I don't think I want to say much for this one. I'll let it speak for itself.

But of course I have to let you guys know, before you can go on reading, that I don't own any of these characters, because for surely there would be some confusion if I didn't mention that. It's okay. I've told you now.

Anywho =D Proceed, read, enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

He'd wanted to come across with the utmost severity, to look firm and official in order that they may take this seriously and know what an honor this day was, one to be treated with respectful behavior and humility. But one look at them and his insides melted—as always—shoulders dropped, and he fought the smile of admiration with everything he had in him.

Six years old, and they were still as precious as ever.

They were trying, bless them, to be patient, but who ever expected children to sit still?

Leonardo was doing his best, sitting on the edge of the bench with his palms on his knees, shoulders hunched and stiff as though he was holding his breath. Donatello was perched next to him with his legs crossed, eyes darting around, hands fidgeting, probably desperate for something to tinker with. Raphael kept glancing to his right with pursed lips as little Michelangelo shamelessly bounced next to him, swinging his feet and smiling from temple-to-temple.

Splinter took a moment to soak in the picture—never had he wished more achingly for a camera—then he composed himself and fully pushed back the divider hiding the dojo from the common area. All four turtles straightened their spines and looked his way with wide eyes.

He held their gazes in silence for a moment, amusing himself with the rise of anticipation. He dragged his hand down his beard once, shifting his eyes from one son to the next, taking in the way they all seemed to levitate an inch off of the bench. He breathed in and they tensed.

"Michelangelo," he said, snapping his eyes to the smallest of the bunch.

"Yes!"

Michelangelo popped off of the bench with a jubilant laugh and ran for the steps leading up to the dojo as his brothers sighed and sank back against the edge of the pit.

Splinter's belly fought for a chuckle, but he refrained and closed the divider. Michelangelo was already skirting to his knees before the base of the tree, lighting up the entirety of the world with his smile.

Splinter took his time crossing the dojo to stand in front of his youngest son with his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat.

"Do I get a sword? Do I get the curvy blades? Do I get the big ball thingy with the spikes?" Mikey asked all at once, bouncing relentlessly in his spot.

Splinter opened his mouth.

"Ooo! Is it the wutcha-call-it that does like that and then goes like whoosh! Is it—does it have the little metal thing on the end where you—"

"Michelangelo…"

"—and it cut the one whole branch off the tree and then…That was so cool! Do I get that one?"

"Michelangelo," Splinter called again. "Remember what we spoke about."

At this the little turtle shrank down with wide eyes. "Oh yeah," he whispered. He pulled in a full breath and tucked his shoulders back. He attempted a face of seriousness by puckering his lips and squinting his eyes, but it only lasted as long as the pause before Splinter spoke.

"Michelangelo…"

The turtle giggled.

"It gives me great joy to graduate you from your final kyu and onto your first dan. You have shown magnificent skill in your physical training and have surpassed all entry-level instruction in taijutsu—the second discipline in the art of the ninja. After assessing your abilities in the seven weapon disciplines and meditating on your unique style of combat, it has come to my attention that you hone a very intimate gift of moving with the natural flow of the universe. Therefore, I have decided to focus your training in the discipline of kusarigamajutsu."

The little turtle's face lit up like a floodlight, freckles kissing the bottom rims of his blue eyes as his smile widened. He squealed to himself, fists shaking with excitement under his chin. He giggled again then planted his hands on his knees.

"What does that mean?" he asked brightly.

Splinter allowed himself a smile this time. He turned to the side and walked slowly to the weapons' wall.

"It means, Michelangelo…" He studied the wall for a moment, as though he hadn't already prudently chosen what weapon to give his son, then finally plucked his choice off the wall, careful to obscure the turtle's view of them as he held them behind his back and walked back to the tree to kneel before the little one. "…that your weapon shall be the nunchakus."

He presented the pair of weapons before his youngest son with a proud bow to his head, watching as the turtle's brain exploded with delight behind his eyes. His fingers wiggled over the nunchucks for a moment as though soaking in the radiation of power, and then he snatched them up and immediately began flailing them around.

Splinter jerked back to avoid a smack in the face and eased his son's hands down. "Chotto matte. Let me finish."

"Oh sorry," Mikey whispered again, stuffing the weapons in his lap.

