The relentless cogs of political machinations within his organization had ground down Tōga's spirit. A man of action, a seeker of thrills and uncharted territories, he found the civic obligations of his rank a stifling burden. The departure of General Kon, the ascension of Saturn, and the ensuing turbulence had left him feeling drained and disillusioned.

The constant shuttling between Era and far-flung corners of the world had taken its toll. Tōga craved a respite, a chance to reconnect with the joy that had been extinguished beneath a mountain of responsibilities.

Luluhawa Island beckoned, a familiar haven of tranquility. A swift voyage across the azure expanse brought him back to its sun-kissed shores, where he longed to lose himself in the embrace of nature's serenity. He would reconnect with old acquaintances and immerse himself in the vibrant local culture later. For now, he sought solitude, a chance to recharge his weary soul.

Making his way to a secluded stretch of beach, he unfurled a blanket on the soft sand and laid his belongings aside, the weight of his twin swords a comforting presence even in repose. As the world faded into a gentle hum, a serene smile graced his lips.

He stretched out, allowing the warmth of the sun to seep into his bones, a contented sigh escaping his lips. The tranquility of his surroundings was a balm to his frayed nerves, a much-needed respite from the chaos that had consumed his life.

But the serenity was short-lived. A new aroma, carried on the gentle breeze, piqued his senses, a subtle intrusion into his private oasis.

"Huh?" Tōga's mismatched eyes snapped open, scanning the horizon with a newfound alertness. "Someone's coming."

The idyllic scene was momentarily disrupted, a ripple of anticipation coursing through him. Who would venture to this secluded corner of paradise? Was it a friend, a foe, or simply a curious wanderer drawn by the island's allure?

As the footsteps drew closer, Tōga's hand instinctively drifted towards his swords, a reflexive gesture born of years spent honing his warrior instincts. Yet, there was no fear in his gaze, only a flicker of curiosity.

Whoever this newcomer was, they were about to share in Tōga's refuge, a momentary respite from the tumult of the world. And perhaps, in the shared silence of this sun-drenched beach, a new adventure would begin, a chance encounter that would spark a flame of camaraderie and reignite the dragon slayer's passion for life.

---

wc: 434

Tōga's grip on the hilt of Zangetsu relaxed as he rose from his sandy preserve. A heightened olfactory sense had alerted him to an approaching presence, but the air remained sweet with the scent of sea salt and sun-warmed flora. There was no hint of malice, no reason to brace for an attack. This was affirmed by a cheerful voice that grew louder as its owner emerged from the morning haze.

"Oh," Tōga murmured, his heterochromatic eyes adjusting to the sunlight as he took in the newcomer's form. A figure wreathed in vibrant hues, hair as dark as midnight cascading down their back, approached with an infectious enthusiasm.

"Hi!!!!" Tōga echoed, his voice mirroring the newcomer's ebullient tone. A moment ago, his instincts had been primed for combat, but now he found himself easing back into a seated position, a playful grin replacing his initial wariness.

"Sorry! I thought the beach was deserted," he offered, a mixture of sheepishness and curiosity in his expression. He took in the stranger's bronze skin, their hair flowing like a silken banner in the breeze, a cascade of chestnut hues shimmering in the morning light.

"But it's for everyone, so I shouldn't be hogging it, hahaha." Rising to his full height, Tōga stretched out a hand in greeting, his mismatched eyes sparkling with warmth.

"I'm Tōga. Nice to meet ya!"

The tension that had momentarily gripped the air dissipated like mist before the rising sun. The dragon slayer's initial apprehension gave way to a burgeoning sense of camaraderie. There was an undeniable charm to this stranger, a vibrancy that seemed to radiate from their very being.

Perhaps this chance encounter was a stroke of serendipity, a reminder that even in solitude, connection could be found. As Tōga awaited the stranger's response, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement, a spark of anticipation for the untold adventures that might lie ahead.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows that danced upon the sand. The rhythmic lull of the waves provided a soothing backdrop to this unexpected meeting.

---

wc: 366 [800]

"Nice to meet ya, Zeno-san!" Tōga's greeting overflowed with the warmth and respect ingrained in his Joyan upbringing. Every syllable resonated with the vibrant cadence of his homeland as he eagerly clasped Zeno's outstretched hand. A hearty shake and a playful wag later, the two Dragon Slayers broke their contact, leaving behind an afterglow of camaraderie.

