The scroll arrived at exactly 7:00 AM.
It was delivered by an eagle—not a regular messenger hawk, but an actual eagle, massive and golden and radiating the kind of dignity that said "I am too important for normal bird duties."
The eagle landed on Roku's windowsill.
Looked at him.
Looked at Samehada, who was curled up at the foot of his bed like an oversized, scaly cat.
Made a noise that somehow conveyed "I don't get paid enough for this."
And dropped the scroll on Roku's head.
"Ow! Good morning to you too!"
The eagle left without further comment.
Roku unrolled the scroll.
It was fancy.
VERY fancy.
Gold lettering. Embossed seals from five different nations. A wax stamp that probably cost more than his entire apartment.
THE CONTINENTAL SWORD TOURNAMENT
Held once every five years under the joint authority of the Five Great Nations
You are hereby formally invited to participate.
Invitee: Roku Tanaka of Konohagakure
Reason for Invitation: Recent acquisition of legendary blade Samehada; demonstrated swordsmanship during Chunin Exam preliminaries (see attached incident reports)
Tournament Date: Two weeks from receipt of this invitation
Location: The Neutral Grounds, Land of Iron
Previous Champions:
Fifth Tournament: Killer Bee (Kumogakure)Fourth Tournament: A, the Fourth Raikage (Kumogakure)Third Tournament: Mangetsu Hōzuki (Kirigakure)Second Tournament: Mifune (Land of Iron)First Tournament: Mifune (Land of Iron)
Note: Participants are responsible for their own medical expenses. The organizing committee is not liable for death, dismemberment, psychological trauma, or existential crises resulting from tournament participation.
Good luck.
Roku read the scroll three times.
"A sword tournament! That sounds fun!"
Samehada perked up immediately, scales rippling with excitement. A tournament meant fighting. Fighting meant chakra. Chakra meant SNACKS.
"Should we go, Samehada?"
The sword vibrated so enthusiastically that it fell off the bed.
"I'll take that as a yes!"
"Absolutely not."
The Third Hokage's voice was firm.
Final.
The voice of a man who had seen too much and refused to see more.
"But Hokage-sama—"
"No. The Continental Sword Tournament is an international event. Representatives from every major nation attend. Kages watch from private boxes. Diplomatic incidents are measured in BODY COUNTS."
"I'll be careful!"
Hiruzen's eye twitched.
"Roku, you have never been 'careful' in your life. You are constitutionally incapable of 'careful.' The last time you tried to be careful, you accidentally created a sentient fireball that now lives in Training Ground 44 and has applied for citizenship."
"Blaze-kun is very polite!"
"THAT'S NOT THE POINT!"
Kakashi stepped forward.
"If I may, Hokage-sama..."
"No, you may not. I know that tone. That's your 'I'm about to make a reasonable argument that will end in disaster' tone."
"The invitation is official. Refusing it could be seen as an insult to the organizing committee—which includes representatives from all Five Great Nations."
"I'm willing to risk diplomatic tension."
"The Fourth Raikage personally signed the invitation. Refusing might be seen as Konoha declaring that we're afraid to compete."
Hiruzen paused.
Politics.
Damn politics.
The Raikage was EXACTLY petty enough to spin a refused invitation into an international incident. And given the current tensions between Cloud and Leaf...
"Fine," the Hokage said through gritted teeth. "But there will be CONDITIONS."
The conditions were extensive:
Roku would be accompanied by a full security detail (Kakashi, two ANBU, and Sparky, who had invited herself)He would not use any jutsu during the tournament (sword techniques only)He would not attempt to befriend any hostile entities, foreign dignitaries, or legendary beingsHe would check in with his handlers every four hoursUnder NO CIRCUMSTANCES would he apologize to anyone for accidentally traumatizing themActually, scratch condition 5—apologizing was fine, but he should try not to traumatize anyone in the first place
"Can I still make friends?"
"...Within reason."
"What's 'within reason'?"
"No gods. No demons. No ancient weapons. No enemy nin. No—actually, just run any potential friendships by Kakashi first."
"Okay!"
Hiruzen felt a headache forming.
He had a terrible feeling about this.
The Neutral Grounds were exactly what they sounded like—a stretch of territory in the Land of Iron that belonged to no nation, governed by the samurai under Mifune's leadership.
For five centuries, it had served as the site of peace negotiations, diplomatic summits, and—once every five years—the Continental Sword Tournament.
The registration office was a practical building, all clean lines and functional design. Samurai clerks processed applications with efficient precision, their brush strokes creating perfect characters without hesitation.
