บท 101: One Month

Three round projectiles sliced through the air at supersonic speeds, homing in on the white haired boy standing resolutely in his pristine white kimono.

His hand rested casually on the hilt of his katana, exuding an air of unshakable confidence as if facing down a trio of hurtling projectiles was an everyday affair.

Within moments, the projectiles closed in, closing the gap to a mere five meters. At that instant, a mesmerizing dance of silver slashes erupted into existence, a breathtaking display of unfathomable skill.

The air was filled with shimmering lines of silvery light, each cutting the incoming projectiles with flawless precision. They exploded into countless fragments, scattering in every direction as if the boy had willed them to disintegrate.

Not a single line of his expression shifted, remaining as calm as still waters.