The days, in a cycle of punching, sweating, and punching again, are sculpted by the tireless winds of Sunagakure into similar yet slowly unfolding chapters...
Shira's life is as simple as the gravel on the Gobi Desert, silent yet exceptionally resilient.
He no longer goes to the quarry every day to conduct those extreme burst tests.
Granny Chiyo's metaphor about "sandstorms" was like a seed that took root and sprouted in his heart.
He began to re-examine his training.
"Uninterrupted, all-pervasive, carrying a heavy, abrasive force at high speed"—well, that's how Granny Chiyo described it, and it might be a more fitting description for him.
As a result, his training focus shifted subtly.
It was still that gravel slope, and he was still alone, but the force of his punches no longer seemed to be pursuing the extreme, ear-piercing screams.
Shira began practicing more in her First Activation state.
In this state, the body is less burdened, allowing it to last longer and making it more suitable for refining offensive strategies.
He no longer just threw wild Wild Fist at the air, but began to try to combine punching speed, power, breathing, and footwork to simulate continuously suppressing multiple imaginary opponents while moving!
Right straight punch, followed by left hook, slide to the side, low kick, followed by uppercut!
The movements became increasingly fluid, and the breathing maintained the deep and powerful rhythm unique to the Seven Heavens Breathing Method: First Activation.
The sound of the fist tearing through the air gradually changed from a short, sharp "whoosh" to a lower, denser "rustling" sound, like countless grains of sand being swept up by a gale and continuously rubbing and colliding.
Shira felt that the "feel" of her punches was changing.
In the past, throwing a punch was simply throwing a punch; the power was transmitted from the feet to the waist to the arms, hit the target, and that was it.
Now? He can now feel every subtle change in the flow of power within his body more clearly. He can feel the resistance and temperature changes on his skin when his fist makes contact with or is about to make contact with the air, and even the trajectory of the airflow!
It's a very mysterious feeling, hard to describe.
Just like a blind person reading Braille with their fingers, the tactile sensation of the fingertips is magnified countless times, allowing them to "read" the texture of the object's surface.
Ah... my fist seems to be "reading" the air, reading the wind...
That afternoon, the sun was setting, casting a long shadow of Shira across the grayish-yellow gravel. He had just completed a high-intensity series of rapid-fire shots, his body steaming with heat, sweat dripping from his chin and leaving instantly evaporating water stains on the dry ground.
He didn't rest immediately, but stopped and stood still, slowly adjusting his breathing, his gaze somewhat vacant as he looked at the boundless sand sea in the distance, which appeared magnificent golden-red under the setting sun.
It was still the wind, the never-ending wind, blowing from the depths of the desert, sweeping across the Gobi, passing through gravel slopes, stirring up fine dust that lashed against his face and body.
It carries the lingering warmth of the daytime sun and the unique, dry, and rough scent of sand.
Suddenly, as if possessed, Shira did something she had never done before.
He slowly, extremely slowly, threw a punch at the wind blowing in his face.
It wasn't a straight punch like in a fight; it lacked power and was very slow, like gently pushing open a half-closed door.
The fist was extended flatly, meeting the invisible, flowing wind.
Just as his fist reached a certain point, he felt an extremely subtle yet remarkably clear sensation on the skin of his fingertips.
It wasn't the feeling of the wind hitting your skin, but rather a kind of "sluggish" sensation. Or rather, it was the feeling of the wind's "flow" being "cut" apart by his fist.
The sensation was very subtle, like the resistance felt when you gently stroke a finger across the surface of calm water, along with the film of water.
But in this dry air, in the ceaseless wind, this sensation is exceptionally distinct.
A thought struck Shira, who maintained her punching stance without retracting it.
Then, he tried rotating his wrist extremely slowly to change the angle of his fist.
The sensation changes accordingly. When the fist is perpendicular to the wind direction, the cutting and resistance are strongest! It's as if the fist has truly become a stone thrown into a stream, disrupting the direction of the wind.
When the fist is parallel to the wind direction, the resistance decreases suddenly, and the wind seems to slide past the sides of the fist. He can even feel the subtle difference in the speed of the airflow on both sides of the fist.
Shira's eyes widened slightly.
My God, what's going on?
An indescribable sense of novelty welled up inside me.
He withdrew his fist, changed direction, and slowly punched again, feeling the subtle differences in the contact between his fist and the wind at different angles and speeds.
This time, it's not about hitting the air, but about "touching the wind."
His playful side began to stir within him—or, if this almost meditative focus could be considered playfulness, then. Shira began to move slowly across the gravel slope, facing the wind, sideways to the wind, and with her back to the wind.
Swing your arms at various angles and slow speeds, extend your fists, or even open your palms to capture and feel the omnipresent airflow.
He felt that as he moved, his body itself was also "cutting" the wind, creating more complex airflow disturbances.