Until one particular application crossed their desk.
"Why is there a section for 'divine entities' on this form?"
The speaker was a young samurai, new to the administrative corps, still naive enough to question bureaucratic oddities.
The senior clerk didn't look up from her work.
"We added it after the last Chunin Exams. Just in case."
"The Chunin Exams? But that's a Konoha event. What does it have to do with—"
"One of the competitors—a Konoha Genin—accidentally summoned the consciousness of the Sage of Six Paths during his graduation exam."
Silence.
"I'm sorry, he WHAT?"
"Summoned the Sage of Six Paths. By accident. During what should have been a simple transformation jutsu."
"That's... that's not possible."
"And yet."
The senior clerk stamped another form.
"The same individual also accidentally brought back four dead Hokages during the Clone Jutsu portion. And scared away a primordial entity from beyond reality during the offensive technique demonstration."
The young samurai's face had gone very pale.
"You're joking."
"I am not. His file is three hundred pages long. Most of it is incident reports."
She finally looked up.
"He's competing in the tournament."
"WHAT?!"
"Hence the divine entities section. We don't know what he might accidentally bring with him."
The young samurai looked at the form.
Looked at his senior.
Looked at the form again.
"This seems... paranoid."
"You haven't met Roku Tanaka yet."
"Is he that scary?"
The senior clerk considered this question.
She had reviewed his file extensively. She had read every incident report, every witness testimony, every increasingly desperate memo from the Hokage's office.
"He's the OPPOSITE of scary," she said finally. "He's kind. Genuine. Unfailingly polite. He apologizes constantly and seems genuinely distressed when he causes problems."
"Then why—"
"Because he's also the most powerful being we've ever registered, and he has absolutely no idea. He thinks he's bad at ninja stuff. He thinks everything that happens around him is an accident—which it is, but that's somehow WORSE."
She leaned closer.
"Scary people, you can predict. You can plan for. You can defend against."
"And Roku?"
"Roku will apologize while accidentally rewriting the laws of physics. He'll feel bad about traumatizing you while simultaneously destroying your entire worldview. He'll try his best, and his best will break reality."
She returned to her paperwork.
"So yes. Divine entities section. Just in case."
Roku had two weeks to prepare for the tournament.
He intended to use them wisely.
"Okay, Samehada! Let's train!"
The sword vibrated with enthusiasm.
They found a training ground far from the village—twenty kilometers out, in an empty valley surrounded by mountains. Kakashi had personally approved the location after confirming there was nothing within blast radius that could be accidentally destroyed.
"Nothing" was doing a lot of work in that sentence, but they tried not to think about it.
"So," Roku said, holding Samehada in front of him, "we should probably learn some actual techniques. I've been winning fights by accident, but that seems unreliable."
The sword agreed.
Instinct had carried them through the Chunin Exams. But the Continental Tournament would feature the best swordsmen in the world. Actual SKILL would be needed.
"Can you show me what you know? All the techniques from your previous wielders?"
Samehada considered this.
Then it began to TEACH.
The first hour was basics.
Stances. Grips. Footwork. The fundamental building blocks that every swordsman needed.
Roku absorbed them with surprising speed. His body might have terrible chakra control, but it seemed perfectly willing to learn physical techniques.
"Like this?"
Samehada adjusted his elbow slightly.
"Oh! That feels more natural!"
The sword purred.
The second hour was intermediate techniques.
Parries. Ripostes. Counter-attacks. The flowing combinations that separated amateurs from professionals.
Roku practiced each one until it felt like breathing.
Samehada was impressed. Most wielders took MONTHS to reach this level. Roku was absorbing decades of accumulated knowledge in hours.
"This is fun! It's like learning a really complicated dance!"
The sword agreed. Combat WAS like dancing—a dance where your partner was trying to kill you, but still.
The third hour was advanced techniques.
Samehada showed Roku the signature moves of the Seven Swordsmen. Kisame's Shark Bomb. Zabuza's Silent Killing. Mangetsu's Water Prison Sword.
Each technique required precise chakra control.
Each technique should have been impossible for Roku.
Each technique worked ANYWAY.
"Wait," Roku said, pausing mid-swing. "That one felt weird."
He had been attempting the Shark Bomb—channeling water-natured chakra through Samehada to create a shark-shaped projectile.
What emerged was... not a shark.
FWOOOOOOOOM.
A crescent wave of pure BLACK energy erupted from the blade, screaming across the training ground like a thing alive.
It hit a boulder.
The boulder CEASED TO EXIST.
Not shattered. Not vaporized.
CEASED.
