Of senses and swords (IO)

Yasahiro had always been the night to his cousin's day. Where he was somber and severe, Asahi was bubbly and flippant; where he focused on the art of war, Asahi focused, simply, on art; and where he was reserved, Asahi was outgoing. The two cousins contrasted in such a way that for the casual passersby it would likely seem like a mismatch of characters and, frankly, at times such a passerby might just be right. Most of the time, however, such conclusions were not borne out in reality wherein the exile and his erstwhile second got on rather well with their weaknesses being covered by the other's strengths and their strengths being further accentuated by the support of the other.

Still wearing the same black kosode and hakama he wore on the day of his exile from the Land of Iron, Yasahiro looked out of place walking beside his more elegantly dressed companion. With the New Years festival in full swing, however, no one bothered to spare either the black-clad wraith or the colorful fairy a second thought. Rather, the masses were far too focused on whatever fantasies they had cooked up for themselves on one of the few days meant for little more than rest, relaxation, and frivolity. Some had clearly already had a bit too much to drink, others huddled around booths full of bright prizes, and a small contingent enjoyed themselves by giving the fireworks above their full attention.

Indeed, it seemed as if all the tension in the world had evaporated in the face of the coming new year.

Yet, in spite of the carefree atmosphere, the exile still found himself looking over his shoulder every few minutes searching for something. Asahi did not press him on this habit, but Yasahiro doubted he could explain what he was looking for exactly if he were asked. The obvious answer would be a hired blade sent by his family to avenge the death of Kenzo and such an answer would probably be the one he would give. That said, some days—like today, for example—he hoped to find a friendly recognizable face, anybody would do.

Alas, it was not meant to be; all he saw was happy, well-dressed festival-goers.

"Practice?" Yasahiro's gaze flicked back from over his shoulder to his energetic cousin. "I'm not sure a carnival game counts as much of a training ground, cousin."

Sidling up to the booth beside his cousin, the exile furrowed his brow. The setup seemed to be straightforward enough, each of the possible games, from what he could see, were based in chance more than skill. Luck was just a fact both in life and combat—anyone who thought otherwise would forever find themselves cursing the order or the world. If Asahi believed differently, however, he was willing to listen, only a fool would turn down the chance to learn something new and Yasahiro didn't fancy himself that much of a fool.

"Ma'am, one kunai if you will," he placed down the appropriate sum of ryo, took the blunted kunai offered to him, and glanced over at his cousin. "Let's see about this attention of yours."

With a well-practiced flick of the wrist, he sent the kunai flying through the air and towards a blue balloon.  The sharp pop accented by the dull thud of metal on wood was a foregone conclusion. Yasahiro's disappointment at the result of his random choice in target was not, however—luck was not on his side.


The sharp crack of wood on wood echoed across the swamp as Yasahiro sent Asahi's attempt at a side strike back with a shift in weight and a blur of motion.To his cousin's credit, he hadn't given up just yet, which was more than could be said of many novices when faced with the blade—blunted although it may be—of an expert.

"There's no such thing as cheating in combat," Yasahiro countered, a slight grin slipping across his face. "That was good, but you'll need to work on that feint—I saw that move coming from miles away, watch carefully."

Mimicking the same maneuver Asahi had tried, the exile went for a high blow hoping to catch his cousin in a moment of indecision. Instead of feinting like his second had, however, he fully intended to see the blow through and bring it down on his cousin's right shoulder. If Asahi did not read the attack properly the strike would probably sting something fierce, but do no lasting damage to the man's body. His pride on the other hand? Well, that was certainly a different story entirely.

Swordplay had always been a passion for the ronin. Early in his life, his father was a hero to him and Yasahiro would do anything to make him proud. This meant countless hours running grueling drills, studying unending stances, and suffering more than a few broken bones. And, misguided though it may be, the man still hoped to make his father proud again, so he continued to pursue the discipline that connected them in the hope that one day he could see his father's smile again.

Indeed, the last time he saw his father was the night of Kenzo's death. They had talked of the future and about their hopes and dreams—a vulnerable topic for both men. The events that followed, however, left no room for any such vulnerability. Though he did not see his father immediately after the passing of Kenzo, Yasahiro remembered his voice calling out his name through the night as the exile made his retreat from the Yagami compound. The voice had been one full of anger and agony in equal measure; Yasahiro doubted he would ever be able to reconcile with his family, let alone his father, but he had to try.

He had to try.
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TWC: 981

“I think you were the one that said,” At this Asahi would take a deep breath and speak in a much deeper tone, almost a comical sight, “Training can be anywhere if you put your mind to it!” He’d give a smile and laugh at his own wit as he watched Yasahiro purchase a Kunai from the young lady.

