The knife cut the air toward his throat.
Raizen moved.
There was no thought. No plan. His body just did what the Rust Room had hammered into it.
His knees bent. Weight shifted. His hand blurred to his right sword.
Steel hissed.
He dropped under and spun, pivoting on his hand. His shoulder brushed fabric. The knife's edge grazed his hair, fast enough that he felt a thin strand of heat on his skin.
Raizen's sword left the sheath in the same breath.
His feet slid where the Rust Room had taught them to go - inside the enemy's space, past the line of the strike, inside of the kill zone.
In a heartbeat, Professor Atman was no longer behind him.
Raizen's world flicked once, like a frame cut. Dash.
Then he was behind the professor, stance planted, chest screaming, breath burning.
His blade rested against Atman's neck.
No tremble.
No hesitation.