As if it had never been.
Roku stared at the empty space where the boulder had been.
"That... wasn't a shark."
Samehada vibrated with confusion.
It had no idea what just happened.
That technique—that ATTACK—was not in its memories. Was not from any of its wielders. Was not from this DIMENSION.
From her observation point two kilometers away, Sparky's jaw dropped.
"That was..."
She couldn't finish the sentence.
She had existed since the first lightning. She had witnessed the birth and death of stars. She had seen power in forms that mortal minds couldn't comprehend.
She had NEVER seen that.
It wasn't chakra.
It wasn't natural energy.
It wasn't divine power.
It was something else entirely. Something that belonged to a different SYSTEM.
"He's pulling techniques from other realities now."
She said it out loud, just to confirm she wasn't hallucinating.
"Of course he is. Why wouldn't he be. This is completely normal."
It was not normal.
Nothing about Roku was normal.
In a dimension very, very far away, a man with orange hair suddenly looked up from his training.
"What the hell?"
"What's wrong, Ichigo?" Chad asked.
"I felt something. Like... like someone just used Getsuga Tenshou. But from REALLY far away."
"Another Hollow?"
"No. Different dimension. Completely different REALITY."
He shook his head.
"Some guy just accidentally invented my technique. Without knowing it exists. In a world that doesn't have Zanpakutō."
"Is that... possible?"
"Apparently."
Ichigo considered being offended.
Then he shrugged.
"Good for him, I guess. Hope it works out."
Back in the training ground, Roku was examining his sword with new curiosity.
"Samehada, what WAS that?"
The sword had no answer.
It was as confused as he was.
"Let me try again. Maybe I can figure out what I did."
He raised the blade.
Focused.
Swung.
FWOOOOOOOOM.
Another crescent wave. Same black energy. Same reality-severing power.
This time, it carved a trench through solid stone—ten meters deep, fifty meters long, extending until it hit the mountain behind the training ground.
The mountain CRACKED.
"Okay," Roku said, "so it's repeatable. That's good!"
Samehada wasn't sure "good" was the right word.
"But it's really big. I don't want to accidentally hurt someone."
The sword agreed. This technique was DANGEROUS. More dangerous than anything in its considerable arsenal.
"Can we make it smaller?"
They spent the next four hours trying to control the new technique.
Roku channeled less chakra.
The wave stayed the same size.
He focused on making it smaller.
It got BIGGER.
He tried aiming it straight up.
The crescent wave carved through three clouds and—based on the distant flash—might have hit something in orbit.
"This is harder than I thought."
Finally, Roku had an idea.
"What if I don't control it with chakra? What if I control it with... feeling?"
Samehada perked up.
Feeling?
"Yeah! The technique feels really angry, right? Aggressive? Like it wants to destroy things?"
The sword considered this.
Yes. The energy did have an emotional quality. A weight of INTENT that went beyond mere power.
"What if I change the feeling? Make it calmer. More focused."
This was not how techniques worked.
Techniques were based on chakra nature, hand signs, and precise control.
They didn't have EMOTIONS.
But Roku was already trying.
He raised Samehada.
He thought about the technique—not the power, not the destruction, but the feeling behind it.
It felt like ANGER. Like the desire to PROTECT. Like the willingness to cut through anything that threatened what you loved.
Roku understood those feelings.
But he didn't want to express them through blind destruction.
He wanted something... more precise.
He focused on that.
Protection without fury.
Strength without rage.
The desire to defend, not to destroy.
And he swung.
The crescent wave that emerged was different.
Still black. Still crackling with otherworldly power.
But SMALLER.
Controlled.
A precise cutting arc that sliced through a single boulder, then dissipated harmlessly.
"I did it!"
Samehada vibrated with excitement. Whatever impossible thing Roku had just accomplished, it WORKED.
"See? Feelings are important! Everything's easier with the right feelings!"
The sword had no argument.
It was learning that the rules it understood for centuries might not apply to this particular human.
They practiced for three more hours.
By sunset, Roku could produce the technique in various sizes—from a wave capable of splitting mountains to a precision cut thin enough to slice a hair.
"We need a name," he said. "Something cool!"
Samehada considered.
It had felt the technique intimately. The energy was dark but not evil. Aggressive but controllable. Shaped like...
The sword suggested, through emotional impressions: MOON FANG.
"Moon Fang?"
The crescent shape. The cutting edge. The way it gleamed in the fading light.
"I like it! Moon Fang it is!"
Sparky appeared as they prepared to head home.
"You invented a technique from another dimension."
"Did I? It just sort of happened!"
