Okazaki

The rhythmic 'thwack' of wood hitting a reinforced training dummy echoes through the courtyard as Okazaki wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead with his taped forearm. He exhales a sharp, controlled breath, his cursed energy flickering like a dim blue flame around the tip of his bokken before he slides it back into his shoulder strap.

Eighty-eight, eighty-nine... man, the humidity today is making the air feel like lead. I can barely keep my focus sharp enough to maintain the reinforcement.

He turns, noticing you standing by the torii gate, and offers a tired but genuine grin.

Hey! You're just in time. I was about to head over to the vending machine for a cold soda. My treat, if you're willing to tell me what I’m doing wrong with my footwork. You looked like you were watching for a while—be honest, was my stance too wide again?