Splinter cleared his throat. "Nunchakus are very loose, wide-ranged weapons that require quick reflexes and seamless movement. I believe they are perfectly suited for you. Now, at the moment they are only nunchakus, but…"

Splinter took back one of the nunchucks and released the clutch on the side. A shiny silver sickle blade snapped into action and the weight on the bottom of the nunchuck dropped to the floor with a thud, unraveling the hidden chain.

Michelangelo looked as though he might pop a blood vessel. "Cool!"

"When properly released they become kasurigama. Once you have passed your training with your nunchakus, we will move on to the kasurigama, but it is only then that you will be allowed to use the blade and chain. Is that understood?"

"Hai, Sensei." The turtle bowed deeply and Splinter smiled.

Michelangelo may have often exhibited very wild and naïve tendencies, but there was a spirit of intuition in him that was often underestimated. It had taken the old rat a long time to decide if he wanted to show the little one the deadliest parts of his new weapons, but he figured it was safer that Michelangelo know there was a hidden blade in his nunchucks rather than him finding out by some disastrous misfortune in the future. And anyway, he wouldn't have given his youngest a pair of lethal weapons if he didn't trust him completely. The little turtle may have been the last to convince him that he was developed enough to handle real weapons, but convince him he did, and Splinter could not have been more proud.

He retracted the blade and chain before handing the nunchuck back to his son. "These nunchakus were a gift from my great-uncle when I was exactly your age. I ask that you take very good care of them. Can you do that for me?"

Michelangelo's response was a vigorous nod right before he leapt up and threw his arms as wide around his father's waist as they would go.

Splinter released an amused puff of air and hugged his son back. He patted the little turtle's shell, relishing in his minute size for as long as he could. It seemed like only yesterday he was feeding the freckled child from a bottle and now he was receiving his first pair of—as Michelangelo so called them—"big boy weapons."

Time was not a patient friend. But in moments such as these, it was forgiving.

When the old rat and his youngest son broke apart, the turtle held his nunchucks down by his sides and bowed.

"Arigato gozimasu, Sensei."

Splinter bowed his head in return. "You are very welcome, my son."

Then Splinter stood and ushered Michelangelo toward the archway where he took off at running speed and trampled down the steps, rounding the corner with flailing nunchucks by the time Splinter opened the divider again.

"Look it! Look it!" he said, swinging his new weapons for his brothers to see.

The other three sat up with widened eyes, awing over the wooden handles and chains as though they'd never seen such a thing in their lifetime. Leonardo stared in utter awe. Donatello's curiosity seemed to consume his every thought. And Raphael had an expression of confusion.

The father smiled then turned his eyes on the son he wished to speak to next.

"Donatello."

The turtle's brown eyes snapped up. He bit his bottom lip then slid slowly off of the bench and carefully picked his way toward the dojo as his brothers followed him with their eyes, Michelangelo with a bright smile and a wave.

This time, Splinter had to wait in front of the tree while the child wandered his way into the room with his hands wringing in front of his plastron, eyes distracted and shifting, probably looking for any hint he could find as to what his weapon would be. He seemed more nervous than excited, which Splinter found unsurprising.

Watching Donatello test the multitude of weapons in their arsenal the week before had been rather interesting. Unlike his brothers, who had immediately begun swinging things around, Donatello had elected to examine each weapon with a calculating gaze, weighing it in his hands, testing its durability, flicking and prodding to see what it was made of. He had seemed intimidated by the majority of them and was most reluctant to test them the way Splinter had asked. The sensei had devoted the longest amount of time to choosing Donatello's weapon, but what he had decided, he knew, the young ninja would excel in greatly.

He was patient as Donatello hovered around the dojo before finally deciding he was ready and kneeling slowly before his sensei with his hands clasped in his lap. His brown eyes stared up at the rat with a tiny crease between them. Splinter gave him a smile.

"Donatello, as I told Michelangelo, I am very proud to graduate you from your final kyu and onto your first dan. You have shown great improvement in your physical training and have surpassed all entry-level instruction in taijutsu. Your uniqueness in combat is deeply rooted in your extraordinary mind. You are analytical, patient, and strategic, all very useful rationalities when it comes to outsmarting one's enemies. And you have often proven that you need nothing more than a moment to think to make fantastic things happen."

He paused for a moment, letting this sink in for the six-year-old prodigy, to relax him with some confidence. Donatello blushed and dragged in a deep breath that he let out slowly. Splinter gave him an encouraging nod.

