as suspected, the boy is an amateur, but there was likely need that encouraged the boy to practice and use the blade. he doesn’t ask, instead saving the question for the moment after the battle. mikazuki is simply curious. there are plenty of swordsman here, many coming from worlds that require them to wield a sword. minato seems to be no different, but one that lacks training unlike someone of the others.
he’s still smiling, his lips has pressed tighter together. he watches steadily, hands gripping the wooden taichi tightly, stance prepared to move. and then he waits, since a swordsman’s greatest strength can be patience for some battles. many battles his masters have fought were won through waiting, watching the enemy for the moments when they reveal an opening and preying on that chance immediately.
of course, the young amateur in front of him doesn’t know that. he comes charging in a fast pace, almost flinging himself at mikazuki with no regards for defense whatsoever.
hands instinctively raise the wooden blade to the right. minato’s sword clangs against the ‘sharp’ edge of his wooden replica. the wood chips, but the structure holds on. effortlessly, he slides the blade down the steel, turns and sidesteps. grip changes slightly, and returns a blow, aiming for minato’s left. the blow has no strength behind it and, if it lands, it’s only the dull side of a wooden blade.
“you have too many openings,” mikazuki says softly, as he takes another step back, a resuming a defensive position. again, he watches. “a swordsman always has to watch their openings and ensure enemies will not take advantage of it.”
“try guarding yourself this time.” with that, he charges, sword low besides him as he moves. as soon as he’s within blade’s reach, he swings.
shadows aren’t like people. it’s a conversation he’d had with akihiko-senpai once. for some reason, he remembers it crystal-clear when he’s usually pretty bad at recalling the details of events that’d taken place in memory. they’d been sitting on the side couch of the foyer facing the tv, but on opposite ends. he’d been petting koromaru idly and ignoring his homework, and senpai had been crouched on the other side, polishing his boxing gloves, which was a pretty typical evening routine for him.
❝ shadows aren’t like people. they act totally differently in a fight. ❞
he remembers that he’d looked up at that, curious. without lifting his eyes from the glove in his hands and the polishing cloth, akihiko had continued. ❝ they’re pretty dumb, actually. yeah, sometimes they get out of the way, but for the most part, they don’t have much skill. it’s like fighting a punching bag that tries to kill you. ❞ that’d gotten a laugh out of him.
minato had never had experience fighting real people. what was there to fight in real life? it’s not like he could carry his sword around school and threaten bullies with it, even if that was something he’d be remotely interested in doing. would probably just get arrested for carrying a dangerous weapon ( which would be awkward for a number of reasons ).
senpai was right. as mikazuki effortlessly blocks his reckless charge, minato suddenly realizes that he has no idea what to do with this sudden collision force. the impact of it rings up his arms and through his shoulders and he’s jarred — and only then does he realize that shadows never tried to parry. at most, they wiggled out of the way. the sharp grate of wood on steel is his only warning before a sharp strike to his side stuns him. he staggers back; the blow hadn’t really hurt so much as it had surprised him how easily the man could have just bisected him if he’d had a real blade and been meaning to hurt him.
❝ uh— ❞ is all he manages to get out. openings?
someone had said something about that once with him, something about his recklessness and getting himself nearly killed. but he has no idea how to watch his openings. his friends always did that for him. sucking in a breath, he lifts his sword in an effort to protect himself from the incoming attack like he might a shadow, and at least he manages to not get knocked off balance. still, his foot placement is clumsy, and he hurriedly takes some steps back to right himself and put some space between himself and his opponent.
&& the moment his center of balance has returned, he shifts his weight forward, bottom of his shoe ripping up a small patch of grass underfoot with the abrupt momentum change, and barrels in for another all-in frontal strike.