c6: Basic Kenjutsu—Steadily Advancing
At night, under the clear starlit sky.
In the small training ground adjacent to Konoha Hospital, Yakumo gripped the short blade he'd purchased from the blacksmith's shop in the merchant district earlier that evening. He stood barefoot on the cool earth, attempting to mimic Hatake Kakashi's movements like a fledgling cub mimicking a tiger crude, but persistent.
The twenty-four kenjutsu forms Yakumo had observed could be roughly grouped into six fundamental types: tsuki (thrust), kiri (slash), sukui (pick), kirioroshi (cleave), wari (split), and yokoichi (horizontal cut). Among these, his attempts at slashing and picking looked especially awkward compared to Kakashi's seamless, flowing transitions.
Kakashi's style leaned toward swiftness and surgical precision. His weapon of choice a lightweight, short chakra steel blade akin to the tantō used by ANBU prioritized fluid kill strokes over brute-force blocking or wide-arc cleaving. His kenjutsu emphasized intent and rhythm more than brute strength or flamboyant flourishes.
Even though Yakumo grasped the conceptual basis, translating it into execution was a different matter. Kakashi's subtle adjustments in angle, grip, and stance were imperceptible to the untrained eye. Without proper instruction, mimicking him was like tracing a shadow cast by wind.
"No, don't rush it," Yakumo muttered under his breath. "I still have six more days to meet the task goal…"
The next day at noon, Yakumo shifted focus. From the ninja library near the Hokage's Tower, he borrowed three books: Introduction to the Basics of Swordsmanship, Practical Use of Short Blades, and A Discourse on Shinobi Kenjutsu. For now, he set aside his study of Basic Medical Knowledge, fully committing himself to kenjutsu.
That afternoon, he resumed his place near the Academy training grounds, pretending to study while secretly watching Kakashi's solo blade training. The young prodigy's form was faster today sharper. Yakumo watched carefully, noting micro-adjustments in Kakashi's footwork and how his blade followed his gaze, not the other way around.
Unexpectedly, Hiratani Yuanchu didn't bother him that day. Perhaps it was because Keisuke Shimizu had publicly scolded him in front of the class for not submitting homework, ejecting him from the homeroom circle. Whatever the cause, Yakumo quietly appreciated the reprieve.
That night, Yakumo returned to the secluded hospital training grounds and worked through the core drills outlined in Introduction to the Basics of Swordsmanship: vertical slashes, upward cuts, direct thrusts, rising blocks, advancing slashes, retreating sweeps, lunging stabs, and horizontal arcs.
The book's metaphor resonated with him: learning kenjutsu was like constructing a multistoried building. Without a sturdy foundation, anything above would collapse under its own weight. If Kakashi's swordsmanship stood on the metaphorical third floor, Yakumo, lacking a proper base, would produce nothing but awkward imitations an unbalanced tower built on sand.
In the darkness, he practiced the eight foundational forms over and over, his breathing measured, his grip firm. The shirt on his back clung to his skin with sweat. His arms grew heavier with every swing, yet he pressed on.
"Haah…"
Ragged breaths escaped his lips as he slowed. His shoulders burned, his lower back ached, and even his stance began to falter. Still, he pushed forward, teeth clenched.
The text had advised synchronizing breathing with movement. Inhale through the nose as the blade rises, exhale with force during the slash. It helped preserve stamina and prevented overexertion. A principle simple in theory but grueling in execution.
With each passing minute, it became harder to keep the rhythm. Eventually, he lost it. After completing a particularly clean downward strike, he sheathed the blade, sank cross-legged onto the earth, and drew in slow, steady breaths to recover.
With closed eyes, he focused on the blade resting across his lap—its weight, its balance, its subtle hum. One passage from the book floated into his mind: A blade is not an external tool. It is your limb, your voice in combat. Until you understand this, you will always swing too hard, or too soft.
Fifteen minutes passed. He wiped his brow, drank a full glass of chilled water from his flask, then stood.
No shortcuts. No skipping steps.
He resumed his practice, slashing with intention sharpening muscle memory one cut at a time.
He was serious about this task.
