Time skip — next day.
Training should've been over.
Stormload seals were humming low, the sky over Training Ground Eleven was sliding from gold toward blue, and Raizen was already cataloging which parts of his body hurt the least for the walk home.
Reina stretched her arms over her head with a groan. "Finally. I'm going to sleep for a week."
Samui was already turning toward her pack.
"Where do you think you're going?" Raitaro's voice cut in.
All three genin froze.
Raitaro hopped down from his usual observation rock, landing lightly in front of them. For a heartbeat he wore his post-training mask—lazy grin, half-lidded eyes, like he hadn't just spent the day trying to kill them with conditioning and chakra drills.
"Alright," he said. "You can—"
They unconsciously leaned forward, waiting for the one word they wanted.
"—stay."
Raizen's brain stalled. Reina's shoulders, which had just started to sag in relief, snapped back up. Even Samui's brows creased a fraction.
"Stay?" Reina echoed. "Sensei, we already—"
"Relax," Raitaro said. "You'll get home. Eventually."
The joke sat there, not quite comforting.
He folded his arms and gave them that look—the one that always felt like he was peeling back layers they hadn't known were visible.
"We've hammered your bodies," he said. "We've hammered your chakra. Good. You're less likely to die because you jogged up one flight of stairs and fainted."
His gaze shifted, pinning Reina first.
"Now," he went on, "we start hammering how you fight."
Reina went very still. Her hand drifted, almost unconsciously, toward the familiar weight of her sword at her hip.
"Reina. Samui. Front and center."
Samui stepped forward immediately, shoulders square despite the fatigue. Reina followed with a small exhale, precise even now—no wasted motion, just controlled steps to the middle of the scarred stone.
Raizen stayed back near the cliff, Stormload humming through his bones. For once, he was content to watch.
This part, at least at the start, was for them.
⸻
Raitaro drew a lazy line in the dust with his sandal between the two girls.
"Let's talk about problems," he said.
Reina's eyes narrowed. Samui's fingers pressed just a touch tighter against her thighs.
Raitaro nodded toward Reina first.
"You," he said, "are a very pretty swordswoman."
Reina frowned. "…Thank you?"
"That wasn't a compliment," he replied.
Her jaw tightened.
"In sparring," Raitaro went on, "your form is clean. Your footwork is sharp. Your cuts land where you aim them. You use height, momentum, terrain—good. If this were a nice, civilized duel on a flat arena with no surprises, you'd be a nightmare."
He tipped his head.
"But that's not what shinobi get."
A faint flush touched her cheeks.
"In close," he said, "you still move like the sword is the center of the world. Your rhythm, your spacing, your confidence—it all orbits steel and room to flip around. When it gets ugly—too cramped to tumble, too crowded to swing full arc, mud on the ground, bodies in the way—you stiffen. You try to force a clean fight out of a dirty one."
Reina's fingers twitched at her side.
"…That's not—"
He lifted a hand, cutting her off.
"It's not bad that you're good at clean fighting," he said. "But if you only know how to win your kind of fight, someone else will drag you into theirs and break you there."
He let that hang, then turned to Samui.
"And you."
Samui met his eyes steadily. "My kenjutsu is defensive by design, sensei."
"It is," Raitaro agreed. "Efficient guard. Tight lines. Excellent coverage. You're very good at not dying."
He shrugged.
"Less good at making other people die when they need to."
A small line appeared between Samui's brows.
"In formation," he continued, "you're invaluable. You see angles, you plug gaps, you shield the people behind you. But when it's just you and one opponent? You still think like a wall, not a blade. You prioritize the safest exchange and the cleanest counter… even when a messy, decisive hit would end the fight."
Samui didn't argue, but Raizen saw the slow swallow at her throat.
"Tonight's extra," Raitaro said, "is for the two of you."
He glanced over his shoulder at Raizen.
"Raizen, enjoy sitting still while it lasts," he added. "After this I'm using you as a test dummy."
Raizen exhaled through his nose. Of course.
Raitaro clapped his hands once.
"Reina. Sword."
She unbuckled it halfway, unsure.
"Hand it over," he clarified, palm open.
Her grip tightened for a fraction of a second before she slid the sword free and set it in his hand. The moment the weight left her hip, she looked… lighter and more off-balance at the same time.
