Chapter 69: Royal Technique
The training ground was unusually still, the usual clamor of combat replaced by a watchful silence. All eyes were fixed on the center of the main arena, where Anne and Kaito stood facing each other, their practice swords held in a formal, mirrored stance that was foreign to the Corps’ typical forms.
“Begin,” Kaito said, his voice calm.
They moved as one. Their feet traced complex patterns in the hard-packed earth, their wooden blades flowing through sequences that were more dance than combat. It was an ancient royal guard kata, all circular deflections and subtle redirections, designed to protect rather than kill.
Then Anne began to weave her elements into the form.
A subtle shift of her weight, and a gust of wind whispered across the grounds, kicking up a spiral of dust that momentarily obscured Kaito’s advance. A flick of her wrist, and the moisture in the air coalesced into a fine mist that clung to her practice sword, making it gleam like polished silver under the sun. When Kaito pressed his attack, she met him not with a block, but with a smooth, flowing parry, and the earth beneath his feet seemed to soften just enough to disrupt his footing.
She wasn’t using her full power—that would be impossible to hide—but she was threading traces of it through the movements, making the royal forms breathe with a life they hadn’t possessed in centuries.
From the deep shadows beneath the dojo’s eaves, Giyu watched, motionless. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his expression as unreadable as stone. But his eyes, usually so distant, were fixed on Anne with an intensity that burned. He saw the elegance, the deadly grace, the raw talent that went so far beyond the basic Breathing Techniques she was supposed to be learning. A reluctant admiration coiled in his gut, warm and sharp.
Kaito flowed around her mist-shrouded blade, his own movements adapting seamlessly. “Good. The wind is a distraction, not a weapon. That’s the essence.” He closed the distance, his voice dropping so only she could hear. “But your grip is too high for the earth-infused counter. Here.”
He moved behind her, his body not quite touching hers, and reached around to adjust her hands on the bokken. His fingers settled over hers, guiding, correcting. It was a teacher’s touch, practical and impersonal.
But it lasted a second too long.
Giyu’s jaw clenched. The sight of Kaito’s hands on hers, the easy familiarity of the gesture, sent a jolt of something hot and unpleasant through his veins. It was the same feeling he’d had in the restaurant, watching Kaito speak of a world he would never understand. This was a different kind of intimacy, one forged in shared heritage and secret knowledge, and he was squarely on the outside of it.
“Interesting,” a rough voice grunted beside him.
Giyu hadn’t even heard Sanemi approach. The Wind Hashira stood with his own arms crossed, his scarred face a mask of critical appraisal. He wasn’t looking at the personal dynamics; he was dissecting the technique.
“It’s flashy,” Sanemi said, his tone grudging. “But there’s efficiency in it. The way she uses the environment… it’s not just sword work. It’s something else entirely.” He shot a sidelong glance at Giyu. “You seeing this, Tomioka? That’s not a standard form.”
Giyu gave a single, tight nod.
In the arena, Anne executed the final movement of the kata, a sweeping, low strike that ended with her practice sword poised an inch from Kaito’s knee. The faint mist around her blade evaporated. The errant breeze died away.
A beat of perfect stillness held, and then she broke it, straightening up and grinning. “So? Will it pass inspection, oh mighty instructor?”
Kaito laughed, a warm, genuine sound. “It will do, Princess. It will do.”
The word, even spoken in fondness, landed like a lead weight in the quiet space between Giyu and Sanemi.
Sanemi let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Flashy,” he repeated, but the criticism was gone, replaced by a tone of genuine respect. He turned and walked away, muttering to himself about incorporating lateral footwork into the Wind Breathing drills.
The other watching slayers began to disperse, the spell broken, their chatter rising again as they returned to their own training.
Anne wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths. Her eyes scanned the perimeter of the grounds, searching, and then they found him in the shadows. Her smile softened, becoming something more private, more real than the triumphant one she’d given Kaito.
Giyu held her gaze for a long moment, the tightness in his chest not easing. He saw the question in her eyes, the silent check-in. He gave her the barest nod, an acknowledgment he hoped conveyed something he couldn't yet put into words.
Then he turned and melted back into the darkness of the dojo, the image of Kaito’s hands on hers burned onto the back of his eyelids. The ghost of her citrus scent from that morning seemed to cling to him, a painful reminder of a closeness that felt suddenly, terrifyingly fragile.
The ghost of her citrus scent from that morning seemed to cling to him, a painful reminder of a closeness that felt suddenly, terrifyingly fragile.
He found himself walking the perimeter of the grounds, the cool evening air doing little to settle the restless heat under his skin. The image of their synchronized movements, the easy way Kaito had stepped into her space, played on a loop behind his eyes. It was a form of torture more precise than any demon’s blood art.
“Tomioka. A moment?”
Giyu stopped, his shoulders tightening. He hadn’t heard Kaito’s approach, a testament to the man’s skill and his own distraction. He turned to find the instructor standing a few feet away, his golden eyes calm in the fading light.
“That was quite a demonstration,” Kaito said, falling into step beside him as Giyu reluctantly continued walking. “She learns faster than anyone I’ve ever trained. It’s like she was made for this.”
Giyu grunted, a non-committal sound that he hoped would end the conversation.
They walked in silence for a dozen paces, the crunch of gravel under their feet the only sound. Kaito seemed to be choosing his words, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. “You two seem close,” he finally said, his tone carefully neutral. “You spend a lot of time together.”
The statement hung in the air, simple and loaded. Giyu’s hands curled into fists inside his pockets.
“I consider her a friend,” Kaito continued, his voice lowering slightly. “And I know her background… the title. But she doesn’t seem to stand on that kind of ceremony here.” He paused, glancing at Giyu’s profile. “I suppose what I’m asking is, is she… spoken for?”
The question landed like a physical blow, knocking the air from Giyu’s lungs. He understood immediately what was being asked. It wasn’t about royal protocol or betrothals. It was a man, asking another man about the availability of a woman he was interested in.
The casual inquiry carved a hollow space inside his chest. He thought of Anne asleep in his bed, her leg thrown over his, her breath warm against his neck. He thought of the way she’d looked at him across the training grounds, a private signal meant only for him.
“That is not a question for me,” Giyu said, his voice rougher than he intended. He stopped walking and turned to face Kaito, his expression a mask of impassive stone. “Ask her.”
Kaito held his gaze for a long moment, a flicker of surprise in his eyes at the sharpness of the response. He then nodded slowly, a respectful, understanding dip of his chin. “Of course. My apologies. I overstepped.”
He gave another slight bow and turned, heading back toward the main compound without another word.
Giyu stood rooted to the spot, watching him go. The evening seemed to grow colder, the shadows deepening around him. The fragile thing he’d held onto all day, the memory of her warmth in his room, now felt ice-cold and dangerously brittle. He had no claim to her, no right to the possessive fury simmering in his blood.
But it was there, a live wire under his skin, and he had no idea what to do with it.