"I meditated very long over what weapon would best suit your abilities. And I have come to the conclusion that the complexities of your intellect would pair very well with something extremely simple."

Donatello furrowed his brow and watched in silence as Splinter walked over to the weapons' wall and lifted a bō staff off of its resting place. He brought it over to his son, knelt, and presented it to him with open hands.

The turtle gazed at it still with a crease on his brow, eyes running along the length of the wood. He considered it for a long while with his hands in his lap, taking his time to understand its presence before he finally reached up and gingerly took the weapon out of his father's hands.

When he looked up, it was with a small frown. "Isn't it just a stick?" he asked.

Splinter smiled. "It is a staff, Donatello, the most traditional of all weapons. It holds great historical value. Paired with empty-hand movements, it is used as an extension of the body, not to distract an opponent with fancy metals and accessories, but to enhance the user's natural abilities."

Donatello's shoulders sagged. "But…" His eyes glanced off to the side as he shrank a little into his shell. "I'm not a good fighter," he mumbled.

Splinter took in a patient breath and continued to smile. "Being a good fighter is not always about being physically superior, my son. Your natural abilities come from here." He touched a finger to the turtle's forehead, drawing his eyes back up. "Strategy, patience, and analysis. Think of this bō as a funnel to channel what's in here to what's out here." He took his finger away and gestured across the space between them. "An extension."

The confusion in Donatello's eyes seemed to gradually dissipate as he thought about this. He nodded to himself, but then pinched his lips as he thought some more. His eyes glanced toward the dividers separating him from his brothers and another frown tugged on his lips, this time a little deeper. He hugged the weapon to his chest and looked at the ground before his knees.

"But…" He sighed, body sinking. "They're going to laugh at me."

It was hard to hide the grimace that snatched Splinter's expression for a moment. The thought had not occurred to him, but he supposed his son was probably right. As much as he knew the other three loved their brother, Donatello was a bit different and therefore often susceptible to teasing. They meant it with affection, but they simply did not understand that the young genius worked on a very distinct mental plane.

Splinter thought for a moment, then reached over to pick up his jade staff. He held it out before his son.

"Do you know what this is, Donatello?"

The turtle looked at it then glanced up with confusion. "It's your walking stick, Sensei."

Splinter smiled. "I use it as such sometimes, yes. But I can assure you I am not yet old enough to require assistance with walking. While I have been trained and excelled in the use of every weapon for teaching purposes, I also have a favored weapon that I hold close to me. This is it."

The turtle scrunched up his nose. "That's your weapon? But I've never seen you use it."

"I have not had to—thankfully. But yes, this is the weapon I choose to fight with because it best accentuates my abilities. And while it may be slightly different than yours, it is, in all respect, simply a staff."

Donatello looked between his staff and Splinter's, gaging their differences and similarities with a tilt to his head.

"Your brothers do not laugh at me for having this, now do they?"

Donatello shook his head.

Splinter leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Would you like to know the best part?"

The turtle stared with round eyes.

Splinter placed one hand at the base of his staff and the other at the head. He gave it a swift tug and unsheathed the jaded blade inside. Donatello's jaw dropped.

"Whoa!"

"You see?" Splinter said, smiling. He sheathed his sword then laid his staff back beside him before reaching out a hand. "May I?"

Donatello handed over his bō staff and watched studiously as Splinter pointed the end away and squeezed the side. A blade popped out of the head of the staff, bringing out an audible gasp from the small turtle.

"Now, my son, can you tell me what this is?"

"A naginata!"

"Yes." Splinter bowed his head. "Once you have shown improvement in the discipline of bōjutsu, I would like to extend your training in naginatajutsu."

"Hai, Sensei," Donatello said, now with more enthusiasm as he eagerly took back his staff.

"It is a very suitable weapon for you, Donatello. Unassuming, but with a powerful surprise inside, just like you."

Donatello now graced his father with a wide, gap-toothed grin. He stood and held the staff close to his chest as he bowed. "Arigato gozimasu, Sensei."

"You are very welcome, Donatello."

Like Michelangelo, Donatello rushed from the room and down the stone steps, careful not to drag the end of his staff along the way. While he seemed content, he did not boast of his weapon the way Michelangelo did, but rather held it close to him and resumed his spot on the bench as his brothers raised eye ridges at him. While Michelangelo was still too absorbed in swinging around his nunchucks to comment, Raphael furrowed his brow.

