Miura Dojo, located in the East Daitoshi district, was a traditional Shimanese martial arts training center that had been operating for generations.

Shingo and Shiori’s foster father and kendo teacher, Takashi Miura was a strict, tough, but caring man who raised the twins as his children. As the three of them trained, Shingo and Shiori practiced their kendo techniques under Takashi’s watchful eyes.

Shingo and Shiori were a unique duo, born with extraordinary abilities. Shiori was a talented magic swordsman, while Shingo was a skilled kendo practitioner. The twins always trained together, but Shiori’s physical stamina had begun to wane.

Despite her struggles, Shiori was determined to master Falling Sakura Petals, the ultimate stroke of the Miura Style known as the ogi, and inherit the Miura Clan heirloom, the legendary Masamune’s Katana.

As they trained, Takashi watched his foster children with a mix of pride and concern. He loved them deeply, having raised them since the tragic deaths of their birth parents. Takashi had already lost so much in his life and he could not bear to lose the twins, too. Despite his love for both Shingo and Shiori, Takashi knew that he had to make a difficult decision.

“You get tired too easily, Shiori,” he said, looking at her with a concerned expression. “Maybe it’s time for you to stop practicing kendo and focus on your studies.”

Shiori’s heart sank at the thought of giving up her dream. “But I can do this, Father, er, Sensei!” she protested. “I can master the ogi with more training!”

Shingo, always the supportive brother, spoke up. “Please don’t stop her training, Sensei. Sister is more talented than I am.”

Takashi sighed deeply, his gaze shifting between the twins. “As your sensei and foster father, your well-being and health are always been my greatest concern,” he said. “I love you both even since Yuki Miura, my late sister died giving birth to you. And then your father, a dedicated policeman died too, killed in the line of duty. Knowing your talents, I adopted and raised you two as my children. I want to pass down the Miura Style to both of you and the Masamune’s Katana to one of you. Because now I see you don’t have the physical fortitude to handle Masamune’s excessive energy, Shiori, I better entrust the future of Miura Dojo to Shingo. I don’t want to lose you the way I lost Yuki and Ekichi Amiga.”

Shiori was crestfallen, her dreams slipping away from her grasp. “I understand your feelings, Sensei,” she said, her voice shaking. “But I do believe I have the talent to be a good magic swordsman. I just need more training… Look! I can do some neat ice magic!” She demonstrated her words by making a beautiful ice flower on the palm of her hand.

But Takashi would not be swayed. “Don’t argue with me, young girl if you know what’s good for you!” he said sternly. “No more training for you! Just do what you’ve been told…”

Shingo looked at his sister with concern, his heart was heavy with the weight of their foster father’s decision. Would this be the end of their training together, the end of their dreams? Only time would tell.

Suddenly, Shingo heard a mysterious voice that seemed to be coming from nowhere. “What a waste. We have such a great talent in our midst, and you told her only to do office work in the future?” The voice was smooth and cold, and it sent chills down his spine. Shingo stopped in his tracks and looked around, but he saw no one.

“Who are you? Show yourself! How dare you infiltrate our dojo and interfere with our family’s matter?!” Shingo shouted.

In the blink of an eye, a Hannya-masked man appeared in front of him, from the door to the middle, blocking his path. Shingo’s heart skipped a beat, and he immediately took a step back.

The mysterious man wore a mask that resembled a demon’s face, and the cold, piercing eyes behind the mask were almost too much to bear.

The masked man said, “I am nobody. You can call me Hannya, I’m here to take your sister away.”

Shingo’s blood boiled with anger. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “Leave my sister and my foster father alone! Just take me instead!”

Miura intervened, “Over my dead body! No way in hell I’ll give Shiori to you!”

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Miura then turned to Shingo and reminded him, “Remember, your family name, Amiga, short of Amigaharu means you’re a descendant of a legendary Shogun Amigaharu Munetori, who united Shima! So, you must uphold your family name and honor. You don’t give in or give yourself away. Stand up and fight!”

Shingo was hesitant, “But that Hannya-masked man is too powerful, judging by his aura! Look, Shiori is shaking all over!”

Miura, however, was not willing to give up without a fight. “You don’t understand, do you? It’s not honorable to gang up on a man. So, I challenge you to a duel, Hannya. You’re no match for me and Masamune’s Katana.”

Hannya accepted the challenge, and the two of them faced off. The tension was palpable, the air was filled with the sound of swords blazing with their respective auras of fire and ice.