"Indeed, it's quite serene here, isn't it?" Tōga gestured expansively toward the ocean, where the rhythmic dance of the waves kissed the sandy shore. He admired the natural calligraphy of the jagged rock formations that punctuated the coastline, their contours allowing the sea to weave in and out in an enchanting, perpetual dance. "This part of the beach is a hidden gem, really. Away from the clamor of parties and the bustling crowd that frequents the other side," he explained, his voice carrying a note of fondness for the quieter alcove they found themselves in. His time on Luluhawa Island had woven into his being a deep appreciation for its culture and idiosyncrasies, making him feel almost like a local, embedded within its vibrant community.

When Zeno settled beside him on the blanket and inquired about his swordsmanship, Tōga's expression shifted to one of thoughtful contemplation. "Hmm, good question," he mused, his gaze drifting to the twin blades resting nearby. A sheepish grin spread across his face as he grappled with how to articulate his journey as a swordsman. "It's a bit of a mystery, to be honest. I'm still very much on the path of discovery when it comes to wielding these blades. You know what they say—actions speak louder than words."

"Here, why don't you try one?" Tōga proposed, his eyes lighting up with a spontaneous idea. He offered one of his swords to Zeno, an invitation to test the weight and feel of the weapon. "Let's have a friendly spar. It might give you a better sense of it, and hey, you can share your perspective with me!" His tone was encouraging, laced with excitement at the prospect of learning from the exchange and deepening their newfound acquaintance through the timeless dance of duelists.

This spontaneous invitation was quintessential Tōga—always ready to transform a moment of curiosity into an opportunity for shared experience and mutual discovery. It spoke volumes about his character: his openness to feedback, his eagerness to learn, and his innate ability to forge connections through shared activities.

---

wc: 419 [1219]

The joy that radiated from Tōga upon Zeno's acceptance of his sparring offer was palpable, transcending mere happiness. His smile blossomed, stretching from ear to ear, revealing a gleaming array of teeth punctuated by elongated canines—a reminder of his draconic heritage.

"Thanks! I think we're going to learn a lot from one another in this duel," Tōga exclaimed, his words brimming with unbridled enthusiasm. For him, this moment was more than a simple exchange of blows; it was a bridge to his cultural roots. In Joya, his homeland, the art of swordsmanship was as integral to daily life as breathing. The symbiosis between forging, blacksmithing, and wielding the blade was as natural and rhythmic as the celestial dance of sun and moon, as essential as the interplay of warmth and breeze that caressed the land. To truly understand the katana was to grasp the very essence of Joyan identity—a profound connection Tōga yearned to forge.

With reverence, Tōga lifted one of his prized weapons. "Here, this is Rengoku's Kimetsu," he explained, extending the tiger-striped katana to Zeno, hilt-first. "Exercise caution—its edge is razor-sharp, and it harbors an innate affinity for fire." He deliberately omitted mentioning the blade's supernatural efficacy against nocturnal creatures, deeming it unnecessary information for their friendly bout.

"I'll wield this one—Zangetsu," Tōga announced, hoisting the imposing black cleaver overhead before resting its blunt edge on his shoulder. "Zangetsu was my first weapon, with Rengoku following as my second. Typically, I use them in tandem, but this single-handed practice will prove valuable." As he spoke, Tōga pivoted, creating a ten-meter gulf between himself and Zeno before facing his sparring partner once more.

"Zeno, the opening move is yours!" Tōga declared, his posture a blend of relaxed readiness and eager anticipation.

In this moment, the beach transformed into an arena of cultural exchange and martial artistry. The rhythmic lapping of waves against the shore provided a melodic backdrop to their impending duel, while the salt-laden breeze carried whispers of ancient traditions and modern aspirations. For Tōga, this wasn't merely about honing his combat skills; it was a pilgrimage of sorts, a quest to honor his heritage while carving out his own unique path. Each swing of the blade, each step in the sand, would be a brushstroke in the masterpiece of his identity—a fusion of Joyan tradition and his own draconic nature.

As he stood poised for battle, Tōga felt the weight of generations past resting upon his shoulders. The legacy of countless Joyan swordsmen seemed to flow through Zangetsu, merging with his own strength and spirit. This duel with Zeno wasn't just a test of skill; it was an opportunity to breathe life into the teachings of his ancestors, to make tangible the abstract concepts of honor, discipline, and artistry that defined Joyan swordsmanship.