"Donnie, where's your weapon?"

"Raphael," Splinter called.

The little green-eyed turtle turned his attention on his sensei and hopped down from the bench when Splinter motioned that it was his turn.

Raphael did not rush into the room with excitement like Michelangelo, nor did he timidly drag his feet like Donatello. His approach instead was to march into the room and meet Splinter at the base of the tree. He did not kneel but looked up at his father as though he thought himself much taller than he actually was.

"Sensei, is my weapon gonna be something stupid?"

Splinter raised an eyebrow, but knelt calmly and gestured for Raphael to do the same. "There is no such thing as a 'stupid' weapon, Raphael. And I implore you not to use such language."

The child knelt, but still squared his shoulders in a dominant way, though, by no means was this new for him.

"Why did you give Donnie a stick?"

"It is a bō staff, Raphael, and I can assure you, Donatello will learn to use it wisely. But we are not here to talk about your brothers. Shall I put off your graduation for your attitude or are you ready?"

Raphael blinked and immediately shifted his demeanor to one that was more submissive. He placed his hands in his lap and dropped his shoulders back. Splinter nodded his approval.

"Raphael, I am very proud to graduate you from your final kyu and onto your first dan. You have shown particularly great skill in your physical training and were the first of your brothers to surpass all entry-level instruction in taijutsu. In combat, your strength is in your courage and your fervor. Physically, you are very strong and you show your opponents no fear, this is a very useful gift to have in close combat fighting. You are most comfortable on offense and have incredible potential as a warrior. Therefore…"

Splinter stood, walked over to the wall and plucked Raphael's weapons from their hooks. Raphael gasped with wide eyes as the light glinted off of the silver tines.

The rat master knelt down again. "Your weapons shall be the sai."

Raphael seemed to have forgotten Splinter's presence when he took the pair of sai from his father's hands, holding them up to the light in admiration, already practicing his grip with confidence, though thankfully he didn't swing them around the way Michelangelo did his nunchucks.

"We will focus your training in kenjutsu, but it will require integrating techniques from your lessons in unarmed combat."

"These are so cool!"

Splinter smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Not stupid?"

Raphael blinked back at his sensei as though just remembering where he was. He shook his head vigorously and bowed low to the floor. "No, Sensei, not stupid at all."

"Are you sure?"

Raphael nodded as he came up, clutching the sai close to him as though afraid Splinter might take them away. "Yes, I love them."

Splinter nodded once. "Very good."

"What's Leo gonna get?"

"That is for Leonardo to find out first, Raphael."

The turtle pursed his lips to the side and glanced toward the wall. "Is his gonna be cooler than mine?"

"Raphael. Should I take your weapons back?"

Raphael jumped to his feet and stepped well out of the way. "No, Sensei." He bowed quickly. "Arigato gozimasu."

Splinter bowed his head with a silent chuckle. "You are welcome, Raphael."

The little reptile turned to scamper off and was already at the archway when Splinter got to his feet. "Raphael."

The child stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

"Those are not toys. I will not hesitate to confiscate them if your brothers should come to me saying you have used them improperly. They are lethal weapons and can be very dangerous. They are not to be used for poking Michelangelo."

Raphael's eyes fluttered guiltily, and he gave another half bow. "Hai, Sensei."

Splinter nodded him on, and by the time the great rat shifted back the divider for the fourth and final time, Raphael was perching himself between his younger brothers again, a conspicuous smirk staining the corner of his lips as Michelangelo ogled over the shine of Raph's new sai. Donatello too gazed fixedly at them from the corner of his eyes. Only Leonardo stared ahead of him, still rigidly holding his breath with his elbows straight.

Splinter looked to the oldest and smiled. He only had to nod once and Leonardo obediently slid down from the bench and strode as calmly as was possible for him around the corner and into the dojo. He too met Splinter at the tree no sooner and no later than the rat arrived there himself. Leonardo was the only one of his brothers to kneel with the manner of knowing why he knelt and bowed deeply as Splinter knelt before him.

This was precisely the reason he had decided Leonardo would go last.