Seeing the rival sword of his and sensing the cold, yet evil aura from it, Miura shivered a bit. “Let’s do this, then!” he said, and the two of them clashed.

Miura stepped onto the wooden floor, his eyes fixed on the Hannya-masked man before him. Hannya held a katana in his right hand, its sharp blade gleaming in the light of the sun. The two circled each other, their feet shuffling and swords clashing in anticipation.

With a fierce battle cry, Miura charged toward Hannya, his fire katana blazing a trail behind him. Hannya parried the attack with ease, his ice katana creating a gust of wind that sent Miura’s hair flying. The two swordsmen lashed again and again, sparks flying off their blades with each blow.

Miura took a step back and drew in a deep breath, his eyes narrowing in concentration. He raised his katana high above his head and then brought it down in a swift motion. The air around them rippled as cherry blossom petals appeared out of nowhere, falling gently to the ground like snowflakes. The Falling Sakura Petals was his ultimate skill or ogi, a move that was said to be unbeatable.

But Hannya was no ordinary opponent. With a swift motion of his wrist, he sent out a wave of cold air that froze the petals in mid-air, the sound of ice crystals shattering echoing through the arena. His ultimate skill, A Thousand Cold Nights, was a move that could turn even the hottest fire into ice.

The two samurais locked eyes for a moment, their breathing heavy with exhaustion. Then Hannya launched himself forward, his katana slicing through the air toward Miura. Miura parried the blow with all his might, but it was too late. Hannya’s sword pierced Miura’s chest, blood spilling out on the floor as he fell to his knees.

“This is the fate of all who dare to challenge me,” Hannya said, his voice cold and menacing as he claimed Masamune’s katana from the previous owner.

Shingo saw his foster father on the floor. “Father!” he cried out. Unfortunately, the blood pooling under Takashi Miura’s body was a sign that the twins were too late.

With a grunt, Shingo turned toward Hannya and said, “Pay for my father’s blood, you devil!”

Shingo charged forward toward Hannya, moving his wooden sword with lightning speed, slicing through the air, just as the move he trained in the Miura Dojo.

But his opponent, Hannya, was no ordinary foe. With a flick of his wrist, Hannya easily intercepted Shingo’s strike and sent him reeling backward, the wooden sword clattering to the ground as Shingo clutched his arm in pain.

“Time to scrap the spare!” Hannya declared, moving toward Shingo with a menacing glare.

Shingo knew he was in trouble. He had trained for years to master the art of the sword, but he was no match for Hannya and his supernatural abilities. He backed away slowly, hoping to put some distance between himself and his attacker.

However, it was in vain. Hannya closed in again and landed the blunt side of Masamune’s katana on Shingo’s chest. It knocked the poor lad out, but it looked like Hannya had killed Shingo.

But Hannya wasn’t finished yet. “One down, only one task left to do,” he said, turning his attention to the sprawling figure of Shiori Amiga. “It’s to grab the one I’m looking for. Shiori Amiga, you’re coming with me.”

Shiori’s face twisted in anger and fear as she got up. “You killed my father and brother! There’s no way I’ll go with you!”

“I know you’d say that,” Hannya replied calmly. “That’s why I’m prepared to do this.”

Before Shiori could react, Hannya lashed out with a burst of energy, striking her in the chest and sending her crashing to the ground. Shingo could only watch in horror as Hannya swept up Shiori’s limp form and disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

“All is done!” Hannya cackled, as he spread his ice energy throughout the room, coating everything in a layer of snowflakes. “Oh, I must make out that this is an accident, not a murder.”

Shingo looked around in disbelief as the snowflakes began to change. The flakes turned to oil, and as they rubbed together, sparks ignited and flames leaped throughout the dojo room and the entire house.

Shingo coughed and choked on the smoke as he stumbled towards the door, desperately trying to escape the inferno.

“The dojo is on fire!” he gasped, realizing with horror that he was trapped inside. “I gotta get out of here!”

With one final burst of strength, Shingo stumbled out of the burning building and collapsed on the ground outside. He looked back at the dojo, now completely engulfed in flames, and felt a sense of despair wash over him.

As he lay there, gasping for breath, he knew that his life would never be the same again. Hannya had taken everything from him - his family, his home, and his sense of security.

Shingo vowed in his heart that he would get revenge, no matter what it took. He would hunt Hannya down and make him pay for what he had done.