Author's note: Kinda few hits for this story, but I was expecting that. :P Hopefully I haven't chased off what few readers I have. Reviews are always appreciated!
There was a man in red standing before him. It was dark all around, and there was no one else, just the man and himself. For some reason, the man looked familiar. Beady black eyes and a pointed nose, rather like an eagle. Wait - there were swords at his side. He was a warrior too! Since he was a swordsman, they should fight. He needed to win, and be the best samurai out there. The man seemed to be thinking the same.
He fumbled for his swords. Too slow, too slow. He needed to be faster. It nagged at his mind that he knew the man's name, that they had met before. The man drew his sword, and it caught light, glinting coldly at him. His fingers found the cloth-bound hilt of his wakizashi, and he unsheathed it with a metallic hiss, gripping it with his hands. The man stared him down, blade at the ready. He waited for his opponent to make the first move. There was no wind, no light, but he saw the man in red clearly as if there was.
Tsurugi.
What?
Tsurugi.
His name is Tsurugi, the voice said in his mind. What did he need to know that for? The man started to charge forward, and he tried to move his arms for a parry. His limbs were heavy. Why could he not move? He heard the clang of their swords, knew he had shielded himself just in time. Tsurugi had backed away, and he stepped forward to strike.
The blackness around lightened suddenly, to bright daylight and a town square. His feet were stepping on cobblestones, and he realised that there was a crowd around them, watching. But Tsurugi seemed oblivious to the people, and as he prepared to strike at the man's side, there was a flash of metal and light. He found his sword slipping from his fingers, skidding on the uneven stone ground. A shard of panic wound itself into his chest. A samurai was nothing without his sword.
He saw the fortune teller in the crowd, a meld of purple and white, her eye wide with horror, and the distinct burden of failure weighed down upon his chest. She had been counting on him to win. Why he was so affected by her disappointment, he did not know. All he knew was that Tsurugi was laughing at him, that he had lost, that the crowd had witnessed his failure, and he had let the fortune teller with the large grey eye down. He cursed, falling to his knees. He knew he had to try again, but Tsurugi was disappearing into the crowd, and his strength had left him.
There were warm hands on his cheeks all of a sudden, slow fingertips trailing over his jaw. He shivered and looked up, seeing a woman before him, her face veiled by her hair. She stepped closer, pressing her body to his, and it was then that he realised she was naked, that she was rubbing her breasts into his covered chest.
Stop, he wanted to tell her, discomfort lacing his mind. It seemed that neither the woman nor his body would cooperate, however, when she started to push his vest and top aside, stroking his chest with slender fingers. His eyes fell to her round breasts. They plumped up when she pushed them together, and he felt that familiar fullness building up in his loins. She seemed to know his body's reaction, even as he mouthed the words, I am a samurai, I don't have the time for this.
It was almost as if she replied, but your body wants this, when she leaned in to suck on his earlobe, a firm hand reaching between his legs and cupping his crotch, rubbing his growing length through his clothes. Pleasure throbbed slowly beneath her digits.
No, don't touch that, he wanted to protest, but his lips had sealed shut, and his body jerked into her palm. She pushed her soft breasts against his chest, pink lips twisting in a seductive smirk, and it was all he could do not to groan and succumb. She reached into his trousers, even as he drew away. A sharp gasp crossed his lips, embarrassment filling his veins at the feel of her fingers right against his intimate flesh.
Stop, he wanted to moan. She freed him from his clothes, obvious delight dancing on her lips. Her fingers slid over his skin. He dared not look, even as need got the better of him.
Dawn over the little Sunland town three days later was a cool, crisp affair. Occasional lilting birdcalls welcomed the rising sun, swathed in purple-grey clouds as it coloured the sky a medley of salmon-pink and lavender. Horse-drawn carriages rumbled along the streets, narrowly avoiding the bargaining womenfolk at times as they argued over the prices of vegetables.
Ryoma strode through the town square, skirting around makeshift stalls hawking the freshest fruits, barely heeding the bright voices as they peddled their farms' produce. A spray of crumbs showered to his left, and he stepped hurriedly away, as flocks of pigeons descended onto the cobblestones, pecking at the morsels of food. For some reason, his feet had chosen this path today, deviating from the usual route he took between his rented room and the forest he trained at.