"Things 'just happen' around you with concerning frequency."
"Is that bad?"
Sparky looked at him.
At his earnest, confused expression.
At the legendary sword purring contentedly on his back.
At the devastated landscape behind him—trenches, craters, and a mountain with a new architectural feature.
"No," she said finally. "Not bad. Just... unprecedented."
"That's a good word! Unprecedented!"
"Thank you. I have many good words."
"I know you do! You're really smart, Sparky!"
Her lightning flickered in what might have been a blush.
"Yes. Well. We should return to the village. You need rest before the tournament."
"Good idea!"
They walked back together—Roku, his sword, and his lightning goddess.
An unlikely trio.
A terrifying trio.
And soon to be the Continental Sword Tournament's biggest problem.
The Land of Iron was cold.
VERY cold.
Snow covered everything. Mountains pierced the sky like frozen fangs. The wind carried ice crystals that stung exposed skin.
"This is beautiful!" Roku said, completely unbothered by the temperature.
Kakashi hugged himself miserably. "It's freezing."
"Really? It feels nice!"
"You're generating enough ambient chakra to heat a small building. The rest of us don't have that advantage."
"Oh! Sorry!"
Roku focused for a moment.
The temperature around the group rose by ten degrees.
"Is that better?"
Kakashi stared at him.
"Did you just... create a heating field? By accident?"
"I think so? I just thought about everyone being warmer."
"That's not how chakra works."
"Sorry!"
Kakashi put his head in his hands.
This was going to be a LONG tournament.
The Neutral Grounds were impressive.
A massive complex of buildings, training areas, and spectator facilities, all maintained by the samurai of the Land of Iron. The main arena could hold fifty thousand people—and based on the crowds already gathering, it would be full.
Flags from every nation fluttered in the wind.
Food vendors hawked their wares.
Competitors from across the continent gathered in clusters, sizing each other up.
"Wow!" Roku said. "There are so many people!"
"Many potential threats," Sparky observed.
"Many potential FRIENDS!"
"...Also that."
Registration was surprisingly smooth.
The clerk—the same senior clerk who had updated the forms—looked at Roku with an expression of carefully controlled terror.
"Roku Tanaka. Konohagakure."
"That's me!"
"Competing with... Samehada. The legendary blade."
"Yep! Say hi, Samehada!"
The sword vibrated cheerfully.
The clerk's pen trembled.
"Any... divine entities accompanying you?"
"Just Sparky!"
"I am a primordial lightning goddess. I will be observing from the stands. If anyone threatens my beloved, I will reduce them to component atoms."
The clerk wrote: "One (1) divine entity. Protective. DO NOT PROVOKE."
"Is there anything else I should know about? Any... special abilities? Techniques? Reality-altering powers?"
Roku thought about this.
"I learned a new technique this week! Moon Fang!"
"Moon... Fang?"
"Yeah! It makes a crescent wave of black energy! I'm still working on controlling it."
The clerk's pen stopped moving.
"Black energy."
"Uh-huh!"
"Crescent wave."
"Pretty much!"
"And you're 'still working on controlling it.'"
"I can make it smaller now! Usually!"
The clerk added to her notes: "MOON FANG TECHNIQUE. Black energy. CONTROL ISSUES. Recommend: Maximum safe distance during matches. Possibly evacuate mountain."
"You're registered," she said faintly. "Your first match is tomorrow. Bracket assignment will be posted this evening."
"Thank you! You're very helpful!"
"Please don't destroy anything."
"I'll try my best!"
Those words echoed in the clerk's mind long after Roku had left.
He'll try his best.
That's what they all said.
That's what made it WORSE.
The competitor's quarters were impressive.
Private rooms. Training facilities. Dedicated staff.
The Continental Sword Tournament attracted the best of the best, and they were treated accordingly.
Roku explored with childlike wonder.
"Look, Samehada! A practice dummy!"
The sword examined the dummy with interest.
"And there's a whole weapons rack!"
It examined the weapons with contempt. Inferior blades. Barely worth noticing.
"Oh, and a—"
"Roku Tanaka."
The voice came from behind him.
Deep. Resonant. Carrying the weight of absolute authority.
Roku turned.
And looked up.
And UP.
Mifune, leader of the Land of Iron, stood in the doorway.
He was old—ancient, even—but his presence was undeniable. A weight that pressed against everyone who looked at him. The aura of a man who had spent sixty years mastering the sword, who had killed more enemies than most people had met.
"The young man who cut reality," Mifune observed.
"Oh! You saw that?"
