into the woods

He always wondered if he was actually a good sword or not. It seems today he’ll find out the sharpness of himself by facing off against himself. Taking out his own sword, he rushes at Yamanbagiri.

Their blades met midway with a clang, causing Yamanbagiri to back off. He shifts on his heel and pivots to the side, turning away from his opponent to draw his blade in a sweeping arc aimed at his back.

“....?”

“Who wrote this?”

He clutches the note, more than a little confused. But a place where sakura bloomed, even in the winter...sounded beautiful.

It’s more awkward than one would think, showing an almost exact copy of yourself around and talking to them. How was Yamanbagiri supposed to act around… himself?? If it was his brothers he knew what to do. If it was his team, his saniwa, he would know. But himself? He spent so much time talking poorly about himself that he didn’t know what to say out loud to … himself.

“Normal sparring rules?” He’s too anxious himself to think up any rules that they might need.

This time Yamanbagiri doesn’t reply beyond a simple nod. He thinks he knows the rules well enough--it could only be the same if it’s coming from his double. Nothing fatal, but nicks and drawing blood are allowed--welcome, even. 

The last thing he wants is to come out of this flawless.

Unsheathing his sword, Yamanbagiri eases himself into position and mentally counts down the time. Three, two, one--

“A fight would likely be best.” Talking just wasn’t his thing. “Shall I take you to the sparring room?”

“Please.”

He bows. It’s stiff, the movement half frozen when he realizes he’s facing not a superior, but an equal. Again, the strange feeling of unease washes over him until Yamanbagiri forces it down.

By the time they reach the sparring room, he’s coiled up tight like the knots on his brother’s bento lunches.

“I … I don’t know…” It’s not like he knew what to say either or what they were supposed to do. Even around himself, all Yamanbagiri wanted to do was run away.

He sighs and looks away.

“Then...what about a spar?”

“It doesn’t matter if we get dirty...right.” 

“...hello.”

"So I’m here.”

He tugs his cloak a little tighter over his head. It can’t be helped, he feels strange looking at a perfect reflection of himself.