Speaking of training... His forehead creased when he recalled his embarrassing defeat a few days ago, filled with anger towards himself. He had stepped up his daily routine since, extending the length of his runs by two, and practising with his swords more vigorously than ever. Aside from time off to run his errands, as well as for food, he mostly remained among the trees, working at his stamina and skill. There was no way he was losing to that uncouth man again.
So engrossed was he in thought that Ryoma missed the large purple tent to his side, staring at the smooth cobblestones as he walked. Would his training prepare him for the next time he duelled with Tsurugi? Perhaps he needed some kind of a plan. That man dodged most of his strikes with ease, and the only way to counter that was probably to increase his speed. Maybe he needed to train overnight, too.
"What are you doing here this early, Ryoma?" The familiar, rich voice cut into his thoughts, seeming to glide into his ears.
Not quite paying heed to the low note of warning in his mind, he paused mid-step, turning to locate his owner. And immediately regretted doing so.
She was standing by her tent entrance, adjusting something at the back of her head, in an action that required both arms to be lifted, chest pushed forwards, accentuating the curves of her white-clad breasts. He swallowed and stared, dread creeping along his spine. The voice in his head reminded him, very unhelpfully, that he was the one who was determined not to cross her path again. He continued to stare.
The fortune teller stepped forward, her hands dropping to her sides, hardly giving an indication of whether she had noticed. He bit his lip and dragged his eyes up to her face, repeatedly reminding himself that he had no time to waste lingering around. Tsurugi had to be defeated. That new train of thought helped to clear his mind, and he exhaled the lungful of air caught in his chest.
"You haven't replied," she murmured, pausing in front of him, her large grey eye narrowing in mirth. He squirmed at the proximity, at how the depth of her cleavage was far more obvious when she was a foot before him. "Cat got your tongue?"
"N-no," he started, blinking, trying to shift away imperceptibly. It took some time to coordinate his thoughts, to come up with the fastest way he could leave this place. Her gaze was starting to make him fidget again. "I'm just about to head off for my training."
She inclined her head, watching him in thought. "Have you had your breakfast?"
Ryoma blinked quickly, surprised at her concern. It could be that she was truly curious, though she could also be planning to feed him poisoned food. Her benign smile rather pointed to the former. He shifted on his feet. "Yes, I have, thanks. I do also have to train though, Miss."
Her full lips pushed into a pout in pretense, glistening gold in the sunrise. He stared at them and wondered how they felt like, before catching himself. There wasn't much time to waste if he wanted to serve Tsurugi defeat. The woman tucked her hands behind her back, watching him in interest. "You did say you'd drop by some time, Ryoma."
He swallowed hard. The way she almost purred his name made him feel as though they were the most intimate of lovers, and in that moment, as their gazes locked, it felt as though he already knew every inch of her body. His heart quickened; he flushed nervously, not meaning to have somehow intruded, even as he blood heated up. She gave no sign of knowing, her pink lips curving in a small smile. And no matter how much he wanted to leave, he found himself agreeing, "I guess I can, but only for a short while!"
He reasoned that he could not break his word.
The smile that crossed her lips was, by far, the prettiest he had ever seen. Ryoma watched as she turned, the v-tailed collar-garment whispering behind her back, its gold edges glinting in the sunlight. Her hips swayed with each step she took, and he had to remind himself not to stare. Samurai did not ogle shapely female rumps, regardless of how tempting they were. He clenched his fists as a distraction and followed her in.
"So, how have you been these past few days?" she asked once he was seated, resting her chin on her palm and gazing at him. "I haven't seen you around in ages."
He was quickly becoming accustomed to the semi-darkness of the tent, watching the flicker of the tiny flame on the table. She remained looking at him, the dancing fire reflected in her large eye. Recollections of his training returned to his mind first, followed by the loss to Tsurugi. It gnawed on his nerves as he remembered his swift defeat, irritation growing in his chest. Despite the large amounts of time he had been training for, there was this nagging doubt that he still wasn't fast enough, nor more superiorly-skilled to defeat his opponent. Ryoma sighed in frustration, tapping his straw-slippered foot on the ground. "I lost to Tsurugi that day, and it's bugging me, because no matter how hard I train, I still can't get any better than him!"
She stared at him in thought, leaning forward by a fraction, the warm glow of firelight seeming to caress her skin. "It's simple, then, don't train. Why don't you learn to loosen up a bit? There's more to life than training. Learn to live a little."