The older Yagami light not have luck, but he had great form. The flick sent the Kunai zipping through the air, the balloon popping before an untrained eye could even catch a glimpse of the flying steel. Sunk 3/4ths into the wood the attendant had a time removing it from the wall. “Ahh luck isn’t in your side....”. He’d say loudly, before leaning in and whispering, “best remove it from the equation aye?” He’d accent his words with a wink and trickster like grin.

Pulling out the money he walked to the end of the group of games. Moving between each, he’d pay to have one attempt at each game. Looking at his cousin, he’d match eyes. He felt his chakra pulse, unbeknownst to the lay people that surrounded them. Spiritual energy being almost non-existent in the town above anything but a normal level. In a place like this, Asahi shined as bright as his dress sense. Quickly the world seemed to open up, he felt he could see further, and sense each individual clearly. A confidence that he could count the exact number of people and animals in the area quickly came over him, and a trickster smile turned to a smirk of confidence.

“Ready?” He’d ask Yasahiro. In truth his cousin held most of the records. He was currently up 76-73 in Go, 34-33 in shogi, and their sword play practice didn’t even count. So, to finally have a chance to shine a bit, well it felt more delicious than the saki he’d have his cousin buy him after the demonstration.

Turning he looked at the balloons, but just barely with his eyes. His mind felt the flow of energy, searching for its strands. A pattern started to show itself, places where the attendant had been the most, surely showing a lack of success. It wasn’t full proof, inference was necessary, but just barely. A flick of his own wrist, the Kunai popped a balloon causing gold confetti to spill out.

Without saying a word he stepped two over, scanning the water for just a moment his hand flashed pulling a frog and setting it belly up in front of the attendant. Not even looking at the result, he finally moved to the marble game signaling for her to start.

Closing his eyes he scratched at his neck, waiting for the sound to stop as the delicate hands moved the cups with such speed It would be almost impossible for anyone to follow the path. However, the moment it stopped he turned and faced his cousin.

“I think some saki and dango will serve as a reward for this demonstration.” Reaching behind him he tapped a cup. Saying several inward prayers to the kami around them he heard the attendants gasp. The balloon and frog game had been possible to follow, but the cup game......well he’d lost it and was resigned to guess after making a grand statement, after all if he succeeded it would look so cool......and for once it worked out.

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Eyes darting and watching his cousin, he had difficulty reading what the calculating man was about to do. It was at odds with the normal, Asahi normally feeling like he could read people very well. However, when it came to Yasahiro’s sword skills, it was something more, almost akin to honed instincts, making it difficult to find tells and gaps that would allow any kind of exploration. Which was what he needed to do, as he was outmatched into speed and strength......not a great thing in a sword fight.

In his kendo stance, his block was unfortunately breached with ease, the wooden blade almost unblockable by the time he realized what was coming.

With something more like dancing Asahi attempted to spin to his right. Pulling his shoulder back and pivoting on his heals he attempted to dodge the attack. At the same time he would bring the sword down, and attempt to hit the waistline of his cousin. It wasn’t an ideal attack, but it was the only thing he could think of, instinct taking over from general sword play knowledge. He wished now more than ever he had perhaps paid a bit more attention to his father.

Over the course of that move, he saw his father. Taller than him, tanned, and much stronger. Built like a mountain, honed from the craft of sword crafting and working steel. This vision caused him to loose his balance. His strike going wild, and his mind thrown.

He hadn’t thought about his family much. Instead employing the healthy habit of repression. Though as holidays approached It was hard to no longer think of family. It was hard to reconcile that which was gone, and harder when there were things unsaid that now threatened to remain that way forever.

TWC - 1935

A slim smile and a shrug were all the younger of the pair would get for regurgitating an old witticism. Asahi had far too high of an opinion of himself. Of course, it didn't help that when it came to the ability to detect the undetectable, Yasahiro's cousin had an uncanny knack for always getting it right. For time being, the exile allowed his cousin the spotlight and played the dutiful companion moving from booth to booth along with him. The two worked well together not because they were the same, but rather because they were different. Part of their relationship was knowing when to stand back and let the other shine, this was Asahi's time to shine.

Throughout the demonstration, Yasahiro paid careful attention to two things: the first was his cousin's form and the second was the expressions of the game masters of each booth. The ability to sense the unseen had always interested the samurai, but he had never bothered to spend time studying his cousin's techniques until now. It seemed like a fairly straightforward use of sensory, but effective given the stakes—the exile half wondered if it could be used to obscure as well as reveal. At the moment, all the demonstration was revealing was more than a few disgruntled game masters whose expressions all seemed to say the same thing 'This guy is doing something, but I can't tell what it is'; they were looking for the tell that would reveal Asahi as a cheater. Luckily, however, none seemed certain enough to condemn the younger cousin's tactics outright.

