Sada Yoshida’s sharp gaze followed Ezio’s movements as the boy wielded his longsword, each sweep and step deliberate, precise. His form was solid, honed through years of rigorous training. But Sada’s practiced eye caught the flaw—predictability. Each motion flowed like water through a well-worn canal, graceful but contained, lacking the spark of individuality that set the great apart from the merely good.

The longsword whistled through the air in a textbook arc, cutting against the soft glow of the setting sun. But as it completed its sweep, Sada’s voice cut through the stillness like steel.

“Stop.”

Ezio froze mid-strike, sweat dripping from his brow as he looked at his master.

“Do you know why this blade will betray you in battle?” Sada asked, tapping the edge of his own shorter, curved sword against the ground.

Ezio’s grip tightened. “Its reach is an advantage, but it’s harder to maneuver up close.”

“Correct. But that’s not the lesson.” Sada’s tone hardened. “You rely too much on what’s been taught to you. Every move you make screams formality. A swordsman who cannot adapt will find his blade turned against him.”

Without warning, Sada lunged. His strike wasn’t clean or rehearsed—it was raw, a flash of instinct driven by years of experience. Ezio reacted quickly, sidestepping as he’d been trained, but Sada’s elbow caught him square in the cheek. The force sent Ezio sprawling, the taste of copper blooming in his mouth as he hit the dirt.

“Not good enough, young Ezio,” Sada said, his frown deepening as he looked down at his student. The boy rubbed his swelling cheek, his expression a mix of frustration and determination.

Sada extended a hand, helping him to his feet. “You’ve yet to break past the first barrier of greatness. Until you do, you will never be more than an heir with potential.”

Ezio stood, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. His face, streaked with sweat, turned upward. “Master,” he said, voice steady despite his exhaustion. “I have a question.”

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Sada arched an eyebrow. “Speak.”

“You’re a legend at Ei’en Academy, but I don’t know much about your past. Who were you before this?”

The question was a clever attempt at stalling—Sada could see that much. But he indulged it, motioning for Ezio to follow. Beneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree shedding its pink petals, he sat and tossed Ezio a flask of spring water infused with Ki.

“Drink. You’ll need it.”

Ezio caught the flask and drank deeply, his eyes never leaving his master. Sada leaned back, resting his sword against his shoulder. “I wasn’t always the man you see before you. Once, I was a bandit.”

Ezio nearly choked. “A bandit?”

“Yes. A nuisance in the northeast, stealing what I wanted and learning cultivation on my own terms.” Sada’s voice softened, his eyes distant as if seeing the past. “I had no master, no deity. I grew stronger by sheer force of will, accumulating Ki in my dantian without understanding its nature. Back then, I thought strength was all that mattered.”

Ezio stared, the exhaustion in his limbs forgotten. “How did you change?”

“I met Hemoru,” Sada said simply. “Or rather, he found me. A vision of the god of the sword brought me to my knees, his presence more powerful than any mortal cultivator. He asked me if I wanted to become the greatest swordsman on the continent. How could I say no?”

Sada took a long sip from his own flask. “After that, my Ki became aligned with the sword’s nature. I defeated countless challengers. And then your father found me.”

“My father?” Ezio asked, his voice tinged with awe.

“He bested me in ten breaths of time.” Sada chuckled dryly. “He offered me a position at Ei’en Academy, saying I’d learned all I could on my own. It was a humbling experience, but one I’m grateful for.”

Ezio’s brow furrowed. “Was he... that much stronger than you?”

Sada’s gaze turned sharp, locking onto Ezio’s. “Your father isn’t just strong. He’s a force of nature. That’s the legacy you bear, Ezio, and the weight you must carry.”

The cherry blossom petals drifted in the breeze, a quiet reminder of the fleeting nature of time. Sada’s voice softened. “But know this—your father’s strength wasn’t inherited. He earned it, as must you. The Empire is watching, waiting for a moment of weakness. The branch families, the noble clans—they prepare for the day the throne is vulnerable. You must be ready.”

Ezio clenched his fists, resolve hardening in his eyes. He raised his practice blade, the ache in his body forgotten. “Then let’s keep training.”

Sada smiled faintly. “Good. Show me what you’ve learned.”