He already hurt everywhere, but nowhere as painfully or inconveniently as his right shoulder. Every time he moved his neck or arm, his shoulder complained as if it were being struck anew. Biting his lip and drawing blood, he tried to keep his attention on the weaving sword before him. At first, he’d been surprised by Miko’s words. But as he’d pondered them, he came to realize if he’d been in their place he wouldn’t have done anything different. What choice did they really have? It didn’t make him like his role any better, but at least he had his practice session to vent his frustrations. Miko’s music wove in his mind. Though he knew she’d left once or twice, her music nevertheless wouldn’t leave him. None of her normal bantering had intruded in the lesson so far. It made him worry. He hoped he hadn’t pushed her to the point where he’d never hear it again. He wasn’t caught by surprise by Mitsuo’s first thrust, but he was too slow to block the second. Trying to twist out of the way, he only ended up putting his injured shoulder directly into the weapon’s path.
