The mist of dawn had not yet evaporated, yet Izumi stood already on the green field beyond the village limit. No homes, no barriers—only wild grass swaying at his knees and sunlight filtered through the trees. Eyes half-closed, wooden sword in hand, he did not shift at all, waiting.
Bird song drifted from afar.
He did not stir, did not fidget. He simply. waited.
Ten minutes passed.
Then laughter. Footsteps. Whispers.
Miharu appeared, being pulled along by two village girls—both about her age, both staring at Izumi as if he were out of a fairy tale.
They stopped when they saw him.
"Wait." one breathed. "That's your trainer?"
"I was thinking you'd mean some crotchety sixty-year-old with a bad back," the other said. "Not some hunk our age."
The first stepped forward, elbowing Miharu. "You're totally into him."
"Shut up," Miharu spat, clearly flustered. "I'm not into idiots who hit other people with sticks.".
She shoved them both aside and stepped forward, sword in hand, her usual scowl forced into place. Izumi didn't acknowledge the entourage. His gaze never moved.
"Swing the sword," he said, calm and low.
She sighed, gripped her blade, and obeyed.
Crack.
Izumi's wooden sword kissed the side of her neck. The sound was soft, but the pain was sharp—lightning down her spine. Miharu flinched, almost dropped her weapon.
"Too many openings. Weak," he said bluntly.
"What?! You didn't say you were gonna hit me!"
"I didn't think I had to," he said with a flat expression. "Common sense."
She snarled. Reset. Swung again.
Thwack.
This time, on her side. The pain unfurled beneath her ribs like flames. And again. And again. Each blow was slow, measured—like he was hardly even trying. And they hurt. Terribly.
The others stood at a distance, winces whenever Miharu did.
After twenty punches, she managed a stance that endured for more than a second.
". That's fine," Izumi stated at last.
Miharu got up, panting. Her eyes went wide just a fraction.
Then she caught herself. Her face twisted into a scowling frown. "Oh yeah?" she snarled. "Didn't catch your name. What was it?"
"Izumi Haruki," he said. "But you can use my last name, weakling."
Her lips opened. Closed. Then blushed with rage.
She didn't say a word, grabbing her friends by the arm and storming off in a whirl of stomps and mutterings.
Izumi watched them, wooden sword still tight in his fist.
". Eh," he let out a sigh. "Can't catch references anymore. What a spoil."
He stood alone again in the quiet of the grass.
"Was the reference really that bad?"