What? The lulling effect of her sultry voice was lost on him as he stared at her, trying to comprehend why she had said that. Had she not seen his past in her crystal ball, and did she not know his motivations? He crossed his arms. "What are you saying? You may not realise it, but I have sacrificed everything to come here and train!"
"Yeah, that may be so... but has all this training made you happy?" She propped both elbows on the table, cupping her cheeks. It was as if she was skeptical about what he did as a samurai, as though the amount of work required for his profession was not worth the while.
"I'm learning to overcome my weaknesses and become the ultimate swordsman. No one said anything about being happy."
"Did you say, 'overcome your weaknesses'? Hmm..." Before he knew it, she had drawn back, lowering her eyes to the crystal ball before her, that he had once again managed to miss. As she had done the previous time, the woman brought her hands around the shiny orb, focusing her attention on it till it began to glow blue, her eye turning blank and devoid of life. "It's becoming clear now. According to the crystal ball, your next task will begin when an eight-legged creature descends from the sky."
The blue light started to fade. He drew himself forward, eyes widening. This sounded like an interesting challenge. "That's weird. 'An eight-legged creature from the sky'?"
She shrugged, leaning back in her seat. Ryoma frowned and looked at the unsteady flame as it danced on the lamp spout, blinking when something tiny and blurred lowered itself right before his eyes, masking the fire from his sight. Grunting in surprise, he pulled back and refocused his vision, scrutinising the dark spot. It had many protrusions that looked like... legs?
In that instant, goose bumps rose like an army across his skin. His heart slammed into his ribs, eyes growing wide. Ryoma hated spiders. Lips agape and soundless, he stared at Rouge, who didn't quite grasp his silent plea for help. He tried refocusing his vision again, to ascertain that the spider was still trackable. It was not. For all he knew, it might already be scuttling in his clothes.
"ARGH! I hate spiders!" he yelled, leaping up from his chair and knocking it onto the ground. His entire body felt itchy all over. He reached behind, scratching at his back through his clothes. His chest was ticklish. It was a kind of fear that he couldn't explain, that made his heart hammer and his body hypersensitive. Shuddering, he started to hop on his feet, clawing at his front, trying to shake the spider away. When that didn't help, he shrugged the kimono top and vest off, so that they hung by the sash around his waist, turning around in circles and attempting to find the spider on his back. "It's on me! Get it off, get it off! I can- can feel it!"
He did not notice the chair behind him until it was too late.
There was a startled yelp from the back as his legs hit the fortune teller's chair, his momentum thrusting him up against her, tipping his balance. Heart lodging in his throat, Ryoma twisted himself around, bracing his arms forward as he tumbled to the ground with the woman, his legs tangling in her chair, hoping that she would not hit her head, and that he would not crush her with his weight.
Thump!
His palms hit the hard floor, sending a jerk through his body. At the same time, she landed on her shoulder, yelping sharply in pain. Miraculously, his legs had not crushed hers. Ryoma stared at the woman anxiously, waiting to see if she was conscious. His heart pounded. "Are- are you okay, Miss?"
"Ugh, yes..." she moaned, rolling onto her back, stunned and blinking dazedly up at him. They remained staring at each other for a good while, until she recovered her senses, blinking and trying to shift from her position. "Oww..."
He wasn't sure which way to move, only knowing that his knees and palms were throbbing. This girl, however, seemed to need medical attention of some sort. She was shifting awkwardly on the ground. "Stay here, I'll get you a doctor, Miss."
"Name's Rouge," she mumbled, reaching up and grabbing a handful of the clothes at his waist, blinking slowly. "I think I'm fine."
He paused just as he was pushing himself up, looking down worriedly at her. "I'm very sorry about this, Rouge."
"Mm, it's okay," she murmured, the frown fading off her forehead. Her single eye grew more lucid, and he watched as she gazed at him, her attention hovering on his face. A soft moan escaped her lips when she tried to arch her back, and he found his gaze slipping lower, to her chest, faintly illuminated by the crack in the tent flaps.
From this distance, he could see the soft mounds of her flesh clearly, round and smooth, as if waiting to be touched as they rose and fell with each breath. Without thinking, he recalled the dream he had from the night before, knowing instinctively the dusky nipples that lay beneath her white bra. He could imagine the texture of them on his palm, imagine them hard and pebbled, imagine her rubbing them into his chest, eye hooded with lust. Heat rose to his cheeks; his loincloth was growing too tight.
