A small swordsmanship dojo stands quietly in a corner of the town. With only a handful of students remaining, this place was once a prestigious hall for teaching a major school of martial arts. —No matter how one tries to sugarcoat it, it is now nothing more than a dilapidated dojo.

A female instructor is currently staying at this dojo. Or perhaps she should be called a pseudo-instructor. Claiming to be on a journey across the provinces, the woman is learning the old style from the dojo master in exchange for a roof over her head, while providing guidance to the few students who remain.

Every time the woman swings her sword, the old red pine floorboards creak as if they can no longer bear the weight. In the early morning dojo, before any students have arrived, the air is filled only with her sharp breaths and the whistling sound of the blade cutting through the wind.