Father kept his promise.
Two days after he and Mother allowed me to continue training, the estate prepared for a guest.
That alone told me the person mattered. The attendants swept the garden path twice. Water was placed near the veranda. Towels were folded neatly beside a low tray. Mother checked everything herself, calm and quiet as always, but her eyes missed nothing.
Father sat near the open side of the room, wrapped in a pale robe. The scarred skin on his face looked more visible in the morning light, but his smile was gentle.
My sisters were supposed to stay inside.
They did not.
Hinaki crouched near the screen. “Is it a Hashira?”
Kuina pushed against her shoulder. “Move. I cannot see through your head.”
“My head is normal.”
“It is in the way.”
Nichika leaned over both of them. “If he is frightening, Haruya will make his serious face.”
Kanata looked at me. “He already is.”
“I am not.”
“You are preparing it.”
I adjusted my sleeves, then smiled despite myself. “You cannot know that.”
Kanata’s expression said she absolutely could.
Then the guest arrived.
He was an older man, short and sturdy, with white hair, thick eyebrows, and a patterned haori marked with pale triangles. One of his legs was missing below the knee, replaced by a wooden prosthetic. It clicked softly against the floor when he walked.
He did not move like a fragile man.
He moved like someone who had lost something and simply built the rest of himself around the absence.
Father inclined his head with respect. “Kuwajima-dono, thank you for coming.”
The man bowed deeply. Not stiffly. Not as a formality. With true respect.
“Oyakata-sama, it is my honor. If this old body can still be of use to your family, then I am grateful.”
His voice was rough, but his words were careful.
Mother bowed as well. “We are grateful that you accepted the request.”
Kuwajima turned to her and bowed again. “Ubuyashiki-sama, please do not thank me too soon. Teaching a child is delicate work. Teaching the heir of this family is even more so. I will be strict, but I will not be reckless.”
Mother’s gaze softened a little. “That is what we hoped for.”
Father looked toward me. “Haruya, this is Jigoro Kuwajima. He once served as the Thunder Hashira. He has trained swordsmen for the Corps, and I have asked him to oversee your foundation.”
Former Thunder Hashira.
My body moved before I finished thinking.
I knelt and bowed low, hands placed properly on the floor.
“Kuwajima-sensei, thank you for coming to teach me.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Kuwajima stepped closer. His wooden foot clicked once.
“Raise your head.”
I did.
His eyes were sharp. Not cruel. Sharp like a blade that had been cared for properly.
“You bow well,” he said. “Who taught you?”
“Mother corrected my manners. Father corrected my thoughts.”
Father’s mouth curved faintly.
Mother’s eyes warmed.
Kuwajima gave a low hum. “A dangerous combination. You may call me Shihan.”
I blinked. “Not sensei?”
“Sensei is fine for many teachers,” he said. “But if I am to shape your foundation, you will call me Shihan. That word will remind you that I am not here to entertain you with sword tricks.”
Hinaki whispered behind the screen, “Sword tricks would be good.”
Mother said, without turning, “Hinaki.”
Hinaki became silent with impressive speed.
I bowed again. “Yes, Shihan.”
“Good.” Kuwajima glanced toward Father and Mother. His posture softened with respect. “Oyakata-sama, Ubuyashiki-sama, I will begin with movement, posture, and breath. There will be no swordsman training yet.”
Mother’s shoulders eased almost imperceptibly.
Father nodded. “That is what we wished.”
Kuwajima looked back at me. “You hear that, boy? Your parents have trusted me to train you, not to break you. If I say stop, you stop. If your mother says stop, you stop faster.”
Mother’s lips curved.
“Yes, Shihan,” I said.
“And if your father says stop?”
“I stop and think about why I had to be told.”
Father’s smile deepened.
Kuwajima stared at me for a moment. “You are very serious.”
I straightened. “I do not want to waste this.”
Something shifted in his face.
Not pity. Recognition, maybe.
“Then we will see what your seriousness is worth after your legs start shaking.”
My sisters made several small interested noises.
Training began with running.
That was almost funny.