As he awaited Zeno's first move, Tōga's senses sharpened, attuned to every subtle shift in the environment. The grains of sand beneath his feet, the play of sunlight on Zangetsu's obsidian surface, the distant cry of seabirds—all melded into a tapestry of awareness that centered him in the present moment. Having moved to where they were now separated by 10 meters, the dragon slayer eagerly awaited Zeno’s first move.

---

wc: 552 [1771]

Combat Log:

The sand beneath their feet served as the stage for an impromptu ballet of blades as Tōga observed Zeno wield Rengoku’s Kimetsu with a natural grace. The Joyan weapons, Zangetsu and Rengoku’s Kimetsu, were not merely tools of combat but extensions of Tōga's heritage—a heritage rich in the lore of a land where the line between the mystical and the mundane was as thin as the blade of a katana. Each weapon held a story, etched into their very metal; Zangetsu, forged from a meteorite, bore the weight of celestial mysteries, while Rengoku’s Kimetsu, designed for vanquishing darkness, whispered tales of ancient battles against malevolent spirits.

As Zeno swung the tiger-striped katana, a small ember danced along the blade, catching the light and Tōga’s appreciative eye. “That Kimetsu is a fire user's dream; no wonder it resonates with you,” Tōga chuckled, his voice a blend of camaraderie and pride. The ember’s flicker was like a nod of approval from the weapon itself, recognizing a worthy handler.

Zeno’s stance, deeply rooted in the traditions of Joya, spoke of a disciplined approach to the martial arts, one that Tōga recognized and respected profoundly. “Impressive stance—feels like you’ve wandered the halls of Joyan dojos,” Tōga remarked with a playful smirk, as he adjusted his grip on Zangetsu, feeling the familiar coolness of the black steel against his palm.

With the ocean’s breeze as their chorus, Zeno initiated their dance, his movements embodying the swiftness of a summer gale sweeping across the shore. He advanced with a precision that belied the casual setting of their sparring, his form a blur against the backdrop of the sprawling beach.

Tōga responded in kind, his body pivoting gracefully on the balls of his feet, his movements synchronized with the rhythm of the duel. As Zeno’s blade sought to carve a path through the air towards him, Tōga’s Zangetsu rose in a swift, defensive arc, the sound of clashing steel punctuating their exchange. The flat of his blade met Kimetsu's edge, a testament to Tōga’s quick reflexes and keen eye.

Capitalizing on the brief moment of contact, Tōga exerted a push against Kimetsu, aiming to disrupt Zeno’s balance and reclaim the flow of the encounter. With a fluid motion, he maneuvered Zangetsu horizontally, targeting a gentle yet firm strike with the blunt side of his blade toward Zeno’s midsection. If his maneuver succeeded, it would not only test Zeno's recovery skills but also remind him of the playful yet earnest nature of their spar.

---

wc: 431 [2,202]

Combat Log:

The clash of blades set the stage for a spectacle of raw power and finesse. Tōga's initial strike sent Zeno stumbling backward, the disparity in their physical strength evident as the swordsman momentarily lost his footing. Yet, the dragon slayer was quick to capitalize on this advantage, propelling himself forward to seize the fleeting opportunity for a decisive follow-up strike. However, Zeno, far from defeated, summoned a defensive tactic Tōga knew all too well—the creation of a fiery barrier. The wall of flames, birthed from the depths of Rengoku's Kimetsu, roared to life between them. It was a clever maneuver, using Tōga's own affinity for fire against him, and it halted the pink-haired mage's advancing slash with a sizzling crackle.

What unfolded next was a dance of dragon fire. Zeno, not content to merely defend, reignited the flames of combat literally. With a flourish, the fiery dragon, a signature of Rengoku’s Kimetsu, spiraled forth. The magnificent beast of flame surged towards Tōga, its maw agape with a conflagration poised to consume him.

Tōga, a Fire Dragon Slayer by nature, could have easily absorbed the fiery assault, turning his foe’s attack into nourishment for his own power. Yet, this battle was as much about teaching as it was about testing limits. Opting against nullifying the attack, Tōga chose instead to meet it head-on, to show not just resilience but the unyielding spirit of a warrior. He plunged into the fiery dragon, his body slicing through the intense heat and flames that would have deterred any lesser being. To Tōga, the flames were a familiar embrace, a reminder of his elemental heritage that he bore proudly. As he pushed through the inferno, the flames licked at his skin, evidence to his resistance and endurance.