It occurred to him that Rouge was right beneath his body, the curves of her hips under his growing arousal. If she were completely naked, just as the woman in his dream had been... Ryoma squeezed his eyes shut, heart laced with guilt. She had no clue about his mental invasion, and he should not take advantage of a prone woman as a samurai. Muttering an apology, he started to shift away, unable to look her in the eye.
"Don't go," she murmured huskily, the hand on his bunched-up clothes tightening and tugging. He paused, cracking his eyes open for a glimpse of her. There was the hint of a smile on her lips, and a warm hand suddenly glided up his abdomen, languidly caressing the muscles there. He stiffened. "Mmm."
Rouge watched as the samurai froze, his cheeks reddening. There was just something heady about the way he had straddled her, topless, his hands on either sides of her chest. In the faint light, she could make out his muscled arms and pectorals, as well as the dark, flat discs of his nipples. It made her wonder what it would feel like pressing up against him, how the rest of his body would look. Her fingers played along the contours of his midriff, trailing upwards, if it weren't for the fact that he would bolt if she went any lower. He shivered against her fingertips.
"We could look through all your clothes if you want to make sure the spider's out..." she offered in a low murmur, stroking a flat nipple slowly. He felt so hard that she wanted to know if other parts of him were equally as stiff. Warmth gathered wetly between her legs.
"N-no thanks, Rouge. I gotta go," he mumbled, flushing and jerking away from her, shrugging back into his clothes. The expression on his face was unreadable. He straightened and got to his feet, turning away, his sword sheaths clattering. "I have to train and defeat Tsurugi. Until we next meet!"
She relaxed back into the ground, listening to his hurried footsteps as they faded. The sharp ache in her shoulder had diminished, and she had to admit that the prediction, although mildly catastrophic, had turned out stimulating. Ryoma's body felt good.
Birdsong slipped to a lull as noon drew closer, giving way to the soft gurgle of a stream winding through the grove. The trees were relatively short but numerous, providing ample shade over the sparse undergrowth. Speckles of sunlight brightened the leaf-covered ground. Squirrels rustled occasionally through rich green leaves, gathering nuts and dabbling in games of hide-and-seek. It was as if this place was a haven for the creatures, lying a short distance away from the nearest town.
Rouge picked her way slowly through the trees, careful to avoid dried twigs on the ground. She was not being secretive - all she was trying to prevent was Ryoma spotting her and interrupting his training to flee. At least, that did not seem surreptitious to her. The fortune teller had closed her shop for now, travelling the mile or so where her crystal ball had pointed. As it was, her striking clothes made it difficult for her to conceal herself amongst the dull chestnut trunks.
A muffled exclamation up ahead made her pause. She rested her fingers lightly on a tree, cautiously peeking behind the girth of the trunk. The lock of hair before her hidden eye swayed. Sure enough, there was a quick movement about twenty yards away, accompanied by the glint of light on metal. Moments later, a navy-dressed figure came into view, wearing a brown top of some sort. That had to be Ryoma.
Slowly, Rouge approached his training grounds, making sure to keep her movements short and hidden, until she was ten yards away, and able to get a good view of the samurai.
He had a sword gripped with both hands, wielding it deftly as he made multiple quick slices through the air, faster than she could trace with her gaze. Her eyes widened. She knew he was skilled, but never had she seen the true extent of his capabilities. It bred a new kind of respect for him deep in her heart.
Ryoma had his sleeves tied up to prevent obstruction, and her gaze shifted to his arms, strong and gleaming with a layer of sweat. The slickness, even from this distance, reminded her of the image she had seen in her crystal ball, of him bare-bodied, save for the ridiculously long piece of cloth at his hips. And past the newfound respect, his strength elicited a nagging want in her veins - a desire to see him entirely naked, to perhaps get her hands on his hard body, touch the muscles at his abdomen. She drew a quavering breath, shivering.
What if he did not have that piece of cloth beneath the waterfall? Or better yet, what if she had been with him, licking the wetness off his chest and slipping her fingers behind his loincloth? Would he have moaned? Heat was creeping into her middle, accentuating her awareness of the hunger at her crotch. What if they had done more earlier that morning; what if their bodies had touched? The smooth, hard muscles of his chest were titillating, and she had wanted nothing more than to know if his intense gaze on her chest had excited him. Rouge squirmed, her flesh growing heavy with want.