"Reports reached me. A black crescent wave. Energy that didn't match any known technique. Mountains cracked."
"I'm still working on the control!"
"Indeed."
Mifune stepped into the room, his movements economical, precise, betraying nothing.
"I have won this tournament twice. I have trained generations of samurai. I have faced every style of combat known to this world."
He stopped in front of Roku.
"I have never seen anything like what you do."
"Is that bad?"
"It is... unprecedented."
"Oh! Sparky uses that word too!"
"Your goddess companion. I felt her presence when you arrived. She is... protective."
"She's my best friend!"
Mifune studied him for a long moment.
"You don't understand what you are, do you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You create techniques from nothing. You break rules that have governed combat for millennia. You treat power that could destroy nations like a curious novelty."
"I just try to help people!"
"I know." Mifune almost smiled. "That's what makes you so interesting."
He turned to leave.
"We may face each other in this tournament. If we do... I will give you everything I have. Not because I expect to win. But because you deserve to face a true master, at least once."
"That's really nice of you!"
"It is not nice. It is respect."
Mifune left.
Roku looked at Samehada.
"He seemed cool!"
The sword agreed.
That old man was DANGEROUS.
This tournament was going to be interesting.
The competitor's common area was packed.
Swordsmen from every nation mingled, assessed, and sized each other up. The tension was palpable—friendly on the surface, but with sharp edges underneath.
Roku walked in with a smile.
"Hi, everyone!"
Conversations stopped.
Heads turned.
The crowd parted before him like water before a stone.
"Yo yo yo, if it ain't my boy! / The one who made Samehada his toy!"
Killer Bee emerged from the crowd, grinning broadly. His seven swords gleamed on his back, and his entire demeanor radiated confident energy.
"Bee-san! You're here too!"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world! / Gonna see your new skills unfurled!"
They clasped hands warmly.
"How's Gyūki-san?"
"Tell him I'm watching," Gyūki said from inside Bee. "And I'm STILL scared."
"He says he's doing great!"
Roku beamed.
Inside Killer Bee, Gyūki sighed.
"You lied."
I softened the truth. There's a difference.
"He needs to know that his mere existence makes ancient beings nervous."
That would be rude, ya fool.
"...Fair enough."
"So," Bee said, throwing an arm around Roku's shoulders, "I heard you learned some new tricks! / Something about a crescent that really sticks?"
"Moon Fang! I can show you later if you want!"
"Definitely! My blades need a challenge to face! / Something that'll keep up with my pace!"
"Okay!"
They walked off together, chatting cheerfully.
The other competitors watched them go.
"Did Killer Bee just... befriend that guy?"
"They already knew each other. Apparently met during some kind of incident."
"What kind of incident?"
"The classified kind. Multiple S-rank designations. I heard it involved something beyond this dimension."
"Beyond this—what does that even MEAN?"
"I don't know. I don't WANT to know."
Roku couldn't sleep.
Not from nerves—he didn't really get nervous about fighting. Things happened when he fought, and usually those things worked out.
He couldn't sleep because he was EXCITED.
"Tomorrow's going to be amazing, Samehada!"
The sword purred from its position at the foot of his bed.
"We'll get to fight really strong people! And make new friends! And show everyone what we learned!"
Samehada agreed enthusiastically. It was looking forward to tomorrow too.
"And maybe—"
A knock at the door.
Roku opened it.
Sparky stood in the hallway, her human form glowing softly in the dim light.
"You should be sleeping."
"I'm too excited!"
"I know. I felt it from my room. Your chakra is... vibrating."
"Sorry!"
"Don't be. I came to talk."
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
"Tomorrow, you will face opponents who have trained their entire lives. Masters of the blade. Killers without remorse."
"I know!"
"And you will defeat them. Easily. Accidentally. Without understanding why."
"You think so?"
"I know so. I have watched you since the day you caught my lightning. You don't lose. You CAN'T lose. The universe bends around you like water around a stone."
Roku's expression became thoughtful.
"Is that... good?"
"It is what it is. Neither good nor bad. Simply... you."
She sat beside him on the bed.
"What concerns me is not the fighting. You will win the fights. What concerns me is what happens after."
"After?"
"When you win—when you demonstrate power beyond anything this tournament has ever seen—the world will notice. More than it already has. Nations will want to control you. Enemies will want to destroy you. And everyone, EVERYONE, will want to understand you."
"That sounds... complicated."
"It is. And I want you to know that whatever happens, I will be there. To protect you. To support you. To..."
She trailed off.
"To love you."
Roku was quiet for a moment.
"Sparky?"
"Yes?"
