CH_5

CH_5

The Academy's Training Field No. 2 was Takuma's least favorite place in the world. Even the lush and soft mat of cleanly cut grass that covered the entire field that had given him the best nap of his life and the best sleep he had ever since arriving in the miserable world of shinobis didn't give the place a higher rating in his mind's internal review system.

"Hideaki," Kibe called from his place in the middle of the wide circle formed by his students sitting beside each other in a single line of the perimeter. A tall and wide eleven-year-old got up from his and lumbered his way to the middle of the field like a fat bull. Kibe looked around in the circle before calling, "Takuma."

Takuma, sitting with crossed legs, had an old and frizzy jute rope in his hands. He was working on practicing the sheet bend knot when he heard Kibe call his name out and flinched. He looked up from his lap and found that he hadn't misheard and Kibe was indeed looking at him. And the sight of Hideaki picking his ear made Takuma pull a face.

"Get up, quick," Kibe said, his voice sharp and snippy.

Takuma reluctantly made his way to the center of the circle as he pocketed the length of the rope he had stolen from the side of a shop that was using them to hang potted plants off the ground. Coming to Training Field No. 2 meant that the class was going to practice taijutsu, and sitting in a circle told they were going to spar— and Takuma hated nothing more in the world than taijutsu sparring. Running butt-naked through a street was better than sparring in front of an audience he saw daily.

"Let's start," Kibe said and stepped back near the perimeter.

Takuma saw Hideaki raise his right hand and form the Seal of Confrontation and quickly copied him to do the same. Every taijutsu spar in the academy started with both parties with the Seal of Confrontation; he didn't know its significance, but it just did, and Takuma followed it.

Kibe looked at them for a pause-second before he signaled: "Start!"

Hideaki lazily raised his arms and crossed them over his chest, forming an X. Then straight up charged towards Takuma like a raging bull.

Takuma bit the inside of his cheek as he raised his hands up in guard. There was no academy taijutsu kata that involved crossing arms and charging at the enemy, not even close. And even though Takuma was in no way an expert at Akimichi clan's taijutsu, he was sure there was nothing like this there as well. Hideaki was making fun of him.

It was no secret that Takuma was the weakest in the class at taijutsu (well, at everything), and even those who were weak at taijutsu could wipe the floor with Takuma. Hideaki Akimichi of the clan that prided themselves on their strong bodies could send Takuma to the next year if he wanted to.

Takuma clenched his fists and shrunk his body as he saw Hideaki close in on him. He was supremely tempted to pull a kunai and ram it into Hidekai's face but knew that taking out a weapon would be an open invitation for his opponent to pull out his own weapons— the last thing that Takuma wanted. He had no confidence in blocking or parrying a blade and was no fan of getting himself cut. That was not considering that if he pulled out a kunai, he could get a hit in in the first place. So, he waited until Hideaki was close enough before jumping out of the way. Alas, Hideaki uncrossed his arms and spread them wide, and in doing so, hit Takuma's shoulder with the side of his fist.

It hurt, Takuma winced. He staggered a few steps back before getting his balance back in control. At the same time, Takuma and Hideaki faced each other. Hideaki once again charged at Takuma without his hands crossed. Takuma held his arms up in a boxing guard. Hideaki, despite his size, was faster than Takuma and was inside the latter's personal space in a jiffy. Hideaki made a fist and punched Takuma's guard. Takuma clenched his arms, but Hideaki's punch split his guard and dug into just below the chest.

Takuma didn't feel the pain until his back hit the ground. He coughed; the punch had knocked the air out of him. Takuma was barely read when he saw the sole of Hideaki's sandal coming down at him and narrowly missed him as he rolled out of the way.NewW novels updates at novelhall.com

Hideaki humphed as he firmly dug the foot that had missed the stomp and used it to pivot his chunky body and kick Takuma's back with his other leg. "Gah!" Takuma was sent rolling on the ground with a force that he dragged chunks of grass with him.

"Isn't introducing yourself first before asking for someone else's name a common courtesy?" smiled the old ma.

"You talked to me first, so you say your name first," Takuma said. He observed the old man, and one glance at his thin chainmail shirt, the brown vest, and the tapped ankles over shinobi sandals told Takuma that the old man in front of him was a shinobi. 'He's old,' thought Takuma. He hadn't seen such an old man since his arrival half a month ago.

"This humble one goes by the name Kosuke Maruboshi," said Murboshi and then looked at Takuma expectantly.

"Takuma..."

Muboshi smiled, accentuating the lines collected through the years on his face. "It's commonplace to go light in training and sparring, but the way you're pulling your moves is inviting a bad habit to creep into your form. You won't be able to tell, but your opponent will see openings to exploit, which they will do mercilessly. You need to be firm and confident when performing your katas."

Takuma frowned, "It hurts if I completely commit to the moves." He was constantly scared that the wood would splinter and stab into his limbs.

"Hurting is necessary if you want to temper your bones and muscles." Muboshi assumed the same kata that Takuma had been practicing before, but unlike Takuma, he looked stable, as if he could maintain the form for hours as easy as standing. "You expect the pain, your fear builds it up in your mind, but when it arrives, you find that it was nowhere near as bad as you thought. Moreover, using the correct form hurts less." He cycled through the katas with a smoothness and a ferocity so unlike a weak old man. "Now, you try it."

Takuma's brows furrowed together. He pursed his lips before asking, "I want to see it again, do it again."

Muboshi complied with a smile and performed a short cycle of basic taijutsu kata. Takuma watched intently. He had seen his classmates, those best in taijutsu in class, and even his layman's eyes could tell they were nowhere as good as Muboshi.

'Well, he's old, obviously a shinobi, and they're academy students; of course, there's going to be a skill difference,' Takuma rolled his eyes at the comparison in his head.

He took a stance and did his best to copy Muboshi. Takuma's imitation was leagues apart; it didn't even look the same. But Takuma felt the difference from before, it was minute, but he could tell from the way his boy moved that the movement flowed better, and he felt that if he hit someone now, it would do more damage.

"Good job," Muboshi said before giving further tips. They spent the next half hour together before Muboshi said. "Remember well, young Takuma. Repetition doesn't make one better. It's using repetition to hone one's technique like sharpening a blade against a whetstone."

Takuma nodded and said his thanks to Muboshi, who waved it off and went his merry way, leaving Takuma alone in the field. Takuma watched Muboshi's back until he disappeared from the field. He was grateful for any little help he could get. He turned towards the wood log and sighed.

Hitting it still hurt.

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