Then, Maki was struck down by the sword.
And just like that, the second day of training came to an end.
Time passed quickly—two months slipped by in the blink of an eye.
Since the last encounter with the Third Hokage, there had been no further word. Whatever the old man was thinking, he kept it to himself.
During that time, Maki trained daily in taijutsu under old man Zetsugan, and her sword skills had even been tested in live combat. She had also made significant progress with Wind Release Taijutsu—especially with a technique called Wind Step, which she could now use proficiently. As for more advanced techniques, Zetsugan simply told her to figure them out on her own.
Maki privately suspected the old man was just lazy… or maybe out of ideas.
Truthfully, Zetsugan's taijutsu wasn't particularly impressive. He lacked power, stamina, and agility—attributes expected of a strong fighter. But that was understandable. He was old, after all.
His true strength lay elsewhere: in the lethal venom of his nano-insects. Unfortunately for him, that was useless against Maki, who carried the same strain of poisonous bugs.
As a result, defeating Zetsugan wasn't especially hard. He was about as challenging as a moderately skilled chuunin who specialized in taijutsu.
And training… was coming to an end.
That hunch proved correct soon enough.
Maki graduated under the eyes of three old men. The moment she pressed her blade to Zetsugan's neck, the training was declared complete.
"In every aspect, you're a qualified genin now, Kurohime," said Kaigan, who hadn't appeared in weeks. His tone was unusually serious.
"There's nothing more we can teach you about the clan's secret arts," he continued.
"As for your taijutsu… I didn't expect your progress to be this fast."
"I originally thought it would take at least a year, maybe two. But Zetsugan says you've already mastered the essentials. What remains now is just the accumulation of real combat experience."
Unlike the structured, traditional schools of martial arts with forms, stances, and drills, Zetsugan's fighting style was simple—direct and brutally effective. Maki's training didn't involve endless horse stances or hours of piling exercises. Instead, she learned basic movements and personal insights from the old man's decades of battle.
There were no elaborate forms like Wing Chun or fancy combinations. It was a rough style, honed in real fights.
Zetsugan once said that what Maki lacked wasn't skill—it was experience. Experience fighting people. Fighting unpredictable enemies with varied styles and techniques. That's something no teacher could replicate.
Because every opponent is different, every battle is different.
As long as you survive, you grow stronger.
But fighting Zetsugan again and again, repeating the same drills, was getting her nowhere. She was starting to feel dull. Her instincts—her edge—were being dulled by routine.
"Regarding ninjutsu," Kaigan added, "our clan has little to offer. But we'll support you however we can."
"From now on, Kurohime, just keep training diligently. Don't waste the expectations we've placed on you."
"Yes," Maki replied, nodding seriously.
Zetsugan let out a long breath. It had been a hard few months on his old bones. Every sparring match with her left him sore for days, feeling like he'd fall apart.
As Maki got stronger, it took more and more out of him just to keep up.
But every time, she would bounce back completely refreshed, full of energy, like nothing had happened.
If this kept going, she'd send him to an early grave. He didn't want to meet his big brother in the afterlife just yet. Not when he'd still be scolding him even down there.
He just wanted to spend a few quiet years alone… after his brother passed.
When they finished speaking, the four of them fell silent. No grand farewells. No touching words.
After a long moment, Kaigan barked out the order.
"Disperse!"
And with that, years of synchronized combat training kicked in. The three old men vanished in a blink.
A true ninja exit.
Just as suddenly as they had entered her life, they left it.
Maki stood alone, looking up at the sky, feeling… strange.
Something was missing. A few people had quietly vanished from her world, and the emptiness was unsettling.
What now?
It was still early in the day.
Maki picked up her sword and practiced for a while, but quickly grew bored. So she switched to ninjutsu training.
She kept going until the sun hung low, matching the time her training usually ended.
And then, with her sword in hand, she walked home.
It was still dark, though the sky was tinged red with the colors of sunset. Crows cawed noisily on the telephone poles along the roadside.
As she passed by the park, Maki unexpectedly spotted Naori—alone on the swing set, head lowered, lost in thought.
But the moment she looked up and saw Maki, Naori smiled like always and waved as if nothing was wrong.
This girl… creepy.
If she were a guy, Maki would've absolutely pegged her as a stalker. Always showing up, walking home with her after school, waiting around in random places like this…
Some called the Uchiha a cursed clan.
Others said they were a clan of love.
Some saw them as arrogant.
Others, as mad.
But no one could deny one thing: the Uchiha were powerful.
Yet right now, Maki saw them as something else—a clan with fragile souls.
Madara. Obito. Shisui. Itachi. Sasuke.
All of them.
Even Naori.
Maki didn't stop. Without a word, she turned and started walking away.
Naori wasn't surprised. She caught up in a few quick steps and asked, "Done practicing already?"
"It's over," Maki said simply.
She had no idea how Naori did it. For the past two months, Maki had thrown herself into training nonstop, yet Naori always kept up with ease—even though she seemed to slack off all day.
It was frustrating.
"Oh, finishing early today?" Naori said, then quickly corrected herself. "I mean… practice is completely over?"
"Yes," Maki repeated, making it clear—Naori didn't need to keep waiting around anymore.
"Oh~" Naori smiled. "You're so thoughtful, Maki."
Maki didn't bother responding. She never answered things she found pointless.
Naori had started to figure her out by now—especially how to navigate her silences.
Seeing Maki didn't reply, Naori just kept talking. She was always the one carrying the conversation anyway.
"Wanna hang out today?"
"No. I'm going home for dinner," Maki replied.
"What? Come on! You promised ages ago, and now school's almost out!"
"There's plenty of time to hang out after the break," Maki said.
"True," Naori nodded. "I've saved up a bunch of money. Just waiting to blow it all at once."
This girl… totally shameless.
Under her mask, the corner of Maki's mouth twitched.
In her past life, someone like Naori would've been a walking target for every scam artist alive.
"Don't you spend money on food?" Maki asked.
Naori grinned. "Nope! Everyone around here's super nice. They give me food 'cause I look pitiful."
"My neighbor grandma brings me meals every day. Says she's worried I don't eat properly."
"Really…" Maki said flatly. "And how long do you plan to freeload?"
"Eh? Why not? It'd be rude to reject something made with love."
That's when Maki realized what had been bothering her.
Naori had no sense of pity or shame.
No guilt. No insecurity.
Just this boundless, terrifying optimism.
"Fine. Eat whatever you want," she said.
"Yup! Saves me a ton," Naori replied, grinning.
"You want to eat at my place?"
Naori paused, a little surprised. "Seriously?"
"Forget it if you're not coming," Maki said.
"Then I'm definitely coming!" Naori beamed.
And so, beneath the setting sun, the two girls walked home together.
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