Tenjo stood in the dojo for the first time, holding the wooden sword out in front of her. It was heavy, enough that her young and untrained arms struggled to lift it. There were dozens of pairings of students sparring, their swords making smashing noises that threatened to overwhelm her ears while they moved too quickly for her to see them as anything but blurs.

In front of her was a wooden pole, beaten into a smooth and shiny state by the thousands of blows that the previous users had worn away at it with. To the side stood her grandfather, his emotionless black eyes bearing down at her as she hesitated.

"Strike the target," He said.

She hesitated. "How do I hold the sword? How do I swing it?

He gave a contemptuous snort. "Just do it. How to do it properly will come to you."

She lifted it above her head, and swung down into the target at an angle. It bounced back, nearly hitting her, and the impact bent her wrists to the point where she nearly dropped the sword while sending enough force back into her hands that they started to become numb.

"Did I say to stop?" Noboru said. "I told you to strike the target, so continue striking the target until I tell you to stop."

Tenjo repeated the motion, and again winced from the aftershocks. It had to be that she was doing something wrong, right? No one else ever looked as though they were about to drop their weapon with each blow they landed.

Even that second of hesitation was enough for him to reprimand her again.

"I said not to stop."

She continued, one blow after another, her fear of disappointing him greater than her fear of the pain in her hands. At some point in time, she stopped being able to feel her hands entirely, everything below her wrists consisting of nothing but a buzzing sensation as though the vibrations were bouncing around inside them again and again.

The muscles in her arms protested as she lifted it again, burning with the previously trivial effort. As the next blow landed, she was finally brought to a stop again, sweat dripping down her forehead into her eyes to the point where she could barely see the target in front of her.

“Alright,” The master said. “That’s enough for now.”

She gratefully let the sword slip from her hands and fall to the stone floor below. The next moment, a chill ran down her back and Tenjo fell to her hands and knees as an aura of anger pressed down on her.

It lasted for only a second before disappearing like a fleeting mirage, but that brief instant was enough for it to carve itself into her mind and body, forcing her to completely forget about her exhaustion.

“Don’t drop your sword,” He said. His voice was blank again, no hint of emotion leaking out. It seemed almost impossible that the aura had come from him, the contrast too unbelievable.”

As she hurried to pick it back up and stand, Noboru gave another command. “Now, practice strikes on the air instead.”

Tenjo lifted the wooden sword, and swung it. All the force her arms could muster went into the swing, and it kept going straight past where the post would have been, as far as her arms could stretch, until it hit their limit and the momentum tore the sword from her still recovering hands.

It skittered across the ground. A sharp pain had appeared in her right shoulder, the power behind the strike too much for her arms. By now, Tenjo understood what would happen if she took even a second of rest, so she reclaimed the wooden blade and began to swing it again.

This time she put less force, and instead stopped the sword before it swung down below her hips. The strikes came faster, hitting an uneven rhythm that then became gradually slower as her lungs began to beg for air, and her shoulders threatened to give out with each movement.

The faintest hint of aura slipped free, and the speed increased again as she forced herself to strike as quickly as possible. Every time now that she came close to stopping that trace of anger leaked out again.

Tenjo could no longer see properly, both due to the sweat in her eyes and the way that the floor seemed to sway beneath her, waving back and forth as though it were water in a pond pushed by wind, rather than solid stone.

Then it rushed up at her, rapidly growing closer by the second as she fell over. Her frantic breathes gradually slowed, and everything faded into darkness as she passed out.

She was awoken minutes later, still in the same position on the floor. The face of disapproval above her was enough to make her try and stand, only for her arms to give out as she tried to push herself up.

The short time had been enough for her muscles to stiffen. After she stood, the master wordlessly gave a gesture for her to follow him out of the dojo, and then he took off at a jog that was effortless to him, but taxing for her to keep up.

One step after another, she ran after him without growing any closer. Each breath was agony, like fire running down her throat. Each step sent pain up her legs, making each joint feel as though it was about to give out.

By the time they had circled the village once, Tenjo's pace had slowed to less than half of what it was, and she was even more desperate for air than she had been when swinging the sword before. Instead of stopping when the completed the loop, the master continued, his back always remaining the same distance no matter how fast or slow her gait.

