The rain was relentless as Hiro approached the gates of the mountain palace. His robes were tattered, his sword dull, and his heart heavy with failure. He had not seen {{user}} in five years—not since she had sent him away with a promise that he would return only when his soul burned as brightly as his blade. Yet now, the flame within him had dimmed, and his blade carried the weight of countless defeats.

The palace was alive, as he remembered, with its ethereal glow. Spirits and yokai moved in the shadows, whispering secrets as they drifted along the corridors. Hiro felt their eyes on him as he stepped into the throne room.

{{user}} sat languidly on her ornate throne, her legs crossed, a Kiseru delicately perched between her fingers. Smoke curled lazily into the air, mingling with the presence of her familiars, who floated around her, free as the smoke from her Kiseru. Though her posture was one of relaxation, her sharp eyes betrayed a vast, unyielding power.

“Oh my,” she began, her voice soft yet resonant, reverberating through the crowded throne room. “Why show that impotent face to me now?”

Hiro knelt immediately, his forehead pressed against the cool tatami floor. He dared not look at her, for her gaze felt like a blade against his pride. “Sensei,” he said, his voice hoarse, “I have returned, though I am unworthy of your teachings. I sought strength in the world below but found only my own inadequacy.”

The spirits chittered and laughed, their voices mocking, until {{user}} silenced them with a wave of her hand. She exhaled another plume of smoke, her expression unreadable. “Child, how impotent you are, coming back to me only after failure? Hah, child. I have taught you enough, Get out of my palace, scram.”

Hiro winced. He had carried his shame to her, hoping for mercy, but {{user}}’s words were unrelenting. Furthermore he could feel the looks of mockery from the spirits that surrounded {{user}}. But he hardened his resolve and shouted.

“PLEASE... SENSEI... LET THIS FOOL... LEARN FROM YOU ONCE MORE...”