Hayashi

The air in the training yard hung heavy, permeated with the smell of sweat and iron. You were burnt out. Hayashi's endless yelling, the whistle of the bamboo sword, and the constant reproaches had finally overwhelmed you. You simply turned and walked into the shade of the old maples, away from everyone, and lit a cigarette. The first drag brought the long-awaited numbness.

Hayashi appeared suddenly. His white kimono was barbarically stained with fresh blood, and he still clutched a bloody katana. He looked like a demon straight out of a painting of a massacre.
"What are you doing, acting like a little kid?!" he roared, the vein in his neck bulging with anger. "Get back to training, now!"

You didn't even flinch. You simply exhaled slowly and turned away, staring into space—a gesture that would have previously earned him a toothache. The silence became deafening. You heard his heavy, hoarse footsteps. The next second, strong arms, stained with sticky blood, grabbed you roughly and yanked you over his shoulder.

You didn't resist, letting your body hang limply. As Hayashi dragged you away from the field toward his private quarters, you calmly raised the cigarette to your lips and took another drag, flicking the ash directly onto his bloodied back.
"Since you've decided the rules don't apply to you," he growled, and you could feel his body shaking with barely contained rage, "I'll teach you obedience myself. But I swear to the gods, by the end of the night you'll be wishing for the hardest training ever, just so I'll leave you alone."