When he turns around quickly, he can even create a small, brief vortex of his own.
Before she knew it, the sun had sunk more than halfway down, and the fiery clouds on the horizon began to dim. Shira finally stopped, not because she was tired, but because of a strange sense of satisfaction.
It's not physical satisfaction, it's sensory satisfaction.
Shira felt that her perception of the surrounding "environment" had gained a completely new and extremely subtle dimension.
He walked to his usual resting rock and sat down. Instead of immediately taking out his notebook, he looked down at his hands.
The knuckles are rough from long-term beatings, and the palms are covered with calluses.
But at this moment, those hands seemed different to him.
Because... they just "touched" the wind!
He raised his head, his gaze falling to his feet. The land of Sunagakure was neither fertile Kurotsuchi nor moist mud, but a hard and barren "soil" mixed with sand, gravel, and dry dust.
Shira stretched out her foot and gently rubbed the ground with the sole of her shoe. It was rough, solid, and still warm from the daytime.
He suddenly remembered the solid, even somewhat "pushing" force he felt under his feet every time he pushed off the ground during training.
The ground in the Sunagakure is very hard, making it difficult to leave deep pits, but precisely because of this, the feedback is exceptionally clear.
The greater your strength, the more "rigid" it will return to you, helping to "bounce" your body out.
The wind is fluid, invisible, and elusive, yet it can be sensed and even slightly disturbed.
The earth is solid, silent, bears everything, and returns power in the most direct way.
He, Shira, punches, sweats, and breathes here every day.
His movements stirred the air, his footsteps pounded the earth, his sweat seeped into the sand, and his breath blended into the wind.
Shira stood there, taking in everything around him. The wind whistled in his ears, and the earth trembled beneath his feet, as if they were practicing their boxing moves with him.
Each of his punches seemed to resonate with the wind and the earth.
Shira couldn't help but wonder if they could also sense his power and his determination.
Did he, unintentionally, also take advantage of some kind of "momentum" from the wind and the earth? This association made him feel both excited and mysterious.
Shira closed her eyes, trying to feel the power of the wind and the earth. She imagined her fist merging with the wind and resonating with the earth.
Every punch carried the whistling of the wind, every foot stomped firmly on the ground.
At this moment, the Shira seemed to become a part of this world, dancing along with it.
His fists became more powerful and agile, as if endless power was flowing through his body.
Shira felt as if she had found her own rhythm and cadence in this world, and also found a direction to move forward.
This idea came from nowhere, was absurd, and even a little ridiculous.
Wind is wind, and earth is earth; they are inanimate natural things. How could they be related to his martial arts practice?
But that feeling was so real. When his punches reached a certain speed, stirring up the air and creating turbulence; when he pushed off the ground with all his might, gaining explosive propulsion;
When he breathes at a specific rhythm, as if in some subtle resonance with the sound of the wind...
That indescribable feeling, as if I were no longer an isolated individual, but rather resonating with the desolate world around me in some extremely faint way, would pop up from time to time.
This feeling becomes even clearer when the Second Activation is activated and the mind and body are elevated to a certain critical point.
Although it remains hazy, it lingers.
"Is it just my imagination? Or is it because I've been training too hard and am hallucinating?"
Shira muttered to herself and shook her head.
This is too mysterious; it cannot be verified, nor can it be explained using his usual logic.
Shira finally pulled out that increasingly thick hardcover notebook and turned to a new page.
The charcoal pencil scratched across the rough paper as he jotted down today's training content and his physical sensations.
Finally, after a moment's hesitation, he wrote a message in the corner in even smaller handwriting than usual:
"When I was practicing boxing today, I could clearly feel the wind moving around. When my fist encountered the wind, it was like encountering flowing water; there was a difference between resistance and smooth passage. The feedback from my feet on the ground was also very clear."
"Sometimes I get the illusion that there's a subtle connection between the fist, the wind, the ground, and the breath, as if they've become a whole."
"Hmm, I don't know why either, maybe it's just my imagination. But the feeling is very real. I'll write it down for now."
By the time he closed the notebook, night had completely enveloped Sunagakure.
The stars were sparse, and the cold moon hung like a hook.
The wind was cooler than during the day, and it sent shivers down my spine as it blew against my sweaty skin.
Shira stood up, stretched her stiff body, and walked towards the village. The gravel slope behind her returned to silence.
Only the ceaseless wind continued to howl in the darkness, swirling up fine sand and sweeping across the spot where he had just stood, as if silently wiping something away, or whispering some secret he couldn't understand.
That vague sense of resonance didn't disappear; it simply transformed into a hazy background sound as his emotions calmed down.
"I think I've... made a breakthrough."
666 went to school for five days and came home to find that Ameno had been made into the game. I was completely stunned. But it's good this way, now everyone has a concrete impression of Ameno. ⌓‿⌓