"I don't really understand love. Not the romantic kind. People talk about it, but I never... I never felt it. Not for anyone."
"I know."
"But I know I feel SOMETHING for you. Something warm. Something important. You're my best friend, and I don't want that to change."
"It won't change. I will be your friend for eternity, regardless of anything else."
"And maybe... someday... I'll understand the rest?"
"Perhaps. There is no rush. We have forever."
She leaned against his shoulder.
"For now, just rest. Tomorrow is the beginning of something new. Something unprecedented."
"There's that word again."
"It suits you."
They sat together in comfortable silence.
Roku, the man who couldn't do anything right except win.
Sparky, the goddess who had chosen him above all others.
And Samehada, purring contentedly at their feet.
An unlikely trio.
A terrifying trio.
And tomorrow, the world would see exactly what they could do.
The stadium was full.
Fifty thousand people, packed into seats that circled the massive arena. Nobles from every nation occupied private boxes. Kages watched from specially designed viewing areas. Samurai stood at attention, maintaining order with quiet efficiency.
And in the competitor's area, Roku was stretching.
"Is that really necessary?" Kakashi asked.
"My joints feel stiff! Stretching helps!"
"You could probably survive reentry from orbit. I don't think stiff joints are going to be a problem."
"But stretching feels nice!"
Kakashi sighed.
The announcer—a samurai with a voice that carried without amplification—stepped into the center of the arena.
"WELCOME, HONORED GUESTS, TO THE CONTINENTAL SWORD TOURNAMENT!"
The crowd roared.
"FOR FIVE CENTURIES, THE GREATEST BLADE MASTERS OF OUR WORLD HAVE GATHERED HERE TO TEST THEIR SKILLS! TODAY, SIXTEEN COMPETITORS WILL BATTLE FOR GLORY!"
Cheering intensified.
"THE RULES ARE SIMPLE! ONE-ON-ONE COMBAT! SWORDS ONLY! A MATCH ENDS WHEN ONE COMPETITOR SURRENDERS, IS INCAPACITATED, OR IS DECLARED THE LOSER BY OUR JUDGES!"
He raised his hand.
"LET THE TOURNAMENT BEGIN!"
The first round matches were announced.
Roku was up third.
His opponent: A samurai from the Land of Iron named Tetsuo.
"Oh, I met someone named Tetsuo before!" Roku said. "He was really nice!"
"This is a different Tetsuo," Kakashi replied. "There are a lot of Tetsuos in Iron Country."
"Still, it's a fun name!"
The first two matches were impressive.
Skilled swordsmen, trading blows with precision and power. Each fight lasted several minutes, showcasing techniques refined over decades.
The crowd was engaged.
The competitors were focused.
And then it was Roku's turn.
"MATCH THREE! TETSUO OF THE LAND OF IRON VERSUS ROKU TANAKA OF KONOHAGAKURE!"
The crowd's reaction was... mixed.
Some cheered—they had heard the rumors, read the reports, anticipated seeing the mysterious power in action.
Others were skeptical—he was just a ninja, after all. How could he compete with samurai who had dedicated their lives to the blade?
And some—those who had access to classified information—were quietly terrified.
Roku walked into the arena.
Samehada hummed on his back, eager for combat.
Tetsuo faced him from across the ring—a weathered man in his forties, his posture perfect, his blade gleaming with maintenance and care.
"You are the one they speak of," Tetsuo said. "The anomaly."
"I prefer Roku!"
"Hmm. You seem... pleasant."
"Thanks! You seem nice too!"
Tetsuo's lip twitched.
"I have trained for twenty years. Won forty-three consecutive matches. I am considered one of the finest swordsmen in the Land of Iron."
"That's impressive!"
"And yet, I feel... trepidation. Looking at you."
"Really? But I haven't done anything!"
"Precisely. You haven't done anything, and yet every instinct I have is screaming that I should forfeit."
Roku tilted his head.
"If you want to forfeit, that's okay! I don't want anyone to do something they're uncomfortable with!"
Tetsuo stared at him.
This young man—this GENIN—was offering him an out. Genuinely, sincerely offering to let him walk away without shame.
It was the most disturbing thing Tetsuo had ever experienced.
"No," he said finally. "I will fight. Whatever you are, I must see it for myself."
"Okay! Good luck!"
"You as well."
The referee raised his hand.
"BEGIN!"
Tetsuo moved first.
Twenty years of training condensed into a single, perfect thrust. The tip of his blade shot toward Roku's chest like a striking snake, faster than the eye could follow.
