The courtyard was quiet under the early sun, the morning mist curling between rows of training dummies. Akio adjusted the grip on his Asauchi, the plain blade gleaming faintly in the soft light. Today was different. Ha and Mune — the flow of Reiryoku through the edge — would wait. Today, it was all about the body, the mechanics, the motion.
He had seen the Zanjutsu forms in the library, pages filled with brushstrokes depicting sequences of strikes, thrusts, parries, and draws. At first glance, they seemed elegant, almost effortless. But Akio knew better. The forms were an old discipline, a foundation beneath the energy of the blade. They demanded the body learn to move correctly, to anticipate weight and momentum, to strike and defend without thinking, before Reiatsu could even touch the edge.
As he unrolled the first scroll, Akio's eyes traced each diagram. The angles of the shoulders, the pivot of the feet, the positioning of the hands — all precise. Each motion was like a sentence, each sequence a paragraph of combat.
"These are different from about Ha and Mune," he murmured to himself. "Ha and Mune is learing about the flow — ways to channel Reiatsu through blade with precision. But the Zanjutsu forms, these are pure sword swinging technique."
He mimicked the first form. The wooden dummy in front of him was unmoved by his blade, though the swing made his arms ache. His stance wobbled, his footwork awkward, his shoulders tense. The sequence felt clumsy. None of the elegance depicted in the scroll came naturally.
Weeks of observation told him what brute repetition would not: trying to learn the forms as whole sequences was futile. His instincts rebelled, and the motions refused to link smoothly. He needed to strip them down.
He studied dozens of forms over the next days, scribbling notes, replaying each stroke in his mind. Slowly, patterns emerged. Four core movements could explain nearly every form:
Slash – the broad, weight-driven cuts that leveraged the entire body.
Stab – precise thrusts to break through defenses.
Parry – maneuvers to intercept or redirect an attack.
Drawing Slash – the seamless cut as the blade leaves the sheath, flowing naturally with motion.
With the distinction clear, Akio set a schedule. Mornings would still be for Ha and Mune, alongside the others. Although he had already mastered much of it, he kept his true skill hidden, showing only gradual improvement each day to avoid drawing attention. Afternoons were for rest, recovery from the rigors of training. Nights — the real trial — belonged to relentless repetition. Slash. Stab. Parry. Draw. Thousands of times each. Then he would practice his Ha and Mune to refine them more. Each swing burned his muscles, each thrust left his chest heaving, each parry tested his balance, each drawing slash demanded absolute timing. Each Ha and Mune made his Reiryoku flow and control much better.
Ikkaku and Yumichika had noticed Akio's dedication during Ha and Mune practice. What they didn't know was that he had already mastered the techniques. To them, he looked like a diligent student still struggling to grasp the flow.
"You've got potential," Ikkaku said, grinning ear to ear. "But your energy's off. Let me show you how to really push your Reiatsu into the strike!"
Yumichika leaned against a tree, smooth and composed as ever. "And I'll help you refine your precision. Ha and Mune are all about subtlety… once you feel the rhythm, your energy naturally follows."
Akio nodded seriously, hiding the smirk tugging at his lips. He knew the entire sequence by heart, but he'd let them think he was still learning.
Ikkaku launched into a full-power demonstration, his blade cutting arcs that made the air hum. "See? Just… just do that!" He swung again, sparks of Reiatsu scattering over the wooden dummies.
Akio moved to mimic him, deliberately exaggerating his missteps. His blade wobbled, his stance faltered slightly. "Uh… like this?"
"No! No! You're not—You're not doing it like me!" Ikkaku shouted, pausing mid-swing to point vaguely at the dummy. "Just… swing! Feel it! Do the thing with your Reiatsu!"
Yumichika, watching the chaos, frowned. "You're completely missing the subtle part. You need… elegance. Flow. Like this." He swung delicately, the tip of his blade slicing a perfect line in the air. "See? Not forceful, not raw. Elegant. But… you have to feel it."
Akio blinked innocently, tilting his head. "Feel it… how? Can you show me exactly?"
Ikkaku froze. "Uh… you just… do it?"
Yumichika waved a hand dramatically. "Yes. Feel the energy, but also… don't think. Instinct. It's instinct. I… can't actually explain it."
Akio bit back a laugh, suppressing the fact that he already executed Ha and Mune perfectly in his mind. "So I'm supposed to copy something I don't understand from people who don't understand it themselves?"
