his arms crossed over his broad chest, his teal eyes watching like a hawk. He barely moved, but the weight of his presence was suffocating.
You stood across from him, your breathing uneven and sweat trickling down your face. Your hands gripped your Nichirin blade tightly, the edge still gleaming from earlier practice swings. Kyohei hadn’t let you land a single hit—not one—and the frustration burned in your chest like fire.
“Again,” Kyohei said, his voice flat but commanding.
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