First blood, Tetsuo thought. I'll end this quickly and—
Roku tilted his head.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
The blade passed through empty air, missing by less than a centimeter.
He dodged, Tetsuo realized. Without moving his feet. How—
He spun into a horizontal slash.
Roku leaned back.
Another miss.
A diagonal cut.
Roku stepped aside.
A flurry of attacks—high, low, left, right, every angle—
And Roku simply... wasn't there.
Each time Tetsuo's blade reached where Roku should be, Roku was already somewhere else. Moving with a grace that made twenty years of training look clumsy.
The crowd fell silent.
This wasn't combat.
This was something else.
After thirty seconds, Tetsuo was breathing hard.
His arms were starting to burn.
And Roku...
Roku hadn't drawn his sword once.
"You're really fast!" Roku said, not even slightly winded. "I can barely keep up!"
BARELY KEEP UP?!
Tetsuo had just thrown everything he had at this man.
EVERYTHING.
And Roku thought he had "barely" kept up?!
"I think," Roku said, "I should probably fight back now. Is that okay?"
"Is that... OKAY?!"
"I don't want to hurt you!"
"YOU SHOULD BE WORRIED ABOUT ME HURTING YOU!"
"Oh. Okay! Go ahead then!"
Tetsuo attacked again.
With everything he had left.
Every technique. Every trick. Every desperate measure he had learned in forty-three matches.
Roku drew Samehada.
KRANG.
One block.
That was all it took.
One block, and Tetsuo's blade shattered.
Not knocked aside. Not deflected.
SHATTERED.
Twenty years of combat, and his blade couldn't withstand a SINGLE PARRY from Samehada.
Tetsuo stared at his broken sword.
Stared at the scaled, humming blade that had destroyed it.
Stared at the cheerful young man holding that blade with casual ease.
And he began to laugh.
"I yield."
"Are you sure? I could—"
"I'm sure." Tetsuo shook his head, still laughing. "I understand now. Why my instincts screamed to forfeit. You're not a swordsman. You're something else entirely."
He bowed—deep, formal, respectful.
"Thank you for the lesson, Roku Tanaka. It was... humbling."
"Thank you for the match! You were really strong!"
"WINNER: ROKU TANAKA!"
The crowd erupted.
Not in excitement—in SHOCK.
One of the Land of Iron's finest, defeated without Roku throwing a single attack.
What the hell had they just witnessed?
In the Kage box, the leaders of the Five Great Nations exchanged glances.
"Did he just..." the Raikage started.
"Destroy a master swordsman's blade with a casual parry?" Mei finished. "Yes."
"Without attacking."
"Correct."
"While apologizing."
"Also correct."
The Raikage sat back heavily.
"What IS he?"
No one had an answer.
The tournament continued.
Match after match.
Roku advanced without difficulty.
In the second round, he faced a Kumo swordsman who specialized in lightning-fast strikes.
The man attacked forty-seven times in three seconds.
Roku blocked all of them.
Then accidentally released a pulse of energy that knocked his opponent unconscious.
"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to!"
"WINNER: ROKU TANAKA!"
In the third round, he faced a Kiri ninja who wielded Hiramekarei, one of the Seven Swords.
The blade could shape chakra into any form—hammers, shields, whatever the wielder desired.
Samehada ate every construct before it could fully form.
"That's not fair!" the Kiri ninja complained. "Your sword keeps eating mine!"
"Sorry! Samehada's hungry!"
"WINNER: ROKU TANAKA!"
In the quarter-finals, he faced a mysterious ronin who claimed to have mastered an ancient technique called "Sword of the Void."
It was supposed to cut through anything, even space itself.
Roku accidentally matched it with Moon Fang.
The resulting collision created a shockwave that knocked down half the stadium's banners.
"That was really cool!" Roku said.
The ronin was unconscious.
"WINNER: ROKU TANAKA!"
By the semi-finals, the tournament had become less about who would win and more about what Roku would accidentally do next.
Betting pools had shifted from "who wins" to "what technique will Roku invent this time."
The current favorite was "something involving time travel."
His semi-final opponent was Killer Bee.
Again.
"Yo, we meet again in the ring! / Let's see what new tricks you bring!"
"Bee-san! I'm excited!"
"Me too, my friend! Let's make this fight legendary!"
"I'll do my best!"
Inside Killer Bee, Gyūki sighed.
"He's going to destroy us."
Probably! But it'll be fun!
"Your definition of 'fun' concerns me."
YOLO, partner!
"What does that mean?"
No idea! Heard a kid say it once!
"SEMI-FINAL MATCH! KILLER BEE VERSUS ROKU TANAKA!"
