Training Ends

The morning dew had yet to roll off the blades of grass when Utsusemi appeared at the training ground, controlling twelve Flying Thunder God Kunai at a dazzling speed.

Hashirama Senju stood at the edge of the field, watching Utsusemi, who had once struggled to master even basic Taijutsu, now perfectly reproduce the Senju's secret Taijutsu forms.

Even more remarkable was the combat intuition she had awakened, as though she had gained a second sight. The instant an opponent's muscles twitched, she could predict the trajectory of the three strikes that followed.

Every turn and every kick carried astonishing explosive power.

The white fabric of her training clothes clung to her waist, which had grown leaner from the grueling training, a testament to the sweat she had shed day after day over the past six months.

Tobirama Senju's notebook was packed with observation data: "Tenseigan causes elevated body temperature," "muscle memory forms eight times faster than normal," and so on.

Three warning symbols were drawn beside a note circled in red: "Operating the Tenseigan at full power rapidly consumes mental energy."

He looked up at Utsusemi as she practiced the Body Flicker Technique in the field. Her figure flickered between the training posts, precisely avoiding the obstacles each time she appeared.

But the silver-haired ninja's gaze fell on another note: "Mental strain approaching the critical threshold."

Hashirama Senju walked over to his younger brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. "She's pushing herself too hard."

After combat practice ended, Utsusemi accepted a cup of warm water from Itama. Tobirama had already walked up to her. "It's time to rest. Your mental strain is approaching its limit."

She ran her fingers along the rim of the cup and fell silent for a moment. "I'm not strong enough yet."

"Your Taijutsu training has to stop for now." Tobirama decisively crossed out the ink on the schedule. "You can continue studying Ninjutsu theory and practicing Hand Seals, but Taijutsu will be reduced to twice a week."

Hashirama Senju placed a hand on Utsusemi's shoulder. "For the past six months, you've been like a bowstring pulled taut. You train during the day, then treat Izuna at night..."

Utsusemi turned her teacup. "I use Flying Thunder God to travel back and forth. The journey doesn't take much time."

"I'm not talking about the journey. Look at you." Hashirama gently brushed the dark circles beneath Utsusemi's eyes, the calluses from years of forming Hand Seals grazing her delicate eyelid.

Utsusemi's eyelashes trembled in reflex, but she held back from closing her eyes, her Tenseigan still fixed on Hashirama's.

Sensing her resolve, Hashirama considerately withdrew his hand. "I'm not talking about the journey."

The Senju leader pointed to the shattered wooden posts at the edge of the training ground. "Look at these marks. If you didn't have Yin-Yang Release and top-tier Medical Ninjutsu..."

He made a different suggestion. "The summer heat will make you tire faster. How about waiting until autumn to increase the frequency of your training?"

Utsusemi lowered her eyes, lost in thought. Her nightly meetings with Madara Uchiha had become an unchanging part of her schedule.

In that forbidden chamber, where candlelight flickered, Izuna's analysis of trade never failed to impress her.

Izuna's transformation was the most moving of all. Although he still had to endure the agonizing pain of his weekly Six Paths Mode treatments, the fear between his brows had turned into dependence.

When the torrent of world-shattering energy once again swept through the treatment room, Izuna made a willful request during a brief respite from the pain. "I want a lap pillow."

Curled up in the center of the energy vortex, he stubbornly reached his fingers into the empty air.

"Izuna!" Madara's pupils contracted sharply. Every time he watched a treatment, he had to use all his willpower to suppress the fighting spirit boiling within him.

The clan doctors only dared to kneel and tremble outside the forbidden chamber, while he alone stared fixedly at the center of the storm.

It was not the pressure of the Six Paths he feared, but the fear gradually melting away in his younger brother's eyes.

"Can I, Sister Utsusemi?" Even on the brink of death, the boy insisted on curling his lips in a defiant smile.

The Tenseigan's cold light shone like eternal stars. Utsusemi, feeling neither joy nor sorrow in Six Paths Mode, said nothing, but silently indulged his request.

As the agony tore at Izuna's nerves, his hand instinctively sought warmth and caught hold of her hanging silver hair.

It became a measure of Izuna's pain: the tighter he gripped it, the more it hurt.

More surprising still was Madara's transformation. The man born for battle held his younger brother's other hand firmly, as though he could share the terrible pain that way.

His grip was just right, tight enough to keep Izuna from pulling away without crushing his fragile finger bones. His index finger also rested lightly in position to form the Hand Seal for Izanagi at any moment.

The once-presumptuous requests to rest on a lap or lean on a shoulder, which had frightened onlookers, had now become part of the treatment ritual.

Those repeated calls of "Sister Utsusemi" had gone from cautious probing at first to unreserved dependence, as though completing a silent transformation.

Even though every meeting was strictly limited to sixty minutes, the relentless strain of working day and night had left her exhausted and unconscious in front of Madara Uchiha several times.

Sometimes she suddenly collapsed while getting up to leave; other times she fell asleep with her forehead against the wooden table while explaining a proposal.

On the worst occasion, she had just released Six Paths Mode and sent Izuna back to the Spacetime Tower when her consciousness sank into darkness.

The crisp scent of hinoki always reached her before her sight returned. Sometimes a haori embroidered with a Gunbai pattern lay lightly over her shoulders, and her head rested on the man's muscular thigh.

Most unexpectedly, she once woke to find herself curled up in Madara's arms, his Sharingan scanning her disrupted Chakra pathways. "Nonsense. You've overworked yourself."

In her memories, his low reprimand lingered with the scent of incense. His brush never paused as he reviewed scrolls; only when he sensed her turn over with her head on his lap did he speak. "Don't damage the documents."

The tenderness hidden in that silence suddenly put her at ease, her fixation dissolving like morning dew.

Utsusemi pulled herself free of her memories. Without relying on Six Paths Mode, she had combat instincts forged through more than five hundred simulated battles.

Even against a combined attack from the Uchiha brothers, she could handle herself with ease.

Utsusemi agreed to end her training, and the Senju brothers exchanged relieved glances. They should have stopped her near-self-punishing training long ago.

Itama, the only one who knew the truth, sighed deeply. He knew better than anyone how much pressure the Uchiha put on Utsusemi.

Through their shared memories, he knew that even fights were rare on the planet Utsusemi came from, while war was a distant concept that existed only in the news.

To stop the war, Utsusemi had rehearsed a plan to suppress the Uchiha with Six Paths Mode hundreds of times in her mind, even drawing up detailed contingencies for failure.

Although the plan had ultimately succeeded, the shadow left by the operation had followed her ever since, giving rise to these six months of near-self-punishing training.

Seeing how things were now, Itama was filled with mixed feelings. His hints and guidance to his older brothers had not been in vain after all.