto, and she knew exactly how to hold her own ground against brute force. Utilizing her superior agility, she dodged Shishio's heavy, swinging attacks with fluid ease, moving across the training floor like a bird in flight.
And then, in a split second, the entire trajectory of the match changed.
Shishio overextended on a heavy downward swing, making a fatal, arrogant mistake that left his right arm completely exposed to a counter. Haruka seized the golden opportunity instantly. She didn't use the sharp edge of her steel to maim him; instead, she swung her heavy, lacquered wooden saya scabbard with perfect, high-velocity precision.
The wooden sheath struck his exposed arm with a resounding, bone-crushing crack. The sudden, immense shockwave forced Shishio's fingers to splay open, causing him to drop his katana instantly. The weapon clattered loudly against the cedar boards.
Before his brain could even register the disarm or react to the shift, Haruka blurred forward. The cold, razor-sharp tip of her secondary sword was pressed firmly and rigidly against the skin of his throat.
The entire crowd fell into an absolute, ringing silence. Not a single breath was drawn as they waited to see if the final, lethal blow would fall.
Shishio froze, staring up at Haruka with a profound, complex mixture of instinctual fear and hidden admiration. He looked into her blank, vacant eyes and realized he had been defeated fair and square by the very speed he had labeled cowardly.
"Well done, Haruka," he said, his voice dropping into a rough whisper, barely above the sound of the wind. "You truly are... a worthy opponent."
Haruka gave a singular, slow nod of her head, but her bottomless dark eyes were filled with a deep, silent sadness. She had won the physical exchange, but the victory carried a heavy, psychological price—the fear that this slide into a dojo brawl might have broken the peaceful, honorable standards of the brother she so deeply revered.
As she sheathed her weapon with a soft, final clack and turned her back to leave the arena floor, she felt a gentle, grounding hand brush against her shoulder. She turned slightly to see Yasumi standing beside her, his face full of relief.
"Haruka," Yasumi said softly, his voice full of warmth and loyalty. "Do not worry about my brother's words. He is just a bitter, sore loser who cannot handle the truth. You did absolutely nothing wrong today. You fought with honor."
Haruka offered him a rare, faint shadow of a smile, deeply grateful for his unwavering support in the face of her trauma. She knew his words were true. She had defended her brother's memory with absolute honor, and that was the only thing that truly mattered.