A/N: This is all new, personal, probably one of the most serious posts I'll ever make. Back to the days of kabuki.... I wrote it after watching "Hero" the third time, attempting to make something that's its equal. I don't think I can, but you be the judge.

Kendo

Since the seventies, kendo was defined as the principles of the sword, rather than the techniques of the sword. A form of bushido created for everyone who took an interest in training in kenjitsu. And one girl in particular needed to learn this.

Beautiful day, outside. An eleven year old girl stands at a door- knocks. Another older girl answers, in a colorful but tamed kimono, long black hair, a sword on her waist. She looked sweet and welcoming, yet alert, aware of all that was going on around her.

"Can I help you?" she asked, looking at the little girl

"Yes. I was sent here- to train. I can pay-" The girl showed her money, taking it from her pockets and speaking nervously, as a child would.

"Oh- put that away," the girl said, kindly, smiling. “Please, come in," she said, opening the door and leading her in. And as this older girl let the little one in, she noticed something faint, but rather odd. On the girls belt was one wooden wakizashi and a real one. Why a girl of her age sent to train would have a real sword on her belt was the question at hand.

"This is my father, master Kitano- he's the one who will be training you," she said, politely, introducing them.

"Who are you?" the girl innocent inquired to the older girl, who seemed respectable enough, someone to look up to possibly.

"I am Ayame," she answered sweetly, smiling.

Ayame then, after an awkward silence between the three, led Miharu slowly into the back rooms, walking carefully across the tatami mats, some of which were torn in this obviously tattered dojo. However, Ayame was barefoot, which led to a certain curiosity about what this girl could handle.

"This is where you will be staying with the other students," she said, showing her to a room full of wooden or otherwise makeshift weapons and six uncomfortably small bunks.

"Alright," she said, shedding her weapons. She set down her real sword delicately, and wiped it off with her sleeve, treating it like she loved it, as if it were more than a mere instrument. And this the girl did without even thinking.

"You shouldn't be carrying that around- a girl your age. I should handle-"

She reached out to take it, but Miharu quickly, without warning and surprising herself- put her hand over her sword protectively, keeping Ayame's paws from touching the weapon.

"It's alright. I wouldn't have it with me if I didn't know how to control it," She answered, putting it on a rack near her and looking at it as the black finished scabbard shines in the moonlight of the window.

"Alright then. I guess I'll leave you to yourself," she said, walking off.

Ayame found herself somewhat worried about Miharu- what she was capable of. As a child, she was much like Miharu- but she had to choose whether or not to be destructive with her skills. She hoped the same went for Miharu, but she couldn't be sure, no matter how young she was, and how much sweeter she should've been. She couldn't judge.