some deep quote about sparring, idk

Early that morning, Hattori waited for his son in the dojo, the tatami mats swept clean. There was a brief respite from the rain, quiet before it would soon start to fall again. Not that he tried that hard, but Hattori always wondered why anyone would want to leave this place, the sanctuary that it was. Still, it didn't matter, his son had returned and Jiro had not left just yet. There was time.

He exhaled as he turned to adjust the wooden training swords in the wrack. One had been put back slightly askew, laying more diagonally than horizontal. Exhaling, he moved to straighten the sword, slotting it in its correct place, where everything ought to be.