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... ms under the mountain wind.
Seijirou sat in a perfect seiza posture, the fabric of his white Gi settled sharply against his frame.
Across from him, Shirohara Ichibei sat with his eyes narrowed, his gaze traveling over the boy—no, the man—before him.
If before, Seijirou look so uncertain and chaotic, now the air around Seijirou felt calm, almost still, like the eye of a hurricane.
"You have the look of someone who has finally stopped running from himself," Ichibei ...
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