The morning sun had just begun to rise, casting a soft, golden hue across the village of Dawn. The quiet streets slowly filled with life as the townsfolk prepared for the day. In the distance, the training grounds loomed like a beacon, a place where boys and girls from all over the region would begin their rigorous journey into the world of warriors.

For Isaki , today was the day he had been preparing for since he could remember. Dressed in a simple tunic, his wooden training sword strapped to his side, he walked down the familiar dirt path towards the grounds. His father, Izaku Ryo, walked beside him in silence, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Izaku had once been a renowned warrior himself, a man of great skill and respect in the village. His reputation had always cast a long shadow over Isaki, a shadow that had both protected and pressured him his entire life. Everyone knew the name "Ryo",and with that name came expectations. Expectations that Isaki was determined to live up to—yet those very expectations also weighed heavily on his young shoulders.

They reached the edge of the training grounds, where other boys and girls were already gathering. Some were familiar faces, others were strangers from neighboring villages. Isaki's heart raced as he took in the sight of them. This was it. The beginning.

"I expect you to train hard," Izaku said, his voice calm but firm, cutting through the silence that had accompanied them on their walk. "This isn't a game, Isaki. You're here to prove yourself, and more importantly, to surpass yourself."

Isaki nodded, his grip tightening on the hilt of his training sword. "I understand, Father."

Izaku placed a hand on his son's shoulder, his expression softening for just a moment. "I know you do. But remember this—you're not competing against them," he gestured toward the other trainees. "You're competing against yourself. Focus on being better than you were yesterday, and you'll find your strength."

Isaki looked up at his father, the weight of his words settling in. "I will. I promise."

Izaku nodded once more, then turned to leave, his tall figure soon disappearing into the crowd of villagers that had gathered to watch the start of the training. Isaki watched him go, feeling a strange mix of relief and apprehension. His father had always been supportive, but his presence was a constant reminder of the legacy Isaki had to uphold.

The sound of a horn broke through the chatter of the crowd, signaling the start of the training. The instructor, a grizzled veteran with scars lining his face, stood at the center of the grounds. His voice boomed across the open space.

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"Welcome, recruits!" His eyes scanned the young faces before him, sizing each of them up. "For the next three years, this place will be your home. You will train harder than you've ever trained before. You will be pushed to your limits, and beyond. Some of you will break, some of you will fail. But those who endure will become warriors worthy of the title."

Isaki felt a shiver run down his spine. This was the moment he had been waiting for, yet standing here, among so many others, the reality of it all began to sink in. He wasn't the only one with dreams of greatness. Every single person here was fighting for the same goal—to be the best.

The instructor continued, his voice cold and authoritative. "Now, let's see what you're made of. First test—combat drills! Pair up with the person next to you and prepare to fight. This isn't about winning or losing, but about showing me how you move, how you think, how you fight."

Isaki turned to his left and found himself facing a tall boy with short, dark hair and a confident smirk on his face. The boy looked him up and down, clearly unimpressed. "Guess I'll take it easy on you," he said with a shrug, pulling out his wooden sword.

Isaki narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He didn't need to respond with words. He would prove himself with action.

They stepped into the makeshift circle, their wooden swords drawn. The other trainees quickly formed a ring around them, watching eagerly. The instructor stood nearby, his arms crossed, eyes sharp and attentive.

The boy attacked first, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Isaki dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow. His heart raced, but his mind was calm, focused. His father's lessons flashed through his head. Watch your opponent. Study their movements. Look for the opening.

The boy swung again, this time aiming for Isaki's legs. Isaki jumped back, barely dodging the strike. He could feel the weight of the crowd's eyes on him, the pressure mounting with every second. But he couldn't let it distract him. He had to focus. Breathe. Think.

Suddenly, Isaki saw his opening. The boy was fast, but he was overconfident. His attacks were wild, leaving him vulnerable after each swing. Isaki ducked under the next attack, stepped forward, and struck the boy's sword arm with a sharp tap. The boy flinched, momentarily losing his grip.

Without hesitation, Isaki followed through, knocking the sword from the boy's hand and bringing his own sword up to the boy's chest, stopping just short of making contact.

The crowd fell silent for a moment. Then, the instructor stepped forward, nodding approvingly. "Good. You're calm under pressure. Quick to react. But you need to work on your footwork. You're too rigid. Loosen up. Combat isn't about being tense—it's about flowing with your opponent's movements."

Isaki nodded, his heart still racing from the fight. "Yes, sir."

The instructor moved on to the next pair, and the crowd dispersed, leaving Isaki to catch his breath. He had passed his first test, but this was only the beginning.

As he stood there, wiping the sweat from his brow, Isaki couldn't help but glance toward the horizon, where his father had disappeared moments ago. Izaku had always told him that the true battle was with himself.

Today, Isaki had won that battle. But tomorrow was another day. Another fight. And he was ready.