Chapter 5 – The Wrong Way to Spar

Sakura told me she sent a total newbie after the sword.

A kid named Leo, apparently. He was part of the Ashen Guard, Siegfried’s gloomy little fan club. I sat on the engawa, the polished veranda overlooking the mountainside, and felt a legit pang of guilt. Down below, the world was a sea of green forest and distant, hazy plains. A whole world I wasn’t allowed to visit because my disciples thought I’d break it. Now, some poor kid had to make the insane trip down there to fix my screw-up.

All because I tossed a piece of junk onto the wrong pile.

Damn.

I heard the soft slide of the shoji screen behind me. Sakura stepped out, holding two mugs of steaming tea. She moved with a quiet grace that always felt a little too perfect, like she was performing for an invisible audience. Her dark hair was once again pulled back into a severe, no-nonsense ponytail.

She set one of the mugs down beside me.

“Sensei, you seem worried about something.”

I stared out at the horizon, watching a hawk circle in the distance.

“Yeah. The newbie. I don’t know if it’s right for him to go all the way down there alone.”

Sakura took a delicate sip of her tea. Her expression was completely unbothered.

“He is a member of the Ashen Guard. He was trained for this.”

That didn’t make me feel any better. I knew Siegfried’s training methods. They were brutal. They were designed to forge soldiers who saw the world below as a pit of vipers.

“The kid’s still a kid, Sakura. And that journey is no joke.”

I remembered my own first time climbing the mountain. It was a nightmare. This kid was doing it in reverse, and he had to do it fast.

“He may be weak by the standards of the Upper World.”

She said it so matter-of-factly. Like she was discussing the weather.

“But for the underworld? That’s enough.”

I picked up my tea. The ceramic was warm against my hands. I still wasn’t convinced.

“Are you sure?”

She finally turned to look at me, a faint, unreadable smile on her lips.

“Yep.”

The silence stretched for a moment, filled only by the whisper of the wind through the pines. She was waiting. I knew that look. It meant she was about to change the subject to something she actually wanted.

“Sensei… it’s been a while since we trained together.”

I should have said no.

We stood in the center of Training Ground One, the main dojo space reserved for me and my senior disciples. The air smelled of polished cedar and clean sweat. A few junior disciples practiced in the far corners, but they kept their distance, throwing nervous glances our way. They knew what was coming.

I held a simple wooden sword, a bokken. It felt light and familiar in my hands. Across from me, Sakura held a similar one, but her stance was rigid, expectant. Way too tense for a simple warmup.

“Alright, let’s just run some basic drills. Block, parry, the usual.”

She gave a single, sharp nod. Her eyes were locked on me, burning with an unnerving focus.

I lunged forward, my movements intentionally slow. I tapped her bokken with my own. It was a textbook parry demonstration. Simple. Clean. Totally boring.

I stepped back, ready for her to return the move.

“Is that all?”

I blinked. Her voice was quiet, but it vibrated with disappointment.

“Uh, yeah? That was the drill.”

The ends of her hair began to stir, lifting from her shoulders as if caught in a breeze I couldn’t feel. A soft pink glow started to pulse from the strands. Oh, great. Her weird hair-power thing was booting up.

“With respect, Master, that was an insult.”

I sighed. Here we go.

“It wasn’t an insult, Sakura. It was a drill. You know, for practice?”

She took a step forward, her grip tightening on her bokken. The pink light from her hair intensified, casting strange, dancing shadows on the floor.

“Please, Master. Do not hold back on my account. I need to feel your true strength. How else am I to learn?”

Her logic was so twisted. It was like trying to argue with a hurricane. A weirdly formal, slightly blushing hurricane.

“Fine.”

I adjusted my grip. This time, I put a little more muscle into it. I moved faster, a blur of motion, and brought my bokken down in a sharp arc aimed at her shoulder. I fully expected her to block it.

She didn’t.

She let the wooden sword slam directly into her shoulder. The crack of wood hitting bone echoed through the dojo. It was a solid, sickening sound.

I froze, my heart lurching into my throat.

“Sakura!”

I dropped my bokken and rushed to her side, expecting to see her clutching a broken collarbone.

She stood perfectly still. Her head was bowed, and her shoulders were trembling. The light in her hair flared brightly for a second before softening into a warm, rosy blush.

She slowly lifted her head. Her cheeks were bright red, and her eyes were squeezed shut in something that looked disturbingly like pure ecstasy.

“Ah… thank you, Master.”

Her voice was a breathy, satisfied whisper.

I took a full step back, holding my hands up like I was surrendering to a maniac. The other disciples in the room had stopped their own training and were now staring, their faces a mix of awe and terror. They were used to this. I wasn’t. I would never be.

“What is wrong with you? You were supposed to block!”

She opened her eyes. They were glowing. Literally glowing with that creepy pink light.

“But to receive a direct blow from the Master… it is the highest honor. A lesson more valuable than any drill.”

My brain just could not compute. It was like her wires were crossed. She was my first disciple, my most powerful, my most loyal. And she was a complete and utter weirdo. A masochistic yandere who thought getting hit by me was a religious experience.

“That’s it. Training is over.”

I started to turn away. I was done. So done.

“Please, Master! One more!”

She scurried in front of me, blocking my path. She held out her bokken in a clear invitation, leaving her entire left side wide open. It was a blatant, pathetic-looking gap in her defense. She was begging me to hit her again.

I stared at her, then at the ridiculous opening. She stared back, her expression a mix of desperate hope and adoration. This was mortifying.

A wave of utter exhaustion washed over me. Arguing was pointless. Resisting was pointless. The fastest way to end this whole bizarre ordeal was to just give her what she wanted.

I let out the longest, most world-weary sigh of my second life.

I didn’t even bother with a proper swing. I just lifted my bokken and gave her a lazy, half-hearted whack on the ribs. It was less of an attack and more of a “go away” tap.

She shuddered, a full-body tremor. A happy little squeak escaped her lips. Her face was flushed, and she looked like she was about to pass out from sheer bliss.

I’ve been training Sakura for a long time.

And I still have absolutely no idea what to do with her.