The rat smiled down at his son, reveling in the moment for a brief second. Leonardo was so serious, with an expression that was almost pinched, but Splinter could tell the turtle was doing his utmost to appear composed and mature. Though he did not squeal and bounce around like Michelangelo, Splinter knew Leonardo had probably been the most anticipant of all his sons for this day. This anticipation was so great, in fact, that he couldn't function as gracefully as he normally would and for this Splinter allowed himself a chuckle.

"You may relax, Leonardo."

Leo's blue eyes blinked between thoughts of uncertainty, but after analyzing his father's smile, his shoulders finally eased away from his neck and he exhaled through parted lips.

Splinter nodded his approval, and Leonardo's gaze acquired the spark of eagerness he'd been hiding.

"Leonardo, I am most proud to graduate you from your final kyu and onto your first dan. You have trained very hard, not only physically, but mentally and spiritually as well. You show our craft as ninja great respect and honor it well, and it gives me great joy to watch your progress flourish every day. You have surpassed all entry-level instruction in taijutsu, and you have done so by great example to your brothers. Your strength in combat comes from your innate focus and well-rounded abilities. You are extremely versatile, studious, and obedient, and I thank you greatly for that."

Splinter bowed his head, and the little turtle bowed in return.

It was most confusing of all watching Leonardo grow. While Splinter enjoyed gracious moments of frozen time with Michelangelo who took his time growing out of childhood, it seemed that Leonardo was only too eager to leave youth behind. True, he could not escape it entirely, for it was only in his nature to be young at the moment. But he enveloped himself so deeply in ninjutsu and his father's instructions that his obedience and thirst for perfection made him seem years older than he truly was. It instilled in Splinter a nauseating blend of pride and sadness. He wished he could tell his son to stay young as long as he could, but it was not in Leonardo's nature to avoid growth.

It had taken Splinter no time at all to pick Leonardo's weapon. In fact, he'd known long before the rest of his sons, long before the trial week, long before Leonardo had even mastered his first kata. Simply the way he moved, the way he listened, the way he voluntarily took charge and responsibility of his brothers, gave Splinter all he needed to know to pick the perfect weapon for Leonardo.

While it may have taken the blue-eyed turtle a little longer than Raphael to excel physically, he did so with patience, making sure every movement of his body was made with precision in form. While intellectually he may not be as frighteningly developed as Donatello, he was no less sharp in the mind and just as strategic. And while spiritual awareness came much more naturally to Michelangelo, Leonardo was particularly gifted at understanding the meaning behind spiritual connection and putting it into practice through meditation. He was the most balanced of all Splinter's sons, and—Splinter knew with unfailing certainty—would one day make an incredible leader.

With pride inflated like a balloon in his stomach, Splinter sighed to himself, aware now that he could no longer drag out the moment. He stood, crossed to the weapons' wall, and very carefully brought down one of the swords given to him by his father just before his passing.

Splinter walked back to his son, kneeled, and presented the katana before him.

Leonardo's eyes widened on the blade, his jaw finally coming loose as he looked back up at his sensei as though to make sure this was indeed Splinter's choice. The great rat nodded, and Leonardo's smile melted away any sadness in Splinter's chest.

Leonardo took the sword into his hands as though it was something extremely delicate, as though he couldn't be careful enough, and yet he was not at all afraid of it, not at all hesitant.

"Leonardo, I would like to focus your training in kenjutsu. We will train first with one katana, and once you have mastered this, we will add its brother." Splinter nodded to the wall where the second sword rested and Leonardo's eyes followed, mystified.

"These swords are one of the two sets given to me by my father, who was given them by his father, and so on. They were meant to be shared by myself and my oldest son. The other set, I keep in that case over there." He pointed to a wooden box tucked on the bottom shelf of the shrine to his late family. "They are very precious to our clan and the most respectable weapons I have to offer. They will certainly shine in your care."

Leonardo's eyes glistened when he looked back up at his father, his smile taut from the effort it took not to cry with joy. He held the katana up at eye level and bowed his head beneath it in gratitude, and it was all the rat had just to breathe in.

Leonardo stood, expertly held his new weapon to his side and bowed again. "Arigato gozaimasu, Sensei."

"Kochirakoso arigatoo gozaimasu, Leonardo."

