The morning sun had only just crept over the distant hills when Renji was already deep in the training yard, drenched in sweat and concentration.
His steamy breath came in steady huffs as he swung blades, twirled blunts, and lunged like a whirlwind with his pole weapons.
His entire body moved like a machine that never rusted. One honed by repetition and fire.
He wielded multiple weapons at once, his right hand clutched a broadsword, his left held a blunt, and even his mouth bit down on the handle of a dagger, clenched between his teeth like a rabid beast.
The clang of metal echoed as he moved through his routine, never once faltering. The weapons whirled around him in a carefully orchestrated chaos.
It was his daily rotation of weapon styles, mixing offense and defense, and switching grips mid-motion. He was in trance and it gave him a sense of satisfaction that no one else seemed to understand.
After a few more swings, Renji finally slowed down, breathing heavily as he took a moment to relax. He raised an arm to wipe the sweat from his brow, then ran his hand through his hair, combing it upwards in one smooth motion.
His body, while not bulky, was well-toned, lean muscle defined his short frame, the kind that came from years of tireless training. His skin bore the rich tone of someone always under the sun, and the sweat shimmered across his arms like dew on bronze.
Despite his age, Renji trained harder than any grown man in the village. Weights were strapped to his ankles, tucked inside his shoes and bracers.
It was second nature to him now. Every move was resistance. Every step was a challenge. And he welcomed it.
Above him, from the balcony overlooking the yard, his grandfather sat, sipping hot tea. The old man, grizzled yet strong-looking for his age, wore thick robes and armor inside. The morning breeze was still cold, and it nipped at his joints. He exhaled into his cup before taking another sip. Steam curled from the edges of his every breath.
"Tch," the old man muttered, warming his hands with the ceramic cup. "This cold gets worse every year."
Still, despite the chill, he watched his grandson with pride gleaming in his eyes. It was like staring at a younger version of himself, but better. Faster in learning. Hungrier for growth.
He gently placed the cup on the table beside him, his eyes drifting to an unopened envelope bearing a crimson seal. His hand lingered over it for a moment. A smile slowly crept on his lips as he looked at it, then down again at Renji.
The boy had just finished a sweeping strike with the sword, kicking up a swirl of dust in the air when the old man cleared his throat with a loud ahem.
"Renji," he called out, "enough slicing the air. Come clean up and meet me at the dining table. We need to talk."
Renji paused mid-stroke, blinking in surprise. He slid the weapons into their racks, wiped his face with a cloth, and jogged off toward the house. "Okay, Grandpa Ren!" he shouted back, cheerful as ever.
After a quick wash and change, he sat across from his grandfather at the long wooden table. His hair was still damp, sticking out in awkward spikes, but his eyes were bright and curious.
"You called?" he asked, mouth half-full with bread already.
The old man rubbed his temples and placed the envelope on the table.
"You've been recommended," he said, eyes narrowing.
Renji tilted his head. "Recommended for what?"
"The Royal Academy," his grandfather replied, voice firm. "You're going."
That bread froze halfway to Renji's mouth.
"I don't wanna go," he said instantly, shaking his head. "I want to keep training here. You saw me earlier! I was about to perfect the weapon styles!"
"Renji."
His grandpa's voice was dangerously low. His hand was twitching. Then came the calm before the storm.
"I did everything to get you that letter. Talked to people I didn't want to talk to. Bent some rules. Even bribed an old colleague with my personal wine stash. And now you say no?"
Renji frowned. "But.…."
"No buts!" the old man roared, grabbing the closest stick he could find—which just so happened to be a cane from the corner of the room. "I'll beat some sense into you if I must!"
With an alarming notion, Renji leapt out of his seat, but not fast enough. A loud whap struck his backside and he howled as he dashed around the table.
"Ow! Grandpa! I'm too old for this!"
"You're too dumb for this!" he shouted, chasing the boy around the house like a whirlwind. "All you do is train! Do you know how important this is?! That Academy can make you a Renowned Fighter! And all you wanna do is swing swords in the backyard like a madman!?"
Eventually, they both collapsed onto the floor, one from exhaustion, the other from laughter.
Renji raised a hand in surrender. "Alright, alright! I'll go! But.....on one condition!"
His grandfather looked at him suspiciously. "What condition?"
"Let me do as I please once I'm there. No rules. No annoying curfews. No nosey teachers forcing me to write essays on mana flow or blade theory."
The old man stared at him, jaw twitching. He was contemplating now—really thinking. His head trembled like a kettle about to burst from steam.
"This kid…" he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're going to blow up the whole damn school."
"I'll behave!" Renji said quickly, putting his hands together like he was praying. "Promise. Just let me be free when I get there."
The silence dragged for a moment longer before the old man groaned, rubbing his forehead then massaging his temples. "Fine. But if I hear even one word about you causing trouble, I'll personally drag you back here and tie you to the well."
"Yes! Deal!" Renji cheered, springing up and pumping his fist in the air. "Rest assured, Grandpa—I'll make you proud!"
The old man gave him a look—half proud, half worried. He sighed.