"You are not your sword," Raitaro said, slinging it across his back. "You're a shinobi who happens to be very good with one. We're going to educate the rest of your body."
His gaze moved to Samui.
"You," he said, "are going to learn that attacking first won't kill you."
If that rattled her, the only sign was a slight shift of her stance.
"In this round," Raitaro continued, "Samui, you initiate. Reina, you defend. No chakra. Weapons allowed: Samui keeps a sword, Reina gets a kunai. No flashy flips, Reina," he added, cutting her a look. "You move like a human, not a stage performance."
"My acrobatics are efficient," she muttered.
"They're also habit," he said. "Right now, I want to see how you move when I cut away your favorite angles."
He stepped back, then crooked a finger at Raizen.
"You're observing," he said. "I'll be asking what you saw after."
Of course he would.
⸻
They squared off in the dust.
Samui drew a wooden practice sword from the rack, settling into a guard that was tight and practical, blade angled across her body. Reina flipped a kunai into a reverse grip, stance lower and springy—still shaped around the ghost of a sword that wasn't there.
Raitaro raised a hand between them.
"Samui initiates within three seconds," he said. "If you don't—"
He snapped his fingers.
"—I'll do it for you."
He started counting.
"Three… two…"
Samui moved on "one."
Her first step was small but decisive, sliding into range instead of circling around it. Her sword cut in a clean horizontal line toward Reina's ribs—no testing taps, just real pressure.
Reina's kunai snapped up to meet it.
Clang.
The sound rang across the training ground as wood and metal met. Sparks would've flown if the sword were steel. Samui felt solid through the clash—stance braced, follow-through clean.
But Reina's conditioning and Stormload-forged strength showed. With a twist of her wrist and a shift of her hips, she rolled the kunai along the flat of the blade and shoved, knocking Samui's sword off-line.
Her body snapped into motion.
She stepped in, pivoted, and drove a sharp kick toward Samui's stomach—precise, compact, the kind of strike that could turn a fight.
Samui's defense snapped back like a reflex.
Her free arm dropped, forearm blocking the kick. The impact reverberated, but instead of being shoved away, she absorbed the force and caught Reina's leg in the crook of her elbow, locking it against her side.
"Samui, press your advantage!" Raitaro barked.
Samui didn't freeze.
She yanked.
Reina's balance blew out. With one leg trapped and the other scrabbling on the dusty stone, she went down hard, twisting to protect her head. She hit her back with a grunt, kunai still in hand.
Samui followed.
She stepped in and brought the sword down in a vertical strike that would've split an enemy's chest.
On the ground, Reina brought her kunai up across her body, trying to redirect the arc instead of meeting it directly. On even footing she might've done it; here, gravity and Samui's advantage teamed up against her.
The blade drove through her guard.
The edge stopped inches from her face.
Samui's arms trembled with held power, but the sword didn't move.
For a heartbeat, the only sound was their breathing.
Then:
"Yes!" Raitaro exploded, voice cracking between cheer and howl. "That's what I'm talking about, Samui!"
He blurred forward, grabbed Samui around the shoulders from behind, and hauled her into a full bear hug that lifted her slightly off the ground.
Samui made a small, startled sound.
"You adapted!" Raitaro crowed, spinning her half a turn before setting her down. "You actually pressed when you had the opening! This—" he pointed at Reina on the ground "—is what winning looks like!"
Samui's cheeks flushed faintly. "I simply followed your instructions, sensei."
"Exactly," he said. "Already puts you above half the shinobi I've worked with."
On the edge of the field, Raizen stared.
He's really that excited…?
Raitaro crouched and offered Reina a hand. She took it, jaw tight, eyes narrowed with irritation at herself rather than fear.
"Nice work, Samui," Raitaro said, loud enough for all of them. "You actually put pressure on Reina and finished the exchange. Clean win."
Reina's mouth twisted. "I slipped," she said. "Misjudged the angle on the first block."
"You did," he agreed immediately. "And she punished you for it. That's the point."
He tapped Reina lightly on the shoulder.
"You're used to fights where you control the rhythm," he said. "Tonight, I'm taking that away. You defend with less steel and less space than you like—and you learn how not to die when someone else is dictating the tempo."
He turned to Samui, tone shifting.
"And you—that was good. You caught the leg, committed to the off-balance, and you didn't freeze at the decisive moment. You didn't overthink. That's what I want."
