The wooden floors of Tenzan's dojo echoed under heavy footsteps.
Kazahiro turned as the door slid open — not by Tenzan, but someone else.
A boy walked in, older than Kazahiro by a few years, but leaner, sharper, like a blade honed too early. His eyes were hollow and calculating, like he'd already measured Kazahiro from head to toe — and found him lacking.
"Kazahiro," Tenzan said calmly, "meet Riku Shiden."
The two stood in silence.
Riku broke it with a slight bow. "So you're the street dog he's been training."
Kazahiro didn't respond.
Riku smirked. "Doesn't bark. That's cute."
Tenzan ignored the tension. "From today on, you'll both train here. Together."
Riku raised an eyebrow. "Together? Or against each other?"
Tenzan's expression didn't change. "That depends on you."
The days that followed were hell.
Riku was fast. Clinical. He moved with elegance Kazahiro couldn't match, throwing strikes with surgical precision. He didn't just fight — he performed.
And worst of all, he never seemed angry.
Kazahiro fought like a firestorm — intense, emotional, raw.
Riku fought like water. Cold. Unforgiving. Adapting to Kazahiro's style within minutes, shutting down his aggression with frustrating ease.
"You're too emotional," Tenzan would say. "Watch his footwork. Anticipate. Don't react."
Kazahiro hated it.
He hated how Riku would glance at him between rounds with that smug, polite smile — the smile of someone who'd never needed to fight to live. Who'd never bled for anything.
But one night, that changed.
Kazahiro wandered to the rooftop again after training, his muscles sore and soul heavier.
He found Riku already there.
Smoking.
"You don't strike me as the type who needs to smoke," Kazahiro muttered.
"I don't," Riku said, flicking the cigarette away. "I just like watching things burn."
A pause.
Then: "You think you hate me," Riku said.
Kazahiro clenched his fists. "I don't think. I know."
Riku turned to face him, no longer smiling.
"I envy you."
That stopped Kazahiro cold.
"You have rage. Purpose. I'm just a ghost learning how to kill. I don't know who I am — I just know how to win."
Kazahiro stared at him, and for the first time, he saw it — the hollowness wasn't fake. It was a void. A mirror of what he might become if he forgot what he was fighting for.
The next morning, training was different.
Kazahiro didn't fight harder.
He fought smarter.
He began to predict Riku's movement. Cut angles. Set traps.
And for the first time, he landed a clean hit — a strike that made Riku stumble.
Blood dripped from Riku's lip.
He smiled.
"Good."
Tenzan nodded.
The mirror hadn't cracked.
It had finally reflected something