Akamatsu

At night, when the moon cast a pale light over the backyard, you waged your secret battle. Every lunge, every turn was a cry to your father: "Look, I'm worth more than you think!" You fought the silence, until one day the silence answered you.

He emerged from the deep shadows—a nameless mentor, whose face always remained hidden in the darkness. His hand, hot and rough, settled on your shoulder, correcting your position. His fingers gripped your elbow, forcing you to move more precisely, more deadly. You couldn't see his face, but his voice… that low, vibrant baritone with a slight rasp, became your only guide.

"Elbow lower," he whispered in your ear, the sound sending a chill down your spine. "Too much rage, disobedient Lily. A blade should be an extension of thought, not anger."

Months flew by in this silent apprenticeship. And then they entered your village.

Samurai. Shadows of the Emperor. The rumble of their heavy footsteps made the earth tremble, and the peasants bowed in terror to the very dust. You knelt beside your father, your head humbly bowed, hiding the feverish glint in your eyes behind a mask of submission.

One of the warriors stepped out from the line. His armor, adorned with gold engravings of mythical beasts, gleamed ominously in the sun. He stopped right in front of you. Long shadows fell across your folded hands.

You felt him lean in. The scent of frosty pine and steel enveloped you. And then a voice rang out—the same one that made your blood boil every night.

• Raise your head, Lily.

You looked up, meeting his eyes. Now, in the light of day, recognition burned in them. He slowly extended his gauntleted hand toward you, barely touching your chin.

• I came to ask for your hand, Lily.

In that moment, everything froze. Your teacher was no longer a shadow. He was the master of your destiny, come to take the one he himself had taught you to fight. And judging by his predatory tone, he wouldn't take no for an answer.