"Who's there?"
The yell cut through her thoughts. Rouge blinked, ducking sharply back behind the tree. Her heart thumped from a mixture of shock and arousal. Did he see her? A quick glance around yielded no other spies. The forest was silent. Figuring that he would come to look for her if she did not reveal herself, she stepped out from behind her tree gingerly, flashing a charming smile at him. He whipped his head around to face her, holding his sword as if ready for battle.
The fortune teller could have sworn that the wariness on his face was immediately replaced with an expression of dread, his cheeks paling slightly when she slowly covered the distance between them. He relaxed marginally and stared at her, looking ready to bolt again.
"You were following me!" he accused when she stopped before him, keeping his eyes on her face. There was the slightest hint of a blush fanning across his cheeks.
She took a moment to observe him. Sweat ran down the sides of his cheeks in rivulets. He had tied a narrow white strip of cloth across his forehead to keep his hair from obscuring his view. For all that he had been training, the man was only taking deep breaths, holding his sword to a side with one hand. She recalled the invisible slices he had made, tucking her hands behind her back and swaying her chest. "I thought you were wonderful, Ryoma."
His eyes fell to her chest. The response was instant - his guarded expression fell away from his face, and his cheeks tinged red. It was another moment before he seemed to fight the reaction, sheathing his sword. A frown crossed his forehead. "I'm far from any good, Rouge. It's going to take me a lot more training than that to defeat Tsurugi!" Before she could speak, he glanced at her shoulder. "How's your injury now? I'm sorry I wasn't able to help before."
Rouge inclined her head, a smile tugging at her lips. She had not expected him to remember that this soon after training. Her heart warmed, and she returned his gaze, speaking truthfully, "It doesn't hurt much anymore now."
He looked relieved. The parting of his kimono top had loosened during his training. She stepped closer, eyeing the soaked fabric, reaching up towards it with a finger, murmuring, "Thanks for the concern, and thanks for stopping by today. I really enjoyed it."
He blushed and panicked, backpaddling. "I have to go now, Rouge."
But she had just arrived! Blinking at his movement, she glanced up, searching his face. He looked away, shifting on his feet. If she could prolong his presence for a little longer... Rouge took a step forward. "Ryoma-"
The samurai's eyes widened. He backed away, turning and taking off into the grove, leaving her staring after him. "I'll see you around sometime!"
A sigh escaped her lips. Ryoma had slipped out of her grasp again, though he scarcely realised that his shyness was starting to grow on her. Somehow, the disappointment he left her with only added to the almost-predatory desire that was slowly taking root in her chest.
He was on his back, nested in the bed of his rented room. The space around was dark and shadowed. He was not alone, however. The woman from his previous dream was with him again, as naked as before. Chocolate-brown hair veiled her eyes, and all he could see were those gleaming pink lips on mocha-toned skin. She was straddling his hips.
His eyes widened when he realised the implications of their position, recalling what had happened the last time. She had brought him to full arousal, taken his pleasure as her own, touched him where no one else had. And she was going to do it again. Squirming, he reached to pause the fingers deftly undoing his trousers, blushing when the slow rocking of her hips pushed her soft crotch right against his. Pleasure ground into his flesh.
A moan escaped his lips. He touched her slender fingers, drawing her attention momentarily to his face. Her lips twitched in a smile - for a moment, he thought she had understood what he wanted - then a warm hand cupped around his, lifting it up towards the juncture between her legs. He stiffened in shock, snatching his hand away, but not before his fingers brushed hot, moist flesh. She might have gasped. Heat flooded his loins at the thought that it might have been another part of him instead, that her wetness might have smeared onto his growing length, that he had touched her most private spot.
The fingers returned to his pants, undoing them and easing them down. Not again... This time, she bent forwards, and the proximity of her pink lips reminded him of someone familiar. It felt as if he knew her somehow, but his mind was not making the connection. A warm hand fondled him through his underwear. His flesh throbbed with pleasure. He shivered, rutting into her palm, even as his mind yelled not to.
Who are you, he started to ask, to distract her, but she placed a finger to his lips, tracing them with a lazy touch that seared into his skin. He squirmed, trying to pull away from her, feeling exceptionally vulnerable, knowing that there wasn't another way out.
