The sun burned crimson on the horizon, casting long shadows over the jagged peaks of the Talon Mountains. At the heart of the valley, the Crimson Talon Clan's training grounds buzzed with energy. Warriors clashed with wooden staves, their movements precise and powerful, while the air rang with the clang of steel and the shouts of instructors.
Kaito crouched at the edge of the arena, clutching his wooden sword tightly. His breathing was labored, and his knuckles white from exertion. Around him, the other trainees whispered.
“Why does he even bother?” one voice snickered.
“He’s just embarrassing himself,” another added.
Kaito’s grip tightened. He knew what they thought of him—weak, untalented, a disgrace to his father’s legacy. But he refused to let their words break him. Not again.
“Enough slacking, Kaito!” bellowed Master Genji, the clan’s drill instructor. His voice was sharp enough to cut stone. “On your feet! If you can’t even finish today’s drills, you’ll never set foot in the real arena!”
Kaito staggered upright, forcing his trembling legs to hold steady. The wooden sword felt heavier than iron in his hands.
As Kaito took his stance, a shadow fell over him. He looked up to see Ryo, the star of their cohort and the clan leader’s nephew. Ryo’s smirk was as sharp as the blade slung across his back.
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“Kaito,” Ryo drawled, “you really should quit while you’re behind. Watching you flail around is almost painful.”
The trainees laughed, and Kaito’s cheeks burned with shame. “I’m not quitting,” he muttered, glaring at the ground.
“Oh?” Ryo stepped closer, his voice low enough for only Kaito to hear. “Your father was a legend. Do you really think you’ll ever live up to him with that weak body of yours?”
Kaito’s fist clenched around his sword. “We’ll see,” he said through gritted teeth.
Ryo straightened and clapped his hands loudly. “Alright, everyone! Let’s give Kaito a proper sparring match. Wouldn’t want him to miss his big chance to prove himself!”
Kaito found himself in the center of the training ring, with Ryo opposite him. The other trainees gathered around, their jeers and laughter stinging his ears.
“Ready?” Ryo asked, drawing his practice blade.
Kaito nodded, his heart pounding like a war drum. The moment the match began, Ryo closed the distance between them in a blur, his blade crashing down with incredible force. Kaito barely managed to block, the impact jolting his arms painfully.
“You’ll never win if you’re always on the defensive!” Ryo taunted, striking again and again.
Kaito dodged and parried, each movement a desperate attempt to keep up. He could feel the spectators’ eyes on him, judging every misstep. But in the chaos of the fight, something clicked. His body moved on instinct, ducking under Ryo’s swing and landing a strike to his side.
The crowd gasped. For a fleeting moment, Kaito felt a surge of hope—only for Ryo to retaliate with a swift, crushing blow that sent him sprawling to the ground.
The match was over. Kaito lay in the dirt, staring at the sky, as the laughter rang in his ears.
As the crowd dispersed, Kaito slowly pushed himself to his feet. His entire body ached, but the pain only fueled his determination. He glanced toward the highest peak of the Talon Mountains, where the clan’s sacred hall stood.
One day, he thought. One day, I’ll prove them all wrong.
Unseen by Kaito, Master Genji stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching the boy with a thoughtful expression. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet,” he murmured, before turning and walking away.