The panicked man's gaze bounced around the dim tavern before finally fixing on the hand Aren had resting on the bar.
More precisely, on the sword leaning against the counter.
The white scabbard glimmered faintly under the oil lamp. The sharkskin wrapping on the hilt, pure and pale, stood out sharply in the smoky air of the tavern.
"A white lacquer tachi scabbard... Wado Ichimonji?"
It was as if someone had grabbed his throat. His voice shot upward, cracking as his trembling finger pointed straight at Aren.
"I... it is him! That outsider brat who beat Kuina! The sword on his waist is Master Koushirou's family treasure!"
That shout froze the entire tavern in an instant.
The drinkers who had been waiting to laugh at this kid all stopped what they were doing.
A dozen pairs of eyes turned in unison, flicking back and forth between Aren's still slightly childish face and the famed blade at his hip.
Kuina lost? To this brat who still looked like he had not even weaned?
The air held still for a few seconds, then came the sound of breaths sucking in all around.
...
Aren ignored the stares at his back, so intense they felt like they might burn straight through him.
He only sighed.
Being known was such a hassle.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a few coins, and lined them up on the scratched wooden counter with a clear clink.
"Keep the change."
He picked up the full wine flask and, in the same motion, scooped up Wado Ichimonji from where it leaned against the bar.
The moment his fingers closed around the scabbard, the burly men who had been whispering shut up and instinctively drew back a step.
Even sheathed, that sword now carried weight. In a village that worshiped strength, the feat of defeating Kuina had already become its own kind of authority.
The crowd parted on its own, opening a path.
Aren walked through them, pushed open the battered wooden door, and stepped back into the night.
Only after his small, thin back had faded completely at the end of the street did the tavern erupt into noisy chaos again.
...
By the time Aren returned to Isshin Dojo, the moon was already hanging above the treetops.
He had barely stepped through the gate when a dark shape shot out from the bushes to the side.
"Aren, you are finally back!"
Zoro's voice split the quiet courtyard like a shout in an empty hall.
He was covered in dirt and blades of grass, who knew how long he had been squatting there. His trademark moss-green hair looked almost glossy in the moonlight. There was no sign at all that he had been crushed earlier that day.
"I knew you would come back to sleep!" Zoro rushed up, eyes shining almost frighteningly bright. "Hey, are you going into the mountain again tomorrow? Take me with you. I want to learn that sword that cuts everything. Or we can fight right now. This time I will definitely see your movements clearly."
Aren stared at the ball of relentless energy in front of him and felt his temples start to throb.
The alcohol he had just drunk was spreading a pleasant warmth through his stomach. All he wanted was to fall over and sleep, not babysit a battle maniac.
"I do not have time. I do not want to fight. And I am not going to teach you."
He said it very plainly. Then he turned his foot to walk around Zoro.
"Shut up and take this!"
Zoro clearly had no idea what the words give up meant. He shouted, and the bamboo sword in his hands whistled through the air, striking straight for Aren's face.
This strike was stronger than the ones from daytime, carrying a reckless, all or nothing resolve.
In Aren's eyes, it was still slow.
He only tilted his head slightly and the bamboo sword swept past his ear.
Right after, he brought up his free right hand and gave a push forward.
It landed precisely on Zoro's chest at the moment when his old strength had spent itself and new strength had yet to rise.
Bang.