A dog wandered into the community center. At first, these would be disciples of the Galarian blade regarded him as a joke. He brought with him a wooden bokken. For all intents and purposes, it's just an exquisitely carved sliver of wood. Compared to the fancy synthetic plastic and intricate wood favored by western swordsmen, it's downright plain.[break]
They stop laughing when they see him in action. There's nothing pretty about the way this dog swings his sword. No movement is wasted. Nothing extra finds its way into the motions of his muscles. They're meant for one purpose. Were it not for the dull edge of the bokken and his propensity to go for the chest rather than the head, someone would be dead. As it stands, most of the people who showed up for this excursion are walking away with broken ribs. Men groan. Many lay on the flood.[break]
Even with a dull blade like this, he's drawn some blood. Even holding back, these kids are no match for him. The dog sighs, pacing around the room.[break]
"Man. You guys're the first people I've met since I moved here that're willing to fight me mano a mano. Everybody hides behind their Pokemon. You guys are awesome." He sways his bokken across the field of groaning men.[break]
"But yer too darn weak! You gotta fight like hell if ya wanna beat someone like me! You think this is a joke?!" He's only ever found meaning in life when there's a sword in his hands. These are just weekend warriors.[break]
Someone else enters the room. Someone who understands.[break]
Hitoshi turns to greet him.

Shieldmaster

ft. Hitoshi Inoue

Oh, he understood alright.

"What's all this then?"

Well, maybe.

The blonde man's eyes did not immediately focus on the short warrior standing over the sea of his defeated students. No, his eyes were squarely on the blood, on the bruises, on the broken bones and the tears.

There were no hardened warriors amongst his students— not these ones. These were the hobbyists, the curious children, the half bloods exploring their distant culture, the retirees trying something new.

Talented or not, they did not have a warrior's spirit.

"You there."

The man slowly turned a smile to the perpetrator.

"Why have you brutalized my students?" He asked, polite to a fault. "I pray you had a good reason."

"I have not been this furious in quite some time."

The dog senses the malice in the smile. Even before the blonde states that he's furious, Hitoshi senses what's to come. His instinct, like his blade, is sharp. Reflexively, he backs up. Readies his bokken. Raises it in preparation for an impending parry. This is his kind of battle. No Pokemon, no interference. Just two men and all the terrible harm they can do to one another.[break]
"Eh? Reason?" Faced with a human dealing with all too human emotion, Hitoshi is confused. "Whatcha mean reason? This is a place where people practice with a sword, right? Then folks should be prepared to deal with the consequences of pickin' up a sword." He repeats a phrase from a song he listened to a long time ago.[break]
"There ain't no such thing as half-way crooks. Or half-way swordsmen. This ain't a hobby. Not my fault if they're not ready." It's hard for him to control his strength. Hitoshi's style is a killer's style. No wasted movement. Heedless, deadly.[break]
"C'mon. Let's get to it." The dog commands.

Shieldmaster

ft. Hitoshi Inoue

[player]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/850907874325823529/980172780790243468/Fun_along_with_Gwyar.mp3[/player]

...?

There was a moment of silence that followed the other's words. Then...

A sigh.

"What tripe." Gwyar said as he took a step, not towards the swordsman, but his downed students. "Is that all you have to say? Honestly."

Crouching besides a group, the man examined their wounds with a slight curve to his brow.

There wasn't time to indulge himself or the young man with a protracted swordfight.

He grasped a buckler, wiping blood, loose bits, and sweat.

"Youth and skill are oft wasted on the young." The man said as he looked over the buckler briefly, before fixing it to his arm. "But you're not entirely wrong. This is a place of learning. You can learn new skills... or correct erroneous lessons."

Gwyar fully faced the other, raising his shield arm.

"But you are not young enough for words alone to correct the idiocy you've been taught. So... this'll have to do."

"I am Sir Gwyar Ap Wledig, Knight of Galar, Order of the High King. But as long as you're here— I expect you to call me master, brat."

A moment prior, he stood across from the other, several swords out of his reach. The next, the living mass of muscles somehow launched forth, closing the distance with perhaps worryign swiftness.