Samui nodded, breathing a little heavier but eyes clear.
Raitaro stepped back, clapped his hands, and the wide grin slid back into place—this time barely hiding the satisfaction underneath.
"Round one goes to Samui," he announced. "Reset."
Reina rolled her shoulders, dust sticking to her back where she'd hit the ground. Frustration radiated off her, but so did something else—the stubborn spark Raizen had seen in every exam they'd ever shared.
"Good hit," she said shortly to Samui.
Samui inclined her head. "You defended longer than I expected, given the disadvantage."
Reina snorted. "Don't get used to it."
Raitaro stepped between them again.
"Round two," he said. "Same roles. Samui on offense, Reina on defense. But we're changing the rules."
Both girls went still.
"For this round," he told Samui, "once you get into sword range, you're not allowed to retreat more than two steps. No backing off to safety. You break her guard or get broken trying."
Samui's jaw tightened, but she nodded.
"And you," he said to Reina, "are not allowed to rely on brute strength in the initial clash. If I see you just try to overpower her blade again, I stop the fight and call it a loss. You defend with angle, timing, and body movement. Not just seal-boosted muscles."
Reina's fingers flexed around her kunai. "So what can I use?"
"Footwork," Raitaro said. "Positioning. Drops, rolls, grabs. You get dumped again, I want you turning the fall into something useful instead of just eating dirt."
He backed away, leaving a rough circle between them.
"Take your stances," he ordered. "We do it again, but sharper."
Samui slid back into guard, feet setting a little more aggressively this time.
Reina reset with her kunai held low, weight coiled, green eyes fixed not on the blade, but on Samui's shoulders.
Raitaro's hand rose.
"Ready," he said calmly. "Round two—begin."
⸻
Samui attacked first.
She rushed Reina, closing the distance with a low, driving step. This time, Reina's feet were already in motion.
She slid sideways, pivoting around the incoming line instead of planting and waiting. She refused to stand still long enough to offer Samui a clean entry.
Samui adjusted instantly.
Her blade tracked, cutting across Reina's new path, her stance angling to herd rather than chase—trying to box her in.
Reina spotted it.
Her free hand dipped to a pouch, three shuriken flashing between her fingers.
She flung them low and wide.
Samui had to respect the steel. She twisted, sword flicking up to bat one aside while her guard shifted to avoid another. It broke her rhythm just long enough.
Reina used that heartbeat to widen the gap, skating further out, light on her feet despite the weight seal dragging at her spine.
By the time Samui fully recovered, there was more space between them, not less.
Up on the sideline, Raitaro's mouth curved.
"She adapts fast," he murmured, almost to himself.
He watched how Reina's movement had changed—less duelist waiting for the perfect exchange, more predator picking the terms of contact.
"This really is a special group," he added under his breath.
Next to him, Raizen heard that and felt his stomach knot.
Two geniuses. And me.
At the pace they were changing—Samui turning into a pressure fighter on command, Reina rewriting her rhythm mid-spar—he was going to have to work twice as hard just to keep up.
⸻
The pattern settled.
Samui tried to close.
Reina refused to let her do it for free.
Every time Samui stepped into comfortable sword range, a shuriken forced a block or a slight detour. Reina tagged her guard with quick kunai touches—testing, not committing—then slipped just out of reach when Samui's blade cut through where she'd been.
She ran light circles around Samui, making her turn, making her swing.
If nothing changed, Samui would gas out long before Reina.
Samui understood.
She stopped dead in the center of the clearing, shoulders rising and falling in a measured breath.
Then she focused chakra into her legs—nothing dramatic, just a compressed coil.
Before she moved, she flicked a kunai at Reina's face.
Reina's kunai came up automatically to parry—
—and that was when Samui pushed off.
She exploded forward, chakra-aided speed eating the distance in a few pounding steps. By the time Reina finished redirecting the thrown kunai, Samui was already there, sword cutting in from the side.
Steel whistled.
Reina didn't meet it head-on.
She ducked under the slash, dropping lower than her usual acrobatic style preferred, letting the sword carve over her shoulder. As she ducked, she spun around Samui's flank, slipping onto her blind side.
Her foot snapped out, precise and vicious.
She kicked the back of Samui's knee.
Samui dropped to one knee with a sharp hiss, balance shattered for a second.
