It was quiet in the temple.
Save for one monk in the main room of the temple, there was no one else around. The late hour guaranteed the rest of the temple body, the brothers, were in their rooms finishing their evening meditations and the worshipers all gone home to commit new sins for which they would have to return by the light of day to confess and absolve themselves of.
No, the one person in the entirety of the temple at that late, midnight hour was the one person who needed to be there more than most.
And for once, he was happy to do it.
In the quiet of that late, dark hour, Tats stood in the middle of the highly polished wood floor before the altar, head down, eyes closed, hands clasped together around the hilt of a sword that, unsheathed, faced point down; its cold steel warmed by the golden glow of the silent candles that surrounded him.
Tatsuha Uesugi, also known as the Kyoto Terror and the scourge of innocent virgins everywhere was nowhere to be seen. In his stead, stood a quiet, meditative young man who, in the silence and aloneness, reached out with his senses and his feelings as taught by years of religious training.
Tats stood silently for several long minutes as his breathing adjusted to his state. Slow in...slow out...deep in...deep out...on and on til his mind, his spirit and then, as he raised his arms with the gleaming sword above his head, his body all became one.
Without real thought, Tats began a series of swiping movements with the sword, using it as an extension of his body. Around and around he whipped it through a series of meditative katas. Back and forth, around and around, had there been an observer, it would have looked a lot like Tatsuha was dancing some sort of precision, carefully choreographed routine. He moved around the floor of that silent altar, dispatching enemies of air and quiet, the sword making faint whistling sounds as it moved with Tatsuha.
The more Tatsuha moved, the faster his movements became, until finally, he took one violent swipe with the sword and brought it down with a harsh precise cut through the air to land a hair above the highly polished wooden altar.
His energy at a peak, flushed with perspiration, Tatsuha brought both his mind and body to a sudden halt and through that trained breathing uttered his one prayer, releasing all that built energy in a single direct thrust.
Exhausted, but in a good way, Tats bowed to the altar and one by one extinguished the candles with the brass bell-shaped snuffer. And as each flame went out, leaving in its wake a tiny snake of air-borne smoke, Tatsuha uttered that name again and again.
When he was done, he bowed once more to the altar, sheathed his sword and exited the temple room.
Closing the door behind him, Tats, still in his robes, smiled that crooked Big Daddy smile, hopped into his Porsche that his big brother Eiri had bought him. Tats took off in a horse-powered purr toward the bright lights of Tokyo and all the sinfully delicious delights they contained.
All the way home, Tats planned for all the sinfully delicious delights that he could commit with Ryu should they ever meet in person, so that next week, he could come home and confess them all.