🏙 Rest day in Tokushima City 🌃

📍 Komatsushima, Tokushima

“The enemy,” Hitoshi said, “is in my heart.” His sword was in his indigo-dyed hands, and its blade slicing through the air was the only sound in the empty hall he fought in, bar the rustle of his dark kimono. A sentry on an escape pod, jettisoned by its mothership centuries ago, he has been the highest ranked practicioner of iaidō in Tokushima since his master’s death. He gave me a spare mekugi, the bamboo pin which anchors the blade to its handle. “It’s such a small and insignificant thing,” he said, “but it holds everything together.”