Sparks In The Training Hall

Akihiko stepped into the hall, where Naoru was already waiting, theatrically standing with his arms crossed and chin raised. After a moment, he began spinning the sword in his hand with a little too much enthusiasm, as if he were already preparing for battle while maintaining a dramatic pose. The moment he saw Akihiko, he grinned broadly.

“Well, well, well…” he began, his voice carrying across the entire hall. “Prince, you finally decided to grace your friend with your presence. I was starting to think someone had kidnapped you.”

He cast a pointed glance toward the doors behind which Aiko had disappeared moments ago.

Around them, guards and a few young soldiers barely managed to suppress their laughter. Ren nearly toppled off his bench in excitement, shouting in a high-pitched voice,

“Brother, were you scared of Naoru?”

Akihiko took a deep breath and slowly drew his sword from its sheath. His blue eyes gleamed with determination, and a faint, knowing smile curved his lips—more telling than any words could be.

“Naoru, if I remember correctly, you said that if I didn’t arrive within fifteen minutes, you would declare yourself the winner?”

Naoru nodded confidently. “Exactly.”

Akihiko stepped closer, turning his sword so it caught the hall’s light. He replied calmly,

“Well then, I hope you can hold onto that victory for at least a few seconds.”

A collective “oooooh” echoed throughout the hall, as everyone anticipated the rising tension. Naoru laughed and assumed a battle stance.

“Alright, friend. Show me if you still have it, or if you’ve been too… distracted.”

The guards and Ren practically exploded with laughter.

Akihiko moved to the center of the hall and assumed his stance. Naoru was already there, sword ready for the first strike. Everyone—guards, young soldiers, even Ren—leaned in closer, knowing this duel was not to be missed.

“Ready?” Naoru asked with a mischievous smile.

Akihiko nodded, but as he centered himself, his mind flickered with the image of Aiko—her smile, her gaze, the lingering warmth of her lips.

Seizing the moment, Naoru lunged forward with a lightning-fast combination of strikes. Akihiko barely parried the last swing, the clang of metal ringing sharply in the hall.

“Oh-ho,” Naoru teased, grinning, “your thoughts are somewhere else, my prince. Perhaps you should have called Aiko to gather them for you?”

The guards and Ren laughed again, with Ren shouting,

“Brother, watch out you don’t fall—so unromantic!”

Akihiko grit his teeth, side-eyeing Naoru. The truth was, Naoru had the upper hand—his strikes light and fast, Akihiko a step behind, his heart still racing from memories of Aiko.

Naoru pressed harder. “No, no, if you keep daydreaming, I’ll take the fencing crown from you!” He swung near Akihiko’s shoulder, but the prince dodged at the last second.

The crowd’s excitement grew louder as the tension heightened.

Akihiko inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Every feeling—the closeness of Aiko, the memory of her lips, the whisper of her voice—he forced deep into his heart, not his mind. There, it became fuel, not distraction.

He focused, as taught at the academy. He calmed his mind, steadied his body, letting strength come naturally.

When he reopened his eyes, his gaze was steel—resolute and precise. Naoru noticed immediately and smirked. “That’s the friend I want. Now, show me what you’ve got!”

Akihiko dashed forward like lightning. His movements were light and precise, almost a dance. Each strike reflected years of training. Metal clanged, but this time Naoru was on the defensive, stepping back to evade strikes.

The guards and Ren cheered,

“That’s the real Prince Akihiko!”

“This is getting interesting!”

Naoru smiled despite the sweat on his brow. “Ah, you’re back in form. I was beginning to hope love might make you lose.”

With a flash, Akihiko executed a maneuver long practiced at the academy: a feint from the right, then a sudden pivot from the left. Naoru barely parried, but his smile betrayed his enjoyment of the true challenge.

Ever mischievous, Naoru sensed Akihiko’s thoughts still wandering. Before raising his sword again, he called loudly, as if someone were behind Akihiko:

“Aiko!?”

The hall seemed to pause. Akihiko staggered slightly, his face flickering with memory—the gentle smile, the warmth of the morning, that balcony kiss. His stance wavered for a split second.

Exactly what Naoru had hoped for. He unleashed a flurry of quick, tricky feints—not too strong to be dangerous, but enough to test Akihiko’s concentration. Metal clashed, some spectators gritted their teeth, and Ren nearly forgot to breathe.

Akihiko felt a surge of panic, then remembered the academy’s lessons. Inhale, exhale. He pushed the image of Aiko deep into his heart, not his mind; it was fuel, not distraction. Step, read Naoru’s rhythm, wait for the right moment.

Naoru pressed relentlessly, but Akihiko waited for the last feint, then executed a cold-blooded combination drilled into him countless times: a fake pivot, followed by a swift strike that forced Naoru to step back. The sunlight gleamed off his sword as he deflected the next strike and, with a precise twist, disarmed Naoru.

A collective sigh and applause filled the hall. Naoru, disarmed but still smiling mischievously, quickly bowed. “Alright, I admit it—you got me today. But next time…”

Akihiko allowed a hint of warning in his gaze. “Don’t call her name if you don’t want it to cost you the victory.” His tone was calm but resolute.

Ren cheered wildly, Naoru joked, and the guards laughed—yet in Akihiko’s eyes, a thought of Aiko flickered: her smile had pulled him back, a promise that they would continue later, exactly where they had left off.

Akihiko stepped toward Naoru. “You know, it’s always fun sparring with you, friend.”

Naoru, still slightly out of breath, smiled widely. “Ha! That’s because only with me can you truly show your real side. Everyone else sees a prince, I see a friend who enjoys messing with you.”

Akihiko merely nodded, a spark of amusement in his eyes. He glanced at Naoru and almost whispered, so only he could hear:

“Your jokes have a sharp edge, friend. Just be careful they don’t come back at you double.”

Naoru laughed and playfully punched him on the shoulder. “Now you’re a prince again—threatening like you’ve got a plan. But I know you’re not really mad.”

The hall buzzed with friendly competition and camaraderie, while everyone else continued whispering and commenting on the intensity of the duel.