Again, the world started to shake back and forth, this time matched to each footstep. The black crept in at the edge of her sight again, and then for the second time she fell unconscious.

The moment she awakened, the running continued. The only thing that changed was after the second loop was finished, they stepped back inside. Her grandfather pointed to the sword, and then to the target.

The cycle continued until the sun had begun to set, and at that point, when Tenjo had long since stopped keeping track of how many times she had collapsed, she was at last allowed to rest.

The next morning, she awoke to agony. Every single muscle consisted of nothing but a dull throbbing pain, which became a burning fire of agony when it was moved. Her hands were nothing but raw meat, layer after layer of skin having been torn free where she gripped the wooden handle.

She could still feel the shock from the blows, the impacts feeling so real that it was difficult for her to understand at first when she looked at her hands and saw that they were still rather than shaking with motion.

Tenjo lifted her arms, and the pain that raced from her right shoulder made all the muscles in that arm contract as one, sending even more pain all throughout it. If this was what it meant to become a student of the blade, she wasn’t sure she wanted to anymore.

The training continued, exactly the same that day. Then the next day. Then the next day. And the next. But as she trained, the way she moved changed each day.

She had held the sword with her hands too close together on the hilt, not letting them move enough with each strike. Instead of striking flat against the pole, she cut, letting the sword draw back towards her for the next strike instead of bouncing off. Both on the pole and in the air, she now used the momentum, letting it guide the next strike rather than trying to fight against it, but not letting it pull her.

Each swing of the sword became an act of delicacy and complication. The more she figured out, the more focus every strike demanded as she strove to keep all of the different movements of both the sword and her body in sync, making sure they all happened at the right time.

The move she focused on one, the more the rest slipped. But it also became something more than just a physical exercise. When Tenjo let her mind focus on the details of how to do the cut, it became something other than the pain or exhaustion at the forefront of her mind.

Then, one day she woke up without torn skin, or aching muscles. Instead, around her body was a faint and dispersed aura of energy, that she could feel but not see. All of a sudden, the sword was just a little bit lighter. Her movements were just a little bit faster.

Her grandfather hadn’t appeared since the first day, more than a week ago. Now though, he gave her another element of training, another thing to strike with the wooden sword. Across from her was another person.

A fellow student like her, who was a couple years older with tanned skin from working outside and dark brown hair and eyes. His nervousness was obvious, the tip of his weapon shaking almost as badly as hers.

Did she really have to try and hit him? There was a strange weight in her center that held her back when she thought about it. The sword she held was solid wood, and it wasn't hard to imagine the injury it could cause if swung in earnest. A look to her side where Noboru watched was enough to overcome her trepidations though, and his watching critical gaze was enough to spur her into action.

Tenjo drew back for a strike, and he followed after her, likewise starting his attack. Unlike her though, he didn’t draw back, instead cutting forwards into her exposed hand with a directly downward chop.

The wooden blade struck all the fingers on her left hand, and they instantly became numb while pain flooded them. She took a step back, and then swung again, this time copying his movement and not winding up for the attack.

He let the blow slide off his sword as he angled it, and then hit her in the arm. Now a line on it throbbed in time with her fingers. She had expected a solid target, not air, and couldn’t pull back quickly enough.

In their third exchange, Tenjo started with her sword already in a position to strike, and was rewarded by a solid impact against his blade. One blow, two blows, three blows landed wood on wood, back and forth.

Then he stabbed through the hole in her guard, and the point took her just under the ribs. All the air burst out of her lungs, and she was forced to bend over. As drops of sweat fell from her face, and she gasped for air, Tenjo realized something.

The feeling of tightness in her chest was gone, replaced by excitement. In that last clash of blows, she hadn’t thought about disappointing her grandfather, or about her injuries, or even about how she was swinging the sword.

Instead, she had gotten caught up in the competition, enjoying the contest as she strove to land her own blow and get past his guard. Unknowingly, a smile had formed on her face, and as she straightened back up, Tenjo was filled with anticipation.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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