In my first life, running had been one of the first things I learned properly, though no one had called it training. Scouts ran. Scouts carried messages. Scouts crossed bad ground and returned before others even knew danger was moving. Slow scouts died. Loud scouts died faster.
Running itself was not new.
This body was.
“Run the path,” Shihan said. “Not fast. Show me your natural pace.”
I ran.
The garden path curved around the stone lantern, crossed under a trimmed pine, then returned toward the veranda. I kept my steps light, or tried to. The gravel still shifted under my feet.
“Again,” Shihan called.
I ran again.
“Quieter.”
Again.
“Shorter stride. You are reaching too far.”
Again.
“Your right foot becomes loud when you tire.”
That annoyed me because he was right.
I fixed it badly, then better.
By the fifth path, sweat gathered under my hair. My breathing was warm but steady.
“Stop.”
I slowed and returned to him.
Shihan tapped his cane lightly against the ground. “You know how to run.”
I looked up quickly.
He noticed.
“I did not say you run well,” he said. “Do not get proud.”
Behind the screen, Nichika whispered, “Too late.”
“I heard that,” I said.
“You were meant to,” she answered.
Shihan’s eyebrows lifted, but he did not scold them. “Your pace is better than I expected for your age. Your body, however, has not earned what your mind understands. If you trust that understanding more than your current legs, you will injure yourself.”
The words landed too close.
I bowed my head. “Yes, Shihan.”
“No. Not yes because it sounds respectful. Say it if you understand the danger.”
I took a breath. “I understand how to run, but my body cannot keep up yet. If I push it like it already can, I will build bad habits or hurt myself.”
Shihan nodded once. “Better. Again.”
So I ran again.
This time he made me focus on sound. Feet beneath the body. Shorter stride. Softer landing. Arms close. Shoulders quiet.
Agility progress increased.
I noticed the window but kept running until he called stop.
That earned me another nod.
Next came standing.
Hinaki whispered, “Standing is easy.”
Shihan looked toward the screen. He did not raise his voice. “Young lady, if you believe that after watching, you may try later with your mother’s permission.”
Hinaki paused. “Maybe I will only observe first.”
“A wise decision,” Mother said.
I learned quickly that standing could become training if the person teaching it was cruel enough to understand knees.
Shihan placed my feet apart and adjusted them with his cane.
“Horse stance. Bend your knees. Back straight. Do not lean forward.”
I lowered myself.
“Not that much. You are not trying to disappear into the floor.”
I rose slightly.
“Better. Now stay.”
At first, it was fine.
Then it was not.
My thighs warmed. Then burned. My feet pressed into the ground. My back wanted to curl. My knees wanted to drift inward.
“Breathe,” Shihan said.
“I am breathing.”
“You are holding tension and letting air escape around it. That is not the same.”
I tried again.
“Lower your shoulders.”
I lowered them.
“Do not puff your chest. You are five, not a rooster.”
Father turned his face slightly toward his sleeve.
Mother’s eyes softened.
My sisters were silent for about three breaths.
Then Kuina whispered, “A rooster?”
Kanata whispered back, “A serious rooster.”
I nearly smiled, which made the stance worse.
Shihan’s cane tapped once. “If laughter breaks your stance, then your stance is not ready for sisters.”
“That seems unfair.”
“It is very fair. Battles are less polite than sisters.”
I could not argue with that.
“Breathe lower,” he said. “Let the air settle. Do not chase special techniques. Not yet. First, learn to breathe while uncomfortable.”
That was clear enough.
I inhaled slowly. This time my shoulders did not rise as much. The burning in my legs remained, but it stopped filling my whole mind.
“Better.”
That single word felt embarrassingly good.
My legs shook a few breaths later.
Shihan watched carefully. “Do you need to stop, or do you want to stop?”
I thought before answering. “I want to stop.”
“Then stay.”
I stayed.
A few breaths later, my knees started to collapse inward.
“Now you need to stop. Sit.”
I sat carefully, because collapsing in front of my sisters would have become family history.
Strength progress increased.
Endurance progress increased.
Shihan crouched in front of me with some effort. His voice lowered.
“Pain?”
“Tired.”
“That was not my question.”
