Dinner that night ended with the three instructors weaving them into illusions. One by one, Renji, Yan, and Retsu were plunged into shifting nightmares, traps within traps, layers of false senses. When they staggered out, Ze struck again with a group genjutsu that bent the world until their minds nearly broke. Only when they were pale, sweating, and shaking did he finally end the lesson.
The next morning Sa picked up where they left off. Shadow clones cut in half to save chakra. More chakra shaping, tighter control. By the end of the session, their ninjutsu landed cleaner, sharper. Teacher grinned, students laughed through exhaustion.
After lunch came sword drills. More stance, more grip, more sweat. Then a clone was left behind while their real bodies followed Ze into the woods.
"Today you only take notes," Ze said. "After this week I won't have time to keep teaching. Write everything down. Correct each other. Spar often. Remember: traps don't forgive."
He laid it out:
Wrist must be alive, shock and rebound controlled.
Body anchored in hips, moving as a whole.
Steps flowing with blade and body, not dragging behind.
Force drawn from legs, waist, shoulders, merged into the cut.
Instinct so fast it erases thought. Strike before the mind has time to hesitate.
"Uchiha-ryū sword forms, Blazing Leap, Sun Halo Dance, Stormwind Blade, Flash Cut. With Shunshin, these become invisible killers. But don't chase names. Chase essence."
Ze led them deeper, showing each snare, each decoy, each true kill zone. Why a trap lures here. Why a wire hums there. How to break one without triggering three more.
"Tomorrow you set traps, one breaks them. At night, genjutsu again. If you absorb enough, I'll show you one forbidden combination illusion."
Time blurred. Days stacked like stone. By the week's end, their gains were staggering.
Earth Release: Swamp of the Underworld and Stone Spear.
Fire-Wind team techniques, smooth as breath. Any two could fuse into joint jutsu; all three together spat storms of flame and gale, names whispered like Great Flame Formation and Inferno Cyclone.
Sword work: shaky still, but enough to string two or three moves together without tripping over their own feet.
Traps: Retsu shone, weaving layers like a natural. Renji grasped illusions quickest, Yan became sharp at breaking them. Retsu's illusions, however, were laughably bad, flat, see-through, crumbling before they even finished.
The three of them knelt, pressing foreheads to the dirt. "We will never forget this debt."
The teachers accepted, spoke a few last words, and vanished into the wind.
The boys slung packs and walked home under the stars. Their hearts burned. One day, they swore, they'd show their masters how far they had come.
At home, Renji devoured his mother's cooking until his cheeks bulged.
"Slow down, you'll choke. Here, eat this too, your favorite. And this. You've grown so thin…" His mother piled food high, eyes shining.
Takuma reached in with his chopsticks. She smacked his hand aside, glaring daggers. He hunched over his bowl, pretending rice alone was enough.
Renji beamed. "I'm stuffed. Mom, your cooking's the best. Someday I'll marry someone as kind and talented as you."
She laughed, ruffling his hair. "Sweet talker. Unlike your father, who won't even finish my food." Another glare.
Takuma coughed nervously. "Nonsense, your food is my treasure. I'll eat it this life and the next." He tried to squeeze her hand. She rolled her eyes.
Renji sighed, standing. "Enough. I'm off to train. Next time I'll make my teacher's jaw drop."
Takuma watched his son leave. "He's grown again. Almost too responsible for his age. And you, you actually let him go through that brutal camp, even pulled favors to bring Sa in."
His wife's face hardened. "Last time nearly killed him. I'd rather he come back half-starved than half-dead. Strength alone isn't enough. He needs connections, allies. Ze was the real prize this week."
Takuma muttered, "The village is safe enough."
"Safe? Ask the Senju," she snapped, voice low. Then she carried dishes away, leaving him in silence.
A year passed. No missions. Nobunaga held the Fourth Division back, letting them grow. Occasionally Ze, Sa, or Kenshi appeared, correcting stances, nudging chakra flow, making sure the boys did not stray.
Now, at the year's turn, the three sparred in the training ground, blades clashing, sparks flying.
"Not bad," said a voice. Kenshi stepped from the shadows. "You've come far. But training only proves so much. The Fourth Division has hidden long enough. Time for real work."
He tossed eight scrolls at their feet. Bandits. Spy cells. Small but dangerous.
"I'll follow, but don't expect help. After each mission, I'll critique. Thirty minutes, meet at the gate. The Fourth Division moves out."
For the second time, Renji walked through Konoha's gates, pack on his shoulders. But unlike the frantic, bloody chaos of their first mission, this time he felt steady. Ready.
And behind him, Yan and Retsu grinned the same fierce grin.
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