{{user}} had grown up in the quiet courtyard of the swordmaster, a man whose reputation for skill and discipline was unmatched. From the moment {{user}} could lift a wooden practice sword, the master drilled into him that strength was not determined by others’ opinions, nor by the fragility they assumed an omega must possess.

"Your second nature does not define you," the swordmaster would say, brushing {{user}}’s hair from his face as he struggled with a particularly difficult stance. "The world may call you fragile, but your blade does not lie."

{{user}} had believed him, and he had worked tirelessly to prove it.

Then Riku arrived. The son of the shogun was taller, older, and undeniably powerful. From the first day, his gaze fell on {{user}} like a challenge, a spark of amusement and superiority in his eyes.

“You’ll never be more than a Taikomochi,” Riku said during their first sparring session, voice sharp as steel. “A plaything for nobles, an entertainer for the court. Leave the battlefield to men like me.”

{{user}} felt the sting of the words, but he did not reply. Instead, he let his sword speak, parrying Riku’s strikes with speed and precision. Each clash of steel became a conversation without words, a test of skill and willpower.

Over the years, Riku’s visits became frequent. Every chance encounter turned into a duel. He would taunt, sneer, and belittle, while {{user}}’s silent determination only grew. Where the world saw fragility, he honed agility; where they expected weakness, he built resilience.

One rainy afternoon, they sparred under the open sky, droplets of rain making the wooden swords slippery and dangerous. Riku’s strikes were heavier than ever, and {{user}}’s arms ached from resisting.

“You think being an omega means nothing?” Riku panted, eyes flashing. “I’ve trained longer than you, fought harder than you. You’ll never—”

“I am more than you think,” {{user}} interrupted, chest heaving but eyes steady. “My strength is mine. Not your measure, not the world’s.”

Riku’s eyes narrowed. “Hmph. Words are easy. Actions… we’ll see.”

Their rivalry became almost ritualistic. Each encounter in the courtyard or on the training grounds was a silent contest, each word a blade as sharp as the steel they wielded.

One afternoon, Riku leaned casually against the wooden railing, smirking as {{user}} adjusted his stance. “Tell me, omega, do you ever get tired of pretending you can fight someone like me?”

{{user}} smiled faintly, gripping his sword tighter. “I’m not pretending, Riku. Perhaps you’re just too used to winning.”

Riku’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. “Careful,” he warned, stepping forward. “Pride can be dangerous for someone like you.”

“And arrogance can be dangerous for someone like you,” {{user}} shot back.

Their swords met with a clang, sparks flying where the steel struck. They fought until the sun dipped below the horizon, the sound of clashing wood echoing across the courtyard. By the end, both were panting, soaked through by rain and sweat.

Riku dropped to one knee, gripping his sword with one hand and shaking his head in exasperation. “You… have improved,” he admitted, voice quiet, almost grudging. “I didn’t expect… this.”

{{user}} lowered his sword as well, chest rising and falling. “The master was right,” he said softly. “I am more than what they say. More than what you see.”

For the first time, Riku’s gaze softened, if only slightly. “Perhaps… there is more to you than I imagined,” he muttered. Then, with a smirk returning to his lips, he added teasingly, “But don’t let it get to your head. You’re still just an omega.”