I checked properly. Legs burning. Feet warm. No sharp pain. No dizziness.
“No pain, Shihan.”
“Good. Remember this. Tired is allowed. Sharp pain is a warning. Dizziness is a warning. Pride is not a reason to continue. If you hide those things from me, I will stop teaching you.”
Mother looked satisfied.
Father looked pleased.
I bowed from where I sat. “I will not hide them.”
Shihan studied me. “See that you do not.”
Then came plank.
It looked harmless.
That made me distrust it immediately.
I placed my hands on the ground and straightened my body as he showed me. My arms started shaking much too soon.
“Straight line,” Shihan said.
“I am trying.”
“Try with your stomach too.”
I tightened my middle.
“Breathe.”
I breathed.
“Not in little frightened sips.”
From behind the screen, Kuina whispered, “He is sipping air.”
Nichika whispered, “Should we bring a cup?”
This time I did laugh.
Only a little.
It was enough for my hips to drop.
Shihan tapped the floor. “Down.”
I lowered myself, face warm.
My sisters were delighted.
Shihan looked at them, then at me. “There. A lesson. Joy can break form too.”
I wiped sweat from my chin. “Should I avoid joy, Shihan?”
Father looked at me, amused.
Mother’s expression warmed.
Shihan snorted softly. “No. Learn to keep your form while laughing. Otherwise your sisters will defeat you daily.”
“That already happens.”
Hinaki poked her head out. “Because we are strong.”
“Because you are many,” I said.
“And strong.”
“And loud.”
Mother said, “Haruya.”
I bowed my head with a chuckle. “And strong.”
Hinaki looked satisfied.
The lesson continued like that. Running, stance, plank, rest, stretching, breath. Nothing flashy. Nothing that would impress a swordsman. Everything that would make a body less foolish.
At the end, I bowed to Shihan again.
“Thank you for teaching me.”
“You thanked me when I arrived.”
“That was for coming. This is for teaching.”
He stared at me for a moment. His voice was still rough, but quieter. “You speak as if proper teaching is rare.”
I looked down at my hands.
I could have lied. A child might have.
But Father and Mother had taught me that truth, carefully given, was stronger than a pretty answer.
“In my first dreams,” I said slowly, “I was given weapons before lessons. I do not want to waste being taught.”
The garden grew still.
Mother’s face softened with that sadness she tried not to show too much. Father watched me with calm, but his fingers had tightened on his cup.
Shihan did not ask what I meant.
He only nodded.
“Then do not worship training,” he said. “Use it. Training is not a treasure to stare at. It is a tool to sharpen you.”
I lifted my head. “Yes, Shihan.”
The next day was rest.
Rest day sounded gentle. It was not. It was a clever trap where everyone watched to make sure I did not turn every hallway into secret footwork practice.
Kanata was the worst.
I sat with a book open in front of me.
She leaned over. “You are not reading.”
“I am.”
“You have been looking at the same word for a long time.”
“It is an important word.”
“It says rice.”
I turned the page.
She smiled. “Better.”
On the next training day, Shihan returned with a wooden practice sword.
Hinaki saw it first and almost vibrated. “He has a sword.”
“A wooden practice sword,” I said.
“That is a sword.”
“It is wood.”
“It is sword-shaped wood.”
Kuina nodded. “That counts.”
Nichika looked at Shihan. “Will Haruya swing it?”
Shihan bowed his head slightly toward Mother and Father before answering, as if making clear that he remained within the conditions given to him.
“Not today. Today he learns how to approach it, pick it up, and put it down without foolishness.”
Hinaki looked betrayed. “That is not sword training.”
Shihan’s gaze moved to her. His voice stayed calm. “Many people wish to swing a sword before they understand what it means to hold one. Your brother will not be one of them.”
Hinaki looked at me, then at the wooden sword, then sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I still think swinging is better.”
“It often looks better,” Father said gently. “That does not mean it comes first.”
Training began without the sword.
That was cruel.
Shihan made me run past it again and again while it rested near the veranda. Every lap, I saw it from the corner of my eye. Every lap, I had to keep my feet quiet instead of thinking about my hands.
