There was a time when Shino Taketsu thought he would be guided.
That someone—an elder, a master, a teacher—would stand at his side and show him the path.
But now, standing at the edge of his journey, he saw the truth: there was no one left to guide him.
The men in the council feared him. The soldiers followed him. The people whispered his name with awe or dread. But not one of them could teach him. Not one of them understood the road he walked.
He was the man with no mentor.
---
A Flicker of Memory
Late at night, Shino walked the empty training yard. The moonlight caught on the wooden dummies, the scarred stones, the blades stacked neatly in racks.
He remembered the days when he sought lessons from books, from masters of swordplay, from strategists who spoke of theory and tradition. They had taught him forms, stances, tactics. But as he grew, he realized he had already surpassed them.
Who can teach a man who has already broken every limit?
The thought was not arrogance—it was despair. Because even if he longed for direction, there was no one left to give it.
---
The Burden of Self-Teaching
Every decision fell to him.
Every mistake cut deeper because there was no one to warn him.
When soldiers faltered, they looked at him for answers.
When the council grew divided, they waited for him to choose.
When enemies schemed, they expected him to outthink them all.
And he did. Always. But at a cost.
He carried the weight of victories as lessons, the scars of failures as reminders. His life became a cycle of trial and error, of teaching himself through pain what others had once been taught with guidance.
There were nights he wished for a voice older than his own, one that could tell him: This is the way. This is enough. You are not alone.
But silence always answered.
---
A Test Without a Teacher
One evening, a young soldier approached him timidly. "Master Taketsu," the boy said, "how… how do I become strong like you?"
Shino paused. The question should have been simple. But he realized, with a pang, that he had no lesson to give. He had no manual, no mentor's words to pass down.
All he had were the scars on his body and the battles in his mind.
"Strength," Shino said slowly, "is not taught. It is endured."
The boy blinked, confused. Shino did not explain further. How could he? The truth was too heavy: the path to strength was walked alone, through storms no teacher could shield you from.
---
Conversations With Ghosts
That night, Shino sat beneath the old oak tree outside the barracks. The wind carried whispers of the past—faces of the few teachers he once had, men long gone.
In his mind, he spoke to them.
To the sword master who taught him his first stance.
To the strategist who explained the art of patience.
To the elder who once told him discipline was worth more than brilliance.
What would you say to me now? Shino asked the silence. Would you tell me I have gone too far? Would you warn me? Or would you tell me to keep walking?
But ghosts do not answer.
And so, he answered himself.
---
The Creation of His Own Way
Shino began to see himself not just as a fighter, not just as a leader—but as his own teacher. Every mistake became a lesson. Every scar, a textbook. Every betrayal, a chapter.
He no longer sought wisdom outside himself. He became the forge, the fire, and the blade all at once.
When he stumbled, he forced himself to rise.
When he doubted, he reminded himself there was no one else to believe in him.
When he triumphed, he did not celebrate—he studied the victory, dissected it, and carved the lesson deep into memory.
The world had abandoned him to solitude, but in that solitude, he discovered something frightening: he was enough.
---
Isolation in Greatness
The soldiers admired him. The council feared him. The people whispered his name like legend.
But when night fell, and he sat alone in his chamber, Shino realized the cruelest truth of all: greatness isolates.
He had become too strong to be taught, too wise to be guided, too far along the path for anyone to walk beside him.
He was a man who must teach himself everything.
A man with no mentor.
A man who had only himself.
And yet… in that isolation, in that crushing loneliness, he discovered the seed of something unbreakable.
He could not rely on teachers.
He could not rely on masters.
He could not even rely on friends.
He could rely only on himself.
---
The Birth of a New Discipline
At dawn, Shino stood in the training yard again. Alone, as always.
He raised his sword. Not to mimic an old form. Not to honor a master. Not to repeat a lesson learned from another.
He moved as he willed. His blade cut arcs that were his alone. His stance shifted not with tradition but with instinct. Each breath, each strike, each pause became his own creation.
For the first time, he was not following the path of others. He was carving his own.
The Silent War had taught him suspicion.
Loneliness had taught him endurance.
But being without a mentor had taught him the greatest lesson of all:
That true mastery is not inherited.
It is built.
Alone.
And so Shino Taketsu embraced the solitude, the isolation, the crushing weight of self-teaching.
Because in the end, he understood—
A man with no mentor is not weak.
A man with no mentor becomes his own legend.