"Tameshigiri?" Shinzo asked in disbelief.

"Yes, Sensei," Rowan panted. He was lying spread-eagled on the tatami after a gruelling five-hour session where he had had to hold a stitching needle between his big and long toes and hit various targets an inch in diameter with it again and again, without pause. Left foot, right foot, left foot again, stopping only to switch foots.

'Progressive training, diharanan,' Rowan thought as he willed his heart rate and breathing return to normal. 'Oh, Haz'Sarhang..., you would have liked Shinzo. Well..., you two would have eventually killed each other but... I do miss you. You would have liked Faith, too. Stubborn but ambitious... You'd have really liked the sway of her butt, you old lecher. Heh, she would have given you back as good as she got, but fairly. Not like Arteshtaran... especially the time she almost lost it and fire-bombed your arse after the upside-down argbed manoeuvre.'

"That's not a requirement, Rowan..."

"I know. But as you know, I'm not here to play by the rules. Seven mats... just enough for them to see how much it'll take to slash someone in half.

The next day Rowan entered the dojo in his normal martial arts training attire – a gi with his green belt tied around his waist. There were still a few days until his promised blue belt test, plus he didn't have a proper set of clothing for test cutting.

In his left hand he held his sheathed Howard Clark katana. Ever since he had first gotten his hands on it, the day after the Senior Prom at Sunnydale High, it had felt more and more like the extension of himself, like it should. He was, slowly but still, becoming familiar with it but... it wasn't his beloved Yazdegerd, yet. It was as good as he could have hoped for in this age the Powers had thrust him in, and it would take time until it spoke to him. He had yet to test it in real combat, which was just fine. Their bond, if there ever was to be one, was still in its infancy.

'Rupert asked me back then if I'd name you. How little did he know. You've tasted my blood but you're still in your infancy... a human creation, however perfect. We'll see... You're mine and I'm yours, just as much Faith and I are. She, like many others, hunger for a legendary blade. With you I can accomplish many things, but it will be just us... no-one else will have wielded you, made their mark on you. Without me, you wouldn't exist. You were made for me, shaped in your current form by a master swordsmith. Ito anez todor tuhan. In years to come, maybe, it'll be more.'

Sophie Lambart was not a stranger with a katana, so she grinned as she went eagerly to the table to get an initial view of the swords she, like the others, would have to choose from to use in this unexpected bamboo mat cutting exercise Konoe-sensei had flash-added to their curriculum... no doubt at the instigation of the... the Lehaïr, for extra credit in practical field work. At least, she had never heard that the previous Watcher classes had had to participate in one.

There were three blades to choose from. She picked up the first which seemed to be getting lots of attention from her classmates as it looked magnificent. She put it back almost immediately but then realised that being too eager would diminish her chances in the contest.

'Plastic samegawa? Oh, please. The blade stamped with 'Stainless, Made in Japan'? Keep your features smooth now, Sophie... No need to give away any hints.'

The second sword was a Type 95 shin guntō. Also there she had to keep her features smooth. Even though it looked "real" to the untrained eye, it was probably the shittiest excuse for a nihonto ever manufactured.

The third sword on the table didn't look like much, just the bare blade mounted on a wooden tsuka. It hardly even resembled a traditional katana at all. It was much more curved... 'A tachi! Where would Konoe-sensei have gotten his hands on one...'

Behind her she heard the door open and saw the Lehaïr step in, clad in his white gi and holding a sheathed katana in his hand.

"Mr Courtenay, is it possible that my instructions were not clear enough?" Shinzo asked, trying to keep his features stoic as Eddie Courtenay looked dumbly at the sword in his hands which was embedded half-way into the first bamboo mat of the seven mounted next to each other. He, like most of the others in the class, had picked the first blade.

"No, Sensei... I..."

"Next! Mr Rothschild!"

Sophie winced as Benny raised the shin guntō and delivered a tremendous blow at the row of rolled bamboo mats, managing to blast through the first one through sheer force, but causing the stand holding the mats to topple over.

"This ain't possible," Benny snorted as Sophie and Craig straightened and restocked the stand. "I hit it full-strength, and you know I'm the strongest of you all."

"Shut up, Benny," Craig muttered, too quiet for anyone but Sophie and Benny to hear. "You hit it wrong."

Benny was too angry to pay attention to niceties. "Wrong? I hit it with all I got!"

"That's where you got it wrong, Benny," Sophie announced loudly. "You should have hit them at a downward angle and focus on the last one."

"What?"

"Besides, with the gunto you picked, no effing way."

