The sun is barely up when he calls you out to the clearing. Mist hangs over the field, blurring the edges of the trees, and the ground still holds the chill of night. Rengoku stands there barefoot in the dirt, sword in hand, eyes bright and steady. He doesn’t need to raise his voice; his presence is enough to fill the space.

“Today,” he says, “you stop holding back.”

You laugh under your breath, rolling your shoulders. “You make it sound easy.”

He smiles—too kind, too knowing. “It isn’t meant to be easy. It’s meant to be real. Show me what you’ve been hiding.”

You’ve fought beside him before, but never against him. Facing him now is something else entirely. He’s all poise and stillness until the moment he moves, and then he’s a blur—fire and precision, the air snapping around him with every swing. The first strike rattles through your arms when you block it; the second pushes you back two steps. He’s testing you, measuring.

“Again,” he says, and when you hesitate, the faintest grin curves his mouth. “Don’t make me chase you.”