Swing the sword.
Expressionless, Uesugi Sasuke repeated the motion.
From sunrise to sunset.
The blade split the air with a monotonous whistle.
The muscles in his arms had ached until they went numb.
The rough hilt had also rubbed blood blisters into the webbing of his hand.
Was there any point to this training?
Sasuke did not know.
He only knew that his progress in growing stronger had been forcibly put on pause.
Every day, he could feel the chakra stirring inside him, feel that power's desire to break free of its restraints.
Yet all he could do was stay here, building his foundations in the dullest, most primitive way, like a real apprentice.
For him, it was torment.
Not far away, Zenitsu Agatsuma was doing the same training, though his movements were far more comical.
Every few swings, he would rub his arms and wail, complaining that the training was too hard and would kill him.
Sasuke had long since grown used to ignoring his noise.
"All right, stop."
At dusk, Jigoro Kuwajima's voice rang out.
Leaning on his cane, he slowly walked to the center of the dojo.
"Today, you two will spar."
The moment he finished speaking, Zenitsu's face went white.
"S-spar? With Sasuke?"
He shook his head like a rattle drum, backing away repeatedly.
"No, Master! I'll die! I'll really die! His eyes are so scary! I can't!"
Sasuke frowned too. Resting his wooden sword on his shoulder, he said impatiently, "Master, this is just a waste of time."
Spar with this coward who did nothing but cry?
He would be better off letting me kill a few more demons.
"Do you no longer want to listen to me?"
Kuwajima's face darkened, and he struck the ground hard with his cane.
"Anyone who doesn't want to train can get off Mount Momoyama right now!"
Those words were clearly more effective than any persuasion.
Zenitsu's crying stopped abruptly, and Sasuke silently lowered his wooden sword.
Ten minutes later.
The two stood facing each other in the center of the dojo, wooden swords in hand.
Zenitsu's legs shook like a leaf, and he could barely hold his sword.
Sasuke's face remained cold. He only wanted to end this farce quickly.
"Begin!"
At Kuwajima's command.
Zenitsu shut his eyes, let out a strange cry of "Yaaah!" and charged wildly, bringing his wooden sword down overhead without any technique.
To Sasuke, that entire sequence of movements was laughably slow.
He could not even be bothered to activate his Sharingan.
With just a slight shift to the side, he easily dodged the blow.
Then he extended his wooden sword and tapped Zenitsu on the back with its flat, neither too hard nor too lightly.
Smack.
Zenitsu screamed and fell flat on his face.
"Again."
There was no emotion in Sasuke's voice.
Crying, Zenitsu climbed to his feet and charged again.
The result was the same.
His attack was easily dodged, and then he was knocked to the ground.
Once.
Twice.
Ten times.
Zenitsu's wails and the dull thuds of a wooden sword striking flesh echoed throughout the dojo.
From start to finish, Sasuke never moved more than three steps from his original position.
Like a precise machine, he toyed with his opponent using the smallest movements and the least strength.
Zenitsu, meanwhile, went from fear at first, to unwillingness to give in, to the numbness he felt now.
He could feel an insurmountable gulf between himself and Sasuke.
No matter how hard he tried, he could not even touch the edge of Sasuke's clothes.
In his eyes, I probably don't even count as a decent opponent. I'm just a... moving wooden target.
That thought pierced deep into Zenitsu's heart like a poisonous thorn.
Smack!
He was knocked to the ground yet again.
This time, Zenitsu did not immediately get up crying.
He lay facedown, his body twitching slightly, seemingly knocked unconscious.
Sasuke frowned.
Was it over?
He was about to put away his wooden sword when he suddenly caught something unusual out of the corner of his eye.
Zenitsu's breathing had changed.
It was no longer hurried, disordered panting.
It had become long and rhythmic.
Thin wisps of white air escaped from his mouth and nose.
Even the surrounding air seemed to still for an instant.
Sasuke's gaze instantly sharpened, and a black tomoe quietly appeared in his right eye.
The next second.
Zenitsu, who had been lying motionless on the ground, suddenly sprang up.
His eyes were tightly shut and his face expressionless, yet he lowered his body with impeccable form, assuming the opening stance of Thunder Breathing.
Boom!
A faint thunderclap burst through the dojo.
Zenitsu vanished from his spot in an instant.
So fast!
Even with the Sharingan's ability to track motion, Sasuke could only see a blurry golden afterimage.
That explosive power, that speed-though still very immature, it was undoubtedly the beginnings of First Form: Thunderclap and Flash!
Cold killing intent rushed straight at him.
Sasuke's pupils abruptly contracted.
Before he could think, his body had already reacted on combat instinct.
He leaned back as far as he could.
His body was almost parallel to the ground.
Whoosh-
With a piercing whistle through the air, the wooden sword swept past the tip of his nose.
A strand of black hair, severed by the sharp gust, drifted through the air.
Sasuke steadied himself and straightened up.
He reached up and touched his cheek.
A trace of warmth met his fingertips.
A shallow bloody scratch appeared on his cheek.
Across from him, Zenitsu had already collapsed unconscious from exhaustion, still snoring involuntarily.
Sasuke looked at the unconscious Zenitsu, then at the blood on his fingertips. For the first time, a thoughtful expression appeared on his face.
Was there actually a thunder beast sleeping inside this coward who did nothing but cry?
Before you continue