"Sake and dango?" Yasahiro asked, weighing the remaining ryo in his pocket he shrugged. "Sure, I guess we have a bit of time before the first bout; it's best not to go into it on an empty stomach."

Wandering through the busy festival grounds, the two fugitives soon arrived by what would soon become the centerpiece for the festival, the kendo arena. Their destination was not the arena just yet, however. Rather, the mismatched pair soon found themselves in front of one of the many food stalls that lined the modest arena. The prices were outrageous, but what did one expect given the occasion?

"I'll take your largest bottle of sake and...," having arrived at the front of the line, Yasahiro paused glancing over the menu once more. "...And four dango, chefs choice on the flavors."

"Very good," the cashier nodded, grabbing the requested food and liquor. "That will be 1500 ryo, please."

Sighing, Yasahiro handed over the money, took his order, and handed two dango to Asahi before stepping away from the booth.

"Here's hoping you can win a few matches," He nodded over to the arena and popped open the sake. "We might be able to recoup the fortune we're spending on food."

He took a quick sip straight from the oversized sake bottle and passed it over to his companion.

"How do you reckon you'll fair?"


Asahi didn't see through the feint before it was almost too late only just managing to spin out of the way. In the same movement, the younger of the two cousins was also able to launch an attack while dodging—he was getting better at using his momentum in his favor. All fights, in Yasahiro's opinion, were based on momentum and flow, the combatant with greater momentum would typically win nine times out of ten. It was great to see Asahi improving in this aspect of combat because it had been one of the man's major weaknesses in previous bouts.

This incremental improvement was, however, not enough to catch Yasahiro entirely off guard. Flicking his bokken back on the defensive, he blocked the man's attack, but only barely. He did not have the proper time to set up a solid defensive stance, so Asahi's attack easily pushed the exile's bokken back into his hip. What should have resulted in a nasty welt just above the waistline from Asahi's blade was instead mitigated into a slightly uncomfortable pressure. It wasn't a pretty bit of blade work, but that was what happened when you committed to such a do or die blow as Yasahiro had committed to with the feint and missed. So, all things considered, actually blocking the attack at all was a feat in and of itself—Asahi was certainly getting better.

He might actually stand a chance of placing well in the tournament.

"Not too bad," Yasahiro quipped, taking a step back from the clash and dropping his blade to his side. "You almost had me there. It was risky, though; you sacrificed your footing with that spin. If your attack had not landed and succeeded in locking me up you would have found a blade at your throat."

He paused and wiped a single bead of sweat from his brow.

"I know it's hard for you, but do try to remember that combat is not a show. Winning is more important than looking good."

Asahi was prone to being a bit too flashy, and Yasahiro did worry about it coming back to bite his cousin one day. When it came to real combat aesthetics meant next to nothing if you couldn't win while doing so. It was far better to always take the high probability plays whenever one had the chance to take them.

"Now, let's take a break from sparring and get back to drills."

Taking up his blade again, the samurai began swinging the sword out in front of him in a few practiced movements that corresponded to hitting the vital points of an ethereal opponent. One needed to drill until one's sword became an extension of oneself—Asahi still had a long way to go in that regard.
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TWC: 1953

If there was anything more joyful than winning, it was winning with an amazed audience.  The looks on the game masters was at least worth the value of ryo he had won, and the few individuals that had watched also bolstered what often could be seen as an oversized ego.  Alas, Asahi saw none of that sort, and simply took the joy.

Moving through the crowd and into the restaurant he’d wait for Yasahiro.  His eyes dancing over the arena as they continued getting it set up.  Wooden swords being placed out, the decorations and symbols being hung.  His mind almost drifted to a prayer, but at the same time the greatest offering of all was shown.  Sake and Dango.  

Happily taking a sampling of both, an extra large one at that of the sake to his cousins exasperated eyes, he’d smile at the question.  “Only the Kami know, all I know is the Kami, so......I think it’ll go about like that.”  He’d start laughing at his own wit, which.....if really thought about he’d said nothing.  In truth he was allowing the sake to drown the demons of anxiety.  “I had an excellent teacher I suppose, so can’t go to poorly.”  Though even as he said it, his eyes started to look around at the posturing and displays of those who clearly where warming up.  In contrast his skinny frame draped in a kimono stood out, which was just how he liked it.  

“Any last minute words of wisdom sensei” he’d quip with a smile.

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Getting to his feet, he’d dust himself off, allowing the sword to rest against his waist, tip in the dirt.  “That almost sounds like praise, though spiced with life lessons.  A true Yagami lesson.”  He’d say with a smile.  Reaching up he’d adjust his hair so that it would stay tied out of his face.  