"Exactly!" Ikkaku cheered, throwing his hands in the air. "And then you'll be awesome!"
Yumichika sighed, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It's… oddly reassuring. We're as hopeless at explaining as we are brilliant at doing."
Akio moved through the motions, pretending to fumble, while secretly analyzing the subtle ways they compensated instinctively for small errors. Every exaggerated misstep he made drew laughter, exaggerated corrections, and dramatic demonstrations from the two. By the end of the session, the "student" had technically learned nothing, yet the morning was filled with camaraderie, shared humor, and a strange sense of accomplishment.
As they walked away, Ikkaku grinned. "Keep at it, kid! Soon you'll be unstoppable!"
Akio waved, holding back a chuckle. He'd already mastered Ha and Mune—but the fun was in letting them think he hadn't.
Even as he continued with Ha and Mune drills in the mornings, the forms he trained every night began shaping his body. Slashes became cleaner, stabs sharper, parries more confident, drawing slashes fluid. He could feel his muscles remembering, memorizing each motion long before his mind registered it.
Nights were hardest. Alone under the moon, the courtyard empty except for his silent witnesses — the training dummies — he pushed himself beyond exhaustion. Each motion repeated dozens of times in cycles: slash, stab, parry, draw, Ha, Mune. Hours passed. Sweat plastered his robes to his body. Arms trembled, but he did not stop.
He discovered subtle truths in these repetitions. The slash required a rotation of the hips to maximize reach without wasting energy. The stab demanded alignment, a straight line from shoulder through wrist to the tip. Parry was more than blocking — it was redirection, timing, reading the momentum of the imaginary opponent. The drawing slash needed balance, coordination, and instant follow-through, leaving no wasted motion.
One night when he thought everyone was asleep. He woke up took his Zanpakto and just as he was about to exit. He heard a voice from behind. "Going for practice today too?"
Without looking back he asked "From when did you two noticed my late night practice?"
The reply came but from a different voice, (Yumichika), "We had already noticed you practicing meditation in the first year. We just decided to not talk about it until now."
"Then why today?" he asked.
"Oh nothing much just wanted to ask if you are ready to finally spar with me?"(Ikkaku)
Akio shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. "Not yet. I'm working on the basics. I need thousands more before I try with anyone."
Ikkaku laughed. "Suit yourself, runt. But don't be surprised when I overpower you even after your training."
And yet, even in Ikkaku's boastful tone, Akio felt respect. This was not mockery. It was recognition of effort, the kind of camaraderie born from shared hardship.
Smiling Akio just left the room for training without saying anything.
Days blurred into weeks. Each morning brought Ha and Mune drills and him showing his improvements little by little, each afternoon rest, each night thousands of repetitions under the moon. Arms burned, legs screamed, calluses grew thick. Yet progress came in invisible increments. The slash cut cleaner, the stab struck truer, the parry moved instinctively, the drawing slash flowed without thought.
Through it all, the bond with Ikkaku and Yumichika deepened. Ikkaku's boisterous shouts, impatient corrections, and relentless energy challenged Akio to match him blow for blow. Yumichika's subtle touches, quiet critiques, and graceful demonstrations refined him in ways books never could. Alone, Akio might have mastered the mechanics eventually, but together, their presence accelerated his growth, providing contrasting lessons in power and elegance.
By the end of the month, Akio paused at the center of the courtyard, breathing ragged, sweat glistening on his forehead. The moon cast long shadows across the dummies, but tonight, for the first time, he felt the motions in his bones rather than his mind. Slash. Stab. Parry. Draw. Each movement instinctual, precise, yet still alive with the possibility of refinement.
He sheathed his Asauchi with a deep exhale. Ha and Mune would return tomorrow, but tonight he allowed himself a quiet smile. The body had learned. The motions had taken root. And with Ikkaku's fire and Yumichika's finesse beside him, he knew his path — slow, grueling, relentless — was taking shape.
The forms were no longer mere diagrams on paper. They were living patterns, ingrained into his muscles, memorized by his reflexes, ready to serve when Reiatsu finally flowed through the edge.
And Akio knew — thousands of repetitions, sweat, and exhaustion were only the beginning.
[A/N: Special thanks to [mikedanger],[CAPTAIN_UCHIHA22],[Kataron],[Xedron] for the Power Stones! Your support means a lot and motivates me to keep writing 🙏.]