Reina hopped away, not staying in to trade. By the time Samui re-planted and shoved herself upright, Reina was already a step outside of optimal range, chest heaving but still light on her feet.
This time Samui didn't hesitate.
She drove back into range.
Once she was there, the tempo flipped again. Her sword became a blur of efficient cuts—angling at shoulders, hips, arms, attacking lines rather than just center mass. Reina's kunai flashed in response, parrying, redirecting, her free hand occasionally helping to check Samui's forearm when steel alone couldn't carry it.
Reina tried to slip out again, feet starting to angle away—
Samui read it.
She shifted her step, cutting off the escape path instead of chasing straight. At the last moment, she dropped her shoulder and slammed it into Reina's chest.
The impact knocked Reina off her line, stealing her breath. Her kunai hand jolted up, guard cracked open for an instant.
Samui took it.
She brought the hilt of her sword down hard on Reina's shoulder. The strike shocked the arm numb; Reina's fingers spasmed, and the kunai clattered to the stone.
In the same motion, Samui scythed her leg behind Reina's ankles.
Reina's feet flew out. She hit the ground again—but this time she was already rolling, refusing to lie still. She twisted with the fall, rolled out of immediate range, and as she rolled, snapped her last shuriken toward Samui's face.
Samui had to bring her sword up to deflect. That single beat killed her forward momentum, giving Reina just enough space to scramble to her feet and reset a few paces away.
"Stop," Raitaro called, hand slicing the air. "That's the round."
⸻
The air hummed with leftover adrenaline.
Reina's arm hung a little lower, shoulder throbbing, sweat running down her temple. Samui's breathing was heavier now, chest rising and falling, but her grip on the sword stayed firm.
Raitaro walked toward them, expression more thoughtful than mocking.
He stopped just outside striking distance and looked between them.
"Good," he said. "Now we talk."
He turned to Samui first.
"Samui," he said, "you did a lot right that round."
Her gaze flicked to him, steady.
"You listened to the constraints," he said. "You didn't back off once you'd committed. You used tools—good feint with the kunai, by the way," he added with a nod. "You didn't just run on a straight line; you started cutting angles, trying to herd instead of chase."
He tapped two fingers lightly against his own leg.
"And when you realized she was running you in circles, you didn't keep playing her game. You stopped, grounded yourself, and forced a change in tempo. That leg burst? That's how you break stalemates."
Samui's shoulders eased just a fraction.
"Where you went wrong," Raitaro continued, "was in follow-through. After you dropped to one knee, you recovered fast, but then you chased too hot. Some of those exchanges were you swinging on habit instead of picking targets. You tunnel-visioned on 'catch her' and let her turn every fall into a reset instead of a finisher."
He let that sit a heartbeat.
"Better than the first round," he said. "Much better. But remember: ending the fight is still your job, not just applying pressure forever."
Samui dipped her head slightly. "Understood."
Raitaro turned to Reina.
She was watching him with her chin high, eyes still burning, pride and analysis wrestling behind them.
"You," he said, "had a very different assignment—and you handled it well."
Reina blinked, caught off guard.
"First," Raitaro said, raising a finger, "you didn't just plant and wait to get hit. You used your feet. You reshaped the field, refused to hand her the range she wanted. That's new. Good."
Second finger.
"You stopped treating this like a neat little duel. Your shuriken actually mattered. You used them to control rhythm—force blocks, break her line, buy space and breath. That's how thrown tools should work in a kenjutsu fight."
Third finger.
"When she blew into close with chakra in her legs, you didn't panic or go for something flashy. You went low, slipped to her blind side, attacked the leg. Ugly, efficient, effective. I like ugly."
A reluctant half-smile tugged at Reina's mouth.
"Where you messed up," he went on, "was what you did with your wins. You made her stumble more than once, you burned her stamina—but you kept retreating to the edge instead of turning those small victories into control positions."
He mimed Reina falling away, then resetting.
"You still default to 'clean distance equals safety,'" he said. "Sometimes the right answer is to stay in when they're off-balance. Clinch. Trip again. Turn their fall into your mount instead of always rolling away."
Reina's fingers flexed. "If I'd stayed in, I might've eaten her sword."
"In that last exchange? Maybe," Raitaro said. "Earlier? Not every time. That's why we're here—to learn the difference between 'bad close' and 'good close' when it's not your life on the line."
He studied her for a moment.
