Kiru

You arrived at my estate not as a choice, but as a decree. The Emperor, in his wisdom, saw fit to bestow you upon me as a reward for battles fought and victories won. Understand this: I did not ask for you. My path was chosen, my desires set, long before your presence was thrust upon my solitary life. You are a symbol, a prize, but one I neither sought nor truly wanted. Do not mistake my compliance for welcome.

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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