A slight breeze picked up a piece of paper trash and sent it scooting along the basketball court, until it ran into the chain-link fence. For a moment, it clung to the metal, its little arms flapping, trying to get a grip. But the breeze died down, and the paper floated to the ground, defeated.
"Across a strange field- living paper runs away- a futile escape." Date Masamune tilted his kabuto forward a little, letting the visor droop over his one good eye. Underneath the armor's shadow, he could still see the girl standing impatiently across the court.
"Is poetry the only reason you called me over here? I have more important things to do than listen to poetry." Mikasa let her hands rest on her swords' handles, which protruded from the front of her 3DMG. The breeze returned, tossing the end of her scarf idly.
Date chuckled, scratching the edge of his moustache. "To think that this is a city. How wondrous they will become, no?"
"That's enough. I'm leaving. Just be glad I didn't kill you." She turned around, aiming her 3DMG at a nearby rooftop.
The samurai sighed. "The youth these days. Always in a rush. They will not even stay put for a fight."
Mikasa spun on her heels, facing Date again. "Oh, really?"
"I don't think I have much chance of reaching my team in a big place like this," he explained. "I would rather have one fair battle, than be ambushed as I wander aimlessly. I have seen you fight, young one. You have much promise. I wish to fight you- if I lose, it would be an honor to die by your blade."
I never really thought about how difficult it is for the fighters on foot to get around, especially in a large arena like this, Mikasa thought. Then again, it won't be too easy for me to find my team, either. If I had met at our table instead of training, maybe I would have overheard the plan for this round. Looks like I'll be doing things the hard way.
"Fine. I accept your challenge. But I'm not going to go easy on you."
"And neither will I," said Date, sliding his katanaout of its sheath.
Mikasa dropped down into a crouch and exploded forward, pushing away from the pavement with blistering speed. She drew her swords, and raised them both over her left shoulder, preparing for a horizontal slash. She saw the samurai take a step backward, shuffling his feet slightly.
What's he up to?
The scout released the potential energy she had stored in her muscles, and her blades ripped through the air toward their target. In an instant, the air would be filled with the sound of shattering metal and tearing flesh… but those sounds never came. Mikasa felt her swords jump in her hands as a pure, resonating tone echoed across the drab pavement. Her swords had been stopped, both blades serenely still against Date's katana.
"W…what?" she gasped, stunned that his defense actually worked. "How? You're just a normal human. That sword isn't special, either!"
Date gave a strained smile. "You're very strong- that much is clear. But you are not trained in fighting other swordsmen." He rotated his sword so it pointed toward the ground, then tilted it backwards, causing Mikasa's blades to slide off and crash into the ground. With a flick of his wrist, his katana was at the back of her neck.
"Again," he said. "This time, focus on technique."
"I thought you said you weren't going to go easy on me," huffed Mikasa, feeling the cold metal at her back. "Why don't you kill me now?"
"I told you. I do not have any hope to win. I desire an honorable defeat, and I intend on receiving one at your hands. If it means I teach you a few lessons, so be it."
He withdrew his sword and took a few steps back, once again returning to his ready-position. Mikasa picked herself up, gripping her swords tighter than before. She rushed him again, swinging from the right this time. Again, Date lifted his sword, blocking an attack that should have broken through his defense. As soon as the swords connected, Mikasa leapt back, avoiding making the same mistake twice. Date stepped forward as Mikasa retreated, now on the offensive. For the briefest moment, she saw his remaining eye scan her sword, before he pressed his weapon against hers- preventing her from attacking.
"You may be fast and strong, but if you do not know how to fight your enemy as an equal, one day you will fail."
Mikasa knew she could push his sword away at any time- the gap in strength between him and her was wide. But she waited, knowing that the man was in full preacher-mode. He continued his sermon.
"You see, there is more to a swordfight than fluidity, and the power behind one's blade. A battle always comes down to physical ability and skill, and often is a conflict between the two. Physical ability helps, but the warrior who uses their skill to the fullest always has an edge over brute force."
Mikasa slowly eased back on her swords, letting the katana inch closer. For a moment, Date applied more pressure to his blade-that was her chance. Mikasa dropped to the ground, rolling forwards. The samurai stumbled forward, no longer having an opponent to lean into. He twisted around in time to block another one of Mikasa's all-out slashes.
"If you're going to teach me lessons, tell me something I don't know," she growled. "Like how you can block this!"
"Simple science," said Date. "A katana is a curved blade, like an arch. It is an architecturally stable structure. An arch is capable of supporting a great deal of pressure. Every slash with a sword has a fast and slow portion- a blade travels fastest at its tip, and slowest at its base. By placing the most convex- and therefore, most stable- part of my sword at the slowest point of your swing, I can then move the blade up and hold your strike back."
"You put that much thought into it?"