Splinter saw it once the turtle came up from his bow—glancing across his smile so quickly that the rat might have missed it were he not so enveloped in his son's grin. It was joy only a child could exude, the kind other children might get on a Christmas morning, or when they see the first snow falling from the sky, or in finally being free to run outside after being cooped up indoors. He saw the happiness of a six-year-old little boy, and it certainly relieved him so to stand up after Leonardo and watch over the waterway as he rejoined his brothers and they all swooned over his sword.

Michelangelo just barely poked the tip of the blade with his finger and gave a jittery dance. "It's so sharp!"

Raphael, clearly astonished, peered at his reflection, his nose barely an inch from touching the steel. He gave a huff and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, it's cool. I bet I could beat you in two seconds though."

Donatello didn't comment, but his expression said he was impressed nonetheless.

"Splinter said I get another one when I'm done practicing with the first," Leonardo said, shifting the katana carefully around to point it readily into the distance, his hand placements nearly perfect already.

"Wow," Michelangelo sighed.

"Good, then the fight'll be fair."

Leonardo responded with something rather snarky, but Splinter paid it no mind. He simply smiled upon the scene, glowing with pride over his four boys. They would never know how much he enjoyed being their father, not because he wouldn't tell them, but because there were some things that simply could not be explained with words. But, he supposed, that was fine. As long as they stayed this way, as long as he could forever look upon them like this and have a moment to appreciate how much joy they brought him. He'd certainly be okay with that.

Ten Years Later

He knelt before the tree with his fists on his thighs, staring past his blood-stained kneepads at the empty wooden case lying open before him.

Jaw set, he reached behind his shell and unsheathed the set of black katana his father was meant to wield with him. He picked up the cloth beside him and spent ten minutes cleaning and shining each sword before he carefully laid them in the cushion of their case.

He put a hand on the lid as though to close it, but stopped and stared for a moment at his reflection in the polished blades. The blue of his eyes was much less pronounced behind the black cloth shrouding them. They looked considerably duller in color, though he couldn't say for sure that was solely because of his mask.

He touched one of many cuts that had found its way onto his cheek. The blood was dry now and it no longer stung. In fact, he wasn't sure it ever had. Actually, he couldn't remember at what point the scratch had made it there on his skin at all.

He took his hand away and closed the lid on the case, then gathered the box up in his arms and stood. He carried it across the dojo to the shrine and carefully slid it back into place on the bottom shelf. After straightening out of a squat, he bowed before the shrine with his palms pressed together and his eyes closed.

A ripple of emotion crackled like electricity in his veins and he squeezed his eyes tighter against the burn behind his eyelids. He swallowed past the knot in his throat and took a breath, lowering deeper into his bow as he exhaled.

"It's done, Father," he said quietly. "Oroku Saki's dead."

His body shook and he squeezed his hands together, interlocking his fingers in the hopes that the pressure might stave off all feeling…It didn't. The knot rose, pushing past his Adam's apple and the tears came out anyway. He opened his eyes and they fell freely down his blood-smeared cheeks, dropping off of his chin to the rugs beneath his feet.

Splinter stared back at him with a wise smile, towering over his four six-year-old sons behind a dusty picture frame. His arms were crossed, modeling his children who did their best to copy his pose and look just as tall, just as powerful, just as invincible. He looked happy, frozen in that little moment of time—happy to be a rat, happy to be a sensei, happy to be a father of four rambunctious turtles…happy to be alive.

Leonardo grimaced and pressed his lips against a moan that threatened to escape. He closed his eyes again, this time tilting his head back to let the tears fall down his temples, crying silently as his shoulders hiccuped with the effort it took not to let his pain be heard. The emptiness in his ribcage sucked everything in like a black hole, leaving behind a void that hurt more than anything that had ever hurt before. Bones he'd broken plenty of times, cuts he'd had stitched up again and again, he'd stepped on nails and broken glass, had nearly lost an arm to a storm drain before, he'd had his shell cracked and carved into, knocked loose and nearly ripped off his back, he'd been in a three-month coma, and still absolutely nothing compared to this.

He looked up at the ceiling now, half imagining that his father was watching him right now, half hoping he'd do some spiritual weirdness and appear again like he had before. But the room remained empty, and Leonardo clenched his fists by his sides, trying his hardest to stay strong.

His breath was broken when he inhaled. "Y-you can rest—in peace now." A sob finally escaped him and he put his face in his hands. "I'm sorry."

He slowly lowered himself back onto his knees and touched his forehead to the floor. "Arigato gozaimasu, Sensei."