[Ichigo isn't wrong. A right hand snatches the weapon from the air with ease, balancing its wooden weight—meager, flimsy, nothing as solid he would like but inevitable in a place so intent to make real weapons inaccessible—and readies his posture across from the other boy. He knows he is a formidable fighter, but they haven't actually squared off themselves, even in something as unserious as a practice swordfight.
Sasuke doesn't verbalize his agreement. He simply draws the blade between them, and he waits.
The Sharingan in his right eye remains dormant; the Rinnegan, unfortunately, is not an ability he can seal away for the sake of complicity to fair combat. So, though Ichigo has not discussed any rules, he closes that eye in an effort to handicap the predictive capabilities of his kekkei genkai. And then it is effortless to fall into bare essentials of kenjutsu and taijutsu together.
It is clear how Sasuke throws himself into the spar that he has been—starved, in a way, from this level of physical connection to someone else. He's trained on his own since the Netherworld, since those few days he could unleash his strength against Naruto before everything began to fall apart. And since then he's had nothing but himself, nothing but the limitations of dimensions set to turn his mind against him. His strikes are brutal against Ichigo, channeling frustration—less toward Ichigo himself than the emotional toll of the past few weeks. The past few months. He finds that Ichigo is incredibly powerful but lacks some of the polish in technique, speaking to less years of experience despite evident talent, and he leaves openings that are easy to extort. It's familiar.
By the end of it, Sasuke's shirt is drenched and he's stripped it off, tossed it aside. Ichigo is kneeling—it's clear who the established victor is, but he isn't going to do anything so showy as put a fake sword to the other boy's throat. The tension still shines in Sasuke's posture, but he does feel... more relaxed, somehow, than when he had first entered the room.]
no subject
Sasuke doesn't verbalize his agreement. He simply draws the blade between them, and he waits.
The Sharingan in his right eye remains dormant; the Rinnegan, unfortunately, is not an ability he can seal away for the sake of complicity to fair combat. So, though Ichigo has not discussed any rules, he closes that eye in an effort to handicap the predictive capabilities of his kekkei genkai. And then it is effortless to fall into bare essentials of kenjutsu and taijutsu together.
It is clear how Sasuke throws himself into the spar that he has been—starved, in a way, from this level of physical connection to someone else. He's trained on his own since the Netherworld, since those few days he could unleash his strength against Naruto before everything began to fall apart. And since then he's had nothing but himself, nothing but the limitations of dimensions set to turn his mind against him. His strikes are brutal against Ichigo, channeling frustration—less toward Ichigo himself than the emotional toll of the past few weeks. The past few months. He finds that Ichigo is incredibly powerful but lacks some of the polish in technique, speaking to less years of experience despite evident talent, and he leaves openings that are easy to extort. It's familiar.
By the end of it, Sasuke's shirt is drenched and he's stripped it off, tossed it aside. Ichigo is kneeling—it's clear who the established victor is, but he isn't going to do anything so showy as put a fake sword to the other boy's throat. The tension still shines in Sasuke's posture, but he does feel... more relaxed, somehow, than when he had first entered the room.]
So talk.