The door to the Echizen family dojo was often left slightly ajar to invite the cool morning breeze in. Slivers of pale golden light dancing around decorated the wooden walls. Glistening drops of sweat plopped onto the soft mat as loud thuds were heard.

"Ryoma," came the soft call as Nanako Meino poked her head through the door, "you'll be late for your first day of high school if you don't take a shower soon." Nanako was the type of girl that could be mistaken for royalty. She had long, sleek, black hair that she could gracefully throw over her shoulder and delicate-looking porcelain skin. Despite her modest manner of dressing, something - perhaps her fluid way of moving - made her seem so incredibly elegant. However, it was the subtlety of her voice that held people, and it was what made her so hard for Ryoma to disobey.

"I'm coming," Ryoma called back to his elder cousin stopping in the middle of his form, then wiping his brow. He glanced at the portrait on the wall of the current dojo master with cool nonchalance. The man in the portrait stared tauntingly back at Ryoma with eyes that mirrored his own. Ryoma looked away, grabbed his water bottle, and left to the main house for a shower.

"Ryoma," his mother said later on at breakfast. "Are you watching the time?" It was an American-style breakfast. Ryoma hated American-style breakfasts. He knew that his mother was well aware of this fact, yet she somehow feigned ignorance.

"Yes mom," he said, rather exasperated with her already. He lethargically stuck his fork in his mouth and chewed.

"Really," she replied.

"Hn," he retorted through his mouth full of pancakes.

"Because school starts in ten minutes, and it's a fifteen-minute walk-"

Ryoma's eyes widened, and he dropped his fork on his plate.

"Gotta go, mom," he interrupted, grabbing his book bag and darting for the door. As he was about to pass the stairwell, a tanned foot suddenly came close to his face. Ryoma grabbed the foot, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and threw the figure it belonged to on the floor in front of him. The figure, clothed in a dark brown gi, rolled backwards over his shoulder into a standing position. His face was tan with scraggly black stubble, and he had brown, cat-like eyes.

"Is that all you've got, boy?" He stepped into a short stance and beckoned with his fingers for Ryoma to come closer.

"Dad, I don't have time for this right now," Ryoma nearly yelled as he ran right past the man.

"Oh come on, one little match with your old man," he called after Ryoma, who simply ignored him as he ran on.