“Eyes on the path,” Shihan called.
“Yes, Shihan.”
“Your shoulders turned toward the sword. The sword is not running. You are.”
My sisters found that very funny.
After running came stances. Horse stance. Forward stance. Slow squats. A balance hold with one knee raised that made me wobble like a badly built table.
Agility +1
The window appeared after I finally held the balance without flailing.
I smiled before I could stop myself.
Shihan saw. Of course he did.
“Gained something?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, Shihan.”
“Then thank the repetition, not the smile.”
I pressed my lips together.
Mother laughed softly. “He may smile, Kuwajima-dono.”
Shihan bowed his head slightly toward her. “Of course, Ubuyashiki-sama. I only intend to make sure he does not stop at smiling.”
“Then we agree,” she said.
I liked that exchange. It reminded me that Shihan was stern with me because that was his role, not because he lacked respect. With Father and Mother, he was careful. Almost gentle.
When the wooden sword finally came, I was already tired.
Shihan placed it before me.
“Kneel.”
I knelt.
“Before your hand reaches for it, look at it.”
I looked.
“It is wood,” he said. “But if you build careless habits with wood, your hands will remember carelessness with steel. Reach slowly.”
I reached.
“Too tense. Again.”
I stopped and tried again.
He corrected my fingers. My wrist. My shoulders. The angle of my elbows. How much force I used to grip.
“Do not strangle it. It is not escaping.”
Kuina whispered, “Maybe it wants to.”
Nichika said, “I would.”
I nearly smiled again.
This time, my form held.
Shihan noticed. “Better.”
I lifted the wooden sword.
It was light.
It was also heavier than I expected.
Not in weight. In meaning.
The first weapon I held in my old life had been shoved into my hands by a man who did not care if I understood it. A spear with a cracked shaft. Old blood near the binding. An order to stand in line and not run.
This was different.
Someone was watching how I held it before I learned wrong.
Someone cared whether the habit became safe.
My throat tightened.
Shihan’s voice cut through it, rough but not unkind. “Put it down.”
I did.
“Again.”
I picked it up and put it down.
Again.
Again.
By the time we finished, Hinaki had declared it the slowest duel in history, Kuina had accused the sword of laziness, and Kanata had quietly counted every repetition.
“How many?” I asked her.
“Forty-two.”
Shihan looked at her. “You counted correctly.”
Kanata blinked, then hid slightly behind the screen.
I grinned at her.
She looked pleased, though she tried to hide it.
The third training day brought rain.
Thin rain. Cold enough to make the stones slick, not heavy enough to excuse us.
Mother looked at the garden path, then at Shihan.
Shihan bowed his head. “With your permission, Ubuyashiki-sama, I would like to train him lightly in the rain. Only movement and balance. No sword.”
Mother considered it.
Father said softly, “Weather is part of the world he wishes to understand.”
Mother gave him a calm look. “You are encouraging him.”
“I am encouraging supervision.”
She looked back at Shihan. “Lightly.”
“Of course.”
Rain changed everything.
The stones shifted under my feet. The ground smelled wet. My sleeves clung to my wrists. If I pushed too hard on a turn, my foot slid. If I became too careful, my whole body stiffened.
“Do not fight the ground,” Shihan said. “Feel it before it teaches you rudely.”
I shortened my steps.
“Better.”
I turned around the stone lantern.
“Again.”
After several careful laps, my hair stuck to my forehead and rainwater slipped down the back of my neck. It was deeply unpleasant.
I smiled anyway.
Not because I enjoyed cold water in my collar. I did not. I smiled because I was here. Because I was five, alive, watched over, corrected, allowed to try, allowed to fail without being thrown away.
Born in darkness, I had once thought light was something other people lived under.
This was light.
Not soft. Not easy.
But warm enough to move toward.
Endurance +1
I almost laughed.
Shihan noticed the change in my face.
“You are pleased.”
“Yes, Shihan.”
“Good. Now walk until your breath calms. Do not celebrate by slipping.”
That was very practical advice.
Over the next sessions, training settled into rhythm.
One day training. One day rest.
Running. Stances. Plank. Slow squats. Balance holds. Wooden sword handling. Breathing through all of it.
