The 'dojo' was just down the hall; An excess guest suite in a house that already had four on the ground floor alone. It was stripped to bare walls, the floor was covered by rugged tatami mats , and wooden swords hung from various racks.

The room was Father's idea, from what Makoto understood; and in rare agreement, both Yoshida and Mother had opposed its creation. But Father always got what Father wanted, and so here the dojo was; a small space to practice martial arts. Even Makoto thought it was a bit silly to have reconstituted a bedroom, but if one ignored the jarring transition of hallway to dojo, it was nice looking: shiny wood and precise tatami. It felt traditional, if nothing else.

To Makoto's surprise, Ren took off his boots and stepped onto the tatami. There was an eagerness about him that she hadn't seen before. The general fatigue which plagued him (which Makoto suddenly realized was because of his hunger) seemed removed alongside his boots and left at the door. He walked to the nearest bokken stand and took up a wooden sword, testing its heft in his right hand. Then, he put it back in its rack and seemed to stare at it, a slight smile on his face.

Was this an excited Ren? Makoto realized she'd not seen him like that before, except perhaps just before their dance together at the gala. But even then, a mask had come down on Ren's face, a mask of social charm and dance smiles. But here, Makoto did not get a sense of a mask about him. Had Ren finally dropped his defenses? Being alone with her, talking of family… he'd even made a rather scary joke, dancing along the tense line of human fear and vampire bites. That was a sign of trust, wasn't it?

He was beginning to trust her. Just as she already trusted he was never going to harm her, despite his vampire lineage. But she'd felt that from the very start, hadn't she? Inexplicably. From that first moment she stalked him to Cafe Leblanc. It felt like years ago now, but what was it? A couple of months?

"I've spent a great deal of time in this room," said Ren. He turned to glance at Makoto, then his grey eyes traveled to the dojo's walls. "Not this exact one, of course. But one very similar."

Makoto took off her shoes and stepped in, as well. "Who taught you swordsmanship? One of your brothers?"

"No, my eldest sister, actually." Ren's voice was distant, as if he were lost in memory. Then, he was back and the sly grin made its second appearance on Ren's face. "And she's the meanest one."

"Your brothers don't use swords?"

"They do. Well, my eldest brother. My younger, elder brother is not really a warrior. But, my eldest... Much better than me, in fact. I don't stand a chance against him. But, my sister instructed me because Mother decided that I would most benefit from learning joseijutsu: female swordsmanship."

"Joseijutsu?" Makoto stopped to stand a bit away from Ren, trying to respect his proximity as best she could. "I didn't know there are different types of swordsmanship."

Ren turned a questioning gaze toward her. "What type of swordsmanship did they teach you?"

"I wasn't. Not really. By the time I was old enough to swing one, my Father... Well- before then, Father thought it was best I learned to shoot. So, I spent more time in the garden range than I did in here."

Ren nodded thoughtfully. "Time well spent. You're an excellent shot."

Makoto blushed from his matter-of-fact tone.

But Ren still had a thoughtful look on his face. "Come to think of it, almost no one carries a sword in Tock-Yo. Are there any real sword schools in the city?"

"A few, I think," said Makoto, "Noble boys go to them. But most everyone is taught how to use a spear in school."

"An entire city of ashigaru…" Ren mumbled to himself.

"What?" said Makoto.

"Nothing," Ren's eyes refocused on Makoto. "You've mastered the gun; but perhaps, it's time you learned the sword. Those knife gloves you wear let your enemies too close."

Makoto's blush started and stopped as the criticism followed the compliment. But- well… a sword did have some obvious advantages: it was certainly longer than a knife, and most importantly, it could behead a noble vampire much easier. Sae carried a sword. Father had carried a sword. Ren specialized in the sword. That made Makoto the only outlier of all the vampire hunters she knew personally.

"All right," said Makoto, never one to turn down information if it was offered to her. And it was something to do with Ren, alone, that wasn't a boring tour. "Can you teach me?"

Ren blinked. "That's not exactly-."

"Why not?" said Makoto. "You know it. I don't. So, teach me. I'm paying you for your time, aren't I? I want my money's worth."

Ren regarded her quietly for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. I'll teach you what I know of female swordsmanship."

"Why not male swordsmanship? You're a male."

Ren grinned at her. "You noticed?"

"I did," Makoto grinned back while biting her lip. She couldn't help but notice that Ren's face came to life when he smiled. Normally, he was handsome in a gloomy, brooding way- but when he smiled, it was a transformation that made her strangely giddy.

And she and Ren were bantering! This opportunity to be alone with him was really paying off!

