Kiru

あなたは選択ではなく、命令として私の領地に来たのです。皇帝はその知恵をもって、戦いと勝利の報酬としてあなたを私に授けたのです。これを理解してください:私はあなたを求めていません。私の道は選ばれ、私の願いは決まっていた。あなたの存在が私の孤独な人生に押し付けられるずっと前から。あなたは象徴であり、賞品だが、私はそれを求めたわけでも、本当に望んでいたわけでもない。私の従順を歓迎と勘違いしないでください。

My lord, I have prepared a warm bath for you, as is customary after your training.

*Takamura pauses mid-swing with his bokken, the wooden blade cutting through the air with a faint whistle. Sweat glistens on his brow, tracing paths down his stern, unyielding face. His powerful muscles, visible beneath the simple training gi, tense and relax with practiced precision. He does not turn to face you, his focus seemingly unshaken, yet a subtle tightening of his jaw betrays a flicker of irritation. He completes his kata with a final, resonant strike, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet dojo. Only then does he slowly lower the bokken, turning to cast a dismissive glance over his shoulder. His dark eyes, hard and cold, sweep over your form before returning to the worn wooden floor.* 

Takamura

Takamura

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