"With the what, I what?"

"Mr Courtenay," Shinzo cut in. "Why did you choose the particular sword you wielded?"

"They are all the same, ain't them?" Eddie asked in bafflement causing Sophie to roll her eyes.

"What did you choose, Ms Lambart?"

"The tachi, of course."

"Why?"

"Why? It's the only real sword among these three. I mean... the stainless steel one was probably purchased at a souvenir shop for £50, whereas the gunto... basically a machine-made ceremonial sword for NCOs in the Imperial Japanese Army. But the tachi... It's the real article." Here Sophie threw a speculative look at Shinzo. "From the late Muromachi period, right, Sensei?"

"Very good, Ms Lambart," Shinzo beamed. "Your turn now."

Taking several deep breaths, Sophie stepped into position and slowly raised the blade above her head. A slash and two of the bamboo mats were cleanly cut through at a perfect 45-degree angle. The blade was embedded maybe an inch into the third mat. She had never been able to cut cleanly through two before this.

"Excellent, nice form," Shinzo congratulated her. "But you hesitated almost imperceptibly. Why?"

"Sensei, I..."

"You didn't truly believe you could cut through all of them?"

Sophie shook her head with her eyes held low. "No, Sensei."

"Perhaps our assistant instructor could show us how he does it," Shinzo suggested next with a look at Rowan.

"Yes, Sensei," Rowan nodded. He approached the stand and bowed briefly to the row of mats.

"Omimi," Shinzo muttered approvingly as Rowan unsheathed his sword and he got his first look of the blade.

Sophie watched in rapt attention as the Lehaïr stood still for a long while with the sword raised. Then... she blinked... and the blade was suddenly down and on the other side of the row of mats as if it hadn't bothered the cover the distance between the two spots. Then, like in slow-motion, the tops of all seven mats toppled over one-by-one.

There was a total silence in the dojo as the Lehaïr sheathed the sword with practiced ease and bowed again to the sliced mats. He laid the sword on the table with the other three and nodded at Shinzo.

"You're all welcome to try again, using everything you have learned," Shinzo instructed the class.

Backs aching and arms sore the class sat in various degrees of seiza after an intense hour of cutting practice facing Shinzo and the Lehaïr. Using only the Sensei's tachi and the Lehaïr's katana they had managed to improve their results... but only somewhat. Craig had performed the best of them, managing to cut cleanly through three mats on his first attempt and then half-way through the fourth on his second. Sophie herself had also improved from her first attempt, managing to get the third mat cleanly cut once and three-quarters through twice. None of the others had managed to cut cleanly through even one, although all of them had gotten clean cuts through most of the first mat without toppling the stand over.

"So," Shinzo started, getting everyone's attention. "Lessons learned. Feel free to speak your impressions. There will be no penalties for wrong answers this time. Yes, Mr Rothschild?"

"Brute force is clearly not enough."

"Good point," Shinzo nodded. "That holds true with Slayers as well, and much more with Potentials. Yes, Mr Fiennes?"

"The tools of the trade," Craig answered.

"Good, what about those?"

"They should be functional and of good quality."

"Excellent. Remember that when it's time to choose your gear for field work and patrolling, both for yourself and especially for your charge. Yes, Ms Lambart?"

"Even a good quality weapon is useless in untrained hands."

Here Rowan chuckled making everyone turn their attention to him. "That was the first thing I impressed upon Buffy and Faith in Sunnydale. They are the actual weapons and should consider themselves as such. With that mindset every item becomes an extension of yourself. Now, I could most likely cut though all those mats with any of the blades available here, after a little maintenance at least. Knowing it is more than half of the actual physical feat. Hesitation in the field may be the last mistake you'll ever make. Instil an absolute belief in their skills kind of mindset on your charges from the beginning and they are bound to perform better out there."

There was a long silence as the class pondered on Rowan's words. Eventually a hesitant hand was raised again. "Yes, Mr Courtenay?" Shinzo prompted.

"I, um, have a question to the de... Lehaïr."

"By all means," Rowan nodded.

"The Slayers... Ms Summers and Ms Lehane. Can you... can you tell us a little of what it's like to patrol and fight with them. For real."

The simple question opened up the floodgates and Rowan found himself bombarded with all kinds of questions Slayer-wise. To his surprise even Craig Fiennes participated, even if somewhat less enthused than the others. His questions were very astute, though – simple and to the point.

Maybe there was some hope for the Council yet. Provided that it didn't collapse on its own or through some external catastrophe before this bunch was old enough to wield power.