Shihan did not teach Thunder Breathing. He said the same thing every time I looked too interested.
“Do not chase thunder before you can hold air.”
So I held air.
In through the nose. Out smoothly. Shoulders down. Jaw relaxed. No panic when the legs burned. No holding the breath when the arms shook.
During one plank, Kuina whispered, “His eyebrows are working again.”
Nichika answered, “They are training harder than his arms.”
I breathed out too sharply and nearly collapsed.
Shihan tapped the ground. “If eyebrows ruin your plank, we have found a weakness.”
“My eyebrows are innocent,” I said.
Father laughed softly.
Mother covered her smile with her sleeve.
Hinaki pointed at me. “They are not. They brag when you win dice.”
Kanata nodded. “And when Shihan says better.”
I wanted to deny it.
I could not.
“Then I will train them too,” I said.
Shihan stared at me for a long moment.
Then he laughed. A short, rough laugh, like gravel shifting.
“Good. There is a child in there after all.”
That made my chest feel strange.
Not bad.
Just seen.
Later that day, after repeated footwork, the system opened.
Strength +1
I kept my eyebrows still.
Or tried to.
Kanata whispered, “They moved.”
I sighed.
Shihan’s eyes crinkled with amusement before his expression returned to stern. “Again.”
The final lesson of that period came after a hard morning.
Rain had passed during the night, leaving the garden damp. Shihan had me jog, hold horse stance, plank, lift the wooden sword, set it down, then repeat footwork until my legs felt full of wet sand.
Then he made me breathe.
Not while sitting.
While moving.
Walk. Breathe. Turn. Breathe. Kneel. Breathe. Lift the wooden sword. Breathe. Lower it. Breathe. Stand in horse stance. Breathe.
No forcing.
Just breath that did not break when effort rose.
The system appeared.
Skill Awakened: Breath Control Lv. 1
Description: A foundational breathing skill that improves the user’s ability to regulate breathing during movement, exertion, stress, and recovery. This skill does not grant a Breathing Style. Continued practice may improve stamina efficiency, emotional control, posture stability, recovery speed, and readiness for future breathing techniques. Current effectiveness is limited by age, lung capacity, physical conditioning, instruction quality, and consistency.
I read the window once.
Then I closed it.
Shihan was still watching me.
“I learned something,” I said.
“So I see.”
“Not Thunder Breathing.”
“No,” he said. “Something more important for now.”
“Breath that does not break.”
He nodded. “Good.”
When training ended, I bowed to him.
“Thank you, Shihan. For teaching me properly.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he bowed his head slightly, accepting it.
“You are serious because you know the value of what you are receiving,” he said. “That is good. But do not let gratitude become heaviness. A child who only carries weight will forget how to grow.”
I glanced toward my sisters.
Hinaki was trying to balance a leaf on Kuina’s head. Kuina was threatening revenge. Nichika had somehow obtained the wooden cup from the water tray. Kanata watched them all like a tiny judge.
I smiled.
“I am learning that too.”
Mother came forward and placed a towel over my shoulders. Her hands were gentle, but her eyes checked my face and breathing.
“You did well,” she said.
Then, in the same calm voice, “Now you will eat, wash, and rest. In that order. No bargaining.”
“I was not going to bargain.”
Father’s smile was mild. “You were arranging your argument.”
“I was organizing possibilities.”
Mother raised one eyebrow.
I lowered my head. “I will eat, wash, and rest.”
Shihan bowed respectfully toward Father and Mother. “Oyakata-sama, Ubuyashiki-sama, he listens better than many older students. Not perfectly, but enough to be taught.”
Father’s expression softened. “That is reassuring.”
Mother looked at me. “He also needs reminders.”
“Many,” Shihan agreed.
I felt betrayed by everyone older than me.
Then Hinaki whispered loudly, “His eyebrows are upset.”
Kuina nodded. “Very upset.”
Nichika lifted the towel edge and peered at me. “Should we cover them too?”
Kanata said, “They need rest.”
I closed my eyes.
And laughed.
Training, I decided, was much harder with sisters.
Also brighter.