"Well, I better get going…"
I go downstairs and exit the house through the backdoor, located inside of the kitchen.
Walking outside in the small pathways leading to behind the house, I immediately stop once I sense the obvious traditional dojo-styled shed attached to the garage.
…Accompanying the large backyard of tall weeds, the garage-dojo is quite large. Styled after old fashioned multi-use dojos, it's about the size of an elementary schooler's playground.
I walk past the tall grass in my bare feet, and slide open the shoji doors gently.
"...Ah."
The interior is almost antique.
Because of the moonlight, glimmering dust particles flutter and flow in the air like little stars. It's almost as if this place is sacred, or perhaps untouched.
It must be the spirit of my brother. That's it.
"Might as well get it over with."
I close the door behind me without turning and hold the blade at my waist.
Like a quiet samurai, I tiptoe to the middle of the room, and plant my feet into the light-shaded tatami mats.
"Hu…"
I'm really quite the amateur.
I'm not one to warm up or stretch or anything, so I usually just get into things.
Also, since it's super late, I can't afford to waste any more time if I plan to wake up tomorrow to help out Kouta.
…Oh, wait.
Wasn't Kouta-sensei gone on a family matter?
Yes, that was it.
"I suppose I was worried about the time for no reason, eh?"
I almost chuckle at my own thoughts.
I guess I didn't have to rush in any way. But, still, there must have been a reason why I got home so fast, right?
Obviously, my memory isn't too great. I'd have to really sit down and recall past moments to remember some things, which is a real pain when I study with Takamura.
Whatever. It doesn't matter.
I say that in my head a few times before I practice my forms.
So, I hold the blade extremely low, around my waist's level.
Posing my right hand up, I flex my fingers and tense my hamstrings.
I hold this form for 20 seconds.
"On guard…!"
Yosh!
I pierce the tip of the blade into the air in front of me. I hear the whipping of the oxygen molecules around the silver lined sword and pause for a breath.
"Ha…Ha…"
Yosh!
Again, I stab into the night, as if it were a form of dancing. I tense my feet the entire movement like a ninja.
"..."
…To be honest.
Though practicing forms is a great way to improve, I often find it pretty boring.
And, without another person living here most of the time, sparring is always out of the question.
But, even though that may be true. I still enjoy shadow-fighting, anyway.
And, since I was supposed to be sleeping by now, for a reason I still can't remember, I might as well get on with this short session.
"...Fuu."
I swing the blade unconventionally a couple of times like I'm face-to-face with an enemy. Holding it with shaking hands, I charge forward, pushing my toes into the ground and piercing the air once again.
"Ha…!"
I repeat this hundreds of times.
See, the body of Sustrous Aron is not a complete joke.
It's able to strafe, weave, and slash, all in fluid movements.
Honestly, it's truly amazing. If a real master were teaching me, I'd probably look like a young amateur who'd skipped around six months of year-long training.
--Anyway, that was the end of practice for the day.
I readjust my sword for the final strike, push my toes together, and tiptoe across the sweat-soaked tatami mat.
"Ugh, no good... I'm exhausted..."
That was the truth.
Which is why, at times like these, I prepare my instant energy-rejuvenating technique.
I suddenly hug my sword to my chest and close my eyes, with beads of sweat still dripping from my forehead.