"I can't fault your eyes," said Ren, "But the choice of the female sword style was due to the inherent weakness of my… mixed ancestry. Full-blooded vampires, all other things being equal, are stronger than I could ever be. Much like how, all things being equal, a vampire man will always be stronger than a vampire woman, and as I understand, the same applies to humans because-"

Makoto didn't like being called the weaker sex, but she knew what Ren was talking about: "Because the wider frames of the male body provide more muscle leverage, which provides more power. It's simply natural law."

Ren's mouth froze in mid speech. Then he smiled again. "It's a joy to be comprehended."

Makoto smiled back at him. She'd never met someone who understood the concepts of leverage- not in an academic sense, anyway. The men Makoto met at social galas knew about horses and guns; but then, nothing about horse biology or gunsmithing. They just rode them and shot them. But Ren: Ren apparently had education. That was interesting.

"Female swordsmanship," said Ren, again taking up the wooden sword from the wall, "Is designed to counter opponents with superior physical strength. I was trained in the technique because I would most likely face opponents stronger than myself. But it works well enough against weaker opponents, too. Whereas danseijutsu, male swordsmanship, is about battering down defenses with swift, strong strikes. That doesn't work very well against someone who is stronger."

"So, female swordsmanship is better?" asked Makoto.

"There are many dead women who thought so," said Ren, "and many dead men who thought the opposite. I would suggest treating any opponent as lethal, regardless of their own style."

Makoto had the feeling she was receiving a quote from Ren's own instructor. His eldest sister, he had said. The meanest one. Perhaps, Ren had a Sae of his own? That would be an interesting person to meet.

Wait. It was no person. Ren's eldest sister was a noble vampire. All his family were noble vampires. Ren was just a somewhat human face at the fore of a long, murderous ancestry. Though he seemed trustworthy and forthright towards her and every other human she'd seen him interact with- would his sister be the same way? If Ren were not here, and this elder sister were in Tock-Yo, would not Makoto be trying to hunt her? Her, his other sisters, his brothers, his mother. Ren needed human blood to survive, so obviously did his family. Was it not the duty of Makoto's profession to prevent that… feeding upon?

What humans did the blood come from? Willing ones, Ren had said. But were they really willing? Were they perhaps forced to choose between donation and some other terrible fate? That would not make for a 'willing' person, in Makoto's estimation. Chattel cannot be willing, by definition. Ren probably wasn't lying to her, not intentionally, anyway. But what if he, himself, was the lie? A handsome, honorable man who helped her reach her dreams; but behind him, like some hidden cost, an entire society of slavery and butchery; A society he saw as perfectly normal because he grew up within it.

Was this… thing growing between them a revolutionary alliance? Or was this a betrayal of her own race?

Makoto suddenly realized a wooden sword was being held right in front of her eyes. She looked up to find Ren watching her quietly, offering the wooden sword.

"You do that a lot."

"Do what?" said Makoto, her mind sputtering as it shifted gears out of its sudden introspection.

"Get lost in thought."

"Oh, sorry. I was thinking about something you said…"

"Which thing?"

Still somewhat distracted, Makoto wasn't sure what to say. She couldn't say that she was considering if she was a race traitor or not. So, grasping at straws, she said:

"...About your sister."

"What about her?"

Oops! She also could not say she was contemplating having to hunt Ren's sister, that's for sure! Makoto needed a cover story for her cover story. What had Ren said that would convincingly be something to be thinking about? Literally, the only thing Makoto now knew about Ren's sister was that she instructed him in the sword. And that she was female. So, what was even the point of this logical house of cards she was fumbling with? This is taking too long! Just say something!

"That she is probably a skilled warrior…and um-"

She was trying to link away from the idea of fighting and Ren's sister, but she couldn't stop thinking about it now. If she had to fight Ren's sister, what would work? Could she even compete against a real swordmaster vampire? Could Sae? Could her Father? Both of them had successful hunts, but she wasn't sure how they did it. They said they tracked a vampire, found its lair, went in during the day, and shot it. Easy sounding, but that wasn't at all how the Kamoshida hunt had gone. Well, that was something to say, at least.

"...And I wonder: how do human vampire hunters compete against nobles?" said Makoto, "How can I ever? Even if I learn the sword? Without you and the Sakamoto's, Kamoshida would have killed me. And-"

"This again?!" Ren sighed. "Like I said: Without you, he would have killed me, too."

Then Ren jerked his head slightly, as if he'd just had a sudden idea bounce off the inside of his head. "Maybe you don't realize, but Kamoshida was not a run-of-the-mill noble, Makoto. He was strong. The strongest I've ever faced."

