3
Souma. Steel. Silence.
Tonyamia
The only sounds in the dojo are the steady drip of sweat striking the tatami and the whisper-thin hum of steel cleaving still air. Souma doesn't just hold the katana; he extends his center of gravity through it. Every muscle is locked in perfect tension, eyes fixed on a target that isn't even there. In this absolute silence, he sheds the persona of an idol. He simply becomes the blade.