The sun dipped below the horizon, and the waning moon rose to claim the sky.
For Maki, training continued.
Over and over again, she was knocked to the ground—then forced to get back up.
Old Man Zetsugan occasionally gave her a breather, using those moments to correct her form or point out beginner mistakes—mistakes that, in a real fight, could be fatal.
"Lighten your steps!"
"You don't have a strength advantage—so move fast. Faster. Ridiculously fast!"
Speed, of course, required strength too. What a contradiction.
"You've already mastered walking on water and running up trees—this should be easy!"
"Get up! I don't have all day!"
The old man was talking more now.
Maki groaned, rolled over, and got to her feet again—only to be thrown back down a second later.
Up. Down. Again. Again.
"How many times do I have to tell you before it gets through your head?!"
"Three times!" Maki snapped back, frustrated. "I'm not a genius!"
This old man taught everything through feel. Trial and error. No clear instructions.
It was all: feel it in your bones, sense it in the wind, let it awaken inside you. Nonsense like that.
Only a monster could learn that way.
"No. You are a genius," Old Man Zetsugan declared with absolute certainty.
"Yeah, yeah," Maki muttered, raising her toes into position again.
The technique was called Wind Step. In theory, it was simple—use bursts of chakra from the feet to lighten movement through controlled propulsion.
But it was nothing like walking on water or climbing trees.
"Treading water is about spreading chakra evenly across your soles," the old man explained.
Maki nodded. She already knew. That widened the surface area to keep you afloat.
Climbing trees was different—it relied on adhesion.
She wasn't sure how others did it, but she personally grew tiny hook-like villi on the soles of her feet that gripped the bark. Like Spider-Man.
The hardest part of tree-walking wasn't balance—it was core strength. Holding yourself upright while fighting gravity was brutal.
Back then, she'd suffered plenty.
"But this technique," the old man shouted, "is about spray! Spray! Spray! That's the key!"
Ugh. He was yelling like someone trying to teach a kid how to do their homework.
"I know it's about spraying," Maki muttered under her breath.
But her feet disagreed.
"I am trying! Stop yelling, you're distracting me!"
She snapped back at him.
Zetsugan finally backed off a little. "Fine, fine. Take your time. No rush."
You're the one who's rushing me… Maki thought, rolling her eyes.
In truth, it was all about repetition. Practicing enough times to make the movement instinctive—letting the muscles remember what the brain couldn't.
Of course, the old man wasn't making it easy. He was forcing her to use it in the middle of combat, raising the difficulty even further.
It wasn't just tough. It was like skipping a level.
Did he really think she was some kind of prodigy?
"Again!"
Maki launched forward—and got slammed back even faster.
This time, she barely lasted two steps before being countered.
"What's the point of this?! I'm literally on my knees and still don't get it!" she shouted, gritting her teeth.
"Then crawl over here!" Zetsugan barked.
"Hmph!" Maki scowled.
Still, she got up. Charged again.
They clashed.
Well—he stood there. She got her ass handed to her.
He didn't hit her hard—just enough to sting, always aiming for the softest, meatiest parts of her body.
Old man Zetsugan was holding back. But not by much.
If the sword broke, Old Man Zetsugan would be the one heartbroken.
As time went on, Maki gradually got the hang of things.
Wind Step wasn't a teleportation technique—not really.
The Body Flicker Technique required hand seals and a burst of chakra. Its core principle was similar, but it demanded explosive speed, and even then, it was hard to control. Only a handful of shinobi could use it properly.
Most failed because their reflexes couldn't keep up with the speed or they couldn't judge distance well.
That's why you sometimes heard stories of people teleporting straight into a wall.
Maki had done exactly that.
And under that kind of propulsion, turning was incredibly difficult.
Wind Step, by contrast, was about sustained and stable acceleration. It emphasized control, flexibility, and precise speed management.
You could call it a simplified—or even optimized—version of the Body Flicker.
Old Man Zetsugan really was a genius. This was no ordinary footwork. It was practically a secret technique.
A moment later, Maki was knocked flat again.
"You moved well that time, Kurohime," Zetsugan praised.
Maki sat up, drenched in sweat.
She felt like her whole body was about to fall apart.
"I'm dead. Not a single drop of chakra left!"
Seeing this, Zetsugan looked to the sky and nodded. "Alright. That's enough for today."
Maki immediately sprang to her feet and turned to leave.
Of course, she had chakra left. She just didn't want to waste it.
Nearby, the Kiko who had been watching ants stood up, ready to follow her.
"Hold on, Kurohime," came another voice—Old Man Kurozane, approaching with an armful of swords.
"As you asked, pick whichever weapon you like."
Maki stepped forward and started examining them, pulling each blade from its sheath one by one.
Eventually, she settled on a sword.
Straight-bladed, double-edged, about a meter long. Maki held it like a tachi.
Considering she was only 1.2 meters tall, it looked a bit oversized in her hands.
Still, the craftsmanship was exquisite.
It was light—for a sword—but not effortless for Maki to wield at her current strength.
"In combat," Zetsugan said, "the lighter the weapon, the better. After hundreds of swings, you won't want something that weighs you down. So why not pick a ninja sword? More practical for your kind."
"I picked this one because it looks better," Maki replied simply.
She gave it a few test swings. It was a little heavy.
"With your strength, you'll be able to swing it full-force about 300 times before you're completely spent."
That stat beat out most adult men on Earth.
But that was normal. Even without chakra, a shinobi's body was a machine of condensed cells.
Where an ordinary person had 40 to 60 trillion cells, a shinobi like Maki had over 130 trillion—denser, heavier, stronger.
In combat, mass meant power.
"Ninja swords could give you 200 more swings," Zetsugan pointed out.
"Yeah, but they're short," Maki replied.
"So?"
"With my current strength, chopping isn't efficient. A thrust—the shortest distance between two points—is the best sword technique for me."
She said it calmly, as if it were obvious.
"You've thought this through, I see," Zetsugan mused.
Then, Maki reached out and ran her fingers along the blade. With a gentle motion, a faint purple sheen coated the metal—bright and deadly.
"Secret Technique: Apply Poison," Maki said proudly.
She stabbed forward once, fast and precise.
"One hit, and it's over," Kurozane said with admiration. "Kurohime's brain's better than yours ever was."
Zetsugan stayed silent.
If I had known how to apply poison back then, would I have needed anyone to teach me? he thought bitterly.
Truth was, it had taken him years to develop his current fighting style—too late to start over with swordsmanship now.
So how exactly was he supposed to teach Maki swordplay?
"Alright, Kurohime," Zetsugan said at last. "What's your plan?"
Maki sheathed her sword, struggling a bit with her height.
"I've got a concept… Just a little one," she said, tilting her head.
Then, with a grin: "Ora ora ora ora! That's it."
Kurozane and Zetsugan stared at her, completely confused.
"Say something we can understand!"
"Ohhh~" she said innocently.
_________
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