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In the frozen heart of ancient Japan, steel screams against ice as rival warriors collide in a merciless hockey duel. Samurai, their sticks forged like ancestral blades, carve through the frost with disciplined fury—every slash a testament to honor, every strike echoing ...centuries of bushido. Across the rink, ninjas blur into phantoms, their footwork defying the ice’s grip as they weave between opponents like whispers in a storm. The arena trembles beneath the thunder of clashing armor and the hiss of blades biting into frozen ground. Spectators choke on the cold air, fists clenched as the score teeters on the edge of a dagger. A samurai captain charges, his war cry splitting the chaos, while a shadow-cloaked ninja launches a silent counterstrike—the puck a fleeting ghost between them. Breath hangs frozen. Time fractures. Victory waits, sharp and unclaimed, for the first blade to draw blood.