The invention of the Apricot ball ruined the human warrior. A history of training alongside monsters dulls humanity. Makes their senses weak, sharpens them towards a certain skillset.[break]
Bluntly put, most people can't sense intent. Not in any real combat sense. That, more than any practice with the blade, is Inoue Hitoshi's greatest skill. Despite mankind's incessant desire to tame the world around them, he has never allowed his own instincts to be tamed. With every word, he senses the growing tension. Any scholarly meaning or true depth from much of those words is lost on him. Words like oft, erroneous, and Gwyar Ap Wledig are lost on this dog-shaped blade.[break]
But he understands what comes next. He knows well the dance. The only true choice in life is whether or not to join that dance. There's a subtle shift in his footing, a preparation to charge. This man, Master, has a foot on him in height. He has the advantage of reach.[break]
He has a decade. No, two decades of experience on him. This is no pampered summer lord. This is a warrior, one who has perfected his craft. In his eyes, Hitoshi sees the same glimmer he sees when he looks in a mirror.[break]
This man has something to lose. Everything. His strength is drawn from a well most well never know. That well is deep enough to drown someone.[break]
When the charge comes, the smaller creature meets him head-on. It is the mark of a foolish dog indeed to charge a bear, but what choice does the cornered dog have? Even a mutt still carries the blood of a wolf in his veins.[break]
"Oh, you're fast, Master!" Titles and roles carry more meaning in this dog's world than names. This is a man. Not a sleeping slave, not a Mareep, but a man.[break]
It takes a dog to spot such a creature among the masses. His blade twists in his hand, drawn into a low stance. He spends the spare milliseconds afforded by the bigger man's charge building his upward momentum, sending it into a slash that would tear into the ribs of a lesser foe, were he armed with a real blade. Instinct drives the cut. It is a self-taught technique. The principles are laid in the foundations of eastern swordplay, but no manual teaches this technique.[break]
This dog has never had a teacher before.

Shieldmaster

ft. Hitoshi Inoue

It wasn't the Flying Sword School of fortree— It wasn't any eastern style in particular. Though there was familiarity there. He couldn't place it yet...

Didn't matter right now.

A wooden bang rang across the studio as sword met shield, the sound of thundering steps not stopping even then as Gwyar used his momentum to try and barrel into Hitoshi with a shoulder check.

It wasn't graceful or flashy— but then, he and the young man before him were much like each other in that sense. In a real fight— no fancy nonsense, no symbolic bullshit.

It just needed to work.

Where did he come from? He wondered as he planted a foot down solidly, the boom of his stomp making the mats underneath tremble as his hand launched to grab onto the neck of the youth's loose robes.

His eyes are manic, frantic. Even under this mound of muscle, this pile of aggression aged to perfection, Hitoshi does not quake. There is no room for fear in this dog's world. Everything is a blur. This dojo with its grumbling, groaning students may as well be a white room. A void where it's just him and the blonde foreigner.[break][break]His eyes convey something urgent, as if this contest is the sum of all contests. His muscles are loose, swaying. His feet are never still. Never flat. This dog studies the man with every movement. Powerful, quicker than anyone so tall has any right to be. Hitoshi has to leverage his strengths.[break][break] He's scooped up like a cub in a mother tiger's jaw. Protesting, swinging his sword one-handed. If his opponent is going to grab him like that, Hitoshi will not go gently into that good night.[break][break]Actually...[break][break]If his foe is so strong, why not use that strength against him? Hitoshi kicks up, using his compact height and short legs to press against the man's chest. He tries to force himself free with a jump backwards. His robe will rip, maybe exposing his chest and back, but that's a fair trade. Anything to be free. Anything to avoid getting grappled properly. That's death in a real fight.

Shieldmaster

ft. Hitoshi Inoue

Fabric tore under an iron grip as the younger man launched himself back, legs kicking away against Gwyar's chest as the blonde instinctively grounded himself in an attempt to resist the sudden force, accidentally providing a more stable launchpad.

Clever brat.

But just like he so desired, Gwyar was treating this like a real fight—

And you didn't let up against an enemy on the backfoot.

The samurai flew back and the massive blonde man gave chase, shield raised as he took broad, advancing steps.