"But overall?" His voice softened. "Reina… that was a big step forward."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"You fought without your crutch," he said plainly. "You didn't freeze without the sword. You adjusted your footwork, used your tools, and proved you can survive—and even dictate—an exchange with less than your ideal kit."
He tapped her shoulder opposite the bruise.
"I'm proud of that," he said. "Don't let the falls distract you from the fact that you changed your pattern. That's harder than any fancy technique."
Reina glanced away, swallowing. "…Thank you, sensei."
Raitaro straightened and clapped once, snapping the moment.
"Round tally," he said. "Samui takes the first with a clean finisher. Second's a draw—Samui's aggression was good but sloppy at the end, Reina's control was smart but hesitant on the kill shots. Both of you pass for tonight."
His gaze slid to Raizen.
"And now," he said, grin turning sharp, "it's Raizen's turn."
Raizen's stomach sank.
He'd known it was coming.
"Reina, Samui—water, stretch, watch," Raitaro went on. "Raizen, with me."
He jerked his chin toward the center of the field.
"It's time we talk about what you're carrying into battle besides threads and tags."
⸻
Raitaro bit his thumb, unrolled a sealing scroll, and slammed his palm down.
With a puff of smoke and a rush of displaced air, an entire arsenal appeared between them.
Katanas and longswords.
Maces and war hammers.
Daggers, stilettos, throwing knives.
Battle-axes, a bow with a bundled quiver.
Spears, rapiers, short staves, round and kite shields.
All wood, all practice versions—but even in wood, they had weight. Presence.
Raizen stared.
It looked like someone had emptied half an armory onto the training ground.
"Taijutsu," Raitaro said, stepping around the pile, "is the backbone of every shinobi. In Kumo, we don't just punch hard and call it a day—we pair our taijutsu with a weapon that does two jobs."
He held up a finger.
"First, it patches weaknesses. Maybe your reach is bad. Maybe your close-in lethality sucks. Maybe your guard has holes. The right weapon covers that."
Second finger.
"Second, it amplifies what you're already good at. Some big ox with freak strength?" He nudged a practice battle-axe with his foot. "Give him this, and every swing is a building losing its roof."
He let that sink in, then turned fully to Raizen.
"I want you to think long and hard about your sickness—your flaws—and your strengths," he said. "Then pick a weapon that helps with both."
He shrugged.
"There's no wrong answer if you can give me a solid reason. If you can't explain it, you don't understand yourself yet."
He stepped back, folding his arms beside Reina and Samui.
"Go on," he said. "Shop."
⸻
Raizen drew a breath and approached the pile.
Alright. Sickness first.
He wasn't the strongest in raw taijutsu. Tetsuo could hit harder. Reina was cleaner and faster with a sword. A random chunin brawler would maul him if they got past his tricks.
His style leaned on:
• Webs and chakra threads,
• Mid-range control,
• Traps,
• Genjutsu,
• Seals,
• And "don't let anyone into punching distance if you can help it."
When someone did blow through his setup, he still stumbled. Still looked for the perfect tool instead of just hitting back.
And there was the blind side. Left eye still cloudy, still weak. Close, fast exchanges were where that hurt the most.
Strengths?
He was good at:
• Sensing lines and angles—web paths, conduction routes, trajectories.
• Planning space instead of just people.
• Precision lightning.
• Stamina that was getting better every week.
• Layering tools and seals together.
So he needed something that:
• Controlled distance,
• Played nice with threads and lightning,
• Didn't demand perfect depth perception in knife range,
• And left at least one hand free sometimes for seals or medic work.
His fingers drifted toward a katana out of habit.
Everyone in Kumo used them. Raitaro. Reina. Half the posters in the village.
He wrapped his hand around the practice hilt and lifted it.
It felt… fine.
But sword work overlapped hard with Reina's lane—and she was already ahead. Raitaro was a monster with one. If he chased that style, he'd always be the third-best sword user in the room.
Swords wanted that mid-to-close bubble, eyes locked to shoulders and hips. With his blind side, one bad angle meant steel from the left before he even registered it.
He set the katana back.
Daggers next.
Short. Fast. Lethal.
Good for assassins.
Good for people comfortable with someone breathing in their face.
Up close like that, his blind spot turned into a bright target. And both hands busy stabbing wasn't ideal when he was supposed to be the team's medic and seal support.
He put the daggers down.
