The oddity and marvelous unique nature of the sword had captivated Enma. He hadn't seen anything like it before. All his life, he had learned the history of the weapons employed by samurai and shinobi of the Arashi clan that his grandfather revered. Yet, this wondrous contraption was a completely new idea he had never thought of. The sword would be perfect for tearing through the toughest of armors, the silkiest of clothes and the toughest of skins.

The villain-cleansing it could do filled his heart with unusual excitement. Instead of excitement showing on his face, a hardened intensity would make it look as if he just had high blood pressure. "I promise, I will be careful if you let me hold it." When the person clarified that it was for show, it disappointed the swordsman. Sighing and slinking back, he looked at them with sad eyes. "Why do you have such a piece for show? It looks like it would be very useful...as an environmental tool."

Sure, environmental. Not cleaving the worst of humans that would have left their own stain on the world otherwise. Snapping out of the stupor that was admiring the weapon, the grim-looking Enma bowed in apology. "I do apologize for the abrupt intrusion. Arashi Enma, Second-Year, Department of Heroes." Awkwardly introducing himself as if he felt bad for skipping a necessary formality, he raised back and looked tense as ever.

junsuina

It was true that Enma spent a lot of time training outside of school hours. Away from everyone, in isolation and where he can free his mind. The bots behind him that were crushed were evidence that this was more than just body conditioning. There was the intent for him to be efficient and brutal behind his blows. Some might see it as anger management with machinery, but that would require not having the harsh sense of justice that Enma had.

"I have kept to myself well enough. Second-year and I've yet to make much of a name for myself. In pursuit of higher education, I prefer it that way." Nodding professionally, Enma adverted eye contact when he could as he had not expected the French transfer to suddenly meet the budding hero. "Deveraux-senpai, what subject will you be focused on?" Out of genuine curiosity, the swordsman pondered if the new teacher would be someone who could provide a new level of development he hadn't considered.

As Lawbringer asked about Enma's penchant for swordplay, it made him think on Raiju's relation to Papa Arashi, Enma's grandfather. It was a skill that had deep, rich history with their family. It might've skipped a generation, but it came naturally to the bitter student. Vengeance was seeped into every fiber of his body and would only ink upon the world through the brush that was Raiju. "Yes, I was raised by my grandfather. He taught me self-defense and how to wield the blade. I've been aspiring to be a hero since youth."

While his quirk existed all his life, giving fluttering images that sprouted from his imagination, he hadn't considered how equally second-nature wielding a katana had been. Clearing his throat after a bit of awkward silence that would pass, Enma would dart his eyes to the side and wondered if he was going to be allowed to continue. "So...Deveraux-senpai, may I continue my training?"

Lawbringer

Enma rarely liked using the school's supplies when he could take advantage of his forced employment with his father. It was also easy to justify not letting anyone intrude on his use as he wasn't holding up any publicly available machines. His exercise was outside of normal hours for students, but yet...he was still caught in the act of being in public. As he was packing up, someone had approached and was intent on not participating but watching him.

As someone who didn't like to be observed, Enma wanted to say no. In the spirit of manners, he looked at her with his typical "meh" demeanor and answered, "This is a pitching machine. You use it to condition yourself with batting. It's getting late and I was just packing up--" As he was attempting to let the girl down lightly, he jumped out of his skin as an absurd question followed. The chaos of the human brain was a type of darkness that Enma wished to never encounter.

This person was sent to terrorize him. "I...giraffes are real. Unicorns? Where do you see unicorns?" With intense confusion, Enma felt the impulse to start the pitching machine and run away. With better judgment, he did not, in fact, do that. Looking at the first girl, he gave an uneasy smile and improvised a way to not have to continue the latter girl's proposed...thoughts. "How about I demonstrate?"

There was a lot of darkness in Enma that didn't get released on a regular basis. As a second-year with his provisional license, he hasn't gone into the field much because of the insecurity that he hardly spoke of. The katana wielding student had often trained outside of the times people did to quietly strengthen himself. He didn't want popularity, he wanted action. He couldn't do that when he felt too weak to prevent something like what took family from him.

So he came to one of the facilities for physical training and setup the sparring bots. At first, it began as a calm and collected expression of physicality. He mixed in strikes from his own body while wielding Raiju to temper his ability to fight while keeping that extension of his on standby. The villain bots he used were likely a surprising difficulty level for a second-year, but his natural athleticism made him potent when combined with focused skills.