"That is how skill can match physical ability."
Mikasa hopped backwards again, keeping one sword forward to hold Date at bay. With the other, she blocked his counter-attack.
"Okay," she grunted. "I'll believe that's what's keeping your sword from shattering. But how can you hold my attacks back? I'm stronger than you, I know it!"
"That is simple," said the samurai. "Proper footing."
Mikasa flicked her wrist, knocking his sword back. He assumed his ready-stance again, keeping his sword up. The scout's eyes flickered with understanding as the wind caught her scarf again.
"Date Masamune, I've learned my lesson."
"Then show me."
Mikasa nodded, and took off running in the opposite direction. At full speed, the scout was a khaki blur. She had her target clearly in sight- the ball court had two goals, each taller than the high chain-link fence. The scout jumped upward, arcing toward the one closest to her. She tucked her legs in, rotating in mid-jump- the samurai now directly below and ahead. Her feet touched the backboard, and her curled-in legs erupted with their full force, pushing her away at inhuman speed. The goal itself gave out behind her, its tall post bending against the force of her lower body. With split-second reflexes, Mikasa extended her swords to her sides, twisting herself into a high-g spin.
I picked up this one from that sulky captain of mine. This ought to do it.
Her swords became a vortex of death, a thin disc of reinforced metal rending the air asunder. Date extended his katana to block, but it became trapped in the spinning swords. It was ripped from his hand and flung across the court, as Mikasa's tornado tilted along its horizontal axis. There was a brief bark as metal met metal, and a warm splatter as blood was propelled by the hurricane of blades. Mikasa twisted her body in the opposite direction, halting her attack. She landed, and stumbled from dizziness.
I… I did it.
She turned and confirmed that she had indeed defeated Date. He knelt on the ground, right arm severed from his body. He held his remaining hand over the wound, though it wasn't much use.
"W-well, that's it then. You… ruined my footing… and stopped me from blocking...gah! Good… job. If… youaaghhh… could bring me my sword-ack!- I would appreciate it."
Mikasa regained her balance and sprinted across the court, snatching the dying man's sword and carrying it back to him. She placed it at his knees, and he nodded to acknowledge his thanks.
"Before… I go," he said weakly, "I want you to think about why you fight… you say you must… fight, to survive… but consider… those that fight for more than that… oh!"
Mikasa frowned. "I'm fighting because that's how you get by. If you don't you die. What part of that don't you understand?"
"I… understand," he gasped. "But… is it not nobler… to fight… to make a difference? Isn't that… what your friend… would have wanted?"
"Do you mean Eren? Is that who you mean? Do I really talk about him that much?"
The samurai did not answer her question. He picked up his sword and jammed it under his armor and through his stomach.
"Goodbye," he coughed as he pulled the blade back out. He set it on the ground in front of him, and as he collapsed, he gave it a push. It slid until it bumped into Mikasa's boots.
He wanted me to have it? It would be rude to turn down a dying man's request, I guess.
She picked up the sword and found a patch of unruly grass growing in a crack in the court's pavement. She wiped the blade clean on the foliage and returned to Date's body, which was sitting in quite an impressive puddle of blood. Mikasa carefully unfastened the sword's sheath and tied it down to her 3DMG's left box, making sure that it didn't interfere with the cables or launchers. She turned and fired her anchors at the top of a five-story apartment nearby, clicked the triggers, and flung herself upward. Mikasa spun to look down at the court as she landed, watching the red splotch in the middle grow slowly.
The man was convinced he had no hope of winning, yet still told me that my reason to fight was wrong. How can he claim to be right? In order to survive, one must fight. That is what a fight is, after all- it is the barest, most primal form of survival. 'Fight to make a difference'. It's possible, but not practical. The world is too large a dark room for a small light to illuminate. Why am I waxing poetic all of a sudden? Is it this sword? I sure hope not.
Something small interrupted her train of thought by falling onto her head. It bounced as it hit, which at least ruled out bird droppings. Mikasa channeled her annoyance into snatching it out of the air, not giving it a chance to touch the ground. She cupped it in her hands, examining it closely. It was something weighty wrapped in white paper- a little unraveling revealed it to be a pink, heart-shaped metal emblem, with gold trim.
What's this supposed to be? It certainly doesn't have anything to do with Date. Or me, for that matter.
A closer look revealed that there was text on the paper, reading
SECOND STREET BALLROOMS
I'd bet that's where one of the VIWs is. I need to find my team before I try anything, though. Who knows how dangerous they could be?
Mikasa slipped the paper and the heart into a pocket. She crossed the roof, contemplating the path she would take along the streets and above the roofs.
"Crazy samurai," she muttered. "Thinks he knows how to fight well. I sure did show him." She paused for a moment, and did some counting. "Wait… that's…. oh, no."