That was news to Makoto. Her mind cleared at the offing of new information. She perked up. Ren was offering information? Without asking? And Kamoshida wasn't someone that Sae would have just annihilated with her precious chain-gun?

"Really?" said Makoto.

"Yes. He was a trained swordsman. He had a persona. And not just some utility persona like wind or heat, but an actual war-persona. And: he was of old blood. No human was going to bring him down. Not alone, anyway."

Makoto stared at him. That was a lot to unpack! A war-persona? Of old blood? These were new concepts. Dozens of questions formed in her mind. She opened her mouth to-

"Nuh-uh," said Ren, and he again held the wooden sword out in front of her face. "I can already see the gears turning in there. The first question you asked me was: Can I teach you swordsmanship? Yes, I can. Let's deal with that, for now."

Makoto felt a little frustrated, the new questions flooding her head. What did it mean to be of 'old blood'? Does it just mean an old family, or was Kamoshida himself very old? And in either case, Ren was implying that having 'old blood' was a sort of combat advantage. If so, in what ways? And what is the difference between war-persona and the ones the Sakamotos had? Kamoshida's gave him a scorpion tail which could shoot stingers. He poisoned Ren twice. And Ann said she remembered being stung before she passed out at Kamoshida's feet in the Shujin Academy Stables.

Wait! Come to think of it!

"What happened to Kamoshida's war persona, Ren?"

Ren frowned, then shoved the wooden sword towards her face again in a frustrated way. "No more questions, I said. Take the sword, already."

"But is it still there? In his body, I mean? We burned his torso, but can the persona survive that?"

Ren took in a deep breath. His hackles were beginning to rise, his shoulders raising and broadening. Makoto recognized the signs of growing anger, but this information seemed too important to ignore.

"Yes, it can," Ren said, finally. "But I took the persona out of it first."

"Took it out? How? And where is it?"

Ren's jaw twitched. "It's hard to explain the how, but as for where it is: I destroyed it."

Makoto's mouth opened in shock. "Destroyed?! Why?! We could have used it! You could have used it!"

Ren's face twisted into a scowl. "It was a disgusting thing. The world is better without it."

Then, he settled the wooden sword, sideways, against Makoto's collarbone, sending a little flutter through her stomach- but then he shoved her and let go the bokken. She staggered back, arms instinctively coming up to catch the sword as it tumbled over her breasts towards the ground.

Alarm ran through Makoto as she looked from the sword she just caught back to Ren. He was facing her, his own wooden bokken up in a ready position, but his face was grim. All the lightness of just moments ago had vanished. He was angry. Obviously, the tipping point was her suggestion to use Kamoshida's persona. But why?

"Get your sword up, Makoto," said Ren. His voice was stiff, like someone trying to maintain their temper. "Do you want to learn, or not?"

Well, it was time to table the questions and do as Ren asked. She wasn't going to get any more answers from him in this frame of mind, and asking those questions wasn't going to patch up whatever offense she'd made. She gripped her sword in her right hand, its weight somewhat similar to Father's hand-cannon, but the balance was different.

"What are you doing?" said Ren. "Use your left arm."

"But, I'm right-"

"You're right-handed. I know. That's why you shoot your gun with your right hand, right? So, why do you have a sword in it?"

"What-?"

"You're going to be holding your gun in your right hand," said Ren, his voice slowing down as if she were a moron. "So you have to use your left to hold the sword, right?"

Makoto felt the ignition of her own anger. "Of course, Ren. But you didn't give me a wooden gun."

Ren's scowl faded slightly, then it faded entirely. "Sorry."

He took a deep breath, and then spoke with his usual voice: "You are too skilled with the gun to give it up, so it would be foolish of us to try and replace it with a sword. But with a sword in your left hand, your options in a fight will increase without a detriment to your main strength."

Still feeling annoyed at Ren's implied insults, her own voice still had a twinge of anger in it. "My left arm isn't as strong."

"It will grow stronger faster than it will learn to shoot, I think."

Makoto thought that was probably true enough. She switched the wooden sword to her left hand. It felt notably heavier, and when she held it up- it felt odd. Like the simple act of holding it was incorrect. Ugh, using the off-hand was uncomfortable.

"Now," said Ren, his own wooden blade in his dominant right hand. "There is not much to be done until that sword feels like it belongs in your left hand. So, I suppose we shall start with the basic theory of joseijutsu; which is probably best demonstrated. Tell me: what would you do if I attacked you like this?"