"BEGIN!"
Killer Bee moved.
Eight swords. Eight directions. A whirlwind of steel that had destroyed armies.
His legendary acrobatic style—blades held between joints, between teeth, spinning in impossible patterns—turned him into a living blender.
SHINGSHINGSHINGSHINGSHING.
The sound was continuous. A constant song of lethal metal.
And Roku...
Drew Samehada.
Their blades met.
KRANGKRANGKRANGKRANGKRANG.
Metal screamed against metal. Sparks fountained in every direction. The arena floor cracked beneath them.
Killer Bee was everywhere—above, below, behind, all sides at once.
And Roku matched him.
Every strike. Every angle. Every impossible attack.
They were EQUALS.
The crowd went insane.
THIS was what they had come to see. Two masters of the blade, pushing each other to their absolute limits.
"You've gotten better!" Bee shouted between exchanges.
"Thank you! You're amazing!"
"But I'm just getting STARTED!"
Chakra erupted around Killer Bee.
The Eight-Tails' power, manifesting.
One tail.
Two tails.
THREE—
The partial form emerged—tentacles of pure chakra, each one capable of crushing buildings.
"Now we're COOKING!"
Roku looked at the massive chakra construct.
Looked at Samehada.
"Should we match him?"
The sword vibrated eagerly.
"Okay!"
Roku raised Samehada.
The blade began to glow.
Not with chakra.
With something ELSE.
The sky darkened.
The temperature dropped.
Every sensor in the stadium detected something WRONG—energy that didn't match any known classification.
Roku swung.
"MOON FANG!"
FWOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.
A crescent wave of pure black energy erupted from Samehada's edge. Fifty meters long. Burning with power that made the sun seem dim.
It shot toward Killer Bee.
Killer Bee's eyes went wide.
"DODGE!" Gyūki screamed.
He tried.
The Moon Fang passed through the space where Killer Bee had been.
It continued.
Hit the arena wall.
Kept going.
Hit the MOUNTAIN behind the stadium.
And carved a perfect crescent through solid stone—visible for kilometers, glowing with residual energy.
Silence.
Absolute, complete silence.
Fifty thousand people, not breathing.
Killer Bee landed heavily, all tentacles dismissed.
He was sweating.
Actually SWEATING.
"Yo... what the HELL was that?!"
Roku scratched his head sheepishly.
"I'm still working on the control."
"THE CONTROL?! YOU JUST HIT A MOUNTAIN WITH A TECHNIQUE I'VE NEVER SEEN BEFORE!"
"I was aiming at you! I missed!"
"MISSING IS GOOD! HITTING A MOUNTAIN IS... ACTUALLY, ALSO GOOD! BETTER THAN HITTING ME!"
Inside Killer Bee, Gyūki was having a crisis.
"That technique. It wasn't chakra."
What was it?
"I don't know. Something from outside. Something that doesn't belong here."
Outside where?
"I DON'T KNOW. That's what scares me."
Killer Bee made a decision.
"I forfeit!"
The crowd gasped.
"Bee-san?"
"Listen, my friend! You're on another level! / Fighting you more would make me unravel!"
"But we were having fun!"
"We were! But that last attack—if you'd hit me, I'd be paste! / No way I'm letting my body go to waste!"
He grinned broadly.
"You're gonna win this whole thing, no doubt! / Just promise me one thing, shout it out!"
"What?"
"When you're champion, we throw a party!"
"DEAL!"
They clasped hands, both grinning.
"WINNER: ROKU TANAKA! ADVANCING TO THE FINALS!"
The crowd exploded.
Not in confusion this time—in genuine awe.
Killer Bee, one of the most powerful ninja alive, had forfeited because he recognized he couldn't win.
And he'd done it with a SMILE.
Whatever Roku was, he commanded respect even from legends.
Part 11: The Finals Await
The announcement came that evening.
"THE FINALS WILL BE HELD TOMORROW! ROKU TANAKA VERSUS... MIFUNE, LEADER OF THE LAND OF IRON!"
Roku looked at the bracket.
"Mifune-san!"
"The greatest swordsman of the modern era," Sparky observed. "Undefeated in fifty years of combat."
"He was really nice when we talked! I'm excited to fight him!"
"He intends to give you his full power. Hold nothing back."
"Then I should do the same!"
That night, Roku couldn't sleep again.
Not from fear.
From anticipation.
Tomorrow, he would face a true master.
Tomorrow, he would show everything he had learned.
Tomorrow...
Tomorrow was going to be amazing.
END CHAPTER 8