The heavier stuff—axes, maces—barely earned a second thought. They wanted big, committed swings and brute force follow-through. Raizen's whole kit was built on precision and control, not raw power.
He wasn't an axe guy. Even he could admit that.
The bow tempted him.
Long-range control. Arcs and trajectories. Threads running along shafts, lightning riding the line—it all made intuitive sense.
But bows demanded both hands. Drawing, nocking, aiming—all-in commitment. Not great for someone who might need to slap a seal onto a teammate or drop a tag without taking their weapon offline.
And bows were best when you could stay far from the mess. His battlefield was always going to be mid-range chaos.
He moved on.
Rapiers caught his eye.
Thrusting weapons. Precise. Designed to exploit gaps.
Almost right.
But still sword-range. Still built for clean, straight duels. His fights would rarely be that polite.
His gaze landed on the last real category.
Spears… and staves.
Long shafts. Thrusting points. Leverage.
Control over distance.
Lines he could literally hold.
A spear is basically a straight thread you can swing, he thought.
A line you can feel, even if your eye misses something.
A weapon that says: you stay there, I stay here, and whoever missteps gets skewered.
He wrapped his fingers around a practice spear about a head taller than him, its weight sitting just forward of center.
He gave it an experimental spin.
The butt swept a clean arc, the tip following behind, and his stance adjusted almost naturally to keep that line between him and an imaginary enemy. Not too close, not too far.
Mid-range.
His range.
With threads woven along the shaft, he could anchor traps out from it. Seals on the tip for impact tags. Lightning along the wood to turn every thrust into a nerve-shocking spike without wide swings.
Compared to a sword, the spear gave him:
• More reach,
• More forgiveness for the blind side,
• A safer "bubble" to work inside while watching his team,
• And a pole he could plant, vault with, hook, or block.
A staff would be similar, but the point mattered. Not every situation would allow for gentle taps.
He turned the spear in his hands and felt his pulse tick up—not from dread, but from the sense of something… fitting.
He walked back toward Raitaro, the practice spear balanced upright at his side.
"I think I've got it," he said.
Raitaro cocked his head. "Show me."
Raizen lifted the spear a little.
"A spear," he said. "Long reach, good mid-range control. I already fight by shaping space with webs—this lets me do it with my body, not just chakra."
Raitaro's eyes sharpened.
"I'm not the strongest close-range brawler," Raizen continued, forcing himself to say it aloud. "Daggers, axes—they'd just shove me into a style I'm not built for. A sword overlaps too much with you and Reina, and it drags me into angles where my blind side is a bigger problem."
He tapped the shaft lightly.
"With this, I can:
• Keep enemies at the edge of my range,
• Punish them for trying to rush in,
• Use both ends for control—tip for thrusts, butt for sweeps and blocks,
• And still have non-lethal options if I need them."
He let a thin trickle of lightning crawl along the wood. It crackled in a quiet line to the tip.
"It's also a big conductor," he added. "Threads, seals, lightning—they all like straight paths. This gives me a straight path I can feel even when my vision doesn't cooperate."
Raitaro was quiet for a moment.
Then he smiled.
"See?" he said. "That's a good answer."
He walked over, knuckles rapping the shaft once, then circled Raizen like he had earlier.
"A spear gives you what you need," he said. "Reach. Control. Some forgiveness for that left side. And it synergizes with your whole spider-web, mid-range psychopath aesthetic."
Raizen grimaced. "I… didn't think I had an aesthetic."
"You do," Reina said dryly from the sideline. "It's 'don't touch me, I bite.'"
Samui hummed in agreement.
Raitaro ignored them.
"But now," he said, "you've got a new sickness to fix."
He stepped back, hands on his hips.
"You're not a spearman," he said. "Right now, you're just a tired genin holding a long stick."
He jerked his chin at the scuffed stone.
"So here's what happens next," he went on. "I teach you the basics—stance, footwork, recovery. Then we beat those basics into your bones until you can hold a line without thinking about it."
He flashed a sharp grin.
"And after that, we throw you at Reina and Samui and see whether your clever choice survives sharp disagreement."
Raizen tightened his grip, feeling the length of the weapon, the way it wanted to define the space between him and the world.
"…Alright," he said. "Show me how not to humiliate myself."
Raitaro's eyes gleamed.
"Oh, you're definitely going to humiliate yourself," he said. "That's part of learning."