Ren made a slow, downward arcing slice of his sword at Makoto's chest. She raised up her sword in response, perpendicular to Ren's attack. Their wooden swords clacked together softly. He seemed satisfied with Makoto's choice.

"Exactly. Hold your blade there. Ok. See? You used your weapon to block my weapon, thus defeating the attack. However, what happens if I'm much stronger than you? Try and resist me. Use all your strength to keep the blades away from you, just as they are now."

Makoto pushed further outward against Ren's sword, still across her own. It didn't budge. She leaned into the sword. Nothing. Then she felt Ren push against her blade. Her arm shivered for a moment, barely holding ground. Then, it became obvious he was toying with her: Ren pushed her arm towards her own chest. Makoto exerted everything she had to push him back, but it was like she was trying to hold off a mountain. She found her own wooden blade touching her own neck.

"You're dead," said Ren, his face showing no sign of physical exertion. "And imagine how fast that would happen. Maybe your sword breaks on contact, and you die even faster."

Makoto drew in a deep breath as Ren disengaged. She'd never felt his strength before, his raw physical power. It was overwhelming. She'd known that Ren's vampire heritage made him stronger than humans, but she hadn't really understood the extent of that fact, until now. She hadn't felt it till now. He'd never used his strength upon her. Which he could have, Makoto realized with a chill. Ren could have, could still, do anything he wanted to her and she would be almost powerless to stop him.

But he didn't. He'd tolerated her. Helped her. Saved her life. Makoto realized Ren walked around a world of sheep and he was the apex; the killer; the predator; rivaled only by his own kind; and he was filled with the urge to feed upon the weak around him. Yet for whatever reason, Ren donned the raiment of the shepherd rather than the butcher, and hunted those who lacked his own discipline.

If actions defined a person, Makoto thought Ren might be a saint of some sort. And only moments ago, she'd started wondering if he were some oblivious devil. She'd wondered if maybe she was making a huge mistake associating with this young hafu man, despite all he'd done to her fortunes. Shame ran through Makoto, cold and sludgy.

"Don't look so discouraged," said Ren, apparently misinterpreting whatever expression Makoto had on her face. "My eldest brother can do the same to me. But I've still beat him in duels with joseijutsu."

That did make Makoto feel a bit less helpless. "How many duels did you win?"

"Three," said Ren, a little proudly.

"Out of how many?"

Ren's face fell. "Uh. Maybe sixty-ish?"

Makoto did actually feel discouraged now. That was a 5% win ratio, despite Ren's lifetime of training and natural capabilities. Maybe she would be better off with a second gun. This sword business was sounding like a fool's lark.

"But my eldest sister," said Ren, "The one who taught me: she can beat him in the dojo almost half the time. So the fault of those losses lies with me, not with the style, I think. And my eldest sister is very skilled, but my brother might honestly just be the best there is."

That was quite the claim. "Has he ever lost?" asked Makoto. "A real fight, I mean?"

"I think he stalemated a few times, but never lost. He's still alive, after all."

"How old is he?"

"Almost as old as Mother. He's the Firstborn."

Over 80,000 years undefeated? Makoto supposed that was probably a man who really could indeed be the best there was- or even ever was, come to think of it. God. Ren seemed strong enough, but of his lineage, he was supposedly the youngest, weakest, and least 'pure'? His relatives were beginning to take on the aura of demigods.

Ren readied his sword again, and Makoto responded by raising hers in response. This may be a lark, but Makoto liked learning, and with her brief doubt of Ren already forgotten, she was eager to continue this unprecedented alone time with him.

"Now," Ren said. "That was the example of what not to do. This time: you are going to do the right thing. I'm going to swing at you in the exact same way. This time, I want you to step back and hit the top of my sword as it swings down."

Ren swung, and Makoto dutifully stepped backward out of range and twisted her sword tip around to slap the top of Ren's descending attack. He acted as if her sword strike was stronger than a slap, pantomiming his sword tip going groundward, his balance staggering forward from her addition to his own momentum, and then he froze in a posture of such over-extended flat-footedness that even a sword novice like Makoto realized he was entirely open and defenseless.

"Do you see?" said Ren, still holding his weird posture. "This is the core essence of joseijutsu."

Makoto did see. "To use the aggression and strength of your foe against them."

Ren straightened up, but he seemed very pleased with her. "Yes! Exactly! Obviously, it's easier said than done, and mistakes are often fatal- but, that's sword fighting in general, isn't it?"

Makoto found herself intrigued. Her mind was already offering her fantasy scenarios wherein she was warding off attack with the sword in her left hand, while her right hand unleashed death from her Father's gun.

"Show me more."