"Here you go, sir." The stall assistant set a large bowl of steaming hot noodles and soup down on the worn wooden table, collecting the due payment with his free hand. Sunland was not known for its noodles and soups, but once in a while, there were gems like this stall to be found. Steam rose from the wide ceramic bowl, teasing his nose with a warm, spicy scent. Fried onions, golden-brown, floated on the rich clear soup, boiled for hours with various meats. Sweet peas gleamed wetly at the surface, piled next to slices of brownish-pink pork and slivers of mushrooms, hiding the coils of smooth noodles that lay beneath.
Ryoma nodded his thanks, breaking apart his chopsticks and starting on his lunch. He was ravenous after a whole morning of vigorous training. It was perhaps fortunate that Rouge had not continued her mid-morning visits; he had been tense the day after the first, afraid that she would come to distract him again.
Truth be told, there wasn't anything bad about the fortune teller. She did not seem to harbour ill intents, nor was she any interested in his possessions. All she appeared keen on was his body, and that alone was detrimental to his training as a samurai. No matter how hard he had tried to resist her advances, his body had responded to them in a carnal way that he was embarrassed to admit. It had never happened with other females before - but then again, he had never met anyone who dressed as provocatively as she did, nor was as forward as she was.
The rift, then, perhaps, lay with him. He tried to avoid the woman because he couldn't help being physically attracted to her, and he was mad at himself for it. Being with her drove thoughts of his training out of his mind. It was unthinkable for him to do such a thing, and his sensei would frown upon it, maybe even lose faith in him. If there was one thing Ryoma was afraid of doing, it was disappointing the swordsman he looked up to most.
He finished the last dregs of his noodles, setting his chopsticks down onto the table, before lifting the ceramic bowl to his lips, taking steady mouthfuls of the savoury soup. There were still some curious stares at him from around, but the patrons at the noodle shop had mostly grown used to the sight of him during the week he had been here. He usually paid them no mind, keeping to himself and musing.
Despite his aversion towards her, Ryoma had dropped by Rouge's tent on a couple of other occasions, because she was the only person he could talk to freely in this new town. There had not been many acquaintances made while he travelled, and Rouge was the only one who cared about what he said. In essence, he saw a friend in her.
He had been initially worried that he had offended her by running off, but she did not seem to mind the least bit, and kept a safe distance from him on both visits. That had made him slightly more comfortable with her.
The dreams did not stop coming, however. They had begun the first night he saw her, and subsequently, the same mysterious woman invaded his sleep each night, robbing him of his restraint. It was as if they were dark little secrets, never to be mentioned in his entire career as a strict samurai. Even avoiding Rouge for days had not decreased their frequency.
He set his bowl down with a little more force than was necessary, wiping his mouth across his sleeve. Now that lunch was done with, he had to run an errand for his landlady - she had mentioned something about fetching grocery. Pushing himself to his feet, he turned, catching a glimpse of a familiar red kimono suit. His eyes widened.
Ryoma left the noodle shop, swiftly following that spot of colour. The brush of hair on a head taller than his almost proved that his target was Tsurugi Akira. With only a week of training, he wasn't positive that he had enough to defeat this man. But at the same time, as visitors of this Sunland town, he could not ensure that Tsurugi would be staying the same period as he did, and he wanted another chance to prove his worth, and uphold the reputation of the Akudo Dojo.
With a short burst of speed, he wove through the people, planting himself steps ahead of Tsurugi, staring at that eagle-like face with resolution. The flow of people diverged around them. Tsurugi looked the same as he did before.
"You again?" the red-haired man drawled, pausing in his step, raising an arched eyebrow. His swords swayed at his side. The companion Ryoma had seen him with a week ago was not around.
"I'm not giving up yet, Tsurugi!" Ryoma told the man loudly, glaring at him. A few passers-by turned to stare. He ignored them. "You'll never get away with insulting Akudo Kanema - I challenge you to a fight tomorrow, three in the afternoon, in the forest just outside this town!"
Tsurugi smirked and shrugged, resuming his route down the street. The beady black eyes swept away from his face, staring straight ahead. "I accept the challenge, kid. Try not to lose so bad this time."
Ryoma stood his ground as the swordsman brushed past him, acutely aware of his presence. Adrenaline pumped through his veins at the prospect of fighting Tsurugi again the next day. That smug tone of his grated on his nerves. He had to win and prove that man wrong, for himself and his mentor.