He tapped the butt of the spear with his sandal, then nudged Raizen's front foot with his toe.
"But by the time I'm done," he added, voice dropping almost to something serious, "your enemies are going to learn to hate this reach."
⸻
"First things first," Raitaro said. "You don't get to spin this around like an idiot until you can stand without embarrassing me. Plant your feet."
Raizen obeyed.
"Lead foot forward," Raitaro instructed. "Right hand dominant, so right foot in front, left in back. Shoulder-width, maybe a touch more. Knees bent. Weight on the balls of your feet."
Raizen shifted, Stormload tugging at his legs. The spear felt longer now that his stance lowered.
Raitaro stepped in and nudged his front foot a bit wider.
"You're not walking a tightrope," he said. "You're holding a line. Give yourself a base, or the first kick to your leg sends you rolling."
He moved to Raizen's hands.
"Back hand at the butt," he said, sliding Raizen's grip all the way down so his knuckles nearly covered the end. "This is the engine. Front hand around the middle—closer to the top, but not so close you lose leverage."
He adjusted the front grip, then stepped back.
"Relax your shoulders," he added. "You're holding a spear, not strangling it."
Raizen exhaled, let his shoulders drop.
The spear settled into a straighter line—tip aimed at an imaginary opponent's throat, butt tucked near his back hip.
"…Feels weird," he admitted.
"It should," Raitaro said. "If it felt natural on day one, you'd be lying."
He paced a slow circle, checking stance, grip, the way the spear lined up with Raizen's chest.
"The spear is an extension of your centerline," he said. "Not a stick you fling around independent of your body. Wherever your hips and chest point—that's home."
He stopped in front of Raizen and held up a hand like a blade.
"Thrust," he said. "Slow."
Raizen inhaled and pushed the spear forward.
The tip wobbled.
"Stop," Raitaro said. "Reset."
He guided Raizen's back hand again.
"Drive with the back hand," he said. "Front hand steers. You're shoving a door with your shoulder, not poking with a chopstick."
He tapped Raizen's hip.
"And use this," he added. "When you thrust, back heel pushes, hip turns a little. Doesn't have to be big. Just enough that your whole body's behind the point."
He stepped away.
"Again. Slow."
This time, Raizen thought about:
• Back hand pushing,
• Front hand guiding,
• Back heel driving,
• Hip turning just enough.
The point slid forward in a cleaner line, barely wobbling.
"Better," Raitaro said. "Recover."
Raizen breathed out and pulled the spear back to guard.
"Again," Raitaro said. "Ten times. Forget speed. Worry about the path."
By the fifth thrust, Raizen's shoulders burned. By the tenth, Stormload made his arms feel like they were full of wet sand.
"Keep the point at the same height," Raitaro said. "Pick a spot—my throat, my eye—and don't let it wander. A spear only matters if the tip shows up where you intend."
He moved sideways.
"Now," he said, "same thrust, but step with it. Front foot forward as you drive, back foot follows to reset. Small steps. You're not lunging across the whole field."
Raizen obeyed.
Thrust-step.
Recover.
Thrust-step.
Recover.
At first the timing was off—too much foot, not enough spear, then the reverse. Once, the extra seal weight nearly dragged him forward.
Raitaro's foot swept out to bump his ankle before he toppled.
"Shorter steps," he said. "You're a shinobi, not an overeager stage actor."
He raised his voice without looking back.
"Reina, Samui—watch his feet, not the spear. Learn something."
The girls shifted, attention tightening.
Raizen went again.
Thrust-step.
Recover.
The motion slowly smoothed out. His center stayed above his legs. Even with the constant drag of Stormload, he could feel where the line existed between "threat" and "overreach."
"Good enough to move on," Raitaro said at last. "Now we fix the blind side."
Raizen stiffened.
Raitaro's eyes sharpened.
"You have a seal reminding your body the left world exists," he said. "Now I'm going to remind your brain."
He moved to Raizen's left, just at the edge of his comfortable vision.
"Keep the spear on me," he said. "Don't move your head unless you absolutely have to. Use your feet. Use your hips."
He began circling slowly, staying at mid-range.
Raizen tracked him, pivoting on his front foot, letting the back foot follow. Stormload tugged, but the spear offered something solid to align with: if the shaft stayed between them, Raitaro couldn't slip off the line unnoticed.
