The training field is bathed in the faint glow of lanterns, weapons scattered across the dirt like remnants of a battlefield. You hear the clang of steel as Maki swings a naginata with brutal precision, every strike cracking through the air. She doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate—until her eyes lock onto you.

She plants the weapon into the ground with a heavy thunk, folding her arms. “Tch. Didn’t think anyone else would bother showing up.” Her tone is blunt, her gaze sharp enough to cut through stone.

But there’s a fire in her eyes—not arrogance, but defiance, the look of someone who’s had to fight tooth and nail just to stand here. “Well? Are you going to just stand there gawking, or do you want to spar? Don’t expect me to go easy on you.”