Chapter Text
There's a new kid at Isshin Dojo.
He shows up one day, in the middle of the afternoon session.
Since she had to exchange her shinai for laundry (it's strength training, despite what anyone else says) after the morning session, her eyes are free to see that:
He's green.
She almost trips over her feet and mentally thanks her callouses for keeping the basket of sheets from slipping.
After straightening herself out, she looks again and makes a correction:
His hair is green.
Bright green. Like summer.
Not something you see much nowadays, unless you have a reason to brave the damp and cold winds to find the evergreens at the edge of town.
He has three shinai bundled in his arms, almost too worn and frayed to be safe.
But…three?
Where would the third go? Unless. It's probably a spare.
The kid scans the yard, frowning particularly hard at the students.
(she gets it. most of the kids who come to train after lunch are usually too sleepy to work as hard. why even bother at that point if you're not going to try?)
Their eyes meet.
She holds his gaze, challenging him to dismiss her like everyone else.
("aww, here to watch the boys?")
("looking for a good heir early, huh? make sure you learn how to be a good wife, too")
("what are you doing here?")
But he doesn't look away.
Something settles across his shoulders (something familiar, but what?) and he stalks her way.
"Hey."
Bamboo creaks under his grip as he squeezes and releases. His frown looks more like nerves than disapproval now.
"Hi," she says, shifting the weight of the basket to one arm. Usually, she ignores her job of providing hospitality (she needs to get used to welcoming new students when she takes over), but she'll make an exception for this kid for being so strange (green). "Whaddya want?"
He takes a breath. Not sure what he's bracing himself for, but it better not be a stupid love confession.
She'll go right back to laundry because at least the sheets can shut up and leave her be.
"You're the strongest here, right?" he rushes out in one go. "Spar me."
She blinks.
He doesn't (why are those eyes so familiar?), because he's too busy forgetting to breathe.
"Uh, please." He bows, jabbing his stomach on his shinai on the way down. That's one way to catch your breath. "Please spar with me."
She glances at the group on the field (only the instructor is watching them with a confused, but uninterested look). She glances into the halls (father nowhere in sight and unable to interfere).
She looks back at the kid.
(dusty, sweaty, matted green. shirt worn and torn and frayed. white-knuckle grip he forces to relax before the bamboo breaks)
He hasn't gotten up yet.
"Okay," she says. When did she start smiling?
(it's the first time they knew to challenge her)
"Really?!" He whips his head up, eyes wide and relieved.
She leans out of headbutt range.
"Yes, really." She knocks her head to the side. "C'mon. We have spares you can use."
He looks at his hands. Ah, he mouths, releasing his strangling grip for the last time.
"Thank you." He nods.
She huffs.
"Don't cry if you lose."
Instead of getting defensive, he straightens, shedding all his previous nerves for an assured calm.
(she knows those eyes)
(she sees them in the mirror)
"I won't."
(it's spite in resignation)