As he took down the bots, he would begin thinking. Enma's way of speaking was through the violence this training regimen called out of him. The weaker bots would be crushed by the haymakers and diving kicks as he maneuvered through the replicated city-scape. The more he fought, the more the tension came through his emotions. Eventually, there would be an unsuspecting surveyor that would catch him beating on one of the villain bots with the sheathed Raiju.

Blots of colorful energy emitted from his skin, which swirled with the gradient of Starry Night upon the surface of the blade. As he felt the severe damaging and denting of metal frame against the blunt of Raiju's sheath, Enma would feel a release of pent up, dark emotion. It's as if this was how he screamed about his failure to save his mother and how this villain bot was an augury of the real villains of the world.

Crushing the bot into pieces, he would give his voyeur a cold look. This was just his natural look, but his crimson eyes would be like two blood arrows filled with discomfort. "I didn't know I would have company." Plainly spoken, Enma would hesitate while digesting what he was told. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the long sleeve of his black athletic attire, he would hold Raiju with bridged fingers behind his back horizontally.

"Tensing at the finality of your strike maximizes strength. I try not to tense too early. Arashi, Enma. Nice to meet you, I presume you're the new teacher I've yet to meet?" While cordial as Enma was taught to respect authority figures, he was still very uncomfortable with being seen where he normally has privacy. While there was nuance to the tension of his blows, there was certain social anxiety in the tension of his speech.

Lawbringer

At first, Enma was not looking forward to the unplanned masking he'd have to attempt in an effort to not rub a fellow student the wrong way. However, Masao brought a pleasant surprise to him. When entering the room, he was fidgeting and rigid while she continued to show plans for something that would be a dream for him. Clutching the wrapped Raiju, his eyes widened and his cold face sharpened and elongated in expression. "Ando-san, I hadn't made the connection. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

With a respectful bow, he continued hearing the pitch for what was coming. She was part of a crucial resource to Hero society. As someone who wanted to become a hero, he looked into important players and was attracted to the weaponsmiths that could help maintain Raiju...or provide a new blade once its Journey was complete. "I'm no smith, but my family has provided their own weapons for generations...since the time of samurai. One must always remember: mind the integrity. A sword is nothing without it."

Nodding, he leaned forward and looked at the design as if he had forgotten Masao was next to him. Scanning it thoroughly, he checked for the different parts of the katana to make sure it came together just right. "Do you know what it means to make a katana?" Looking curiously over at Masao, he clutched Raiju tightly once more. With twitching expression, he shook his head and returned to a more matter-of-fact face. He recalled, momentarily, the advise of his grandfather but didn't want to lose his hard shell. "I think the design is fine, Ando-san."

Masao Ando

Thoonk

The pitching machine launched the first ball, shooting it directly towards Enma. In casual sporting wear, long-sleeved, he held a wooden bat and wore a helmet alongside everything. They were all provided by his father's business, which he begrudgingly took and used to great effect. When he was going to get dirty, he was going to ruin the clothes he was given for free. With the baseball zooming through the air towards him, he could approach striking it in one of two ways. To hone his eyes, he could miss over and over until he felt himself become more capable of seeing the ball or he could hone his instincts and take the cardio gains.

This was meant to be a practice, but hitting something was always a good way of taking one's mind off of deeper frustrations. Enma swung and launched the ball away, the thunderous crack of a spot-on strike from wood meeting leather ringing throughout the training grounds. He would repeat this a few times over until the machine depleted itself, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he hit ball after ball to distract himself from what was weighing on his shoulders.

It was his second year as a student and he still hadn't figured out how he wanted to put himself out there for heroes to find him. He had no friends, he was stuck working at his dad's store at the worst times, and a lot of agencies focused on marketing themselves. The ones that did pique his interest seemed too out of his league. So for the moment, he would repeat some drills and strike balls like the league he was looking for was baseball.

Enma had his provisional license, but has yet to make use of it. Being alone was not a good thing as an up-and-coming hero, even if he preferred not to have to interact with people he didn't really care about. Collecting the baseballs, he began packing up the machine and looked onward into the sunset. Using a rag to soak up any sweat, he exhaled as the judgmental tone of his father echoed in his thoughts.