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... s hut, Nozomu was alone, swinging his katana in frustration.

It was his habitual act of escapism. Furthermore, the way he was doing it was so ugly and poor that it could not be compared to his usual style.

His movements were sloppy. If his master were to see it, he would be thrown away with a shout of rage.

He himself was aware of his own hideous behavior, but he still couldn't stop it.

The rage that welled up inside him. The anger that kept swirling deep in his c ...

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