How many times?
They used to count, keeping track of wins and losses, Touga because it suited him to monitor his advantage and Saionji out of a helpless sense of anticipation, like a gambler watching his debt grow in order to know how much he would never be able to win back. But that had been years ago. They had chosen to forget long ago, to forgive whatever imbalance lingered.
How many times had they faced one other like this, dressed in the traditional black and white hakama, hair bound up, shinai raised between them?
It had been a long, long time since Touga and Saionji had faced one another to spar like this.
Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps they should never have revived the ragged bones of that old rivalry, that had caused them both so much grief. Perhaps they should never have done as they were accustomed to and forgone practice armor. But neither one was in any state to realize this.
For a moment, they were still, a tableau. Perhaps they allowed the moment to stretch like a drop of water welling up on the tip of a leaf. Perhaps each was awash in a sudden rush of memories, of the recollection of all the other times when they had stood like this. Perhaps they hesitated, impeded for a moment by the knowledge that they should have known better.
And then, with a single cry uttered by two voices, they rushed together.
In that first attack, their shinai met with that familiar clap, followed by the momentary scuttle as they each fought to break the others' guard. Before, back in that long-gone past, a bout like this would have been decided in an instant. But the intervening years had robbed them both of much speed and grace. It was not over so quickly.
Touga was the first to move away, to give up the attack and prepare for another. But their movements were almost synchronized. Just like before, they read each others' movements effortlessly, moving into and out of stances in response to their opponent without ever breaking eye contact. When they lunged at each other once more, it was nearly simultaneously, Saionji initiating the offense by a narrow fraction of a second.
Again and again, the assaults came to nothing, and they would back away from each other once more. They were not balanced, though almost equally matched. Touga had done nothing to maintain his kendo skill, and it quickly became clear that he was in no sort of physical condition to fight at the level he once had. But this did not immediately spell his defeat, as with ever utterance, every swing, Saionji's composure waned. At last, Touga's level-headedness trumped Saionji's physical power, and the former's shinai came to rest at the hollow of the latter's throat.
The bout was over, but Saionji didn't lower his weapon, didn't stop. With the first strike, he sent Touga's shinai clattering away across the floor. With the second, he hit Touga's forearm, squarely, with the full force of all the passions he had sought to keep in check.
Touga stepped back, stunned, hand drifting slowly to grip the spot where Saionji's shinai had made contact. He watched Saionji intently, looking for the shame and regret that had always followed fast on the heels of such outbursts. But for the first time, it didn not come, and as realization of the deed dawned in Saionji's expression, so too did a hard look of resignation and self-righeousness.
Touga continued to back away, the last vestiges of his confidence vanishing. When he reached the edge of the room, he turned and, somewhat unsteadily, exited the dojo, leaving Saionji there alone.