I reset my stance. “Rusty.”
“Liar.”
He moved again.
This time I was ready for him. I angled out of reach, used the momentum against him, and drove a short strike into his ribs that would have done real damage if I had not pulled the blow at the last second.
Hoka’s mouth lifted. Not quite approval, but close.
“You’ve kept your strength.”
“I had hoped that would be obvious.”
“Your ego remains healthy too. Good.”
I exhaled once through my nose, circling him again.
We went on like that for another ten minutes, the old rhythm coming back in bruising exchanges. Pain. Adjustment. Timing.My body always protested first and adapted second. Hoka had built half my fighting style around forcing that adaptation faster than felt possible.
Eventually he stepped back and tilted his head toward the weapons wall.
“Blade.”
I glanced at the racks, then back at him. “I have a gun, Uncle.”
“I know.” His eyes dropped pointedly to my cane. “You also have a katana blade hidden in there, and there was a time you were lethal with it. Perhaps youareslipping, boy.”
I drew the cane in front of me and pressed the release. The sound of steel leaving its sheath was soft and unmistakable, the slender blade catching the overhead light in one clean line.
Hoka reached for a training blade and tossed it once between his hands. “Show me.”
We moved again, slower at first, testing range. The cane changed everything. It always had. Balance, reach, deception in one package. Most men saw support before they saw weapon, and by the time they realized their mistake, it was too late.
Hoka did not have that problem.
He came in sharp and precise. I caught the first strike, deflected the second, but nearly missed the third because my mind had wandered for a fraction of a second.
Emily.
Hoka’s blade stopped at my throat.
He said nothing.
I said, “That’s irritating.”
“That,” he replied, “was avoidable.”
I stepped back, reset my grip, and made myself breathe.
“Again.”
I let the blade become extension rather than object, let instinct take over where thought had failed me, and when hecame in hard from the left I pivoted, locked, twisted, and had my cane blade at his chest before he could recover his footing.
For one suspended beat, neither of us moved.
Then Hoka smiled.
It was a rare enough sight that it still had the power to unsettle me.