“It might not be all about looking good, but if you can.”  He’d shrug, hoisting the sword back up, and taking up a stance, only to fall back out at the announcement of the conclusion of the spar.  In truth, his body didn’t mind this.  He could feel sore spots, both from wooden contact and from muscles that weren’t used every day in a tea shop.  

He’d follow along with the drills.  His hands and arms seeking to correct themselves from the barking of orders.  He was blessed to have such guidance for the day ahead, still though, he would be glad when it was over.  

Time passed slowly as it often does when one awaits the end of an unpleasant lesson, but end it did as all things do.  Sitting cross legged on the broken porch, a bottle of sake and cups sat between them.  Sweat, mud, and a little blood scattered across the tattered wrappings he often wore.  Seeking to remove them, his fair skin was stained with ink below.  He’d have to redo them at some point, but the kami would understand that today was not the day.  His lithe shirtless frame soaking in the sun, while his lips partook of the sake when this arduous task was complete.  

“Well sensei, thank you for the lesson.”  He’d say eyes closed between a sip.  His lips twitching to form a smile.  “How do you think I’ll fair?  Will I make you proud?”  He’d sneak one eye open to watch his cousin at this.  

For better or worse this chapter of training had concluded, and soon it would be time to put things into action. Though he wouldn’t admit it, his cousins approval meant a lot to him

TWC - 2535

It was no secret to the older of the two cousins that the younger lacked a true warrior's spirit when it came to matters of the blade, but still the blonde's flippant attitude in the face of a coming challenge did worry Yasahiro slightly. To assume anything other than victory, even in what amounted to a show match, did not do Asahi any favors. In the exile's opinion, mindset—and the ability to maintain it—was everything when it came to combat, for a lack of composure at a critical moment could very well lead to a loss of one life or, worse yet, the loss of another's.

Nonetheless, the samurai swallowed his concerns along with a few dango and gave his cousin a half-smile.

"Words of wisdom?" the black-haired man paused a moment as if to reflect on the question itself before continuing with the words he remembered from a time long past. "Strike hard, strike first, and show your opponent no mercy. It may be a show match, but it will be good practice for a real fight."

A distant hissing filled the air like the sound of an angry snake. A cursory glance over at the merchant stalls, however, revealed it to be nothing more than a pot of tea coming to boil. A strange place to be selling tea with sake on offer, but the samurai couldn't very well fault the enterprising young merchant plying his trade—if nothing else he had cornered the market on tea for this given festival.

"The tournament will begin shortly," a portly announcer bellowed over the din of the crowd. "All contestants please make your way to the arena!"

Calling it an arena was generous, but Yasahiro glanced over to his cousin and gave him a nod. It was time to see if his cousin had retained anything of his training beyond a battered body and bruised ego.


"Proud?" he frowned. "I suppose we'll see."

There likely wouldn't be any uniquely gifted swordsmen in a middle of nowhere town by a swamp, so his cousin probably stood a decent chance of not entirely embarrassing himself. That said, one could never be too sure and Yasahiro didn't entirely trust his cousin to take such a tournament seriously especially if he started out on a hot streak of wins. Asahi, as his cousin had learned, tended towards showboating, and if the tournament seemed easy at first he worried that the man's ego would be his downfall in the later rounds.

Only time would truly tell.
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TWC: 2,376

"Good luck."

Unlike his cousin who took his place in the ring, Yasahiro wound his way over to the far side of the makeshift arena. Soon it seemed the entire festival had come to a stop around the arena, and the whole world held its breath until the first contestants met a less-than-skillful display of swordsmanship. Despite the lack of true form from most of the contestants, the exile could not help the trickle of vicarious adrenaline that pumped through his veins—it always felt strange to be on the outside of a fight look in and, yet, there he stood.

The rounds progressed as might be expected. Most of the novices—no doubt drunkenly challenged by their friends—dropped out rather quickly. A few contestants got in some lucky hits here and there felling one of the more skilled challengers. But, by the end of it, only a few remained that either had at least a modicum of skill or were far too lucky for their own good; it would seem that even the world within the arena mirrored the world at large: luck, skill, and reckless abandon went a long way.

Oh, and somehow Asahi made it through. Whether his cousin won or lost, the samurai would be there to commiserate or celebrate whichever seemed more appropriate at the time. Regardless, Yasahiro would watch the remainder of the tournament before returning to his swamp-bound home. Perhaps Asahi had been right, some slack time in one's life was important.
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[Exit]
TWC: 2626
2626/3000 for learning third clanless specialty, Genjutsu. [Max stat discount applied]