Clever, this young man, and very fast. But that brief exchange had told Gwyar plenty about him— about how he fought.

Natural instinct was an amazing strength— but it could be led by the nose too.

Oppressively, the large man threw swipes with his shield as the other man landed, each swing and blow intended to force him into reflexively slipping back— and against a wall.

It's a battle for survival. They're just using practice weapons, but he feels like each blow could turn him into a red mist. He's dealing with someone taller, with more muscle, and eyes that betray experience. He's in the thick of it now. There's no backing out or backing down. He has to give this fight everything he has.[break]Backstep. Slide to the left. Attack. Retrieve the blade into a neutral position. Raise it to block the shield. Redirect momentum. Fight, fight, fight![break]Don't let yourself get caught off guard. Blocking his blows is like blocking a hit from a semi truck. Your arms grow tired. You haven't had a workout this good in years.[break]Back and to the right. Crouch down. Let him sail the shield overhead. Bring the sword up. Back away out of his strike zone. Make yourself a hard target. Flow. Feel, don't think.[break]Feel your back hit the wall.[break]Hitoshi's face is white as he realizes what he's feeling. With a lurch, he knows there's nowhere left to run. Nowhere but forward. He can either meet the oncoming foe with his great shield when he's more tired and worn out, or he can face him while he still has his senses.[break]So, the dog howls. He breaks free from the wall, he bets everything on one strike. Even a cornered dog can still bite.

Shieldmaster

ft. Hitoshi Inoue

It's a fascinating encounter with a human that must've been lost through time.

His understanding of combat is pure experience and instinct. No philosophical or intellectual baggage ties him down for even a brief moment of doubt.

Parry. Advance. Grit your teeth. Swing. Miss. Direct.

Every action is the most efficient path in the moment, every strike deals the maximum amount of pain when it cannot end the fight in an instant.

Move left. Block. Accept blow. Swing. Step forward. Direct.

He's a large chunk of diamond, this one. Half rough and half polished, he's not the sort of man that should exist in this day and age. His skill would seem unnatural to most, like a wild animal with an instinctual understanding of martial arts. Closer to a wild pokemon than a human.

One more forward. One more swing.

But raw instinct, too, can be led astray. And that is what has led them to this moment.

The wall finally greets his opponent's back.

The cornered animal bites back. Lunges from the wall, all or nothing. One way or another, the fight ends now.

The shield audibly cracks and caves in as it intercept the desperate blow.

And then his large shadow is suddenly level with the wild man— shield discarded as he crouches low, thighs and calves taut like springs before he launches unto him, his full body weight crashing into his waist at high speed to slam him right back into the wall.

He's caught by the trap. It is a poor fact of modern swordsmanship that a swordsman is rarely afforded an opponent that will help them grow. Most people are simply overwhelmed by aggression. Fight or flight kicks in. They're dead before the swordsman can grow.[break]
Not so here. Here, he would be dead. A taller foe, with a calm heart, tackles him into a wall. The shock sends his bokken flying. This vicious dog is reduced to nothing more than a flailing child. Pinned against the wall, at his opponent's mercy, there's a thousand ways for him to react.[break]
This creature understands a simple truth: were this a real fight, he would be dead already. With all those muscles, his spine would be shattered. With no nerves firing signals to his arms, he'd either be consigned to a slow death in a wheelchair or a merciful blade through the heart. Either way, it's already decided.[break]
"Man," Hitoshi says with all the cheer of a dog wagging his tail, "you're good, Master!" This is said through the pain of the blow, pinned to a wall. At least his spirits remain high.

Shieldmaster

ft. Hitoshi Inoue

What a way to kill the mood.

With a sigh, Gwyar separated himself from the wall, letting the younger man down onto his feet.

"You're not bad yourself." He said, boldly turning his back to the other man.

He liked to think they had understood each other, just a little, during this bout— and he didn't think the other would take a chance to 'take him out' while his guard was low.

Too much fun would be lost there.

"You lost." He reminded the other simply, before gesturing towards the people around them. "Help me gather them for healing."

Least he could bloody well do, after putting them in their current positions.

As he began to daintly grab his students, he spoke.

"We can talk once we're done here." He said.