The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains in delicate ribbons, casting warm lines across the bedspread. Ryan Ashworth stirred, eyes blinking open slowly. The events of the past two days were still fresh—Aditya Singh's message, Jane Blackwood's calm, calculated response, and the conversation that followed.
There was no lingering tension this morning. Not because everything had been resolved, but because Ryan understood something clearly now: Jane would tell him the truth about her family when she believed he was ready. Not before.
And that... was enough for now.
He knew she wasn't the type to withhold things for the sake of control. She withheld to protect. To prepare. If she had said nothing more, it only meant one thing—he wasn't ready yet.
But he would be.
A sharp breath filled his lungs as he sat up. His two-day break was officially over. Today marked his first day of melee weapon training
After a quick breakfast, he changed into a lightweight training outfit and stepped out into the morning air. The estate's vast garden stretched before him, its stone paths winding through bamboo groves, cherry blossom trees, and a koi pond that sparkled beneath the sun. A soft breeze stirred the leaves, the air fresh and clean.
It was here—in this open, tranquil space—that Ryan and Mei Lin had trained for weeks. This was their dojo now, marked not by walls or ceilings, but by the rhythm of the earth beneath their feet and the breath of the wind between them.
Mei Lin stood barefoot near a smooth, elevated platform made of polished stone, surrounded by trimmed grass. She was already waiting, a wooden Katana resting by her side. Her long braid fell over one shoulder, and her expression, as always, was unreadable.
Ryan approached with a steady pace. There was no need for greetings. The air between them always shifted the moment training began.
Mei Lin tossed him a practice blade.
"Your rest is over," she said coolly. "Time to see what stayed in your body... and what got lazy."
Ryan caught the bokken and rolled his shoulders. "Let's find out."
Mei Lin moved to the center of the grass. "Today, we begin with foundation. Stance. Grip. Stillness. If your base is flawed, the sword becomes a burden instead of an extension."
She positioned herself, legs slightly bent, her feet solid yet relaxed in the grass.
"Feet shoulder-width apart. Left foot slightly forward. Knees soft. Balance from the hips. Now mirror me."
Ryan took position beside her, mimicking her stance. Mei Lin circled him slowly, adjusting his shoulders with light touches, tapping his legs with the tip of her bokken when he faltered.
"Your weight should feel like it can move any direction in an instant," she said. "Too much lean—you're vulnerable. Too stiff—you're slow."
He nodded, correcting his posture.
"Now the grip. Right hand beneath the guard, left hand near the end of the hilt. Relax your wrists. Power comes not from squeezing but from flow—your arms and blade moving as one."
As he settled into the stance, Mei Lin stood before him. "Hold."
Seconds passed. Then a minute. Then more.
The silence of the garden amplified the moment. A single crow cawed in the distance. Ryan's arms trembled—not from fatigue, but from sheer mental pressure. Every inch of his body was tense with the effort to hold everything steady.
"Do you know why we begin here?" she asked.
"Discipline?" Ryan guessed.
"Respect," Mei Lin replied, her voice low but firm. "You must learn to respect the stillness before you earn the right to move."
She demonstrated the first basic cuts—straight vertical, diagonal left-to-right, and diagonal right-to-left—each one slow, smooth, and clean. The grass beneath her feet barely shifted as she moved. Her blade cut the air with precision, the arc of each motion like ink on paper.
"Your turn."
Ryan copied her movements, or at least tried to. His cuts were uneven, his footwork awkward. The blade wobbled, his weight unbalanced.
"No strength," Mei Lin snapped. "Let the blade fall. Guide it, don't force it."
She stepped behind him and adjusted his grip, her fingers firm but precise. "Here. Try again."
He moved again. The cut was better. More fluid.
"Again," she said.
And again.
And again.
Hours passed this way, the warm sun crawling across the sky as the garden echoed with the soft sound of wooden blades slicing the air. Ryan's shirt clung to his back, soaked with sweat. His arms trembled, his shoulders ached, but he didn't stop.
Because somewhere in the middle of this quiet chaos, he realized: this was his beginning.
Not just of katana training. But of becoming someone new.
Someone who wouldn't be a burden.
Someone who could protect. Fight. Win.
At last, Mei Lin lowered her blade. "That's enough for today."
Ryan let out a long breath, lowering his weapon. His legs wobbled slightly, but he stayed upright.
"You did well," Mei Lin said, meeting his eyes for the first time since they'd started. "You're still rough. But… you have discipline."
Ryan smiled faintly. "Coming from you, that's almost a compliment."
Mei Lin turned away, her braid swaying with the movement. "Don't let it get to your head."
As she walked toward the far path back to the house, Ryan stood alone in the garden, the bokken still in hand. The wind rustled the leaves above, and the sun dipped toward afternoon.
This was only the beginning.