"Good," Raitaro said. "Faster."
He sped up.
Raizen's steps shortened, coming quicker now, tracing a small arc. The spear tip never left Raitaro's chest for long.
Once, Raitaro drifted just past the edge of Raizen's vision, toward the blind side. For a heartbeat he vanished from clean sight.
The seal under Raizen's left shoulder flared—sharp, insistent.
He pivoted hard, hips swinging the line of the spear with him. The tip swung around and stopped at the center of Raitaro's chest just as his sensei came back into view.
Raitaro grinned.
"See?" he said. "Your seal and your stance will argue with you when you ignore that side. Listen to them."
They repeated the circle drill until Raizen's legs shook and sweat dripped off his chin. Each time, the tiny flare from the seal helped drag his awareness back where his eye lagged.
Finally, Raitaro stepped away.
"Alright," he said. "Enough solo. Let's make it real."
He beckoned to Samui.
"Shirayuri. Short sword. You're the bad guy."
Samui picked up a wooden wakizashi and moved opposite Raizen.
Reina watched with her arms folded, eyes sharp.
"Simple drill," Raitaro said. "Samui walks in. Your job, Raizen, is to stop her touching you with that blade without retreating more than three steps. No wild swings—just thrust, recover, reposition. You can use the butt to block."
He looked at Samui. "Slow at first. We're teaching, not killing."
Samui nodded.
She started forward, footwork steady, sword in a practical guard.
When she entered mid-range, Raitaro snapped, "Now."
Raizen thrust.
He aimed center-mass. The spear shot forward; Samui raised her sword to deflect. Wood smacked wood with a sharp crack.
"Recover!" Raitaro barked.
Raizen pulled back, taking a half-step sideways instead of straight back, keeping her on his good side.
Samui advanced again, changing angle.
This time, when he thrust, she was ready. Her sword dipped and batted the shaft aside, trying to slip inside his guard.
Raizen let the spearhead be knocked past her and snapped the butt around, jamming it between them.
The butt hit the ground with a thud, forming a brief barrier.
Raitaro clapped once. "Good improvisation. Don't stick it in the dirt without a plan to pull it out, though."
They reset.
Again. Again.
Each repetition, Samui varied something—her approach line, her timing, how her blade met the spear. Each time, Raizen had to decide: straight thrust, off-center thrust, step left, step right, anchor with the butt, or spend one of his precious three backward steps.
By the tenth run, his arms shook and his brain buzzed from concentration.
But a pattern had started to sink into his muscles:
• Thrust when they entered the "box,"
• Recover before the spear was dragged too far off-line,
• Step small, not big,
• Trust the length.
On the last rep, Samui dipped low, feinted right, then hopped toward his blind edge.
The seal under his left shoulder flared.
Raizen pivoted on instinct, back foot turning, hips dragging the spear across. The point stopped at the center of Samui's chest, less than a handspan away.
Samui froze.
Raitaro let out a low whistle.
"There it is," he said. "Beginning of a real spear guard."
He clapped Raizen on the shoulder.
"Not bad for your first hour," he said. "You still look like a confused scarecrow, but at least you're a dangerous confused scarecrow."
Reina snorted. "High praise."
Samui lowered her practice sword and gave Raizen a small nod. "Your control improved quickly," she said. "The spear suits you."
Raizen adjusted his grip, feeling the drag of Stormload and, under it, the faint click of something settling into place.
"Thanks," he managed.
Raitaro stepped back to address all three.
"That's enough basics for today," he said. "Raizen, from now on, you run those drills every morning before conditioning. Shadow thrusts. Circle-steps. Spear-versus-advance with a clone. I'll break your bad habits before they set."
He pointed at Reina and Samui.
"You two aren't off the hook," he added. "Tomorrow morning, we start pairing your sword styles against his spear. I want all three of you learning each other's ranges and rhythms."
He grinned, all teeth.
"Congratulations, Team Eleven," he said. "You've unlocked chakra hell, seal hell, conditioning hell… and now weapon hell."
Raizen tightened his grip on the spear.
Threads. Lightning. Seals. Now reach.
The web in his head felt like it finally had a spine.
Under the constant drag of Stormload, with bruises blooming and muscles screaming, a new thought settled in his chest—not just survival, not just fear.
If this keeps up… we might really be ready when that C-rank comes.