Makoto lost the sense of time, becoming entirely engaged in learning something new. Ren first led her through other slow attacks coming from other directions, instructing her the correct way to attempt the deflection. Then he stopped warning her which attack was coming, instead slowly telegraphing the move Makoto would need to respond to. Then, he started to increase the speed. All the while, Makoto's left arm was tiring, getting slower, getting sloppy. Even the light wooden bokken was wearing down her underused limb.

Finally, she was a bit too slow to respond to an attack, and in desperation, blocked it- just as she'd done in Ren's example of what not to do. He bore down upon her, pushing her blade towards her- this time, she tried to escape backwards, but ran up against the padded wall of the dojo. Ren pressed in close, following the wooden blade towards her body. Makoto brought up her right hand to his gut and poked a finger into the armor he always wore over his gut, but he didn't seem to notice. Meanwhile, Ren pinned her to the wall, almost nose to nose, only their crossed swords between them.

Ren's expression was a mild surprise, as if he hadn't planned to be in this position. His grey eyes flickered their focus between her own eyes, left then right. Makoto had never been this close to his face before; she noticed there were flecks of blue in his eyes, like gaps of clear sky on an overcast day. Then she became fully aware of the press of his body against hers. It was heavy, solid, hard- but all in a strangely satisfying way. Her own body was hot from the exercise, and so was his. The heat of both of them seemed to burrow into her skin until she felt flush.

"I have you," said Ren.

"You never saw it coming," said Makoto, flickering her eyes down towards their navels.

Ren looked confused for a moment, then looked down, presumably to see the finger of her right hand, jabbed into his gut. Makoto waited until she was sure he was looking at her hand, then twitched a finger and said: "Bang."

Ren laughed. It was a bright sound. Makoto was starting to like it. But Ren didn't release the pin on her body, instead he reached his own left hand down between them, gently took hold of Makoto's pantomimed gun, and adjusted its angle to be towards the center of his core.

"Aim through the torso for the spine," said Ren, "A gutshot won't stop me. But if you get the spine, I'll lose my legs for several minutes, at least."

His eyes flickered back up and they stared at one another again, perhaps he was waiting for a response from her. But Makoto couldn't think of anything to say. She was distracted by his face so close to hers, the visual texture of his lips, and the feel of his body pressing against her.

"Excuse me," said Yoshida's voice.

Makoto and Ren both jerked their heads around towards the open dojo door. A grim and stiff Yoshida stood in the entrance, his butler's uniform slightly disheveled. He did not look pleased, to say the least.

Ren stepped back from Makoto, releasing her from the wall. Makoto's face felt extremely hot. And she was angry at herself for blushing. They were just doing some sword practice! There was nothing happening to be embarrassed about!

"Y- yes, Mr. Yoshida?" managed Makoto.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," said Yoshida, "but may I have a word, Lady Niijima?"

"W- well. The lesson?" Makoto looked at Ren, he was looking at her. Was he a little paler than normal?

"The sun is down," said Ren, "I need to attend some personal business, anyway."

He was leaving! Damn! Why did Yoshida have to interrupt them?! Things were going so well! But Makoto kept her thoughts to herself, and instead said in a measured voice: "Will you return in the morning?"

Ren hesitated. "Perhaps later in the day. But you can spend the morning strengthening that arm." Then he bowed to her and went to put on his boots. Which was a quiet, awkward moment as he put those boots on under the silent gaze of both Yoshida and Makoto.

But when finished, Yoshida waved an arm back down the hallway. "Allow me to escort you, sir."

"Yes, thank you," said Ren.

Makoto followed, aware of a cloud of tension over their strange party of three. Yoshida said nothing, his face now unreadable behind his professional mask. Ren also had his own placid mask on. And she didn't know what she looked like. She wasn't even sure what she was currently feeling. A little shame? A little frustration at Yoshida? Eagerness to continue sword lessons, certainly. But- but maybe a little giddiness in the memory of being pressed against that wall? That was the weirdest part of the strange mix. It was almost like she was already eager for it to happen again.

The awkward escort finally ended at the front door. Yoshida bowed. Ren bowed. Makoto, as Lady of the House, offered a nod of the head. And then Ren walked into the night, a dark figure in the soft lamplight of the front porch.

Yoshida walked the door closed, cutting Makoto's line of sight to Ren while stepping into the center of her attention. He was frowning at her in a mixture of anger and concern. Makoto knew it well. And she also knew how to temper whatever objection was about to come from her last remaining parental authority:

"Shall we have tea in the solar?" said Makoto.

"Yes," said Yoshida.