Emerging from the other side, the heat of the battle etched into his smoke-singed clothing, Tōga was a silhouette framed by the dissipating flames. Close enough now to see the determination in Zeno's eyes, he unleashed a horizontal strike¹, swift and precise. The air crackled around him, superheated by his passage through the dragon's fire.

---

wc: 371 [2,573]

Combat Log:

The clash of their blades sent a cascade of sparks into the air, the sound of metal on metal ringing like a bell through the training grounds. Tōga grinned, his pulse thrumming with the excitement of the duel. “You’ve got some real strength, Zeno-san!” he called, his voice carrying both admiration and challenge. With a fluid motion, he pulled back his arm, the larger blade of Zangetsu glinting in the light as it returned to his side. Across from him, the fae staggered under the force of the blow, his footing lost as the impact sent him flying backward.

Tōga remained still, his sharp gaze locked on his opponent. There was no need to press forward—he could read Zeno’s movements like an open book. The fae’s arm trembled, barely noticeable to an untrained eye, but to Tōga, it was obvious. The earlier collision had taken its toll, the strain beginning to show. Though Zeno fought to mask it, the subtle quiver in his stance revealed the truth: the force of their clash had left him rattled, if not completely drained. As Tōga predicted, the moment soon came. Zeno’s fingers faltered, and with a soft clatter, Kimetsu slipped from his grasp, the blade falling unceremoniously to the ground. A faint wince flickered across the fae’s features—his arm clearly aching from the exchange. With a breath of resignation, Zeno gave a small nod, signaling his concession.

Tōga let out a satisfied exhale, his smile widening as he walked toward his fallen sparring partner. He slid Zangetsu smoothly into the sheath on his back, the weight of the weapon settling comfortably against him. Though victory was his, it wasn’t the win that had him grinning—it was the potential he saw in Zeno.

“You know,” Tōga began, reaching down to offer a hand to the fae, “you’re the first person I’ve ever seen wield Kimetsu so naturally. Honestly, you handled it better than I did the first time I got my hands on it.” There was no condescension in his voice—only genuine praise. Despite the clear difference in their skill levels, Tōga wanted to make sure Zeno knew how impressive his performance had been. He had faced off against a seasoned dragon slayer and held his ground far longer than most could hope to. Tōga could already see the spark of greatness in him, a flicker that would only grow with time.

“Keep this up,” Tōga said warmly, clapping Zeno on the shoulder, “and you’re gonna be something special. I hope I get to see it happen.” The intensity of the match began to fade, replaced by the easy amity that often follows a hard-fought duel. Tōga rolled his shoulders, releasing the lingering tension from the battle, and stretched his arms over his head with a content sigh. “Alright, the tedious stuff’s out of the way,” he said with a grin, his mood light and playful.

“What do you say we grab some food? Sparring always makes me hungry.”

---

wc: 526 [3,099]

Tōga could feel the shift in Zeno’s energy. The tension that had clung to him throughout the battle had unraveled, replaced by a renewed sense of spirit—a kind of youthful optimism that only surfaces after a hard-fought duel. The Fae’s earlier unease had melted away, leaving behind the spark of someone who had discovered more about their own strength, even in defeat. And though Tōga had emerged the victor, he didn’t see this as a day where anyone truly lost. Battles like these weren’t just about winning—they were about learning, about growing, about forging bonds stronger than steel.

"Yeah, let’s get you patched up first," Tōga said, his voice warm and full of harmony. He clapped Zeno on the back with a grin, careful to avoid the bruises and minor wounds that had been earned during their sparring. He knew how those aches felt—familiar badges of honor for anyone who wielded a blade. With a playful laugh, he started leading Zeno off the field, the weight of their match already beginning to fade into the background, replaced by the kind of easy friendship that only emerges after blades are crossed. There was something satisfying about these moments—the quiet after the storm, when the adrenaline ebbed and the lessons learned settled in.

“And after that,” Tōga added with a mischievous grin, “I’ll take you to this fish shop I know. They’ve got the best spiked fish I’ve ever had.” His voice rose with excitement as he painted the picture in his mind, his pink hair bouncing slightly as he spoke. “You’ve never had anything like it. Crispy on the outside, flaky on the inside, and the spice... man, it’ll knock you out if you’re not ready for it!” He laughed again, his enthusiasm infectious.

“Trust me, you’ll love it.”

---

wc: 338 [3,437]

-exit