As someone once hailed as the "Emperor of Grinding," Yakumo had, in his past life, pushed himself to inhuman limits. At the end of that path of relentless effort, he had created countless records, but this obsession with completing every task this near-manic compulsion ultimately drove him to sudden collapse and death.
Once... twice... thrice.
Each time, he pushed past exhaustion, only to collapse again when he reached the edge of his physical limits.
And yet, after brief moments of rest, he would drag his battered body to its feet once more. His youthful eyes gradually hardened with resolve, flickering with the same obsessive glint that had once defined his past life.
The following morning, he rose with a body sore beyond belief and began another punishing run through the Hidden Leaf Village's winding back roads. Despite the burning in his legs and the ache in his spine, the warm glow of the system notification after submitting his daily mission helped dull the pain. The familiar sensation made the agony feel almost like joy.
By Wednesday evening, Yakumo stood again at his usual spot in the hospital's deserted training field. As always, he practiced the basic eight sword forms. Two full days and over eight hours of consistent training had left him with a noticeable improvement in fluidity and sharpness.
The gentle night breeze rustled the tall weeds surrounding the training ground, evaporating the sweat that clung to Yakumo's skin. In this quiet, forgotten corner of the village, a determined boy forged his own legend swing by swing.
June 10, Thursday, Night Training Course
Tonight, Yakumo didn't begin training immediately. Instead, he accessed the skill panel he hadn't reviewed in days.
〖Personal Skills〗
Active: Water Release: Water Bullet Technique — 50/100 "Accelerate"
Basic Kenjutsu Fundamentals — 60/100 "Accelerate"
Gold Coins: 400
With a thought, he focused on the glowing word "Accelerate" beside Basic Kenjutsu. Without hesitation, he activated the function four times in rapid succession. In the blink of an eye, his 400 gold coins vanished.
"Wish you joyful progress. May your training bring happiness."
Suddenly, vivid memories surged into his mind muscle patterns, subtle shifts in balance, the exact tempo of each movement. The sheer volume of information overwhelmed his senses, freezing him in place. When he finally regained clarity and touched the hilt of his training blade, it felt as if he had wielded it for years.
The skill interface updated. The entry-level tag for Basic Kenjutsu shimmered, faded, and was replaced by a new designation.
Active: Basic Kenjutsu (Skilled) — 0/200 "Accelerate"
Something inside him had broken through. His mental and physical state both surged upward. Opening the main status screen, Yakumo's eyes widened.
〖Personal Panel〗
Name: Yakumo Well
Age: 7
Constitution: 4.8 → 5.2 (stamina, resistance, recovery)
Strength: 3.5 → 3.9 (load, attack)
Agility: 4.0 (neural response, speed)
Intelligence: 4.3 (learning, genjutsu resistance)
Chakra: 6.2 (10 required to reach Genin level)
He blinked in amazement. The breakthrough in kenjutsu had granted him a bonus of +0.4 to both Constitution and Strength equivalent to more than two and a half days' worth of task rewards. A welcome surprise.
It seemed this gain came as a side benefit from mastering the skill not from the gold coin expenditure the day before, which had yielded no attribute increases.
After drinking several mouthfuls of cold water, Yakumo stood once more. This time, his practice was different. There was no awkwardness in his swings. The arc of his blade shimmered faintly in the moonlight, swift and sharp, with a beauty that hinted at lethality.
A withered yellow leaf drifted into the training field on the breeze.
Yakumo's focus sharpened. With both hands gripping the hilt, he slashed cleanly.
The blade sliced through the air with a crisp sound. The leaf was torn clean in two though not precisely. The cut edges were slightly frayed.
He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. Still not good enough.
Just yesterday, he had witnessed Hatake Kakashi effortlessly cleave a leaf in two mid-air. The cuts were surgically smooth clean splits with no fraying—leaving the rest of the leaf untouched. That was perfection. That was mastery.
To cut through armor, disable a shinobi in one stroke, or end a battle with one decisive strike… only a slash like that would do.
He was still far from that level.
Now came the most pressing question: how could he obtain Kakashi's actual kenjutsu? Watching wasn't enough. He needed the real thing tutelage, or at least a scroll.
But how?
The idea of giving up didn't even cross his mind.
Give up…?
That word doesn't exist in his world.
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