"The morning feels different," Haria said as she stood by the window of Jinmu's room, watching the early sunlight filter through the paper screens. "Not just because of what happened last night. There's something in the air itself. Like the whole pavilion is holding its breath."
Jinmu sat on the edge of his bed, his mask still covering his face despite having slept little during the night. His fingers drummed restlessly against his knee, a nervous habit that Haria had never seen from him before. The usual calm that surrounded him like an invisible cloak had been replaced by something more volatile, more dangerous.
"It's the final match," he replied, but his voice lacked conviction. "Of course the atmosphere is different. Six competitors, one winner. The entire martial world is watching."
