Early the next morning, as sunlight streamed through the paper screens of his family's traditional dojo, Angelo stepped onto the polished wooden floorboards.
While the other guardians pursued their own preparation, Angelo sought out a master close to home: his father, Vittorio. Though known to locals as a warm restaurant owner, Vittorio was secretly a retired master swordsman of the old underworld, and he had agreed to pass down his martial legacy to prepare his son for the storm brewing with the Diablero family.
They began with the core fundamentals. Vittorio guided Angelo through traditional stances and sweeping blade angles, watching carefully as Angelo channeled the fluid, shifting energy of his katana. Being a natural athlete, Angelo picked up the forms quickly, his swings cutting through the quiet morning air with sharp precision.
However, as they transitioned into rapid sparring sequences, Vittorio called a sudden halt, tapping his wooden practice sword against the floor.
"Your upper body is sharp, Angelo, but your footwork is heavy," Vittorio noted, demonstrating a swift, weightless pivot across the polished floor. "You are moving like a brawler instead of a swordsman. You must be lighter on your feet."
Angelo reset his stance and attempted the sequence again, but his boots struck the wood with heavy, awkward thuds.
Vittorio shook his head, holding up a hand. "You're fighting your own body, son. You are too tense, bracing for impact before the strike even arrives. Relax your shoulders and let the movement flow naturally."
Angelo wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his hands tightening around his hilt in mild frustration. "It feels unnatural trying to force it, Dad. What if I can't sync the footwork in time for the siege?"
Vittorio stepped forward, dropping his wooden blade to his side and placing a firm, reassuring hand on his son's shoulder. "You can do this, Angelo," he said, his voice grounded and steady. "The Rain Guardian's strength lies in adaptability—like water shaping itself to any vessel. Stop overthinking the steps. Trust your instincts and keep practicing."
Taking a deep breath, Angelo let out the tension locked in his shoulders and let his posture settle.
Over the days that followed, the dojo echoed with the endless rhythm of striking wood and shifting soles. Day by day, Angelo's rigid steps transformed into effortless, gliding movements. His footwork synchronized seamlessly with his blade work, allowing him to shift direction in a heartbeat while maintaining perfect balance.
By the end of their final session, Vittorio stood back, watching his son execute a flawless, high-speed defense combination before bringing his blade to a smooth, silent halt.
A rare, proud smile broke across the veteran swordsman's face. "You've mastered it, son," Vittorio said, offering a respectful bow. "You are more than ready for the battle ahead."
Angelo bowed in return, a swell of quiet pride washing over him. "Thank you, Dad. I'll make sure the Luciano family name—and yours—is protected out there."