Chapter 71: The Rejection at Dawn
The mist clung to the training grounds like a ghost, dampening the sound of Anne’s footsteps as she moved through a series of cool-down stretches. The memory of yesterday’s golden dawn and Giyu’s frozen form was a sharp, fresh bruise she was determined to ignore. She focused on the feel of her muscles lengthening, the cool air in her lungs, the way the dew-laden grass soaked into the hem of her socks.
A presence solidified at the edge of the clearing. She didn’t need to look to know who it was; the air itself seemed to still and grow heavy around him.
She finished her stretch, rolling her shoulders back before finally turning. Giyu stood there, his mismatched haori a stark contrast to the soft grey morning. His hands were clenched at his sides, his usual stoic expression fractured by something raw and unresolved.
He took a step forward. “Anne.”
She held up a finger, a playful, serious smile touching her lips. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m not speaking to you.”
He stopped, confusion flickering in his dark blue eyes. “What?”
“It’s a new rule,” she explained, her tone light as if discussing the weather. “I’m not speaking to men who had a perfectly good chance to ask me to a party and then decided to practice their brooding instead.” She shook her head, her long brown hair swinging. “It’s very bad for my complexion, all that unresolved tension.”
“That’s not—” He cut himself off, frustration tightening his jaw. He looked away, toward the towering trees shrouded in fog. “I need to speak with you.”
“See, now you want to talk.” She sighed, the sound exaggerated but with a genuine weariness underneath. She walked over to a low stone bench, brushing the moisture from it before sitting. “It’s fine, Giyu. Really. It’s not an issue.”
He remained standing, a statue of conflict. “It clearly is.”
“No,” she said, her voice softening, losing its teasing edge. She looked at him, really looked at him, taking in the tension in his broad shoulders, the way he held himself like a man braced for a blow. “I’ve accepted it. You can’t. You can’t open your heart to me. You can’t say the thing you want to say. And that’s… that’s just who you are. I get it.”
The words hung in the misty air, simple and final.
“But I’m not going to wait around,” she continued, her gaze steady. “I’m not going to keep standing in doorways you refuse to walk through. It’s exhausting.” A wry, bittersweet smile touched her lips. “You know, for all the politics and the stuffy formality, maybe being a princess was easier in the palace. At least there, everyone said exactly what they meant, even if it was a lie. It was simpler than trying to decipher silence.”
The admission was a quiet bomb. It was the closest she’d ever come to openly referencing her heritage to him, wrapping a profound personal truth in a moment of emotional surrender.
Giyu said nothing. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. He had nothing to offer that could bridge the chasm she had just defined. Every possible word felt like ash in his mouth.
Anne stood up, the movement graceful and decisive. She gave him one last, long look, her brown eyes filled with a compassion that felt like a farewell.
“Have a good training session, Giyu,” she said, her voice warm but distant, already turning away.
She walked back toward the main compound, her figure gradually swallowed by the dawn mist, leaving him alone with the weight of everything he had never said.
The frustration Giyu left simmering in her veins needed an outlet, something far more physical than quiet contemplation. She found Sanemi exactly where she expected, behind the main dojo where the advanced trainees practiced, his silhouette a violent slash against the worn wooden wall as he drilled a terrified-looking recruit through a punishing kata. The air crackled with his aggressive energy.
"Sanemi," Anne called out, her voice cutting through the rhythmic thud of practice strikes. She stopped a few feet away, planting her hands on her hips. "I need to hit something. Preferably you."
Sanemi froze, his practice sword halting an inch from the recruit's shoulder. The young man flinched, scrambling backward with a relieved gasp. Sanemi’s sharp violet eyes raked over her, from her determined face down to her grass-stained socks. A slow, sharp-edged grin spread across his face.
"Finally had enough of the silent treatment, Kinomoto?" he sneered, though there was a keen interest in his gaze. He tossed the practice blade to the stunned recruit. "Get lost. Training’s over."
The recruit didn't need telling twice, practically tripping over his own feet to escape. A few other trainees lingering nearby stopped their exercises, their whispers dying as they turned to watch. It wasn't every day the Wind Hashira dropped everything on a whim, especially for a request that sounded more like a threat.
"Something like that," Anne replied, her smile all teeth. She shrugged off her light outer jacket, tossing it onto a nearby rack. "Don't go easy on me."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Sanemi shot back, cracking his neck. He grabbed his own real sword, the steel singing as he drew it. "You want to blow off steam? Let's make it interesting."
They moved to the center of the training ground, the gravel crunching underfoot. The small audience of trainees formed a loose, wary circle, their earlier chatter replaced by a tense, excited silence. This was far better than drills.
Sanemi didn't wait for a signal. He exploded forward, his movement a blur of raw power. His first strike was a horizontal slash meant to decapitate, the force of it whipping Anne's hair back from her face. She didn't block it.
She flowed under it instead, her body bending backward with impossible grace as the blade passed over her. The wind pressure from his swing alone was enough to sting her skin.
"Stop playing defense!" he roared, pivoting and bringing the sword down in a brutal arc.
This time she met it, not with a blade of her own, but with a forearm wrapped in a sudden, hardened sheath of interlocking earth that sprang from the ground at her feet. The clash sounded like a hammer hitting solid rock, shocking the onlookers into a collective gasp.
Sanemi’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then gleamed with fierce approval. "Now we're talking!"
He pressed his advantage, a whirlwind of relentless strikes. Anne moved with him, a dancer in a storm of steel. She didn't just deflect; she redirected. A gust of wind sent his hair flying into his eyes, breaking his rhythm for a crucial second. A precise jet of water, summoned from the morning's damp air, splashed against his wrist, throwing off his next grip.
She was toying with the elements, using them in subtle, clever ways she’d never dared show before. It was a risk, but the thrill of it, of finally unleashing this part of herself, was intoxicating.
He feinted high and swept low, aiming for her legs. Anne didn't jump. She simply rose, a platform of solid earth lifting her two feet into the air before dissolving back into the ground as his sword passed harmlessly beneath.
A laugh burst from her, bright and genuine, the sound utterly alien in the context of their violent dance. "Is that all you've got?"
That pissed him off. Good.
He came at her with everything then, his Breathing Style creating a localized gale that tore at her clothes and whipped dust into a frenzy around them. He was a force of nature, unrelenting and savage. And she met him, move for move.
For the finale, as he lunged in a final, desperate thrust, she didn't dodge or block. She brought her hands together in a sharp clap. A concussive wave of pure air erupted from the point of impact, not to harm, but to disarm. The shockwave traveled up Sanemi's arm, numbing his fingers.
His sword flew from his grasp, spinning end over end to land point-first in the earth several feet away, quivering.
Silence.
The only sound was their heavy, synchronized breathing. Sanemi stared at his empty hand, then at her. There was no anger in his face, only a kind of stunned, wild respect. A slow, appreciative smirk tugged at his scarred mouth.
The watching trainees erupted into cheers and frantic applause, the tension breaking like a dam. They had just witnessed something none of their manuals had ever described.
"Not bad, Princess," Sanemi grunted, retrieving his sword. He didn't sound mocking. He sounded… impressed.
Anne grinned, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow. The tight, frustrated knot in her chest was gone, replaced by a pleasant, buzzing exhaustion. "Told you I needed to hit something."
He sheathed his blade with a definitive click. "You're buying me dinner after that show."
"Deal," she laughed, grabbing her jacket. She fell into step beside him as he shouldered his way through the crowd of chattering, awestruck trainees, who immediately began mimicking the moves they'd just seen. The path to the dining hall felt lighter, the evening air cooler on her skin. For the first time all day, she felt perfectly, utterly present.